❥ she/her. 18. july leo. bisexual. a black american princess. a southern girl. a college girl. a michael jackson, tyriq withers, meg thee stallion, & kwn enthusiast. a lover of music, literature, & all the other lovely luxuries life has to offer.
❥ i’m a multi!fandom & ‘x reader’/‘x plus-sized reader’ writer, though there are a few old fics of mine that are ‘x oc’. i write for black women & black women ONLY — representation matters & we are definitely underrepresented on this app.
❥ this is a side-blog & it is 18+!! majority of my works contain smut & sexual acts, so viewer discretion is heavily advised — this is your only warning & you are responsible for the media you choose to consume!!
❥ requests are OPEN — however, please be specific about what you’d like me to write about when you send them!! don’t just send a name & ask me to write about them without at least having some kind of idea in mind because it honestly gives me writer’s block.
𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒 💐
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DA Tom Sneddon was a huge racist, by the way. He tipped off Diane Dimond about the 2003 raid so she could have it filmed to sway public opinion on Jackson. She was there outside the ranch that day with her cameras. He regularly leaked info to her which was either biased or completely false, which she reported on. He had a reputation of going after predominantly innocent people and black men, and his colleagues nicknamed him “mad dog”.
He told Chris Tucker to be a “good boy” during his cross examination on May 25th, 2005.
Michael Jackson himself accused Sneddon of being a racist in his song D.S. on his HIStory album, and even claimed he was involved with the KKK.
And mind you, there were even allegations of Tom Sneddon passing around those photos he took of Michael’s dick to all his friends and colleagues in private just for the shits and giggles. The strip search was just a way to humiliate Jackson.
The DA and partnering police departments contacted the FBI to see if they could prosecute Jackson under the MANN Act on September 7th, 1993. The MANN Act is also known officially as the “White Slave Traffic Act”, which was introduced in 1910 by the author Rep. James Robert Mann.
This Act allowed police officers to arrest on the grounds of “immoral behavior”, and this law was historically used to frequently smear black men, especially those that dated white women.
Jack Johnson was the first black man to be prosecuted under the MANN Act. He was the world’s first black Heavyweight Boxing Champion. The proposition of the law was largely due to the potential to smear Johnson. Johnson was viewed by the press as a black man who didn’t know his place. He displayed his success openly, more than 50 years before segregation ended in America. Society deemed he be humbled accordingly.
He traveled and was sexually involved with white women, and was prosecuted for it, specifically for “transporting females across the state line for immoral purposes”. The white women that were involved with Johnson stated under oath it was consensual, and their travels with him were willingly made. Moreover, these travels took place long before the MANN Act was established, but this did not stop an all white jury from convicting him.
Years later, Chuck Berry was prosecuted for the same thing. He met a teenage girl and asked her to work as a hat-check girl in his restaurant. The girl in question was a waitress, which is how he met her. She agreed to the job offer, and he traveled with her after a concert so she could work in St Louis. He was prosecuted for traveling with her, and sentenced to 3 years in prison.
Mind you, none of these men’s white contemporaries were ever prosecuted for such things, despite them doing the same thing and far worse.
The MANN Act is an inherently racist law that exists because of the potential to prosecute black men. The LAPD, working with the DA, wanted to prosecute Jackson under this law. It is in the FBI documents.
The only reason Jackson was ever prosecuted was because of a personal vendetta carried out against him by a racist prosecution. Period.
how thriller!michael acts around assistant!reader due to his little crush ᢉ𐭩 nothing but fluff and a very obvious crush – wc 0.3k , shelf
thriller!michael — who needs to be near you at all times. during meetings? sitting right beside you. during breaks while filming short films? hanging around where you are. he’ll always be sure to subtly touch your hand when you give him a glass of water, or bump his knee against yours while sitting next to you.
thriller!michael — who will always ask for your opinion on literally anything. you like to watch him dance when you have nothing else to do. “does this look right?” “move my hand to where you think it looks better.” or when he’s about to go on stage to perform. “fix my makeup for me, please?” “i like the way my hair does whatever it’s doing right now. do you?”
thriller!michael — who loves to tease you. ding dong ditching your hotel room, knocking before escaping down the hallway in a fit of giggles. playing with your hair, fluffing the crown or flipping a piece over to the wrong side. you shoo him off with soft laughter and warm cheeks, making him grin sheepishly.
thriller!michael — who likes to show off for you. when you’re in the recording booth, just watching, he’ll lock eyes with you while singing. he’s a joker, obviously, but for some reason he’s even funnier when you’re around. he looks at you when he laughs, liking the way your eyes light up and your face brightens.
thriller!michael — who gets very shy when you talk to him. even though he tries to pretend that he’s confident around you, he’ll always manage to stumble over his words or say something embarrassing. he rubs the back of his neck shyly as you giggle at him, feeling his cheeks burn.
thriller!michael — who enjoys giving you little playful compliments every now and then. “i like what you’ve done with your hair today.” “i like that colour on you, it’s stunning.” “you have really beautiful hands, i’ve just noticed.” very random, yet flustering compliments. you give a shy smile, managing a quiet ‘thank you’ before glancing away.
yes this is a repost but i’ve returned and rebranded! headcannons are so fun to write, should i do more?
otw!michael feels a little stiff when he kisses so i’m imagining experienced!reader teaching michael how to properly kiss.
“i can kiss.” he’s in the mist of defending himself, and he has every right too! but, you never said he couldn’t kiss, only that it could use some—assistance. your relationship with michael is still fairly new, the fresh experience of exploring each other mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically is the current phase the two of you are venturing. of course that exploration never truly ends in a good standing relationship, but these discoveries are new and could use some shaping.
you struggle fighting the smug curl that twitched towards the corner of your lips, “i never said you couldn’t kiss michael.”
“you said it needed work.” his tone falls flat, playfully.
he’s feeling insecure, but he knows your intentions are well. at this age he shouldn’t need a lesson on how to kiss or make out, it should be something that comes naturally to him, but unfortunately for him it isn’t. he didn’t have the privilege of exploring this part of his life, up until now anything that had to do with a woman was strictly a peck. there truly wasn’t enough free time to explore anything past that, and now that the opportunity is here, he’s feeling a little self conscious.
“it does, but that’s okay.” your shrug when you shoot him a tender grin. “don’t you wanna kiss me?”
“m’yeah, but i shouldn’t need help.”
your give him a playful roll of the eyes, wishing he’d stop sulking. you shush him, scooting yourself closer to him on his living room couch. “it might be better if i sit in your lap.”
his eyes flicker from his lap back to you, hands opening as a nonverbal invitation. hands awkwardly assist you in crawling into his lap, his large hands hovering by your sides. you can’t help but laugh and you giggling only worsens when he frowns.
“don’t laugh.”
“michael you’re so tense. relax baby.” hands gently placed on his chest before they make their way up towards his jaw. his movements are stiff, he’s not coming off as nervous. unsure would feel like a better fit of words. he’s in his own head too much, constantly wondering while simultaneously trying to figure out what you want his next move to be. when instead he should let go and surrender to moving in rhythm with you, which he can’t if he’s overthinking.
you place a soft kiss on both his cheeks, hoping the cool tickle of your lips would smooth him, and they did. you watch him steadily, lids heavy with adoration. you realize he’s trying too hard to come off more experienced than what he is, trying to impress you, show you that he’s a man. but that’s not what you need, it’s not what you expect from him either. you know his situation and even if he had a different upbringing, there’s always room to learn. it’s only kissing—at least that’s what you think.
when the two of you do kiss you’ve noticed he’ll start off fine and somewhere along the line he feels too calculated, as if he’s doing what he thinks is right and it makes his kisses stiff and clunky. it’s almost like he brings his perfectionism into your relationship, your intimate moments; which make them sometimes feel unnatural, and you wanna get him out of that.
“so now what?” the anticipation is killing him, your stare is intimidating, but in a way where he feels the need to live up to this made up expectation he’s given himself.
thoughtlessly your chin tilts, “is there somewhere you need to be?”
he shakes his head.
“then what’s the rush.” you readjust yourself in his lap, “just enjoy the moment.”
“i want it to be good.” his voice trails off and his eyes are big and glassy, lashes delicate when they kiss his brows.
“it is good, michael. it’s only a kiss, y’need to get out of your head.” the pads of your fingers tap against his temple.
he patiently closes his eyes with a tiny nod, signaling that he’ll work with you. he’ll try to get out of his way.
you watch his eyes flutter open, doing his damnest to allow his mind to clear. his eyes fall on yours and he could nearly melt beneath your gaze, a small smile naturally rests on your face; you’re giving him all the patience in the world, he has to get himself together. his hands flex at the waistband of your skirt, scooting you further up his lap.
it’s starts with a small smooch at the corner of his mouth, then a full kiss at his brown heart shaped lips. but his mouth barely moves. you couldn’t hold back the giggle that escaped your throat, pulling back you look down at him, “pucker baby.” he mimics your grin, knowing he’s fallen back into overthinking that quickly.
“don’t think about it, feel it. we’ve kissed before.”
he nods, maybe if he looks at it like how he does dancing? he doesn’t really think much about it he just does it, allows the present moment to rhythmically guide him.
a sense of knowing and a wash of confidence takes over his being, actions moving with security. one had firmly placed on your lower hip, the other cupping your jaw. you nearly yelp into the kiss, his sudden change in demeanor briefly startling you.
this kiss feels more sensual, feels like he’s allowing himself to feel it, to slip into his desire and attraction mindlessly. soft lips fit like a puzzle against yours, although he’s feeling it more, he’s kissing the same spot. in your attempts to guide him you tilt your head, moving the kisses on more than one space. he eventually follows your lead, everything feels more in tune.
you can’t help but giggle at the way your heads push against each other, each smack against your lips deepening the next kiss. large hands caress your neck, subconsciously emphasizing the kiss even more.
he catches on quick.
he’s got the urge to do something daring, without putting much thought into it his tongue is peaking out, pink muscle grazing your top lip. without hesitation you follow his lead. hot mouths slick with spit, in an instant nearly lapping at each other. things get heated rather quick, and his body’s on fire. you’ve kissed before, but it’s never gone this far. you’re so caught up in the moment, you hadn’t even noticed your grip on his button up, desperation unknowingly surging through your body. a slight creek of the plush couch beneath you, and the wet squelch of your mouths are the only things heard in the quiet air.
michael’s hands glide up the curve of your back, as if you could get any closer. the swell of your breasts fully squished against his chest. he wanted his mouth on yours and now that you’ve gotten to this point, he wants to savior it. saliva swaps between the two of you as you get sloppier and he gets hungrier. adrenaline is heightened as the two of you get into it more, and his hips are instinctively bucking against yours. right rightttt
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summary: you're a costume designer and michael's girlfriend. you're in the studio with michael, working on designing the outfits for his upcoming short films based on the ideas he shared with you, while he's having a particularly hard time recording the final song on thriller... so he asks you to come into the soundbooth with him.
themes: music as foreplay, fingering, praise kink, soft dom!michael, emotional intimacy, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie, studio sex, yearning, deeply in love
author's note: reposted from my wattpad & ao3
1982
west lake recording studios
It was another late night in the studio, the kind where time seemed to blur together under dim lights and the low hum of equipment, where the outside world felt distant and unimportant compared to what was being built inside these walls.
For the last few months, Michael has been working on his upcoming album, Thriller, and you know how stressful it's been for him. Michael had felt that Off The Wall didn't get the recognition from the Grammys that it deserved, and you had agreed.
Michael didn't go to the Grammys that year in 1980. You remember how still he had been that night, how quiet, not the soft, thoughtful quiet you were used to from him, but something heavier, something that settled deep in his chest and refused to move.
The two of you sat in your apartment, his head resting in your lap as you watched the ceremony, his fingers idly tracing patterns against your knee, absentminded, like his body was there but his mind was already somewhere else entirely, somewhere ahead, chasing something bigger. And when he made that vow, that they weren't going to ignore his next album, that he was going to make the greatest album of all time.
And now two years later, he was bringing his ideas to life. You've been with Michael for the last three years, since 1979, ever since that first night Stephanie Mills introduced you at an industry event after The Wiz, when everything had been loud and alive around you, but somehow your attention had settled on him anyway.
You were already building your name as a professional costume designer for films, but at that time, you had been working on The Wiz on Broadway, which is how you and Stephanie grew close in the first place, the two of you bonding quickly, naturally, your friendship forming just as easily offstage as everything you created came together on it.
Stephanie had seen something in both of you, something she couldn't quite explain but trusted enough to act on, and when she said she wanted to introduce you to Michael, she had been right.
You remember how gentle he had been when he spoke to you that night, how there was no performance in it, no need to impress, just something genuine and a little shy that made you feel seen in a way that lingered long after the conversation ended. When he asked to see you again, it turned into a year of late-night phone calls and stolen time between his touring and your traveling, a whirlwind that somehow never felt overwhelming, just... right.
Now you're here with him in the studio, watching him build something he's poured himself into completely. He had told you about the short films he wanted to create for Thriller, Beat It, and Billie Jean. You loved the way his eyes lit up as he described them, making it clear that he wasn't just thinking about music, he was seeing full worlds, movement, story, something cinematic and alive.
You sit on the couch with your sketchbook resting against your lap, working through costume designs for Thriller, because Michael gave you his ideas for what he wanted to wear and asked if you could design some sketches, the red pencil moving across the page in steady strokes as you fill in the jacket, shaping something bold enough to match the energy he carries when he performs.
But your focus isn't fully on the page. It keeps drifting, pulled back toward the sound of his voice carrying through the room as he works through The Lady in My Life, a song you can't hear without feeling something deeper settle in your chest, because he told you he wrote it for you.
"You are the lady in my life," Michael sings the closing notes, his voice soft but controlled, and you hear the beat fade out into a silence that feels unfinished, like something is still hanging in the air, unresolved.
You glance up, and you don't need anyone to say anything to know it didn't land the way he wanted. It's in the way his expression shifts, in the subtle tension that settles into his posture, in the quiet frustration that he never voices out loud but carries anyway.
"You are the lady in my life," Michael sings the closing notes, and you hear the beat fade out, the last note lingering just long enough to leave the room suspended in something unfinished. You look up momentarily, your attention pulling fully to him, and you see the look on his face immediately; he's not happy, something with the song isn't landing right, and you can tell before anyone even says anything.
You know Michael has been extremely stressed making this album. Epic Records has him on a tight deadline to finish it by a certain day, and that pressure has been constant, sitting on his shoulders in a way that never really lets up, following him from the studio to home and back again.
And Michael, being the perfectionist he is, doesn't know how to settle for something that's just good enough. It has to feel right. It has to land the way he hears it in his head, the way he feels it in his chest. And because of the feeling that Off the Wall was ignored, that lingering frustration sat with him, still pushing him; he wants this album to be recognized. Not just heard, but seen for what he knows it is.
So he's pouring everything into it: every late night, every take that still isn't quite enough, every ounce of himself.
Sometimes he wouldn't get home until after 3 am, and you'd try to wait up for him, telling yourself you would stay awake just a little longer, just until you heard the door so you'd know he was home. You'd try to fill the time by working on sketches, flipping through pages, or reading something to keep your eyes open, but sometimes you couldn't, and the need for sleep would get too strong, pulling you under no matter how hard you tried to fight it.
