𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 except for the television playing softly somewhere in the background.
You sat comfortably against the headboard while Michael rested with his head in your lap, one arm loosely around your thighs.Your fingers moved through his curls absentmindedly.
The second you started scratching lightly at his scalp, Michael's eyes closed.
A content sigh escaped him.
"Mmh right there mama.."
You smiled immediately. "Where baby?"
"Mmh..." His head tilted slightly into your hand. "There." Your heart melted.
You loved how comfortable he was with you. How he never hid when he wanted affection.
How he trusted you with every soft part of himself. You carefully combed your fingers through his hair again. Michael practically melted beneath your touch.
"Mmh...that feels so good." he murmured.
Then his hand found yours. Not to stop you.
Just to hold it.
His fingers slipped around your wrist gently, guiding your hand a little higher into his curls. "Right there, baby." You laughed softly.
"Oh, you bossy." His eyes remained closed.
A smile tugged at his mouth. "M'not bossy, baby."
"You absolutely are." You clapped back.
"Mmh..." He sounded far too relaxed to argue properly. Your nails lightly scratched through his curls again.
then again, he mumbles—"There."
A pleased sigh. "That's nice." You couldn't stop smiling.
to be honest, you could sit here forever. Michael's thumb slowly brushed across your hand while it rested in his hair, Back and forth.
Absent minded Affectionate. Like he couldn't help touching you whenever you were near. His eyes opened slightly.
Just enough to look up at you.
And ugh.
That Beautiful look, That Completely in love look.
You leaned down and kissed his forehead. Michael's smile deepened instantly. Then you kissed his cheek. Then the tip of his nose. Which made him laugh quietly.
"Hey baby."
You laughed too. "Hi, baby." He looked entirely pleased hearing that.
His fingers intertwined briefly with yours before placing your hand right back where he wanted it.. In his curls.
"Mama." You brushed a curl away from his forehead.
"Yeah?"
"I love you." The words came so naturally.
So simply.. Like breathing.
Your chest squeezed.You leaned down and kissed him again.
Very Slow and Sweet.
The kind of kiss that made Michael smile halfway through it. When you pulled away, his hand immediately found your cheek.
Just holding it there for a second. Looking at you. Really admiring you, Like he never got tired of it. "I love you too." Michael's expression softened even more.
If that was even possible.Then he settled back into your lap again, completely content.
Your fingers returned to his curls.
few seconds later—"Mmh..." His eyes fluttered closed.
"There, baby." Your nails lightly scratched against his scalp, Another satisfied sigh escaped him.
His thumb continued stroking the back of your hand while he relaxed beneath you.
Not saying much now. Just enjoying you.
The kisses & the touches & The comfort of being together.
After a while, he lifted your hand from his hair long enough to press a gentle kiss against your knuckles.Then another.. Then he tucked it against his chest. Holding it there.
"Mama."
"Hm?" You laugh quietly.
A sleepy smile appeared on his face."You take real good care of me." Your heart nearly burst.
You bent down and kissed his forehead once more.
And Michael smiled without even opening his eyes, perfectly happy right where he was.
mil talks ૮ • ﻌ - ა. Idk how people write long fics😭😭… like mama is struggling over here help! but this was very cute to make icl 😛 i’ll be trying to make longer fics thanks for the love and support. kisses <3
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆off the wall!michael teaching his shy best friend (you) how to kiss and immediately realizing you have no idea what you’re doing with him 😵💫 <3
like the second he leans closer, you get all nervous. avoiding eye contact, laughing quietly out of embarrassment, fingers twisting in your sleeves while michael watches you sooo carefully. and instead of backing off like he probably should, he thinks it’s the cutest thing ever
“why you so shy all of a sudden?” He giggles. “because this is weird!”
“ain’t weird to me.” OF COURSE IT ISN’T SWEETIE 😭 he’s sitting way too close on the couch, one arm stretched behind you while he smiles all soft and amused watching you completely fall apart over one kiss.
and michael would looove teasing you about how flustered you get. not in a mean way—just enough to make you hide your face in your hands while he laughs. “you blush too much, y’know.”
“stop looking at me then!”