You knew he was trying to make the album work against everything he was up against, trying to meet the expectations, the deadlines, the pressure he refuses to let break him, and Michael always apologized for those nights, every single time, whenever he came home after you had already fallen asleep. He always felt terrible knowing you were waiting up for him and he couldn't get to you, like he had let you down in some way, even when he hadn't.
And every time, you reassured him it was okay: because it truly was. You know how much getting this album right means to him. You know how important it is.
You lower your gaze back to your sketchpad, picking up the red colored pencil again, filling in the jacket with careful precision. His ideas are good, more than good. You've never thought of yourself as creating something separate from him, only giving shape to what's already there, what's already alive inside his mind, inside his genius.
But even as the pencil moves across the page, your attention isn't really there anymore. It's on him, the way the room shifted after that last note, the fact that he's still searching.
And you already know he's not done.
"Mike... something's not landing right with this," you momentarily look up when you hear Quincy Jones speak, his voice cutting cleanly through the quiet that had settled after the last take. Michael pulls the headphones off his ears with a slow exhale, the sigh that leaves him carrying more than just frustration, something heavier sitting just beneath the surface.
"I know..." Michael said, and there's a quiet weight to it, the kind that comes from repeating something over and over and still not reaching what he hears so clearly in his head.
They'd recorded and re-recorded the song probably a dozen times, each take technically right, each note placed exactly where it should be, but both Quincy and Michael agreed that something was missing, something intangible that couldn't be fixed with technique alone.
Michael had never struggled so much with a song like he was struggling with this one, and you can see how much it's starting to wear on him in the way he runs his hand briefly over the back of his neck, in the way his shoulders don't quite relax even when he's standing still.
The reason he was struggling was that it was hard for him to sing a song so intimate with all these people around, with eyes on him, with the pressure of performance sitting too close to something that wasn't meant to be performed. Michael wrote this song for you, and about you, and that truth lives too close to the surface for him to separate it from what's happening in the room.
He wrote this song out of the deep love he has for you, something quiet and real and unguarded, and it feels wrong to him to sing it for anybody else but you, to let something that personal exist under observation instead of in the privacy it was meant for.
You look up as you hear Quincy stand from his seat, the subtle shift of movement in the control room pulling your attention away from the page. He cuts off the talk back before walking into the booth, the sudden absence of sound creating a barrier between you and whatever he's about to say, leaving you with only the visual of it as Quincy steps inside and pulls Michael aside.
Michael glances at you through the glass for just a moment, a flicker of something soft and searching in his expression before he turns his attention back to Quincy, and that brief look alone is enough to make something in your chest tighten, because it feels like you've been pulled into something without hearing a single word.
"Take a minute to regroup... get some water, take a walk, something. Then I want you to come back in here and beg," Quincy says, his tone firm but measured, and even though you can't hear them, the way Michael's eyebrows lift slightly tells you the word caught him off guard.
"Beg?" Michael asks, the single word sitting somewhere between confusion and hesitation, like he's trying to understand what Quincy is asking of him beyond just the performance.
"You wrote this song for her, right?" Quincy asks as he gestures his head toward you, sitting outside the booth, and Michael's gaze follows the motion almost instinctively, his eyes finding you without effort. The moment he sees you, everything in his expression softens in a way that feels unguarded, like whatever tension he was holding loosens just slightly.
He takes in the small details without even thinking about it, your legs curled underneath you, the blanket from the couch draped over you, the way you've gone back to sketching like you've been doing all night, the red colored pencil moving lightly in your hand, and there's a quiet warmth that settles into his features at the sight of you being exactly where you always are for him.
"About how much you love her, how much you need her, everything that's right there in the lyrics?" Quincy continues, grounding the moment in something undeniable, and Michael's attention shifts back to him, though not without a slight delay, like part of him is still lingering on you.
"Yeah. It's all for her," Michael says as he nods, and there's no hesitation in that answer, no performance in it, just something steady and certain that makes it clear why this song matters so much to him. That truth is also what's making this so difficult, because part of him hates that you're hearing this right now in a way that feels incomplete, hates that something meant to reflect how deeply he feels for you isn't landing the way it should.
"So beg for it... Beg her for it," Quincy says, and this time when Michael looks at you again, the shift is more intentional, more focused, like he's starting to understand what's being asked of him, not just to sing the song, but to feel it fully, to let it exist in its most honest form. His gaze lingers for a second longer before he looks back at Quincy and nods, the understanding settling into him in a way that feels quieter but more certain.
"Okay, but I need a few things," he says, and there's a steadiness in his voice now that wasn't there before, like he's already beginning to shape the space into something he can exist in.
"Name it," Quincy responds without hesitation.
"Can you turn down the studio lights and close the curtain between the studio and control room?" Michael asks, and even without hearing the reasoning out loud, it's clear what he's trying to do: strip the room down, remove the audience, create something that feels private enough for him to let go of the restraint that's been holding him back. Quincy nods easily, understanding it without needing an explanation, because he's worked with Michael long enough to know exactly what that kind of environment means for him.
"Alright, you need a break, or wanna just get back to it?" Quincy asks as he moves toward the door, already preparing to give him what he needs.
"I don't need a break... one more thing," Michael says, stopping him just before he leaves, and Quincy turns back, waiting. There's a brief pause, just long enough to feel deliberate, before Michael speaks again. "Tell her to come in here, please?" he says, and there's something softer in his tone now, something that makes it clear that this part matters just as much as everything else he asked for.
Quincy nods without question, because it makes perfect sense. He told Michael to sing like he's begging you, and the way Michael is approaching this now, asking for the lights to be turned off, the curtain to be closed, and for you to come into the booth with him, it's clear that he isn't trying to perform anymore. He's trying to create something real and intimate. Something that exists only between the two of you.
Quincy understands exactly what Michael is building in this moment, that he wants to create a space where the outside world doesn't exist, where no eyes are watching, no expectations sitting on his shoulders, just you and him and the truth of what he feels. So he nods without another word and walks out of the booth, closing the door behind him as he makes his way over to you.
You look up when you hear his footsteps approaching, the soft sound of them grounding you back into the room as your hand stills, the red colored pencil slowing to a stop against the paper, your attention shifting fully as he comes closer.
"Everything okay, Q?" You ask as you look up, your voice soft but laced with curiosity, your attention fully pulled away from your sketch the moment he approaches you.
"Yeah... Mike just wants you in the studio," he says, and your eyes widen before you can stop them, surprise flickering across your face because Michael's never asked you to come in there before, never broken that quiet boundary he keeps around his creative space, the place where he disappears into the music and becomes something else entirely.
"Is he okay?" you ask as you set your sketchpad down, the red pencil slipping from your fingers and resting against the page as your focus shifts completely, and Quincy nods quickly, reassuring but purposeful.
"Yeah, yeah, he's fine... It's just to make the song land. Come on," Quincy says, already turning slightly as if expecting you to follow, and you nod, pushing the blanket off your legs as you stand, the warmth of it slipping away as you step out of your spot on the couch and move toward him.
The short walk to the booth feels different than it ever has before, like you're stepping into something you've only ever observed from the outside, something more personal than you expected, and when Quincy opens the door for you, the shift in atmosphere is immediate as you step inside, the sound softer, more contained, the space smaller than it felt through the glass. He shuts the door behind you, sealing you in, and for a moment, it's just you and Michael in the room.
Then you notice Quincy moving again through the glass, his hands reaching for the curtains that separate the studio from the control room, drawing them closed until the outside disappears completely, leaving nothing but the reflection of dim light against the fabric. You turn back to Michael, your brow lifting slightly in silent question, and he smiles at you in that quiet, familiar way before holding his hand out toward you, waiting.
You don't hesitate. You place your hand in his, letting him pull you closer, and the distance between you disappears easily as he guides you in, his movements gentle but intentional. He's sitting on the stool in front of the microphone, and when you reach him, he draws you in close enough that you can feel the warmth of him immediately, his head lowering until it rests against your collarbone, right above your chest, like he's grounding himself there.
"Baby, are you okay?" You ask, your voice softer now, concern threading through it as your hand instinctively moves to him, and instead of answering right away, Michael presses a gentle kiss to your collarbone, something quiet and familiar, something that feels like comfort more than anything else, before he turns his head slightly toward the curtain, aware of the people still just beyond it.
"Q, the lights, down, not completely off," Michael says, his voice steady but quieter than before, and after a brief pause, the lights shift, dimming just enough to change everything about the room. The brightness softens into something warmer, shadows settling in around the edges, the space shrinking into something more private, more intimate, until it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you standing there together.
You lean down and kiss the top of his head, your lips brushing softly against his curls, lingering for just a moment. "Baby?" you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper now, matching the quiet that has settled around you.
"Q, cut me off, I'll knock on the window when I'm ready," Michael says, and there's a firmness in it now, a need for space that's clear even without seeing Quincy's reaction.
"You got it, Mike," Quincy says faintly through the speaker, and then there's nothing but silence again, the kind that stretches just long enough to feel intentional.
Michael stays like that for a moment, his head still resting against you, his breathing evening out slowly, like he's letting himself settle into something deeper, something more honest than what he's been able to reach so far. After a few minutes, he finally lifts his head and looks at you, and there's something different in his eyes now, something more open, more vulnerable than before.
"Just wanted to talk privately for a moment," he says, his voice quieter, softer, like the words are meant only for you.
"Are you okay? Q said you wanted me in here?" you ask, searching his face as he nods, taking a slow breath before he speaks again, steadying himself.
"You can probably hear I've been struggling with this song... I wrote this for you, so he gave me some notes, and I was hoping that having you in here would help me make it land right," he says, and the honesty in it settles between you, unguarded and real.
"Of course, baby, whatever you need," you say, your answer immediate, your voice warm and certain, and the small smile that spreads across his face in response is soft but genuine, like your reassurance lands exactly where he needed it to.
He points toward the couch a few feet away, his hand lingering in the air for a second.
"Just stay right there," he says, and you nod, turning to move toward it, but before you can take more than a step, his hand finds your waist, gentle but firm as he pulls you back toward him. The motion is instinctive, like he can't quite let you go just yet, and when you turn back to him, he's already leaning in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that starts soft but deepens almost immediately.
Your fingers slide into his curls without thinking, threading through them as he pulls you closer, his hand tightening slightly at your waist as he presses you back against him, melting into the moment like he's been holding onto it all night and is finally letting himself feel it. There's nothing rushed about it, nothing distracted; it's just him, fully present, fully there with you.
When he pulls back, it's slow, reluctant, like he doesn't quite want to break the contact, and when your eyes open at the same time, you meet his gaze, his brown Bambi doe eyes soft and open in a way that makes something in your chest ache every single time. There's a quiet warmth in the way he looks at you, something that always manages to undo you, no matter how many times you've seen it.
"I love you," he says, and it never loses its weight, never becomes something ordinary. It still lands the same way it did the first time: warm, steady, grounding, like something you can hold onto.
"I love you more," you whisper, your voice soft but sure, and you lean in to press a gentle kiss to the top of his head once more before finally stepping away, giving him the space he asked for.
You cross the studio and settle onto the couch, tucking your legs underneath you as you get comfortable, your attention fixed on him without even trying, and he moves toward the curtain, lifting his hand to gently knock on the window, keeping everything else the same, the curtains drawn, the lights low, the atmosphere still wrapped tightly around the two of you.
"Alright, Mike, you ready?" Quincy asks, his voice faint but present through the speaker.
Michael looks at you, and you give him a small, reassuring smile as he reaches for the headphones, sliding them back over his ears. You can see the shift settling into him now, the focus returning, but this time it feels different, quieter, more grounded, like he's not trying to perform anymore.
"I'm ready," Michael says as he takes a deep breath, and you hear Quincy telling everyone to stay quiet, the room beyond the curtain fading even further away.
He knows how badly Michael wants to nail this, and now... it feels like he finally might.
The music starts, low and smooth, something almost hypnotic in the way it settles into the room, the bassline soft but steady as it wraps around you and pulls you in before a single word is even sung. It's slow, it's seductive, and you feel it immediately, the way the atmosphere shifts, the way the air itself seems to thicken with it.
You look up at the same time Michael looks over, and the second your eyes meet, everything else fades into the background. There's no awareness of the studio anymore, no awareness of anything beyond him, because once your gazes lock, you're both in it completely. You feel a shift immediately when your eyes meet Michael's, something deeper, far more intimate, something that settles into your chest and spreads outward, and he hasn't even started singing yet; the music alone is already pulling you in.
"There'll be no darkness tonight, lady, our love will shine," Michael starts, his voice velvety and smooth, softer than before but fuller in a way that doesn't feel performed. It feels like it's meant for you, and you already know the air between the two of you is shifting with every word he sings.
The playback is also on, his own voice layered beneath the one he's giving you now, and you catch it instantly, recognizing the difference between what was recorded and what he's doing in this moment. You figure it's for the ad-libs at the end, and you already know that if Quincy likes this recording of it, they'll use this take for the playback and have Michael come back and layer the ad-libs again, but even with that awareness sitting in the back of your mind, it doesn't pull you out of the moment.
If anything, it makes you more aware of how different this take feels.
"Just put your trust in my heart, and meet me in paradise."
The way he sings it doesn't feel like a lyric. It feels like he's saying it directly to you, like the words are meant to land somewhere deeper than just your ears. You shift slightly in the chair without even realizing it, adjusting under the weight of the moment, but you don't take your eyes off of him, not even for a second.
"Girl, you're every wonder in this world to me, a treasure time won't steal away," Michael's voice grows stronger, filling the space more fully now, but it still carries that vulnerable undertone, something soft underneath the strength, like he's giving you everything Quincy asked for without losing the truth behind it.
"So, listen to my heart, lay your body close to mine, let me fill you with my dreams, I can make you feel alright," he continues, and it hits you all at once, sharp and undeniable, because you've heard these words before. Not like this, not sung into a microphone, but whispered softly against your skin in the quiet moments you've shared, when the world was smaller, when it was just the two of you tangled together with nothing else around you.
You've heard pieces of this song for months without even realizing it.
In bed, when his voice would drop low against your ear, when his words felt more like confessions than anything else. In the way he would hold you close, murmuring things that made your chest feel too full, too warm. And now, hearing it like this, hearing it all come together, it settles into you differently, deeper, because you finally understand what he meant when he said he wrote this song for you. He wasn't exaggerating. He wasn't being poetic.
He was giving you something real.
"And baby, through the years, gonna love you more each day, so I promise you tonight that you will always be the lady in my life."
Your eyes stay locked onto Michael's as he sings, completely unable to look away, like breaking that connection would pull you out of something you don't want to leave. His voice, the music, the way the room has softened around you with the lights dim and the curtains drawn: it all pulls you deeper, wrapping around you until nothing else feels as important.
You've forgotten that the two of you are sitting inside the studio with Quincy just on the other side of the glass. With the curtains drawn closed and the lights low, it doesn't feel like a studio anymore.
It feels like it's just you and Michael.
You feel the song, his voice, the words deep inside you, not just in your heart but throughout your entire body, something warm and consuming that settles in slowly and then all at once, until you're completely surrounded by it.
And by the time he gets to the second verse, you're already warm all over, caught in the weight of it, in the way he's looking at you, in the way every word feels like it belongs to you.
"Lay back in my tenderness, let's make this a night we won't forget. Girl, I need your sweet caress, oh," Michael sings, and this time there's no hesitation, no restraint left in him at all. He's fully immersed now, completely locked into you in a way that makes everything else disappear, and something about the way your eyes met earlier has shifted him entirely. He's not trying to find the song anymore. He's in it. Living it. Feeling every word as it leaves him.
Because now it doesn't feel like he's singing. It feels like he's asking.
Like he's reaching for you in real time, like every note is carrying something heavier than just melody, something that sits deep in his chest and spills out without filter. Begging for you to hear him. Begging for you to understand just how much of himself is wrapped up in you. Begging you to stay right where you are, right where he can see you, feel you, hold onto you.
The shift in his voice is unmistakable now, the vulnerability threaded through every note, the way he lets it crack just slightly in places where he would've held it steady before, and it doesn't weaken it; it makes it real. He's pouring his heart out without holding anything back, and you can feel it in the way it reaches you, the way it settles into you.
From outside of the studio, in the control room, even though all he could see were black curtains, Quincy could hear and feel the difference in this recording in comparison to the others. He didn't need to see what was happening inside to know something had changed, because it was in Michael's voice, in the way the emotion carried through the speakers with a kind of rawness that hadn't been there before.
And in that moment, Quincy knew he made the right choice by telling Michael to beg, and he knew Michael made the right choice by asking Quincy to bring you inside.
"And I will keep you warm, through the shadows of the night. Let me touch you with my love, I can make you feel so right," Michael sings, and the words don't just reach you, they move through you, settling somewhere deeper than you can control, and your eyes fall closed for a moment under the weight of it, like it's too much to hold all at once.
You feel it in your chest, in your stomach, in the way your body reacts without asking for permission, and when your eyes close, it's like everything else sharpens, the sound of his voice, the softness of the music, the warmth that's already spreading through you.
Michael notices everything.
The way your body responds, the way your shoulders shift, the subtle way your breath changes, the way you adjust in the seat like you're trying to ground yourself. He sees the way you slightly squeeze your thighs closer together, the way your body reacts to him, to his voice, to what he's giving you in this moment, and something inside him tightens in response, because he knows.
He knows you're feeling it too. That same pull. That same warmth. That same intensity building between you that neither of you is trying to stop.
Desire was building in both of you.
When you open your eyes again and meet Michael's, the difference in him is immediate and impossible to ignore. His eyes are darker now, deeper, filled with something more intense than before: passion, yes, but something layered with it, something that feels almost consuming in the way it holds onto you.
And still, he doesn't stop. He keeps singing to you like there's nothing else in the world that matters.
"And baby, through the years, even when we're old and gray. I will love you more each day, 'cause you will always be the lady in my life," he sings, and there's a shift again, softer this time but just as powerful, something that settles over the moment like a promise being made right in front of you.
You feel it as soon as he reaches it. That change in the structure of the song. The part that's coming next. You know this part. And something in the way he's looking at you tells you he knows exactly what he's about to do with them.
"Stay with me..." Michael sings, his eyes slightly closing as he feels himself getting fully pulled in, his voice softer but heavier now, like it's coming from somewhere deeper than before. "I want you to stay with me..." The words settle into the space between you, and your body reacts before you can stop it, your legs pressing together again as that familiar effect his voice has always had on you builds, heat pooling low in your stomach, steady and impossible to ignore. "I need you by my side..."
When he finishes the note, his eyes open slowly, and they meet yours immediately, like he already knows exactly where to look. He catches everything in an instant, the slight pout in your expression, the tension in the way you're sitting, the desire you're feeling but holding back because of where you are, because he's recording, because you're not alone, and the recognition hits him just as strongly, because he feels it too. His pants are tight as his arousal for you grows.
"Don't you go nowhere," it comes out of him almost guttural this time, rougher, pleading in a way that feels unfiltered, and you feel the difference immediately, the shift between the other takes and this one undeniable now. This isn't controlled anymore. This isn't held back.
The playback continues underneath him, his pre-recorded vocals filling the room and layering beneath what he's giving you live, creating that overlap of sound that wraps around you from both directions. "Ooh, girl, let me keep you warm," the recorded version of his voice carries smoothly through the speakers.
"Let me keep you warm," Michael sings over it, his live voice lower, rougher, dipping into that same guttural tone that makes your breath catch, and he sees it happen, sees the way your chest rises slightly, the way your body reacts without permission. Watching you respond to him like this only feeds into it, and he can feel his own body responding too, the intensity building in ways he can't ignore.
"You are the lady in my life," his recorded voice continues, smooth and controlled, while Michael stays locked on you, singing over it in real time. "You're my lady," he adds, holding your gaze, the words feeling more like something claimed than something sung.
"Fill you with the sweetest love," his pre-recorded voice carries through the room.
"I wanna squeeze ya," Michael's voice drops again into that lower register, heavier now, more weighted, and you feel it immediately, the heat in your body deepening as you shift in the seat again, trying to ground yourself in something steady that isn't there.
"Always the lady in my life," the pre-recorded vocal continues, smooth beneath him.
"I wanna touch you, babe," Michael sings more intensely this time, and the shift is immediate, visible in his eyes, in the way his focus sharpens on you like nothing else exists.
"Lay back in my tenderness, you are the lady in my life," his pre-recorded voice sings, and through it, over it, around it, he holds your gaze without wavering, and you feel yourself getting warmer by the second, the heat building under your skin in a way that makes you hyper-aware of everything.
You had been wearing one of Michael's jackets in the control room because it was cold, but now the warmth feels overwhelming, like it's too much against your skin.
Michael's eyes track your every move as you slide the jacket off your shoulders and drape it over the back of the couch, and you don't take your eyes off him either, the connection between you unbroken, stretched tight between where you sit and where he stands.
"Rock me with your sweet caress, always the lady in my life," the pre-recorded Michael sings as Michael comes in stronger, his live voice carrying more force now, more emotion.
"You're my lady, and I love you, girl," Michael sings passionately, and you feel the weight of it, the intensity behind every word, the way it presses into you. He wants to reach for you; you can see it, feel it in the way his body leans just slightly forward, the way his hands flex at his sides, just like you want to get up and go to him.
You bite down on your lip, trying to steady yourself, and Michael notices immediately, the reaction hitting him just as strongly as everything else, every movement you make pulling more out of him, more emotion, more intensity, more of that raw, pleading energy that Quincy had asked for.
"Ooh, girl, let me keep you warm. You are the lady in my life," the pre-recorded Michael sings, smooth and controlled beneath the moment.
"Don't you go nowhere," Michael sings again, his voice rougher now, more strained in the best way, and you see him bite his lip briefly when you shift again, a deep breath leaving you that you didn't mean to let out.
"Fill you with the sweetest love... always the lady in my life," the pre-recorded version continues, steady underneath him as he keeps going, fully in it now.
And all you can picture is kissing him, the thought taking hold so vividly it almost feels real, like you can already feel the press of his lips against yours, slow at first and then deeper, the kind of kiss that pulls you in completely.
You want to kiss him, want to close the distance between you so badly it makes your chest tighten, want to feel his hands over your body, touching you, grabbing you, squeezing you, exactly like he just said in the song, like every word he's singing isn't just a lyric but something he's already given you in quieter, more private moments.
The memory of it and the anticipation of it blur together, your body reacting to both at once, heat settling low and steady, making it harder to sit still, harder to pretend you're unaffected, until it builds to the point where it's almost too much to hold in.
It's so close you can almost feel it, and an involuntary whimper slips out of you, soft but unmistakable in the quiet of the room.
Michael catches it immediately.
You see it in the way his expression shifts, in the way his breath falters just slightly before he bites down on his lip, his grip tightening on himself as he keeps singing, even though every part of him is pulling toward you. Hearing you like that, knowing he caused it, feeling your reaction in real time, almost undoes him completely, making it take everything in him not to break the space between you and pull you into his arms right then and there.
Michael sucks in a breath into the microphone, the sound pulling through the speakers in a way that feels almost too close, too intimate, like you're standing right there with him. "Ooh, babe... Don't you go nowhere... You're my lady," Michael's velvety voice hits you again, wrapping around you and settling deep, and you still feel hot, the warmth already spread through your body refusing to fade.
But you know you can't start discarding layers right there in the studio, not when he's still recording, not when you're still in that space, even if Michael is the only person who can see you.
"All through the night..." Michael holds the note, stretching it out, letting it linger in a way that makes your breath catch, and you let out another breath slowly, trying to steady yourself. He watches you closely, catching the way you swallow hard, the subtle movement of your throat, the way your body reacts without you meaning to. Beneath him, his earlier recorded voice begins to carry the line forward, smooth and controlled, filling the room while he stays locked on you.
You don't look away.
You watch as Michael licks his lips slowly, deliberately, and the motion alone sends another wave through you, making you shift in your seat again, trying to ease the tension building inside you. He's rubbing his hands against his thighs now, grounding himself, containing something he's barely holding onto, while you're trying to slow your heart rate, trying to breathe through the intensity instead of letting it completely take over.
"Fill you with the sweetest love," his earlier recorded voice moves through the room, steady and warm beneath the moment.
"Let me fill you, babe..." Michael's voice drops to that lower register again, deeper, heavier, and it's all you can picture. The multiple times he has filled you, the way those moments felt, the way they lingered after, and now all you want is to feel that again. You can feel your body responding to the thought, to him, to everything happening at once, the warmth building, undeniable, your panties soaked and only growing worse the longer he keeps looking at you like that. "All over... all over... all over," Michael's voice shifts into something more seductive, slower, more intentional, each repetition landing deeper than the last.
You start feeling dizzy, the intensity of it all settling in fully now, because with every "all over," the images come easier, clearer, your mind filling in the space between you without permission. You can see him, feel him, Michael on top of you, his warm hands moving across every inch of your skin, slow and deliberate, his lips following, kissing you everywhere, and you swallow again, trying to steady yourself, but it doesn't help.
You're still looking at him, and he's still looking at you.
Your lips part slightly without you meaning to, your breath catching again, and the shift in him is immediate. He wants to kiss you so badly it's written all over his face, in the way his jaw tightens, in the way he leans forward just slightly without even realizing it, like something in him is pulling toward you. He holds himself there, barely, and instead of breaking, instead of moving, he gives you the smallest nod, subtle but clear, letting you know he feels it too.
"Lay back in my tenderness... you are the lady in my life," his earlier voice continues smoothly beneath the moment, while Michael sings over it, his presence heavier now, more grounded in what he's feeling.
"Lay back with me... Let me touch you, girl," his voice intensifies, fuller, deeper, and your body reacts instantly, a tightening you can't control, because his touching you is all you can think about now, all you want, the distance between you suddenly feeling unbearable with every second that passes.
"Rock me with your sweet caress..." his earlier recorded voice carries through the room, smooth and steady beneath Michael as he sings over it, his presence stronger now, more anchored in you. "Lay back with me," he repeats again, and this time it comes out more pleading, the words softer but heavier, like he's asking instead of telling.
"Always the lady in my life," his recorded voice continues, filling the space beneath him, and Michael leans into the moment, his eyes locked on yours as his voice intensifies with it.
"All over, all over, all over, all over, all over, all over," each "all over" comes out more intense than the last, more sensual, more charged, his voice dipping and stretching as he gives himself over to it completely, and you swallow hard again, your body trembling with need as the images in your mind come faster now, clearer, impossible to ignore.
And as he continues the "all over," his earlier vocals carry underneath him, smooth and controlled. "Ooh, girl, let me keep you warm. You are the lady in my life," the layered sound wrapping around you, surrounding you completely.
"All over, baby," Michael sings again, his voice dropping into that lower register, softer but heavier, like he's holding onto the last of it, not ready to let the moment slip away.
And that's it for him.
The two of you stay locked there, holding each other's gaze as the rest of the song continues through his earlier vocals, the room still thick with everything that just passed between you. "Fill you with the sweetest love. Always the lady in my life," his recorded voice carries on, but neither of you is really hearing it anymore, too caught in each other.
You slowly stand up from your seat, and Michael already has the headphones off, already moving toward you like he can't stop himself now, like whatever was holding him in place before is gone.
"Lay back in my tenderness... You are the lady of my life," his earlier voice continues behind you, but it fades into the background the second Michael reaches you.
His lips meet yours roughly, the built-up tension between the two of you finally snapping, everything that had been held back pouring into that one moment. The kiss is messy, unrestrained, filled with all the want and need that's been building from the second the music started, and for a moment, neither of you is thinking about where you are or who might be just on the other side of the room.
You're too wrapped up in each other, in the way he's kissing you, in the way you've both been holding onto this.
In the control room, Quincy had just been about to tell Michael that the take was perfect when the sounds of the two of you reached him, unmistakable even through the speakers. Without hesitation, he reaches for the talk-back and cuts it off, the room going silent on their end as he turns to usher everyone out, giving you both the space without a word. He leaves as well, the door closing behind him, leaving you and Michael completely alone.
Michael pulls you down with him as he sits back onto the seat you were just in, his hands already on you, and instinctively, your body moves with his, the distance between you gone completely now. He lets out a low sound against your mouth as the kiss deepens, and you take advantage of the way his lips part, meeting him fully, giving into it just as much as he is.
His hands move over you, familiar and sure, and you feel yourself melting into him, every bit of tension from before turning into something else entirely now that you're finally allowed to close the distance.
"Michael," you whisper when the kiss breaks, your voice softer now but still unsteady, and when you look down at him, he's already looking up at you, his expression just as affected, just as caught in it as you are. His hand comes up to your cheek, warm and grounding.
"Tell me what you want, baby," he says, his voice low, and just hearing it sends another reaction through you, your body shifting against him before you can stop it, and he lets out a quiet groan in response.
"To do what you said... touch me," you say, your voice barely above a whisper before you kiss him again, and this time he meets you immediately, deeper, more consuming, like he's been waiting for you to say it.
His hands move along your sides, holding you there for a moment longer before he stands, lifting you with him effortlessly, the kiss only breaking for a second as he moves you. He sets you back down on the couch, and before you can even fully settle, he's already in front of you, lowering himself down, completely focused on you.
You look at Michael in anticipation, your lips slightly parting as he lays his hands on your thighs. He watches as your breath catches, the way you swallow as you try to contain yourself.
"Touch you where, baby?" Michael says. His hands inch toward the waistband of your pants. You had dressed casually today, as you normally do after working. You had on a pair of Michael's sweatpants and one of his shirts, and he loves it when you wear his clothes.
You slightly lift off the chair as Michael slowly pulls your pants down your legs, dragging it out, and he smiles when you squirm. He lays his palms flat on your thighs, close to your knees, and the warmth spreads immediately.
"Here?" He asks, and you shake your head, letting out another breath. "Tell me where," Michael says, pressing a kiss to your outer knee.
"Higher," you say, your words are shaky, and you let out a deep breath. Michael's lips trail kisses up your thigh as he reaches for your hand and pulls you out of the chair. At first, you're confused, until you feel his hand rubbing down your body.
You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck because you know if Michael is going to do what you think he's about to do, you're going to need help standing. You feel his hand slip into your panties, and your breath hitches. Michael's eyes close, and he softly hums when he feels how wet you are. You feel his lips against your ear as he chuckles.
"So I take it you liked the song," he whispers, and you roll your eyes, but you're still smiling. You turn Michael's head to you and kiss him hard. His hand moves, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing slowly, you kiss him harder, making him speed up his movements as a finger slips inside of you. "That's how you make me feel," he mumbles when he breaks away from the kiss.
You lean your head into his shoulder as he slips a second finger in, his motions getting faster, making you bite down on your lip. "Michael," you whisper between breaths, and Michael smiles.