“can’t.” 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯 then when he finally kisses you for real, you’re so nervous… like you barely kiss him back at first because your brain completely short circuits the second his hand touches your cheek.
and michael notices EVERYTHING.
the way your breathing changes. the way your hands twitch because you don’t know where to put them. the way you melt a little when he kisses you slower. “See what i did there?” he’d whisper against your lips all sweet and encouraging (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) “Mmhh- tha’s it.” which somehow makes you MORE embarrassed because why is he talking to you like that???
ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐
and when you pull away hiding your face instantly, michael would just grin, completely obsessed with how shy you are. gently pulling your hands down so he can see you again. “No no no.. Don’t hide on me now.” He says that softly while searching for your hands.
“M-michael.. we are never doing that again.” 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
“Yes we are.” kisses you again and after that he gets soooo cocky about it too because now he knows exactly what affects you.
leaning close just to watch you get nervous. brushing his thumb over your lip during conversations. whispering “you want another lesson?” when nobody’s around……
meanwhile you can barely look him in the eyes anymore without thinking about that stupid kiss.
yeah…that’s off the wall manipulatie michael btw??
𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏 ㅤ..ㅤ 𑣲ㅤ Michael fell for you the moment he saw you in the conference room. Since then, he’s been serenading you with letters. 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 , 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲. 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁? see──masterlist.
info. ꨄ︎ 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗮𝗱 / 𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝗲𝗿𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝗼𝗻 × 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝙬𝙘. 𝟯𝟱𝟮. & michael serenades you a lot & is basically head over heels. 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝖼.
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ read part one.
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 the photographer notices you both standing together—your stomach drops.
Not because you’re doing anything wrong, but because it looks wrong.
Michael leaning casually against the hallway wall too close to you. Your notebook clutched tightly against your chest. The way his entire attention stays fixed on your face despite people constantly moving around him.
“Oh—sorry,” the photographer says quickly while adjusting his camera strap. “Private interview?”
Your heart nearly stops. Before you can even answer, Michael smoothly smiles.“Somethin’ like that.”
Idiot.
Your eyes widen instantly toward him. The photographer nods casually, completely unsuspecting thankfully. “Got it. Sorry for interrupting.” Then he walks away. You exhale so hard your chest hurts. Michael, meanwhile, looks entirely too calm. “You cannot say things like that,” you hiss quietly.
His eyebrows lift innocently. “What? He asked.”
“You’re unbelievable.” A soft laugh leaves him. And somehow that only makes your nerves worse. Because the photographer may not have noticed—but if Michael keeps looking at you like this, eventually somebody will.
You take a quick step backward immediately.“This is exactly what I mean,” you whisper urgently. “People are gonna start noticing.” Michael’s expression softens slightly after that.
Realizing.. But even then, his eyes still drift toward your mouth for half a second too long.
“We weren’t doing anything,” he murmurs softly.“That’s the problem.” Your voice comes out breathless now. “It already looks like we are.”
Silence. The hallway suddenly feels too close. Michael studies your face carefully before speaking quieter: “You scared of headlines or scared of me?”
That lands directly in your chest. You hate that question. Because you don’t fully know the answer yourself anymore. You glance away quickly first.
Big mistake.
Michael notices immediately, Of course he does. His voice lowers softly. “There she go.” Your pulse jumps. “No.” You shake your head quickly. “Nope. I’m leaving.”
“Mhm.” He says in disbelief. “I mean it.” But you already sound nervous instead of convincing. Michael watches you step backward again, eyes filled with something dangerously close to affection. And that somehow panics you more than flirting would’ve.
“Good evening, Michael.”
You turn quickly before he can answer and walk down the hallway too fast, heels clicking sharply against the floor while your heart pounds embarrassingly hard. You can still feel him watching you leave.
That’s the worst part.. You don’t look back.
But somehow—you know he’s smiling.
— . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The next letter arrives two days later slipped beneath your apartment door.
No envelope again. Just folded cream paper. You already know better than to open it immediately.
You still do anyway.
This time the handwriting looks messier somehow.
Less careful.. Like he wrote it late.
—
You walked away from me so fast backstage I almost laughed. You get nervous real easy for somebody who’s supposed to be interviewing celebrities. And before you get irritated—yes, I noticed your hands shaking. You should know somethin’. When that photographer walked up, I almost told him the truth.