"Tell me what you want, baby," he whispers again as his lips trail across your neck in slow kisses, while his fingers quicken their pace. You hold onto him tighter, feeling your legs get weaker.
"You," you manage to speak between moans. Michael smiles, his fingers pulling out of you, and you stagger at the loss of contact, but he holds you upright. He kisses you again before easing you down onto the cushioned chair once again, and he sinks down to his knees in front of you.
His hands find the waistband of your panties, and you lift your hips up, allowing him to pull your panties down your legs. Then he spreads your legs, settling on his knees between you, seeing the way you're already glistening and pulsing for him makes him lick his lips as he looks up at you.
"You're so beautiful," Michael mumbles before kissing your thigh. You lean your head back against the cushion, closing your eyes as you feel Michael's lips trailing inward, until you feel his tongue glide over your clit. Your hips buck instinctively, and then you feel his mouth moving. Lips sucking, tongue gliding, your body feeling the sensations of pleasure vibrating through every fiber of your bones.
You grind against his mouth, and he moans into you, sending another wave of vibrational pleasure up your spine. You feel his tongue dip into you before lapping at you, slowly gliding up the sides of your slick folds, and you're breathless.
Your legs start shaking as Michael presses his tongue in and out of you harder, sucking on your clit. With a cry, your orgasm comes, soaking his mouth in your juices. You feel him moan against you, the vibrations sending a jolt up your body as he cleans your finish with his tongue. When he pulls away, he leans over you, and you cup his cheeks, pulling him into a kiss, the taste of you fresh on his lips.
You stand up, starting to peel back the layers of his clothing. Michael watches every move you make, the way your hands smooth across his skin, the way your tongue glides over your lips whenever you pull another piece of clothing off of him.
When he's fully undressed, he lays you back down on the couch, moving on top of you as his lips trail kisses over your body, your shoulder, your collarbone, and he slowly unbuttons the shirt you're wearing, his shirt, kissing your exposed skin with every button undone. The fabric quickly falls from you, your bra following quickly behind it.
You reach forward, grabbing his throbbing length, and you stroke him. Michael leans more into you, pressing harder kisses against your neck as you stroke him. "Baby... let me feel you, please," Michael pleads in your ear. You use your free hand to pull his face to you, kissing him hard as your hand moves faster against him.
Michael deepens it, tongues colliding, fighting for dominance as your hand moves quicker. Michael's body shudders as he feels his pleasure increase, and you use your thumb to tease the head. Michael moans into your mouth, intensifying the kiss as you pull him closer.
You tease your entrance with his tip, a shudder running through both of you at the contact, and when you let him go, Michael wastes no time; your wetness helps him easily slide into you, filling you as he pushes inch by inch until he fully disappears in you.
He's not slow about it.
Michael's thrusts are quick, sliding in and out of you like a man desperate. You pull back from the kiss, throwing your head back against the armrest of the couch as your body melts completely into him. You buck your hips to meet his, and he wraps your legs around his waist, allowing him access to fill you deeper. You feel every thrust, like a tremor of lightning running through your system.
"You feel like Heaven, baby," Michael says lowly, taking your nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the hardened peak, while his hand reaches down between you, rubbing your clit with his thumb. Pleasure builds inside of you from all directions in a way that overwhelms you. Your eyes roll back, your vision blurring with tears as Michael fucks you.
"Michael," you whimper, feeling yourself get closer, and he feels it too. He feels it in the way your walls clench every time he takes you deeper. He feels it in the way your legs are shaking around his waist, and your body is trembling beneath him. He feels it in the way your moans get more breathless and desperate.
"Come for me, baby," Michael murmurs in your ear, and you do, his voice the final piece that sends you over the edge as your orgasm hits. His name leaves your lips like a cry, and Michael swallows it with a kiss as he slows down his thrusts to bring you through the wave of aftershocks. Your body trembles as you ride out your orgasm. "Stay with me," Michael says softly to you when he pulls back.
You kiss Michael again as he keeps moving, your juices dripping down your thighs and his balls as your body twitches again, and Michael comes undone soon after. Spilling your name onto your lips as his release mixes with yours, making a further mess on both of you. Michael pulls back from the kiss, burying his face in the nape of your neck as he finishes his release, breathing out heavily against you, your name falling from his lips again.
You kiss the side of his head, your hands roaming his body as your breaths slow down and sync back with the other. Michael lifts his head from your neck, his eyes softening with the tender gaze he only keeps reserved for you as he looks at you. It's then, when your heart isn't beating so loudly in your ears, that you realize his song is still playing, throughout the sound booth, and you look at him.
"That song is dangerous," you say, and Michael laughs as he slips out of you and lies down behind you on the couch, pulling you on top of him.
"So are you... That's why I wrote it for you," Michael says. Your cheeks flush as you lean in and kiss him again. You're the first to pull away, and Michael lays his thumb down on your cheek, slowly grazing across your skin, and you bite down on your lip.
"I love the song, Michael... and I love you," you say. Michael smiles more, his thumb pausing on your skin.
Hi! Love your work, can I have a protective Michael x Wife! Reader? Maybe an aggressive paparazzi or something?
YES!
𝑮𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑫𝒐𝒈
Michael Jackson x Wife!Reader
Synopsis: Michael was able to keep his calm when it came to most things, but when it came to your safety, he could become incredibly protective.
Content: Swearing, anxiety around large crowds, someone grabs reader, Michael lowkey loses his shit, suggestive content
W.C. 2.2k
Masterlist
You hated large crowds, something about them made your throat close up and your heart race a million miles a minute. Unfortunately for you, your husband was like a crowd magnet. Not that he really had any control over it, but wherever he went a crowd followed. Had you not hated it, you would have found it impressive.
With his third studio album having just been released, the crowds were getting more intense. You felt like you could hardly go anywhere with him without panic rising into your chest as people quickly recognized him and hovered near the two of you.
Honestly, the worst part of it was the paparazzi. They were what gave you the hardest time, always shoving, always yelling, it made your head fuzzy. Michael knew your aversion to crowds, and he did his absolute best to keep them as contained as possible. He hired more security, he even got duplicate cars to try and throw people off. But somehow those stupid buggers with their giant flashing cameras always found you two.
Since announcing your sudden marriage to the public, the paparazzi had been trailing you specifically. They were all eager to capture photos of you alone, finding any and everything to scrutinize you. It was exhausting. You felt like you couldn't leave the ranch without fearing that you might be photographed inappropriately.
You were a private person, which is why you had kept your relationship with Michael a secret until after you had said 'I Do.' At first you had liked that you had tricked the paparazzi into having not the faintest idea about your existence, but it seemed like they were determined to get back at you.
You sat in the back of the limo with Michael, your knee bobbing up and down anxiously as you drove through the streets. Michael was asked to go to some award show to present a couple awards. He wanted you to come with him officially as his wife. You had announced the marriage a few months ago but this was the first award show of any kind that you had been seen at publicly. He knew it was a big ask, but he wanted you by his side from now on, and who were you to say no to his pleading eyes.
Michael gently placed a hand on your knee, holding it gently, "If you keep that up you'll tear a hole in the floor of the car." He teased, trying to take your mind off what was waiting down the street.
You looked up at him, "Sorry, just nervous."
God you looked so heartbreakingly beautiful, it hurt Michael to look at you for too long. He smiled and kissed your head, "Don't apologize, baby. Y'know m'proud of you for coming with me tonight." He squeezed your knee gently.
You finally smiled, relaxing at his words, "You're too sweet to me."
"Impossible." He laughed, his hand gently grabbed your chin and guided your lips to his. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back slowly and bringing your thumb up to his lips, wiping the lipstick off his lips.
"Leave it, sweet girl. People know I belong to you now, there's no need to hide it."
You bit your lip, holding back your wide grin. He smiled and pulled you back into another kiss, this one deeper than the previous. He pulled you closer, disregarding the pull of his seat belt. Your lips moved gently against his, before trailing down to his jaw, then lower to his neck. He groaned lowly into your ear. "Y'sure know how to work me up right before we go out in public. It's criminal." He laughed breathlessly.
You blushed as you finally pulled away, satisfied with the claim you had placed on him. There were at least three lipstick prints on his neck and jaw, each matching the shade on your glossy lips. "I've had a lot of time mastering the skill." You shrugged and sat back in your seat.
He laughed and looked you up and down. He had bought you the most gorgeous black dress, it sat like silk against your skin, and perfectly matched his black leather suit. You both looked lethal. He sighed and played with the strap of your dress, "I can't wait to take this off you tonight." He smirked as he watched you flush visibly.
You eyed him for a moment, "Don't get ahead of yourself, pretty boy. We have a whole award show in front of us."
He laughed and kissed your knuckles.
The car slowly rolled to a stop, the moment breaking as screams erupted around you. He felt you tense up immediately, and he squeezed your hand, "I've got you, doll."
You took a breath and nodded. He got out on one side of the car, the screams exploding around him, you could see the flashes from the cameras going berserk. Before he could walk around to your side of the car and open the door for you, a group of paparazzi swarmed in, prying the door open. They stuck their cameras in the car without a second thought, blinding you quickly. You held your arm up, scooting to the side of the car Michael had left from. You could hear him shouting at the cameramen, telling them to back up. You looked out the back of the limo, seeing him being pushed back by his security.
Your ears were ringing, and you could feel your heart trying to escape your chest. You were pressed up against the left door, still trying to shield yourself from the right side, when the left door was yanked open.
You felt yourself being pulled from the car, but couldn't see by who, your vision blurry from all the flashing lights. Questions were being shouted at you left and right as people demanded to know anything and everything about you.
"Look over here!"
"Why have you been hiding?"
"Are you pregnant with Michael Jackson's children?"
"Did you trap him into marriage with a child?"
"Look this way!"
A hand grabbed your arm harshly, turning you to face the flashed head on. Your head felt like it was going to explode. Your eyes burned from the light and your ears rang so loud your head felt like it was being shoved against a brick wall.
Your throat felt more constricted with each question and command thrown at you. Your head couldn't keep up with anything around you, as the panic in your chest took hold of your body. You felt helpless against the crowd slowly closing in on you. It felt like being dragged underwater, no matter what you did you couldn't come up for air.
The grip on your arm was ripped away, a figure quickly standing in front of you as security shoved the man back. An arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his side, shielding you from the onslaught of flashes. You couldn't see him or hear him, but you knew his touch.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The second Michael stepped out of the car without you immediately behind him he knew he made a mistake. He didn't even have time to get to your door before he saw two cameramen rip it open and shove their cameras into the car.
The smile on his face quickly turned into something more sinister as he ran around the back of the car, "Hey! Back up!" He shouted at the group that had quickly barricaded himself from you.
Everything had happened so fast that security had mistaken him as the one in need of help. They quickly flanked him, pushing him further from you. He tried shoving past them, growing angrier as more cameras flashed into the limo. "Get away from the car!" he shouted angrily before turning to the two security guards, "Get them to back up, my wife is in the car!"
They quickly scrambled to the side he had been trying to reach, pushing people away. He heard more shouts and looked over to see a man yanking your terrified form from the car.
Michael could've killed the guy. Two more security guards saw the look in his eye and grabbed his arms as he tried to get to you. They knew that if Michael got his hands on that guy things would be bad. Michael felt like he was going to go crazy if he didn't get to you. He could see the way your chest was constricting your airflow. The questions being shouted at you sent him over the edge. He yanked himself free from security's grip.
"Get your filthy hands off her." He growled at the man who was still holding onto you. His hands tore the man away, Bill quickly stepped in between him and the cameraman.
"Get her inside now." Bill nodded toward you.
It took every fiber of Michaels being not to jump the smug guy, but one glance down at you and he pulled you close. He wrapped an arm around you, hand shielding your face as he moved through the crowd easily. People quickly stepped out of his way, seeing what had gone down and seeing the murderous look on his face. He led you into the building. The security that had been hired at the venue quickly led the two of you to a green room backstage, seeing what had gone down.
Michael led you to the couch, carefully kneeling in front of you. Once the door shut he gently pried your hands away from your face.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Everything was quiet now. You didn't know where you were, but you knew it was quiet and it was with Michael. After a moment he took your hands away from your face. Your eyes were squeezed shut, mascara running down your cheeks.
Michael's smooth voice spoke barely above a whisper, "I'm here, baby. Look at me, please. Let me see those gorgeous eyes."
You slowly opened them, your vision slowly coming back into focus. Your eyes settled onto Michael's face, twisted in concern. Your breathing was shallow, your lungs burning for air.
Michael cupped your face, "Baby, breathe with me, okay? Breathe." He took in a long breath, and held it for a second before letting it out. You followed him, breathing in and out slowly until your heart rate had returned to normal. Your bottom lip quivered slightly as you tried not to cry anymore. Michael's heart twisted, "It's okay, doll. Let it out." He pulled you into his arms.
The second his arms wrapped around you, it was like your body let go of all the tension. You melted into his arms, slipping off the couch and into his lap, head against his chest as you cried quietly. It wasn't loud or violent, it was so painful that there was almost no sound at all. Michael held you against him, rubbing your back, and whispering sweet things into your ear.
After you had calmed down you slowly pulled back, sniffling, "How bad is my makeup?"
He took a good look at you. Despite the runny mascara, and the tear stains you looked like a heartbreaking dream. "You're still the most gorgeous creature in the universe."
You choked out a laugh and gently wiped your cheeks. Michael helped you get the mascara off your face, holding your face in his hands afterwards. "I'm so sorry, baby."
"It's not your fault, Michael." You fixed a wrinkle in his suit.
"No but that should not have happened. I am going to have some serious talks with my heads of security as well as the security at this venue. That was unacceptable, I've never in my entire career seen anything like that."
"Mike, it's okay. Really, I'm okay." You cupped his face.
He shook his head, "Like hell that was okay. I couldn't even get to you! Some dick grabbed you, I swear I'll send his ass to jail for touching you like that." His face became stern. It made you smile, seeing how protective he was over you.
"There's no need for that, Michael. I'm sure Michael Jackson screaming at him was punishment enough." You tried to bring him back to earth.
"Not if I have anything to say about it. He's lucky I didn't snatch that fucking camera out of his hands and smash it on the ground."
You grabbed his chin and kissed him, bringing his mind back to the present. "Michael, all that matters is that you got me out of there. I don't want to give them the power of ruining our night."
He nodded a bit, blood starting to cool down as he looked at you. He kissed the tip of your nose and then your forehead. "You're right. Now let's get out there so I can show off my beautiful wife." He stood up, guiding you up with his hand. He walked the two of you out of the room and into the banquet hall. His hand stayed at the small of your back. Before entering the awards room you leaned up and whispered in his ear.
"You're getting something extra special for being so sexy and heroic for me."
pov: you more than a friend to your best friend's boyfriend
part 1 • part 2 •
when you open the locker, you're not expecting him. to your surprise, jaafar is standing right in front of you. you can't deny the surprise on your face; you never expected him to appear in front of you. and now, you don't even know how to react.
before you can say anything, he walks through the door; you have no choice, so you close the door and follow him. for a moment you just stare at him; something must've happened. you blocked him, but you can't believe that he came all the way for that reason.
he looks tired; his eyes tell you something that you can't read. but he looks down. when you pay more attention, you see that his eyes are red, as if he had cried before.
"did something happen with maddie?" you say without even thinking twice—maybe you are just trying to lie to yourself. but you can't be the reason; you refuse to be.