Your stomach flips. You keep reading immediately.
—
Not the whole truth. Just the part where I keep thinking about you after interviews end.
The part where I know exactly which heels are yours by sound now.The part where I still look for you first every time I walk into a room.That part. You looked scared when you left. I didn’t like that. I know this situation unfair to you. Probably selfish too. But every time I try stop writing these letters, I end up thinking about your face during conferences and then I start another one. So now this your fault somehow.
A small unwilling smile pulls at your mouth.
Insane man.
Then your eyes catch the final lines near the bottom. And immediately your breath catches.
—
You never answer me back. Maybe talking easier. If you want to yell at me properly instead of pretending you don’t feel this too—here.
And beneath it—a phone number. His personal line.
Your heart pounds so hard it physically hurts now. At the very bottom, squeezed smaller
beneath everything else:
Call me after midnight. That’s when I miss you worst.
— M
But you didn’t call.. Because now it’s becoming a habit. And habits are dangerous.
Especially ones involving Michael Jackson writing you secret letters like some lovesick poet while you pretend your entire career isn’t balancing on a cliff edge.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Four days later. You see another letter tucked into your bag, You pick it up slowly. Your name is written across the front again in his handwriting.
Your chest aches before you even open it.
That can’t be good.
You sit at your kitchen table unfolding the paper. The letter smells faintly like his cologne this time. That almost ruins you instantly.
Then you start reading.
—
I tried not writing this one. Didn’t work.
Every time I decide leave you alone, somethin’ reminds me of you and suddenly I’m thinkin’ about your face again. Today it was a reporter askin’ me a question too fast. You always slow down before important questions. Like you care about the answer. Ain’t nobody ever done that for me before.
Your stomach twists softly.
You keep reading.
—
I saw your article this morning.You wrote about everybody except yourself like always. But I noticed the line where you called me “difficult to understand.”
That made me laugh. You understand me fine. Probably more than you should.
Your fingers tighten around the paper. Because yes. That’s exactly the problem. Michael keeps seeing things he shouldn’t.
—
You looked pretty in blue again yesterday.That color becoming a real issue for me. And before you get annoyed yes, I know I’m flirtin’. I’m trying make you smile.
The corner of your mouth lifts against your will.
fuck.
You hate this. You hate how easy he gets into your chest. Then the next lines hit harder.
—
Sometimes after conferences I sit in my hotel room thinkin’ about callin’ you. I usually don’t. Mostly because I know if I hear your voice too long I’m gonna say somethin’ reckless. And I think maybe I already crossed enough lines with you.
Your heartbeat starts speeding up now.The rain outside grows louder.
You continue reading anyway.
—
You know what scares me? I think about you during songs now. That probably bad. Real bad actually. Yesterday during rehearsal somebody asked why I kept smiling during baby be mine and I almost told them it’s because I remembered the way you looked at me backstage. You got this habit of lookin’ at me like I’m just a person. I don’t think you understand what that does to me.
Your throat tightens painfully. Because suddenly this doesn’t feel playful anymore.
It feels real. Too real. You stare at the paper for a long second before forcing yourself lower.
The last paragraph is written messier than the rest.
Like maybe he hesitated while writing it.
—
I know you’re gonna tell me stop eventually. You should. This whole thing unfair to you. And maybe I’m selfish because every time I imagine you really walkin’ away for good, I end up writin’ another letter instead. But I need you know somethin’ before you do.
I haven’t looked forward to seeing anybody this much in years. And I think I’m getting in trouble over you. Real trouble.
The room goes completely silent around you.
Only rain against the windows now. You lower the paper slowly into your lap.
Your chest hurts so much now.
Because somewhere between secret letters and backstage conversations and the way Michael always looks for you first—this stopped feeling harmless. And worse?
You don’t think you want it to stop anymore. That realization terrifies you immediately.
You stand from the kitchen table too quickly, pacing once through your apartment while the letter stays clutched tightly in your hand.
No. No, this is bad. Very bad.
You’re supposed to end this. Tomorrow maybe. At the next conference.
You’ll tell him no more letters.
No more lingering conversations.
No more looking at you like that in crowded rooms.
You’ll do it.You have to.
Because if you don’t—your career will implode. People will talk.
And somewhere in the middle of all that mess… you think you might actually be falling in love with him.
The thought hits so hard you stop walking entirely. Outside, thunder rumbles softly over the city.
Then—another slip of paper falls from inside the folded letter onto your kitchen floor.
Your stomach drops. Slowly, you bend down and pick it up. Smaller handwriting this time.
One sentence only.
—
Wear blue tomorrow if you still want me writing you.
𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏 ㅤ..ㅤ 𑣲ㅤ Michael fell for you the moment he saw you in the conference room. Since then, he’s been serenading you with letters. 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 , 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲. 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁? see──masterlist.
info. ꨄ︎ 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗮𝗱 / 𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝗲𝗿𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝗼𝗻 × 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝙬𝙘. 𝟯𝟬𝟬. & michael serenades you a lot & is basically head over heels. 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝖼.
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 arrives hidden beneath your press folder, no envelope, and no name. Just folded cream paper tucked carefully between your notes before the conference begins. Your stomach drops immediately. Because you already know.
You glance around the crowded backstage press room instinctively, reporters talking loudly, cameras stacked everywhere, assistants rushing around with coffee trays.
Nobody notices you unfolding it beneath the table, Good.
You smooth the paper carefully open. Michael’s handwriting curls neatly across the page.
—
You looked at me differently today. At least I think you did. Maybe I imagined it. You always get quiet when I catch you staring. I like that about you. You know somethin’? Everybody asks me questions all day long, but you’re the only person who waits for the real answer.
That scares me a little. A lot actually.
I heard you didn't get lunch again. That’s twice this week.
Stop doin’ that.
And stop lookin’ so pretty when you’re concentrating because it’s making these interviews difficult for me.
I mean it. Yesterday during rehearsal I forgot lyrics because you walked in late carrying that little tape recorder against your chest. That never happens to me.
You’re distracting. I think you know that already though.
Ain’t fair.
I know you think this is a bad idea.
Maybe it is. But every night before interviews I still catch myself wondering what color you’ll wear. And every time you leave first after conferences I get irritated for the rest of the evening. That probably means somethin’.
You never answer my letters back.
I wish you would.
— M
Your heart pounds so hard it almost hurts.
This man is insane. Like Actually insane. “Five minutes till conference!” somebody shouts across the room.You fold the letter shut instantly, cheeks burning. This cannot keep happening... Seriously.
One wrong person sees these and your entire career disappears overnight.
You shove the letter deep into your notebook right as movement stirs near the hallway entrance.
And then—
Michael walks in.The entire room changes immediately, Reporters straighten, Assistants rush faster, Everybody suddenly becomes aware of themselves.
Meanwhile Michael enters calmly while security trails behind him.And despite the entire crowded room—he looks directly at you first.Your cheeks are heating.
What a fucking Dangerous man. You immediately look down at your notes pretending deep concentration.
But thats a little bit Too late.. Michael already saw you. Of course he did. The conference starts quickly after that. Questions fly everywhere.
Tour schedules. Awards. Album sales. Michael answers smoothly, charming everybody effortlessly.
But every few minutes, his eyes drift back toward you, And worse? You feel it every single time.
“So Michael,” another reporter asks loudly, “how do you handle all the attention from women during tours?”
The room laughs lightly, Michael smiles politely.
Then—
completely unfairly, his eyes flick toward you while answering.“I try behave myself.” Your pen nearly slips from your hand.
Idiot.
You refuse to look up again after that.The conference finally ends forty minutes later in a blur of camera flashes and exhaustion.
Reporters begin packing equipment quickly.You stand immediately too, desperate to leave before Michael gets any ideas.
“Excuse me,” a quiet voice says beside you. Your breath catches instantly.. Michael.
Very close to you already.
You turn quickly.
“M-Michael.” His security stands farther down the hallway purposely not looking over. Which somehow makes this worse.
“You got my letter,” he murmurs softly. Not a question.
You clutch your notebook tighter against your chest. “You need to stop doing that.”
“Why?” He copies your face expression. “Because somebody could see.”