"i'm tired of this." you know what he means. but you're not letting your guard down. you don't want to be the cheating friend; there are so many reasons for this to go totally wrong besides the obvious.
but when you look at him, your voice is softer than you wanted it to be:
"tired of what, jaafar?"
"i'm tired of pretending there is nothing going on between us."
"that is because there's nothi—"
"stop lying to yourself, please. i see the way you look at me; i see the hunger in your eyes." he glances at your lips for a second, and the thing you want to avoid the most is becoming reality:
"jaafar, please stop. we can't, we can't do it."
"we can, baby. do you know how long i've been wanting to touch you? every time i see you, it makes me go insane."
"don't do that to me..."
"are you dating someone? that's it? is that the reason you blocked me?" his voice is full of anger, and because you have never seen the calm and composed jaafar acting like this, something inside you is burning.
you want more.
"and if it is, what's wrong with it? why are you making a big deal? i'm a single woman, jaafar."
"the problem is that you love me."
"jaafar, are you hearing yourself? are you fucking insane? i don't love you." you say these words like they are true. you know they aren't, and so does he.
he is so close to you now; you can feel his minty breath while he holds you against the wall, and you try so hard to stay unaffected, but he knows you too well.
your body reacts; you get goosebumps as he stares at you so deeply that you lose yourself in his eyes.
and you know, when he says the next words, that you were really foolish for having thought that you could stay away from him.
"yes, i'm going insane. i dream about you all the time. i don't care about the others; i just need you, because i love you so much that i can't keep myself away from you anymore"
“ just trying to see how this thing works,” he muttered, zooming in and out with the lens capturing a videotape. micheal testing out his new camera while standing in front of the mirror. you, the source of joy in his life wandered into the frame mid-yawn and stand behind him. “ oh.is this a new cam? can i?” he hands it over, and you peer through the viewfinder. “ ouuuh ! i likeee … this quality is better than the last one, when did you get it mike?” suddenly you pan the camera’s view towards him, and that endearing smile graces his face as well as a bashful chuckle. “ a while back. didn’t get the chance to see the new kind of features it has.” he responds. “well now you have a volunteer” you teased, still filming him.
a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “a volunteer?” you zoomed in dramatically on his face. “ mhm… for your very serious camera testing.” he laughed as he reached for the lens, not wanting to be the main focus. “you’re supposed to film normal things.”
“you are a normal thing.” you interject, still recording and dodging his futile attempts.
“that didn’t sound very convincing.”
“okay…fine. you, mr jackson are exceptionally interesting.”the smile he tried to hide only widened. through the viewfinder you watched his eyes soften as he looked at you.
you adjusted the focus until his face sharpened perfectly in frame. letting out a low whistle “you have got to be gods favorite with a face like that.” michael groaned and covered his face with one hand while laughing. “ i can’t with you, girl.” he sighed before finally taking the camera and filming you again and you made a silly face, something similar to a frown since the focus was directly on your bare face. “ there she is, lo and behold that natural beauty..” he reached forward, fixing the slipping strap on your shoulder and then brushing your cheek with quiet care.” just casually standing in front of me looking like a dream.” he chuckled then his brow lifted. “oh, hold on did you see what i got you this morning?”
“ you got me something?” you tilted your head in confusion as you earned a nod assisted by a hum from him. “ seems like you’ve missed it. it was right on your vanity table. wasn’t hard to miss.” he added. “ I must be suffering from some sort of brain fog or something because there wasn’t anything new on there that i hadn’t seen before.” the lens stayed locked on you, capturing how your confusion contorted into confusion as you made your way back to the bedroom, straight toward the table and michael followed right behind you.
at first everything looked normal. perfume bottles, a brush and scattered little items you’re used to seeing. and then you saw it. a small enamel music box sat neatly between your things. the design gorgeously crafted unlike anything you’ve ever seen. “ oh..” he could barely stifle his excitement when you carefully take it with surprise. your fingertips brushing along the gold engraved initials on the lid. “ go on.. open it.” his lighter tone encouraged. “ please?”
the lid clicked open.
then the music began, filling the space with a light accent of a rather familiar melody. immediately you turned around, mouth parting from shock. “ michael….” the camera captured it all as well as his laugh in the background. “ yeah?” his response came out gently, the humor fading from his tone. “ you said once.. you’ll never get tired of hearing this record, you mentioned it being your all time favorite.. so i had this made for you.” he ended with a small shrug.
the music kept playing and you were currently getting swarmed by so many emotions all it once. the main one being nostalgia. that almost made your eyes glaze over with tears as you listened to that lovely tune. you hummed along and michael singing the lyrics muffled till the song ended. with a big smile you finally express your great gratitude. “ thank you, this is so so special to me. like..more than i can even explain right now. i promise to treasure it forever, for all times.”
he adjusted the camera, still smiling. “ and this right here is my favorite thing to see.” his eyes softened afterwards. “ i just wanted to give you something that makes you feel that… whenever you want.” after a few seconds of silence of him simply admiring this precious moment, he gently admitted. “ i love you, (name).”
you rushed into his arms with a squeal, “ i love you too !” giving him kisses that he quickly returned. the soft sounds of it fading as the footage slowly came to an end.
Summary: Jermajesty coming home from a long day and just being clingy with you because he misses you.
The apartment was quiet when Jermajesty finally walked in.
He shut the door behind him with a soft sigh, dropping his keys onto the counter like he’d been holding the weight of the entire day in his hands.
You looked up from the couch. “…Hey.” That was all you got out before he was already crossing the room.
“Hi, pretty girl.” He dropped onto the couch beside you and immediately wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him like he hadn’t seen you in weeks instead of just a day.
You made a small sound of surprise.
“Jermajesty”
“No,” he muttered, burying his face into your shoulder. “Don’t ‘Jermajesty’ me right now.” You blinked. “…What?”
“I missed you."
That shut you up.
You softened without even thinking about it. Your hands slowly came up, resting awkwardly at first before gently settling on his back. “You saw me this morning,” you said quietly.
Jermajesty let out a dramatic sigh against your skin. “That was a crime.” You huffed a small laugh. “You’re being dramatic." “I’m being deprived.” “Of what?”
He finally lifted his head just enough to look at you. “My girl.” Your face warmed instantly “Your girl?”
“Mm-hm.” He tightened his arms again like he was making a point. “The pretty, shy, quiet one I like to bother.”
“Bother?” you repeated, weakly.
He smiled.
He shifted again, this time sliding his head into your lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You stared down at him.
“…You’re really tired.”
“Long day,” he admitted softly. “Too many people. Too much noise.” Your fingers hesitated. Then gently ran through his hair. He melted instantly.
“Oh,” he whispered. “There she is.” “What?” “My favorite feeling.”
“Your hands in my hair,” he said simply. “Feels like I’m home.” Your chest tightened a little. You didn’t know what to say to that. You kept stroking his hair.
After a moment, he peeked up at you. “You miss me too, right?” You hesitated for half a second too long. That was enough for him. Jermajesty grinned.
“Aha.”
“I do,” you admitted quickly. “I just— I was fine." “That’s a lie.”
“It’s not—”
He poked your side gently. “You were counting the minutes.” “I was studying.”
“For what? Me not texting you enough?”
You huffed.
“You’re impossible.”
He sat up slightly, still holding onto your waist like he refused to give you any space at all.
Then pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. You immediately looked away. “Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Making me blush.”
“I’m not doing anything,” he said innocently. Then kissed your other cheek. “This is just how I breathe.”
“Liar.” You tried to stay composed. You really did. Then he cupped your face gently. “Hey, mama.” You met his eyes. There it was again. That soft look.
The one that always made your shyness feel safe instead of small. “I’m home now,” he said quietly. “Okay?” Your voice came out softer than you meant it to. “…Okay.”
“Good.” He smiled. Then leaned in and rested his forehead against yours “Don’t let me go again tomorrow, yeah?” You hesitated, then nodded “…Yeah.”
Jermajesty’s smile widened. “Good girl." Your whole face went warm instantly. “Don’t call me that.”
“No promises.” He pulled you back into his arms like he never planned on letting go again.
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pairing ⁀➷ bully! cameron cade x plus-size! black reader.
synopsis ⁀➷ cameron has teased you for years on end, but suddenly wants your help with schoolwork. you oblige, but soon find out his hatred for you is not as it seems.
song of chapter ⁀➷ ‘wish you well’ by brent faiyaz (unreleased)
word count + warnings ⁀➷ 3.9k || 18+, nsfw content, no minors! bully!cam, nerd reader, jealous! cam, teasing, nitpicking, mentions of masturbation, one-sided crush, soft fem domme reader, body appreciation, slapping (cameron likes it🤭), jerking off.
‘darling, i don’t wish you well. when you ain’t with me, i want you crying.’
ᥫ᭡
bully! cameron, who seemed to despise your entire existence.
you couldn’t quite figure it out, but each shoulder check, mocking laugh and condescending comment, let you know he for sure hated your guts. you only shared one class with the highly esteemed quarterback, but ran into him on a constant basis in the college hallways.
it was like cameron’s unpaid job was to put you down. pointing out any little mistake you might make—from tripping on your on two feet to dropping your books on the school's floor, cameron is there to let you know how pathetic you really were.
can’t see where you’re going? you’d think with glasses that fucking thick, you’d be able to see miles away.
you ignored him each time, continuing on with homework assignments for your next class without a word. this thing between you two had gone on since your days of high school—you couldn’t understand it. you would’ve thought after years of teasing, he’d grow tired and find someone else to pick with, but cameron’s attention remained lasered on you.
it’s your bully cameron who asks for a request from you. you’re face deep in a cell biology book when he approaches you in the reserved study room. you often found yourself in the library long after school hours, catching up on school work and spending spare time here instead of parties or social functions. you only had one best friend and didn’t do well in large gatherings. school, family, and home were your main priorities.
when cameron sits across from you at the table, you immediately note the expression on his face. he looks serious. more serious than you’ve ever seen him before. he usually held this demeanor during practice or before a big game. while part of you is annoyed, the other half is intrigued. what did he want?
cameron is the one to ask if you could tutor him throughout the week. he’d heard from classmates about the essays and homework you contributed to. you were a fucking genius and able to help almost everyone get their grades up to at least a ‘c’ average. he desperately needed to get his grades together, or he would risk being kicked off the schools football team.
you’re unsure. this was the same guy who made fun of your glasses at any chance, picked on your height and joked about your smarts. he now wanted your help?
“absolutely not.” you’re firm on your stance.
that is until—
“i’ll pay you good. whatever price you want.”
a day turned into weeks and your sessions with cameron continued. the two of you worked on a multitude of subjects. anything cameron needed help with, you were willing to provide. he made sure to pay on time before each session, and you made sure to help him receive the best grades possible. you couldn’t quite put your finger on cameron cade. he was interesting, but he remained quiet—a complete difference from the way he behaved when his friends were around. he worked, listened to what you asked of him and went back to home as usual.
at least that’s what you believed.
unbeknownst to you, cameron cade didn’t always go directly home after every study session.
it didn’t start like this initially.
cameron truly found you annoying.
your perfect hair, starched clothing and positive energy pissed him off. why were you so chipper at 9 in the goddamn morning? why did you know the answer to every question the professor asked? why did seeing your face make him so fucking angry?
he couldn’t understand it.
the one thing cameron was able to manage was his actions towards you. berating and calling out everything you did to was easier than sitting with his true feelings.
the feelings that hit cameron late at night when it was only him and his thoughts in the comfort of his bedroom. not a sound or soul around—just the whir of a nearby fan blowing throughout the room and the ache of his dick trapped behind boxer briefs.
those same thoughts made his vision blur as he imagined your frame underneath the stockings and pleated skirts you wore. he’d think of how you’d look on top of him. would you take your time and ride him slow—or be just as desperate as he’d been and ride him as wildly as you could?
it was the same thoughts that made cameron growl into the air as he came hotly—sticky white substance dripping over his chest and hand, before he washed up to imagine it all over again. maybe a different fantasy this time—one of you, and he crammed in the back seat of his car. he wouldn’t mind, cameron would find a way to make space for you.
cameron’s maladaptive daydream is interrupted as there’s a sound right outside his bedroom window. cameron lived at home with his parents as it was easier to attend school and save money at the same time. he remained in his childhood bedroom and often gazed out the window to look down on the neighbors and their current shenanigans, but it’s during this that he notices a familiar face and shape.
it’s you…
it’s you and cameron’s next door neighbor.
his neighbor lived at home with his parents, just like cameron. he also played football for the school’s rival team, so cameron has no clue as to why you’re meeting with him. he’s obviously an enemy, but you’re downstairs being best friends with him.
cameron watches as the young man hugs you goodbye and proceeds to walk to your car. you smile stupidly in his face before starting your car to drive off into the night, leaving cameron as confused as ever.
“what the fuck?”
cameron lets the time pass. he writes the interaction with you and his neighbor off as a tutoring session, believing that you wouldn’t be in any kind of relationship with someone like him. it helped put his mind at ease for just a bit.
that is, until he encounters the two of you once again.
you both were exiting a local restaurant just as cameron was crossing the street. it’s late at night and cameron is supposed to be walking the family dog, but finds himself eavesdropping on the conversation you two hold. back pressed to the brick wall of a nearby building, cameron listens carefully as you bust into genuine laughter at his neighbor’s joke.
“no, but seriously, y/n, you’re fucking amazing and i really appreciate you.”
“oh, it’s nothing,” he hears you giggle and you never giggled while you were with him. the sound of your beautiful laugh makes his chest tighten. he wished he’d been the reason for your joy. “i can’t wait to see you again. have a good night, babe.”
babe?
the pet name enrages cameron. he holds enough irritation to knock down this entire brick wall, race over, snatch you up and knock that loser the fuck out.
but cameron does nothing.
you weren’t his. he had no rights to you, no rights to behave this way towards you.
days later, cameron’s phone vibrates in his pants pocket.
it’s a text message from you.
hey, i’m sorry to cancel on you, but i won’t be able to make it today. maybe we can meetup sometime next week?
cameron’s eyes lowered as he read over the message once again. he took a deep inhale and clicked on the power button to his phone.
you and he met in the city’s library for tutoring lessons every wednesday and friday without fail. for weeks, cameron spritzed cologne over his neck and wrists, applied oil to his short hair and made sure to keep a tube of mint scented chapstick in his bookbag for…educational purposes. he absolutely looked forward to sessions with you. whether they be one-sided with only your voice speaking throughout the library or silent altogether—wednesday’s and friday’s were his favorite days of the week.
yet, you cancelled.
cameron couldn’t understand it.
are you sure? we can probably meet sometime later tonight, i really don’t to fail this upcoming exam.
cameron paces his room as he awaits a response from you, hoping his excuse doesn’t sound too desperate.
you won’t fail. we can meet up next week.
you wouldn’t budge, and cameron can’t come up with another reason.