Michael tilts his head slightly. “But they didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.” You look around you. A small smile touches his mouth. God.. that smile..“You read it though.” Your cheeks warm immediately again.
“You cannot write things like that to me.”
“Which part?” He teases. “All of it!” Michael laughs softly beneath his breath while leaning one shoulder casually against the hallway wall. Completely relaxed. Meanwhile your heartbeat is trying to kill you.
“I meant everything.” He says softly.
“That’s the issue.” His expression softens slightly after that.
Not teasing now. More real. “You really think I don’t know this dangerous?” he asks quietly. The hallway noise fades around you strangely.
You swallow hard. “Then why keep doing it?” Michael looks at you for a long second before answering.
And when he finally speaks—his voice lowers. Gentler now. “Because every time you walk away from me after these conferences...”
He pauses. “I think about you all night anyway.” Your chest aches instantly. Because no way the king of pop thinks about you all night.
“Michael.” You lowered your face.“Mhm?”
“We shouldn’t even be standing here.”
“I know.”
Neither of you moves. That’s the worst part. People pass through the hallway around you carrying equipment and paperwork while the tension stretches tighter between you both.
Then Michael glances briefly toward your notebook.
“You’re dress tonight,” he murmurs softly. Your stomach flips fast. “What about it?” His eyes lift back to yours slowly.
“That was mean.” You stare at him in disbelief.
“Mean?” You know damn wel what he means.
“You knew you looked pretty.” The words come so sincerely it almost ruins you.
You glance down the hallway quickly, panicked somebody might overhear.“Please lower your voice.”
Michael smiles softly at your reaction.
And somehow that feels even more dangerous. “You get nervous around me now,” he says quietly. “You make me nervous.” The confession slips out accidentally.
it went quiet for a minute.
Michael goes still for half a second.
Then he wanted to whisper something.
But The Second He comes closer, The photographer notices you both standing together—and your stomach drops.
𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. ౨ৎ part two is finally hereee , i had the worst writers block ugh. enjoy my luvs ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ read part one.
By midnight, the arcade was nearly empty. Only a couple machines still blinked in the dark corners, lights flashing lazily while the speakers overhead played some old Prince song too quietly.
You were wiping down the counter for the third time when you looked up and saw Michael still at the Pac-Man machine. Still. “Mike,” you call out, laughing a little. “Don’t you got a home?” Without looking away from the screen, he says, “I’m busy makin’ history.”
“You’ve been playing for forty minutes.”
“And winnin’ for forty minutes.” He claps back.Which was unfortunately true. Nobody had beaten his score all night. Michael leaned closer to the machine dramatically as the game sped up, his small curls falling in his face while the game lights flashed across his jacket.
Then the machine suddenly blared its victory sound again. Michael immediately spun around with both arms raised. “That’s twelve!” You clap slowly. “Incredible. Truly life changing.”
“You just jealous huh.”
“I’m employed.” He laughs loudly at that, head dropping back for a second before he finally lets the machine go and walks back toward the counter.
The arcade feels weirdly soft now that it’s empty. Quiet enough to hear shoes squeak against the floor.
Quiet enough to hear your heartbeat every time Michael looks at you too long. He hops onto the stool again while you stack cups behind the register. “You always close alone?” he asks. “Usually.” You sighed. “That ain’t safe.”
“You say that like this neighborhood is Gotham City.” Michael grins a little. “Still.”
You shrug while reaching up to turn off one of the menu lights.The dimness somehow makes everything worse...
Or better. Hard to tell anymore.
Michael watches you move around the counter quietly now, chin resting against his hand. Not even pretending not to stare anymore. “You know somethin’?” he says suddenly. “What?” You look at him.
“You real pretty when you work.” Your stomach flips instantly. You busy yourself rearranging napkins that absolutely do not need rearranging. “That line sounded better in your head, huh?”
“Nah,” he says softly. “Sound exactly right.” You look up before you can stop yourself. Big mistake. Because Michael’s already smiling at you—not teasing this time.
Just him being honest. The tension hits harder in quiet moments like this. Because they are no kids screaming, no arcade noise covering things up, Just him, Looking at you like he’s trying not to make it obvious how much he likes you.