“fuck,” he huffs, tossing his phone onto the bed. cameron takes only a second to collect his thoughts before racing to change out of his current outfit and into looser attire.
he needed to blow off some steam.
a two-hour workout session helped to clear cameron’s mind just a little, but not nearly enough. a few bench presses, a jog on the treadmill and a boxing session with a punching bag—yet he kept thinking of you and the message you’d sent earlier. part of him wanted to let you know how he felt—to tell you the resentment he held towards you was misplaced and that he didn’t know how to regulate emotions regarding you. the other half wished you could read his mind and know exactly what he wanted.
cameron passes the school’s library as he leaves the gym. had it been any other day, cameron would’ve went home as usual, but the cancellation of today’s session was getting to him. he couldn’t fucking think straight. he stopped inside and decided to take a seat at the table you and he usually sat in. cameron sorted through his bookbag and fetched textbooks for tomorrows exam, eyes darting over the words as he tried to comprehend the reading material.
you would’ve helped him to understand it.
your calm voice reading over the text before asking what did he think about it. you would’ve cracked open a notebook and wrote down important information with your black ball point pen. you would’ve taken your time and used real-world situations to compare with the homework, helping him learn everything he can before a big test.
you’re all cameron can think about.
so much so that he swears he can hear you.
it’s the same laugh he’d heard for the first time the other day, and cameron is positive he’s completely lost his mind until he sees you and his neighbor emerge from a study room. cameron hides behind the large textbook to avoid his cover being blown. he listens closely and peers from behind the spine of the book as you hug and peck the cheek of his neighbor.
cameron can only sit for so long—waiting until his neighbor has left the library to follow behind as you slip into the basement area of the building.
you don’t hear or see him—cameron makes sure to keep quiet as he tiptoes behind you, searching for words to perfectly convey his thoughts.
“what the fuck are you doing, y/n?”
there’s aggravation in his tone, and the sound of his tenor causes you to flinch—not jump, but simply raise your shoulders in surprise. you turn on the toes of your leather loafers, eyes widened in surprise at cameron cade’s presence.
“are you following me?”
cameron ignores your question. “answer me, y/n.”
“i’m minding my business, cameron, that’s what i’m doing. now answer my question, are you following me?”
cameron pushes past you to walk further into the dusty basement, brushing towards a nearby book case before he speaks. “why are you dragging this nigga all over town? smiling in his fucking face, hugging him and shit.”
“because i can, cameron. why does any of this matter to you? why are you watching my every fucking move.”
“you and that stupid motherfucker are flaunting around town, i can’t help but to see it.”
he expects you to make a run for it—for you to angrily march up the stairs and never talk to him again, but you instead hold a conversation with pinched brows on your gorgeous face. he can’t help the way his stomach whirls when he’s able to see you fully. the basement of this dusty library is dimly lit, just a flicking light bulb that sways back and forth in the corner of the room, but it helps cameron to see you.
you looked beautiful as usual, but a bit more laid back tonight. boho braids flowing around your shoulders—free from the tight bun you often wore, a small hue of blush upon your round cheeks and no glasses on your pretty face.
you weren’t wearing your glasses.
he only takes a second. brief and steady as he glances over you. “where are your glasses?”
“huh?” you squint and it’s not because you weren’t wearing said glasses. usual black frames are not on your face because you were looking for a change in appearance, at least for tonight.
“you heard me. where are your glasses, y/n?”
you’re surprised cameron picked up on it, but cameron forgot absolutely nothing when it came to you. he’s like a wolf hunting prey. he can’t miss the curls strewn through your hair, the neat pressing of your outfit or the heady scent of the perfume you’re wearing.
“and you’re wearing fucking perfume…you-you put that on for him, didn’t you?”
“who?”
“who? you tell me, y/n, who is the nigga to you?”
you’d never seen him like this. so hostile and on edge over you, but it’s at this moment that reality sets and you remember who you’re dealing with. you don’t owe him anything. not an explanation or even an excuse. you push forward and wiggle out of cameron’s intimidating stance.
“it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter what i do, or who i do it with, cameron. you aren’t my boyfriend, so it’s none of your business, and i think it’s best that you leave.”
you walk towards the entrance and hold the heavy door open, waiting for cameron cade to exit onto the other side of it, but he just stands in place. icy eyes peer back at you and they’re unforgiving. the only thing that diverts cameron’s attention is the sound of a notification of your phone as it pings from your book bag.
shit.
it’s a short race between you and cameron as you both rush over to grab the device. you should’ve knew better. a 6-foot behemoth was easily going to overpower you. the most athletic thing you conquered was a brisk walk up a flight of stairs to enter your favorite coffee shop.
“give me my phone, cameron!” he holds a hand outward to block the catty hits you give in attempt to get your phone back.
cameron forgets his place.
the idea of someone else having access to you made him go crazy. cameron could almost handle the thought of him not being with you, but someone else getting the pleasure of being near you was enough to drive him through a wall.
“i don’t recall this being any of your fucking business, cameron. why does it matter what i’m doing?!”
“because you’re fucking hugging and kissing him after canceling a tutoring lesson with me.”
“i was helping him study cameron—there! does that make you feel any fucking better?”
“fuck no! you’re getting fucking dressed up for him, but bailing out on me, i’m fucking pissed.” you can sense the genuine anger surging through cameron as he speaks. his usually light irises darken as they pierce into you.
“i’m sorry, cameron.”
but it’s not enough.
“nah, i need to talk to that motherfucka, i need to know something.”
“you’re going to talk to him for what, cameron? i’m confused as to how this is any of your concern. you hate me, so why are you so worried?”
you and cameron begin to tussle. he’s attempting to push past you, searching all throughout your book bag for the vibrating cell phone. you’re holding him by the arm to stay in place, but cameron’s strong—tall, big—any of the words you could think of, so you have little to no fight at this moment, being easily brushed to the side as he moves about.
it’s a last-minute effort, but the heavy smack you send to his left cheek stops him in his tracks. the inside of your palm rings, while a stinging red mark forms on the side of cameron’s face. you’re about to say something—an apology of sorts when cameron forces you to pause. he releases the tiniest surprised moan—low and trapped in the back of his throat, as you watch his dick twitch behind the confines of his shorts.
cameron is silent. pleading eyes wandering over you as he tries to understand why do you turn him on like this? your book bag and the contents inside fall to the ground once cameron drops it.
“you like that? y-you like me smacking you around?” you’re taken aback by his reaction.
cameron remains quiet, but his dick answers whatever questions you have. you can practically feel the heat radiating from it, as he grows harder, continuing to flinch around underneath his clothes.
“answer me, cameron.”
it’s like chewing glass, and cameron can’t swallow the broken pieces down fast enough to speak. he’d kept these feelings locked away for years. years of longing, aching and needing to be near you vanished into thin air from a harsh slap you’d given him. cameron can’t believe the magic you hold.
“answer me, cam,” you’re on the tips of your leather shoes, lush lips skimming across his neck as you speak. you await an answer, but only draw out another shaky moan from him. “tell me, cameron and i can help you feel better. i gotta hear you say it.”
he gulps sharply, forcing his eyelids closed as he tries to regulate. “f—fuck, fuck, yes, yes.”
you began to soften up some. smugness to your voice when you question him, finding delight in the sorrowful position you have him in.
“can i see it, cameron?”
“w-what?” he stutters. “you—you want to see me?”
cameron’s been convinced you were disgusted with his entire presence, hearing your words makes his dick stiffen more. cameron can’t think clearly, but he knows he wants this, knows he wants you to want it as well.
“let me see you, baby.”
you’ve switched—and so quickly at that. cameron’s not sure if you’ve always been like this, but starting as a timid nerd and turning into a sweet voiced domme, shakes him to his core. cameron’s willing, though. he’s happy you were into it like he was.
so cameron obeys.
untying the string to his shorts, cameron starts to fumble with the clothing items until they fall to the ends of his ankles. and the expression on your face cannot be contained—a mix of surprise and satisfaction. you expected a handsome boy like him to have a nice dick—well groomed and beautiful in color, but his length? cameron was a fairly decent size. you would rather not give him too much credit, but his umber tinted dick truly took your breath away.
“you’re big, cameron.”
“yeah?” he’s breathless as he responds.
nodding your head as you continue. “yes and you’re so pretty, you look so good, baby.”
cameron could die happily with the way you’re talking to him, his dick bobs in appreciation from the complimentary words you utter.
“show me what you can do.”
and cameron’s on it immediately, willing to do whatever he can to please you. his large hard drags over his hard dick in a fast motion, jerking along the tightened shaft without regard or concern. his eyes flick back and forth—from you and down to his piece in hand, while you watch.
“you’re rough.”
you giggle a bit as you cross over the room, taking a few steps to get closer to him, as cameron continues to jerk his dick raggedly. he’s too excited—too anxious to reach his nut, that he can hardly contain himself.
“what’s the rush? we got all the time in the world.”
cameron’s looking to you for relief, awaiting whatever you can give him to get off completely. you step beside him and attempt to reach his height from the short distance you stand, clothed breasts brushing the outside of his strong arms as you linger.
the pad of your soft thumb traces over the end of his chiseled jaw, slowly finding your way to
his bottom lip as you grin softly. “open your mouth, cam.”
you only have to ask once because cameron trusts you. he doesn’t know why, but a major part of him knows you’d get him there without a hassle. cameron’s tongue wraps around your thumb without hesitation, moaning in satisfaction at the faint smell of perfume along your skin. his eyes fall closed in satisfaction of the contact.
“drool on that dick, baby, i want you to get it wet for me.”
you pull your hand away from his lips and cameron follows the instructions, opening his mouth wide enough that an elongated string of spit hits the base of his dick without pause. it’s fucking sexy when he does it, hand holding onto a nearby bookshelf as you watch intensely. you try not to moan and only enjoy the show, but it’s almost impossible with a star football player falling apart the simple commands you give.
“do you want me to touch it, cam? want me to make you feel good?”
and it’s more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life. cameron’s skull could rattle with how fast his head shakes. you only give him a little, gentle fingertips twisting at the head of his dick while he shivers in response.
“yes—yeah, please, y/n, please.”
then you think. “but, do you deserve it? have you been good, cameron?”
cameron knows the truth—he’d been acting a fucking fool as of late, but he was here now and he was willing to try, willing to try and be good just for you.
“i can—i can be better, y/n. i can be calmer, nicer—fuck, just touch me please.”
“promise me cameron. promise you’ll be good from here on out. promise you’ll listen to me.”
he nods furiously, “yes, yes, i’ll be good, i’ll be good and i’ll do whatever you want.”
with the lubrication of his spit, you’re easily able to tug on cameron’s big dick, opposite hand finding purchase around his wide neck. you choke him softly, just enough that it takes his breath way and makes him moan at the same time.
“lift your shirt up, i wanna see you, baby, i gotta see you.”
with hardly any focus, cameron scrambles to unzip his jacket and raise his plain t-shirt like you commanded him to. your soft hand grazes the rippled skin of his abs in admiration. his skin is damp from a previous workout and the anxiety of being in your hold and you can smell it on him. the scent of his natural sweaty aroma combined with a woodsy cologne makes your pussy clench around nothing.
you wanted him.
you didn’t mind the idea of cameron bending you over this bookcase and fucking you like nobody’s business, but you knew better—knew you couldn’t give it to him that easily. cameron would have to earn it. you jerking him off was an act of kindness after canceling the tutoring session. anything from this point forward would require some serious effort.
synopsis ⁀➷ cameron can’t contain himself when you’re stretched out like that.
song of chapter ⁀➷ ‘yoga’ by janelle monae ft. jidenna & ‘pretzel’ by ari lennox.
word count + warnings ⁀➷ 1.6k || 18+, nsfw content, no minors. mating press, pervy cam, foul language, pet names, floor sex, body appreciation, squirting.
‘flip me, fold me, you put it in a pretzel.’
ᥫ᭡
your boyfriend cameron was the textbook definition of a pervert.
it was sickening, honestly.
the air in your home is thick due to the thirty-minute workout session you were finishing up. but it seemed as if the temperature of cameron’s body was in stiff competition with the surrounding climate.
today was supposed to consist of a peaceful workout session without any interruption. unfortunately for you, cameron cade was home earlier than usual. he’d been spending a lot of time at the gym in your shared apartment building. he helped newcomers of the gym train and build a workout routine for their bodies. and cameron truly enjoyed his side hustle. he already had a passion for exercise he and helping others find their way through a fitness journey gave him more of a purpose.
meanwhile, you’d been getting into the practice of yoga while in the comfort of your home. you found the exercise relaxing, but wanted to try a little at home before you joined a studio with a group and teacher. how embarrassing would it be if you caught a charley house in the middle of class? today was day five of your beginners yoga routine. you’d done research online to create a personal routine of your own, searching through tiktok, google and even reddit to research the history and benefits of the exercise. each day was completed while cameron was away at work. he’d usually finish up with his clients later in the evening, but he’d come to your place way before you were done.
your feet swing back and forth innocently as you giggle at your boyfriend’s surprised face. “what’s wrong cam?”
“i’m just trynna figure out since when do you do yoga?”
you shrug. “it’s something i wanted to try. i wanted to change up my workout regime some, you know?”
“you liking it?”
“yeah,” you sigh, beginning to stand and roll the mat up from the floor. “it’s real relaxing.”
“you done working out already?” cameron looks as if his heart has been broken. it makes you laugh more before you stop picking the items up.
“i’ve been doing this since before you left, cameron. my session is over.”
he smacks his lips, pushing off the wall and walking over to you as you sit in a squatted position. “let me help you. show me how you’ve been working out.”
you squint. “help me?”
“yeah, maybe i can fix something for you.”
“you don’t know anything about yoga, cameron,” you’re giggling, truly enjoying how cameron found interest in the new hobby of yours.
“aye, don’t doubt me,” he’s chuckling, eyes hungrily analyzing over your workout attire.
you were at home today, you didn’t see the need to wear a full athleisure set when you would just get all sweaty and uncomfortable in it. you instead threw on some stretchy tan shorts, a pair that rode up your ass with your every move, and added a dark brown tank as your top. no bra or panties as they could be restricting. your nipples poke through and the outline of your fat pussy is evident in those shorts.
“well, come on then. show me what you got, cam. do you worst.”
and the worst is what he does.
stretching your body was the start to you and cameron’s workout. you rolled out another yoga mat for him, and he sat right beside you. you led the session. extending your thick thighs and strong calf’s out, explaining the importance of slowly stretching your body out.
next, you moved onto to holding poses. you took it easy on cameron, not giving him any crazy poses, as he wouldn’t be able to hold his balance so easily. you sorted through as many as you could remember. mountain pose, easy pose, warrior 1, revolved triangle—you go through them all, making sure to inhale and exhale deeply throughout the duration of the exercises.
occasionally, you’d lose cameron’s focus, he’d been staring off at your hips as they moved fluidly, able to twist and turn without any struggle. you’d laugh and correct him, helping the distracted young man to pay attention again. it’s when you begin to form the downward facing dog pose that you realized exactly what cameron’s plan was.
the warmth of his hard-on pressing against the middle of your pussy caused you to yelp. you hadn’t even noticed he’d moved from his yoga mat, hands now caressing your backside silently. you nudge him away, an elbow in his stomach as you chuckle in disbelief.
“you tricked me!”
and cameron’s playing coy. “what’chu talking about, baby?”
“you know what i’m talking about, cameron cade, don’t play with me. you don’t care about yoga, you’re just trying to fuck me.”
cameron can no longer hide his true intentions, lips beginning to slide across the side of your face as he grinds into you more. “okay, okay, i’m sorry. do you think you can show me your favorite position, mama?”
the mating press was not a yoga pose, but somehow, your boyfriend cameron gets you folded into the position. it’s disgusting how easily he could mold you into mush with just the work of his two bare hands. you hold onto the bottom of your smooth soles for support, while your knees practically touch your shoulders from how far back you’re pent. and cameron’s right above you. on his knees with hips roughly dropping against you in a consistent rhythm.
the pair of nike dri-fit shorts he wore hangs off his waist a bit, just enough for the end of his happy trail to show and the beginning of his pubic hair to peak through. you can hardly breath. only able to inhale whatever air cameron allows—and even then, it isn’t much. he’s on your case, scorching body dripping with streams of sweat as he works you out. he’s so sexy from your angle. he was sexy in general, but the droplets of perspiration gliding down his chest and through his rippled abs had you dizzy.
“that pussy noisy, girl. you getting so creamy for me.”
obscene squelches sound from the both of you as your drenched cunt encapsulates cameron’s dick. you grip his shaft like a pinky promise, pulling him tighter and tighter each time his hips rise. you raise your head just to catch a glimpse of the magic cameron was working.
“oh, my god, cam, yesss, keep fucking me like that, baby, yes,” you cry out, holding the position as best as you could. you were flexible, but not indestructible.
a coating of your white elixir covers the shaft of cameron’s dick as he begins to switch positions, now pressing his weight on you completely. he’s holding your legs behind his head, continuing to pound you into the damp yoga mat on the floor. your stomach folds from the applied pressure, those rolls on your side protrude in the process.
“so fucking perfect, you so fucking perfect, baby.”
he rambles in amazement about your body, always in awe at your curves, but the sight of your body contorted in this position fucks him up completely. you were fucking thick. no surprise there, it’s just jaw dropping to him at how easily you bend and twist. you didn’t give him a hard time, you got into the position and held it together like the good girl you were.
he fucking loved you. and cameron doesn’t let you forget it.
“i love you, mama, love how good you feel.”
“ahhh, fuck, yesss, cameron,” you’re basically crying at this point, staring up at him in pure amazement. “love you more, daddy, love you so much more.”
the air surrounding you is thick, heavy and dense. you and cameron both recently finished your respective workouts, and now here you were with a part two to the session. both bodies practically glued together as the sweat and stickiness molds you into one.
cameron moves rougher now—a mad man on a mission. his dick incessantly slamming into you, balls slapping the end of your ass, splashing the mix of juices along both you and cameron’s lower halves. his fingertips intertwine with yours, pinning you down further as he plants his face against yours. he goes stupid. lips parted open as he mouth breathes, eyes searching all over your face for the pleasure you both share. it’s quiet for a beat, the both of you rendered silent as the way you collide snatches away your vocabulary.
you break the silence first, vibrating in cameron’s mouth as your jaw goes slack and you begin to tremble. “fuck, fuck, fuck, cammmm, i’m cumming, i’m cumming.”
it makes cameron speak, voice deep in the back of his throat as you push him into full gear. he could feel the pit forming in the bottom of his stomach as your pussy pulsates around his dick. “you gripping me so fucking tight, can barely move in this motherfucka. why your pussy so tight, baby?”
he asks as if you had the answer, but all you can do is cry out. “don’t stop, don’t stop fucking me baby, please.”
cameron folds his lips inward as his hips begin to jackhammer into you, it makes your entire body move right along with him as you hold onto the back of his strong neck for help. “yes, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop!”
your ocean of a pussy pushes cameron’s dick out you completely. you begin to soak the mat as you shake and wail. cameron watches in shock for only a second before gripping his dick to slap it directly onto your throbbing clit. it makes a bigger mess at your juices splash into his face and all over your lower half. cameron tugs on his dick a few times before he’s joining you in the climax, hot cum spurting onto your chubby stomach until he’s completely undone.
synopsis ⁀➷ the way you speak to aaron drives him insane.
song of chapter ⁀➷ ‘let’s make love’ by silk.
word count + warnings ⁀➷ 645 || 18+, nsfw content, no minors! dirty talk, doggystyle, foul language, pet names, cumming inside.
‘toss your body back and forth, so i can watch you ride.’
ᥫ᭡
you were a danger to aaron’s entire existence.
aaron often found himself breathless while in the act with you. his vision shifting as he gazed down to watch, mouth hung open in silent pleasure and surprise, as your heavy ass bounced back against his hips.
you left him speechless.
nowhere near a pillow princess, you worked hard to receive what was yours. reaching back every so often to pull him closer, needing to feel his skin against yours, holding your ass cheeks open to make him dive deeper inside—-and your mouth…? aaron could barely find the words to describe the number you did on him. he was only able to rock forward in shock as you moaned out the filthiest things to him.
“stretch me open, baby, i want you to fuck me good, daddy. can you please, baby, please, please?”
“fuckkk,” he physically shivers, as the sounds you make mixed with the sight of your messy pussy is near fatal. “why you talkin’ to me like that, mama? why you sound so fuckin’ good?”
“cause you fuckin’ me so good, baby, oh my goodness. you feel so good inside of me.”
“this pussy got me losing my mind, girl. you got me fuckin’ stuck.”
there’s a sound of a laugh and moan as you continue to throw your ass back on aaron. your face is muffled behind fluffy pillows, your arms tucked underneath them as you take all that aaron gives you.
“want you to fuck me up, want you rough with me, aaron. please aaron, please fuck me harder, daddy.”
“shit, you a nasty ass bitch. you talking so fuckin’ crazy and this pussy soakin’ me all the way up. you want me to beat that pussy up, want me to tear this lil shit up?”
“yea, aaron. want you to pound me so good. i want it so bad, i need it so bad. want that dick in me deeper, baby.”
you’re going on a nonsensical rant, so horny and ready to cum that you have no clue what you’re talking about. aaron exhales, shaking his head while trying to think clearer. folding his lips inward, his hands grip your hips with enough strength to leave marks, but you mind none because aaron’s doing what you requested.
as he moves with more force, you cry out into the pillow while your eyes roll into the back of your skull. “yessss, baby, yessss, fuck—fuck me just like that, aaron, just like that, daddy. you’re fucking me so good, oh my god!”
and aaron’s silent up to this point—unable to hold in his moans, aaron cries out brokenly. gasping and groaning as he attempts to pull out and nut over your ass, but your hand around his and the words you utter out make him pause.
“cum in me, baby, i want you in me, aaron. i want you dripping out of me, daddy, please, please.”
“ahhh, ohhh, fuckkk,” aaron can hardly breathe, mindlessly doing as you plead by staying inside your already wet pussy and fucking his cum into you until you’re both moaning out in satisfaction.
aaron’s entire weight crushes when he falls onto you, trying to catch his breath as you both are spent from the heated moment.
“goddamn, y/n.”
he chuckles and you do the same, ass still raised in the air, as he slowly pulls out of you. aaron takes his time and watches in admiration as his hot sperm spills out of your pussy and onto the mattress. a fucking mess, but he loves it.
“so fucking good, girl,” he smacks your ass while your pussy clenches, emptying the last of his nut out. you begin to shake your ass in a teasing manner, and aaron’s groaning and growing hard once again.
“shit, you a nasty ass bitch. you talking so fuckin’ crazy and this pussy soakin’ me all the way up. you want me to beat that pussy up, want me to tear this lil shit up?” oh i must be the nastiest bitch actually cause the way this got me grinninggggg 🤭🤭🤭🤭
beyonce!reader who always gives diana ross a hard time.
suggestive content.
you and michael had arrived in seperate cars tonight.
but that's only because you were doing a special performance for the vma's which meant you had to arrive early for a soundcheck.
as michael took his seat, a crew member from backstage rushed over to his row, whispering something in his ear about someone who wanted to see him, he immediately knew who.
you sat in a dressing room, warming up your vocals when the door opened and when you saw michael in a dazzling suit, your face broke into a wide grin.
"how do i look?" you asked him as he came closer to you, closing the door behind him. "beautiful baby, absolutely breath-taking." he breathed out, admiring your shining skin beneath the bejewled bralette and gold skirt with feathers across it. his eyes flickered up to the honey blonde curls you were rocking and his smile grew.
"you nervous?" he asked, wrapping his arms around your chest.
you nodded, "i always am before these things." you replied, to which he tutted and pulled you closer, "you look great, you're gonna do great, tonight will be great." he muttered before kissing your neck, he knew your face was off limits when you had stage makeup on, "say it back."
"you look-" you started with a coy grin before he cut you off, "baby, come on." he sighed, trying to fight the smile that was coming.
"okay, sorry." you giggled, throwing your head back, "i look great, i'm gonna do great, tonight will be great." you firmly said, "attagirl." he smirked, placing another kiss to your neck.
"okay, i gotta go back to my seat now, kill it out there for me?" he asked, you nodded excitedly, "see you after." you smiled.
the award show started and you got to watch from a tv backstage, which meant you were seeing everything the viewers would see. which meant everyone could see diana ross sat next to michael jackson, your man. not only that, but she made it a point to have her hand on his shoulder and there was a red lipstick stain on his cheek. who had red lipstick on? diana.
it was constant. after every award or performance, the camera would pan to them, whispering and laughing together and by the time it was your turn to go onto stage? you were pissed.
"to be or not to be? not."
when the intro started, the lights were pitch black. by the time it ended the lights flashed back on and you stood in the middle of the stage. you strutted down the stage following the beat of your iconic song, 'freakum dress' and when you glanced over in michael's direction, he was sat up and watching you eagerly while diana had a judgemental look in her eyes.
"it's time to get it, cause once again he's out doing wrong."
you briefly glanced in michael's direction as you sang this line. of course, since he was so oblivious he had no idea that this line was aimed at him, you had seen everything that happened tonight and you were angry.
as usual, your choreography was fierce and sharp, you always picked the best backup dancers who could keep up with the intense choreography and your amazing stage presence.
"such an attraction, keep tellin' me how my outfit's so nice.
little did he know - ha, my man gon' take it off tonight."
you winked as you sang that line - the camera hurriedly panned to michael for his reaction. he bit his lip with a smile, looking down at his lap bashfully while diana fought herself from rolling her eyes.
there was then a guitar solo, the girl playing the electric guitar stood forward, playing an astonishing solo which gave you enough time to prepare for the bridge that was soon approaching. it required both a fast, dramatic choreography and a powerful voice.
"when you put it on it's an invitation. when they play your song, get on up and shake it, work it out your back, you don't have to waste it
spin it all around then take it to the ground ."
the crowd erupted into cheers as you flawlessly executed the bridge, michael smiled proudly, clapping with everyone else and when the song ended he was the first one to stand up - leading to everyone following suit while you stood at the front of the stage, your chest heaving heavily as you caught your breath. you blew one kiss to the crowd before the lights went off and you started heading off stage.
you sat in your dressing room, working on a cool down as you stretched your legs and chugged water. there was a small knock at the door, before michael peered in. "that was amazing, baby." he proudly said as he leaned down to kiss your cheek, but what he wasn't expecting was for you to swerve his kiss. "what's wrong? i thought i was allowed to kiss you properly after performances?" he furrowed his brows in confusion and you just glared at him. "why don't you get a proper kiss from whoever did that to your cheek?" you asked, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look in the mirror. the confusion on his face cracked when he saw the red lip stain and everything began to make sense. "this is about diana?" he asked although he already knew the answer. you stayed silent.
he softly said your name as he grabbed a tissue to wipe off the stain, "baby, i'm sorry. she was just greeting me." he tried to make it better but you just scoffed, "so i should greet every guy i see with a fucking kiss on the cheek?"
"you're right. it was wrong." he sighed, massaging the tension in your shoulders away, "it was wrong for me to let her touch on me like that when i'm practically a married man." he leaned down, kissing your neck as he gently grabbed your chin, forcing your head to tilt back so you could look up at him, "let me take you home and show you how sorry i am." he muttered against your skin. you hummed in satisfaction as you stood up to change.
you two were leaving through the back, but you rolled your eyes as you heard that agitating voice from behind you. "michael, will i see you at the after party?" you both stopped in your tracks and turned around slowly to find diana ross watching you both with a stiff smile.
"i don't think so...y/n's really tired after tonight." michael apologetically shrugged, diana rolled her eyes teasingly, "come on, y/n's a big girl, she only did one song. i'm sure she can handle one night alone, can't you?" she asked you, which made you look at her in disbelief.
"so i'm not even invited to the after party?" you clarified, diana winced, "it was a tight number of guests allowed, i couldn't invite everyone." she shrugged as if that explained everything, "and if we start making changes to let you in, we have to do that for everyone and it just becomes messy."
"this isn't middle school diana, i don't care about your tight guest lists. michael's not going." you said, diana rolled her eyes as she looked at michael, "i was asking michael, not michael's girlfriend."
"michael's girlfriend is her own person, diana. and she's right. if she's not welcome somewhere why would i wanna go? that's just disrespectful on my part." michael shrugged as if it were obvious, "you have a good night." he nodded as he took your hand, continuing to head to the car instead of stay back and listen to diana's flimsy excuses and pleads for some extra alone time with michael.
the moment they got into the car, you threw your arms around michael's neck and finally let him kiss your lips. once you pulled away he smiled, "see? you're my girl, i always got you."
you smiled, "you still owe me a lot of foot rubs tonight." michael playfully groaned, "you're not mad, you decided to dance in heels and now you're suffering from the consequences."
"exactly." you smiled at him, kissing his cheek once more before leaning back in your seat.
summary ~ you and your boyfriend michael take each others virginity.
includes ~ smut // adult but still in the jackson 5 michael // new girlfriend reader
a/n ~ i have a soft spot for this era of michael
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You and Michael had been best friends for years, growing closer as the group’s fame exploded. Tonight, after a long day at the studio, he had snuck you into the family home in Encino while everyone else was out. The house was quiet, the lights low. You were both nervous, hearts pounding, but the pull between you had become impossible to ignore.
You sat on the edge of his bed, fingers intertwined. Michael looked at you with those big, beautiful eyes, his afro a little messy from running his hands through it.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, voice soft and shaky. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”
You squeezed his hand. “I’m sure, Michael. I want it to be with you. My first time… and yours.”
He let out a nervous breath and leaned in, kissing you gently. The kiss started sweet and slow, but quickly grew deeper as years of hidden feelings poured out. His hands trembled as they rested on your waist. You cupped his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks, feeling how warm his skin was.
You both undressed each other slowly, shyly. When you finally saw him completely naked, your breath caught. He was beautiful — long and lean, smooth brown skin, and his cock already hard, curving slightly upward. He blushed deeply when he noticed you staring.
“You’re so pretty,” you whispered.
Michael’s cheeks burned as he helped you out of your clothes. When you were both bare, he pulled you close, skin against skin, and kissed you again.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he admitted with a shy laugh against your lips. “But… I want to make you feel good.”
You smiled, nerves mixing with excitement. “Me neither. We’ll figure it out together.”
He laid you down gently on his bed, hovering over you. His hands explored your body with hesitant reverence, cupping your breasts, sliding down your stomach, gently touching between your thighs. You gasped when his fingers brushed your wetness.
“Is this okay?” he asked, voice shaky.
“Yes,” you breathed. “Keep going.”
He rubbed you gently, learning what made you moan. When you reached down and wrapped your hand around him, stroking slowly, Michael let out a soft whimper, hips twitching.
“Feels so good,” he whispered.
After a few minutes of touching and kissing, the need became too strong. Michael positioned himself between your legs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance.
He looked into your eyes. “Tell me if it hurts. I’ll stop.”
You nodded, pulling him down for a kiss as he slowly pushed inside.
The stretch burned. You gasped, gripping his shoulders. Michael froze halfway in, breathing hard.
“You alright?” he asked, voice strained.
“It’s a lot… but don’t stop,” you whispered. “I want all of you.”
He pushed in deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully inside you. Both of you moaned at the feeling. He stayed still for a long moment, letting you adjust, his face buried in your neck.
“You feel so warm,” he breathed. “So tight… I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.”
When you told him it was okay to move, he started with slow, careful thrusts. The discomfort gradually turned into pleasure as your bodies learned each other. Michael’s moans were soft and sweet, his hips finding a gentle rhythm.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, kissing you between thrusts. “I love you… I’ve loved you for so long.”
You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper. The pace slowly increased as confidence grew. Michael’s thrusts became a little harder, a little faster, his breathing ragged.
“Feels so good,” he whimpered. “I’m so close already…”
You reached between you and rubbed your clit, chasing your own pleasure. The combination pushed you over the edge first — you came with a soft cry, clenching around him. Michael followed right after, burying himself deep and moaning your name as he came inside you for the first time.
He collapsed on top of you, breathing hard, face hidden in your neck. For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Eventually, he lifted his head, looking at you with pure adoration and a shy smile.
“Was that… okay?” he asked softly.
You smiled, pulling him down for a gentle kiss. “It was perfect, Mikey.”
He pulled himself out, held you close, and traded soft kisses and whispers. The two of you, young, in love, and figuring everything out together, fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms.
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synopsis: after almost getting caught with michael, you both go down for dinner and michael decides to play with fire but it doesn’t turn out how he thought it would.
warnings: teasing, doing things in front of people, smut, riding, lowk sub!michael.
part one.
"i mean, i did. you were up there trying not to scream my name." he teases.
you both walk into the living room like nothing happened. his brothers are sitting at the table, eating the pizza they said they were ordering. "took you long enough," marlon says to michael, "pizza's gettin' cold." he replies, you and michael both taking a seat at the table next to one another.
michael grabs a slice of pizza and takes a bite, acting completely normal. he leans over to you and whispers, "i would much rather be eating you again instead of this," before taking another bite. his brothers are too busy arguing over something stupid to notice anything suspicious. you kick him lightly under the table, instantly crossing your legs as you feel the wetness pool in-between your legs again; even just at the mention of what he done to you not even ten minutes ago.
michael chuckles softly at your reaction, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of his orange juice. he sets the glass down and reaches under the table, his hand slowly creeping up your inner thigh. you freeze, your eyes widening slightly as you look at him like he's crazy, "michael." you warn, side eyeing him.
he smirks at you, his fingers slowly inching closer to your centre. he leans over to grab another slice of pizza with his other hand, acting causal as his brothers continue arguing. his fingers press against your clothed pussy, rubbing softly through the fabric.
everyone else is too preoccupied to notice michael slowly pushing your skirt up under the table. his fingers are now directly on your soaked panties, rubbing circles on your clit through your white lace thong. you can feel him smiling against your neck as he leans over you slightly.
he keeps his hand under the table, his fingers tracing slow circles over your clit through the damp fabric of your panties. his thumb presses down just enough to make your breath hitch, but not enough to push you over the edge. he leans back casually, taking another bite of pizza like nothings happening, but his eyes are dark and full of mischief as he watches your face.
jackie finally turns around to michael and asks him a question, "mike, what movie do we watch so they can all stop arguing like kids?" jackie asks, completely oblivious to michael's hand under the table. michael just shrugs nonchalantly, his fingers still circling your clit slowly. "either one is fine, just pick one." he replies casually, his voice even as he continues his subtle teasing.
michael's finger suddenly presses down harder, catching you off guard and making you let out a soft, surprised noise. his brothers immediately turn around, looking at you with confused expressions. "what was that?" marlon asks, his eyes scanning between you and michael curiously.
you quickly try to play it off, clearing your throat and taking a sip of your soda. "nothing," you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady. michael's hand remains under the table, his fingers still gently teasing you but not moving enough to give anything away.
michael suddenly pulls his hand out from under the table casually, acting completely normal as he turns his attention to his brothers. your eyes shot to him, but being greeted with a view of his side profile, you were fuming that he had took his hand away.
he starts discussing the movies they were arguing about earlier, completely ignoring you and the fact that his hand was just between your legs.
michael glances over at you out of the corner of his eye, a small smirk playing on his lips. he leans back in his chair, his hand now resting on his knee, looking completely innocent. only you know what he was just doing under the table.
the argument between his brothers continues, growing louder and more heated as they debate which movie is better. michael laughs, shaking his head at their bickering. suddenly, he stands up from his chair, grabbing the pizza box and the plates, "i'll take these to the kitchen."
as soon as michael enters the kitchen, you instantly stand up and follow him into the kitchen. as soon as you're both in the kitchen, you pin around and face him, your arms crossed over your chest. "what was all that about?" you demand in a low voice, not wanting his brothers to hear.
michael sets the pizza box and the plates down on the counter and turns to face you, a smug grin on his face. "what?" he asks innocently, trying to play dumb. "i was just eating pizza with my brothers." you narrow your eyes at him, "you know exactly what i mean, michael jackson. you were touching me under the table with them right there!"
he takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "and? they didn't see anything. they didn't hear anything. they have no idea what i was doing to you in there." he pauses, his eyes flicking down to your body before meeting your gaze again.
"besides," he continues, "you didn't exactly push my hand away, did you?" his hand reaches out, gently grasping your hip as he pulls you closer. he leans down, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "you liked it," he whispers.
"michael!" you hiss, pushing against his chest lightly but not actually pulling away. "your brothers are right there in the other room!" he smirks, clearly turned on by how close you two are and how dangerous it feels, "exactly."
he leans in even closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling back and turning away to start washing his plate. "go back in there and act normal, ill be out in a minute," he says casually, like he didn't just make your knees weak.
you watch him wash his plate, feeling frustrated and very horny. without thinking, you step closer behind him snd press your body against his back. "no," you whisper firmly, "im not going back out there. i want you to fuck me, right now. upstairs."
michael freezes, his hands still in the soapy water. your sudden demand and the way you're pressing against him has just flipped the power dynamic. he swallows hard, his voice coming out hoarse when he speaks. "baby...my brother are right there." he weakens.
you spin him around, pushing him back against the counter and loving how surprised and turned on he looks. "oh, so now it matters that your brothers are there but it didn't before?" you say firmly with a smirk, hands on his chest.
"that's not fair," he protests weakly, but he's already following you out of the kitchen and up the stairs. his brothers glance up as you both walk past the living room, but they quickly go back their conversation, oblivious to the fact that michael is being dragged upstairs by his girlfriend.
once inside his bedroom, he kicks the door closed behind you both. "you're being really bossy," he comments, though there's no real compliant in his voice. he watches you walk towards his bed, stripping off your clothes without hesitation. "and kinda hot..." he adds softly.
you turn around to face him, now naked, and watch as he quickly strips off his shirt and pants. he's clearly very turned on, his cock already hard. he starts to walk towards you, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. "no," you say firmly.
he looks up at you in surprise, stopping in his tracks. "no?" he repeats, his brow furrowing slightly. he's used to being the one in control normally, the one calling the shots. this new dynamic has him a little flustered. you push him backwards until he falls onto the bed then climb on top of him.
"not this time," you whisper, pressing him down onto the bed. you can feel his hard cock against your thigh, and it only makes you more determined to be in charge. you lean down and kiss him deeply, grinding your hips slightly against his to show him what you want.
he groans into the kiss, his hands coming up to grip your hips tightly as you grind against him. he tries to thrust up against you, but you push him back down, breaking the kiss to look at him sternly. "stop moving," you order. his big brown eyes widen slightly, a mix of surprise and excitement on his face.
"okay," he agrees quietly, his hands falling back to his sides as he tries to stay still. you reach down between your legs and grab his hard dick, positioning it at your entrance before slowly sinking down onto it. he lets out a loud groan, his head falling back against the pillow.
you start riding him slowly, using his cock exactly how you want it. you've never been so dominant during sex before, and its clear he loves it, he's letting you use his body for your pleasure with no complaints. "mm, baby."
"baby," he repeats, his voice strained as you continue to ride him at your own pace. his hands are clenched into fists at his sides, clearly struggling not to touch you or take control. you lean forward, pressing your hands against his chest and increasing the pace slightly. "just like that."
"you're so perfect like this," he whimpers out, watching you use his cock. "I've never seen you so...bossy during sex." you smile down at him and change the angle of your hips slightly, finding a spot that makes you gasp.
"o-oh...right there," he moans loudly, his hips trying to buck up to meet your new angle despite himself. you do it again intentionally, loving the sounds he's making. "baby, please," he begs softly, "can i move my hands?" you shake your head no.
"please," he begs again, his body trembling with effort to stay still. "i need to touch you." you shake your head again, riding him harder now, using him for your own pleasure without any regard for his needs. he's completely at your mercy and loving it.
his breathing is getting more ragged, his cock twitching inside you as you continue to use him ruthlessly. "please, baby," he practically whimpers, his eyes pleading. "im gonna... im so close, i need to touch you, i need to hold you, please let me--" you cut him off with a sharp and deliberate grind. "no."
his mouth snaps shut, a loud, desperate moan escaping instead as you grind down on him hard, your pussy clenching around his dick. "oh god" he chokes out, his whole body tensing up as he struggles not to finish from the intense sensation. "fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--" he's right on the edge.
you can tell he's never felt so powerless during sex before, never been used purely for someone else's pleasure like this. its driving him crazy in the best way, his cock throbbing heavily inside you as you use him exactly how you want. "baby, i can't--"
"i can't hold back much longer," he gasps, his body shaking with the effort to stay still and not cum inside you. you smile down at him, knowing you have complete control. "you better not," you say, speeding up your pace even more and leaning back slightly to change the angle.
"oh, fuck, f-fuck," he stutters out, his eyes rolling back as you completely overwhelm him with the new angle. his hands are still clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles white from the effort not to grab onto you.
"im gonna cum," he warns through clenched teeth, his bod tensing up even more. "baby, please let me touch you," he begs one last time before you feel his cock pulse inside you. you ignore his plea and ride him harder through his orgasm.
he comes with a broken whimper, his whole body shaking uncontrollably as you continue to work his dick through the pleasure. "fuck, oh god--" he gasps, his hips finally giving in and thrusting up against you despite his best efforts. you feel his warm come filling you up as you keep moving, still not finished yourself.
he's completely spent, his body limp and shaking beneath you as you continue to ride him through his orgasm. his cock still twitching inside you, leaking more cum with each movement. you finally slow down, grinding against him as you reach your own climax, grinding down onto him as you come with a soft cry. your body trembles and squeezes around him, making him groan softly at the feeling. you collapse forward onto his chest, both of you panting heavily. "holy shit," you mutter after a moment.
you press a soft kiss to his lips before crawling into bed next to him and curling into his side. he wraps an arm around you immediately, holding you close as he kisses the top of your head "mm, come here."
he pulls you even closer, until you're basically on top of him your head resting on his chest. he can feel your soft breath against his skin. his fingers trace lazy patterns on your back as he holds you, "i love you."
Can you do a mature era mj fic where he has trouble sleeping and wife!reader puts it on him so he can??
back to sleep
a michael jackson fic
summary ~ requested!
includes ~ smut // wife reader // mature era mikey
wc ~ 1.4k
a/n ~ wooooo i’m back!
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The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:47 a.m.
Michael lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling of the master bedroom. His body was exhausted, rehearsals for the new project had been brutal, but his mind refused to settle. The usual tricks hadn’t worked tonight: the herbal tea, the soft music, even the meditation you’d tried together earlier.
You watched him quietly from your side of the bed, heart aching at the tension in his jaw and the furrow between his brows. Even restless, he was breathtaking.
“Can’t sleep again?” you asked softly, shifting closer until your body pressed against his side.
He sighed, turning his head toward you. “My brain won’t shut off. Keeps looping the new arrangements, the staging, everything.”
You smiled gently and slid your hand across his bare chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. “Then let me help you turn it off.”
Michael’s dark eyes met yours, a flicker of heat cutting through the exhaustion. “Baby… you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Let your wife take care of you tonight.”
You climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. The silk of your short nightie rode up your thighs as you settled over him. Michael’s hands immediately found your waist, sliding up under the fabric to caress your bare skin.
You kissed him deeply, slow and sensual, tongues gliding together as you rocked your hips against him. He hardened quickly beneath you, his thick length pressing against your core through the thin barrier of his silk pajama pants.
“Feel what you do to me,” he groaned against your lips, voice already rougher.
You sat up, pulling the nightie over your head and tossing it aside. Michael’s gaze darkened as he drank in the sight of your naked body in the moonlight— full breasts, soft curves, the way your skin glowed. His hands cupped your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebbled under his touch.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, leaning up to take one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his other hand squeezed your ass.
You moaned softly, grinding down harder on his growing erection. When you couldn’t wait any longer, you reached between your bodies and freed his cock from his pants. He was rock hard, thick and heavy, the head already glistening with precum.
You stroked him slowly, savoring the velvety heat in your hand. Michael’s head fell back against the pillow with a deep groan.
“Baby… please,” he whispered, hips twitching.
You positioned yourself over him and sank down inch by inch, taking every thick inch until he was buried completely inside you. Both of you moaned at the feeling. He stretched you so perfectly, filling you to the brim.
“Fuck… you feel so good,” Michael breathed, hands gripping your hips tightly. “So warm and tight around me.”
You started riding him slowly at first with deep, rolling movements that let you feel every defined ridge and vein. Michael’s eyes stayed locked on yours, dark with lust and love. His hands guided your hips, but he let you set the pace, content to be taken care of.
You gradually picked up speed, bouncing on his cock with more force. The wet, filthy sound of your pussy sliding up and down his length filled the room, mixing with your shared moans.
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, voice husky. “Ride me just like that.“
You braced your hands on his chest and rode him harder, grinding your clit against him on every downstroke. Michael’s toned stomach flexed beneath your palms as he fought the urge to thrust up into you. Sweat began to glisten on his chest.
“Mikey…” you moaned, head falling back. “You’re so deep.”
He suddenly sat up, wrapping one strong arm around your back to hold you close while the other gripped your ass. In this position, he could thrust up into you while you rode him, the new angle making you cry out.
“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he panted against your neck, sucking a mark into your skin. “This pussy is gonna drain me tonight, girl.”
You rode him faster, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure built deep in your core. Michael’s mouth found your breasts again, sucking and biting at your nipples while he fucked up into you with powerful strokes.
“I’m close,” you gasped.
“Me too,” he groaned. “Let me feel you.”
You came hard, crying out his name as your walls clenched rhythmically around him. Michael moaned loudly, the feeling pushing him over the edge right after you. He buried himself as deep as possible and came with a long, guttural groan, flooding your pussy with thick, hot pulses of cum.
You kept grinding slowly on him through both your orgasms, milking every last drop until he was trembling beneath you.
—
When you finally collapsed onto his chest, Michael wrapped his arms around you tightly, still buried inside you. His breathing was already slowing, the usual restlessness gone.
He kissed the top of your head, then your forehead, murmuring softly against your skin.
“Thank you, my love… You always know exactly what I need.”
You smiled, nuzzling into his neck as you felt his body relax completely beneath you.
You stayed like that for a while, enjoying the warmth of his body and the quiet satisfaction of knowing you’d helped your husband find peace the best way you knew how.
Eventually, you pulled the covers over both of you and let yourself drift off in his arms, his softening cock still nestled inside you, his cum slowly leaking out between your thighs.
Michael slept soundly through the night.
And you knew, without a doubt, that you were the only remedy he’d ever need.