You finally finish wiping the counter and sigh dramatically. “Okay. We’re officially closed.”
Michael glances around slowly. “Damn.”
“You really survived it.”
“I really did huh.” You laugh quietly while grabbing your bag from beneath the register. “Alright, superstar. Time to leave.” He slides off the stool immediately. “I’ll walk out with you girl.”
“You don’t gotta do that.”
“I know.” The answer comes too fast. And somehow that makes your face warm again. The night air outside feels cooler than before, neon signs buzzing overhead while you lock the arcade doors behind you.
Michael stays close beside you while you walk down the side alley toward the employee parking lot. Close enough that your arms brush once, Then again. Neither of you moves away. “You always this shy?” he asks softly. “You always talk this much?”
“Only when I’m nervous.” You glance at him immediately. “You get nervous?” Michael laughs under his breath.
“You think I’m smooth all the time?” You scan his face. “A little.”
“Nah.” He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets. “Just with you.” Your heartbeat stumbles embarrassingly fast.You stop near the brick wall beside the building to dig through your bag for your keys.
Michael stops too. And suddenly it’s quiet again, One of those realization silences. You finally find your keys and look up and realize Michael’s closer now. Just close enough to make your stomach twist.
“You know,” he says softly, “I kept comin’ back here thinkin’ maybe you ain’t interested.” You blink. “What?” He smiles shyly, eyes dropping briefly before meeting yours again. “Then you’d smile at me and mess me all up again.”
Your chest melts instantly. “Michael...what?”
“You got me sittin’ in broken arcade machines every night lookin’ stupid.” You laugh breathlessly. “You do that yourself.”
“Mhm..i know” Neither of you moves.The soft light fron the road flickers softly across his face while he looks at you like he’s trying to work up courage for something.
Then quietly: “Can I kiss you?” God.
The fact that he asks nearly ruins you on the spot.You nod once. That’s all he needs.
Michael kisses you carefully at first, one hand sliding lightly against your waist while your back brushes the brick wall behind you.
And the second you kiss him back properly—he exhales softly against your mouth like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.
Very Warm and very Sweet.
A little shaky, Michael smiles into the kiss halfway through, actually giggling quietly when your hands grab the front of his jacket.“There she go,” he murmurs against your lips.
“You talk too much.” You said against his lips.
“You like it though.” You absolutely do. His hand slides gently along your jaw while he kisses you deeper this time, slower now, like he finally gets to do something he’s been thinking about forever.
𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. michael's feeling extremely lonely, not romantizing it! this is just for the plot. he yearns nonstop, doesnt take a no. theyre yearning for each other. 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁 & 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳. 𝘄𝗰 𝟱.𝗸
The hotel room in Atlanta was still humming with leftover adrenaline—distant screams outside, muffled through glass and concrete.
His glitter glove lay on the table like something abandoned in a hurry. A half open suitcase. A lamp he forgot to turn on properly. And Michael, sitting on the edge of the bed, phone already in his hand. He didn’t even pretend to debate it this time.
He just dialed.
One ring.
Two.
Then your voice. “…Michael?” Softly Awake, but not fully. Like you’d been pulled out of something warm. He exhaled immediately, shoulders dropping like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “Hi, baby.” There was a awkward pause, A small one—but sharp enough that he felt it. “You’re calling again,” you said gently.
He nodded before remembering you couldn’t see him. “Yeah.” Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It never was with you. It just felt like waiting for the truth to catch up. “I just...i needed you,” he admitted quietly. His voice sounded smaller than it did on stage.
You didn’t respond right away, and he could almost hear you sitting up slightly, adjusting to him. “What happened?” you asked softly. “Nothing,” he said quickly. Then corrected himself, honest again. “Everything. I don’t know.”
A faint breath on your end. He stared at the floor, fingers picking at the edge of the phone cord like it might anchor him.“It’s just...” He hesitated. Swallowed. “It gets too quiet after shows.”
“I know,” you said. That simple agreement made his chest tighten. He laughed once under his breath, but it wasn’t amused. “No, you don’t. You don’t hear it like I do. Seventy thousand people screaming your name and then—nothing. Just a room that feels like it’s swallowing you.” you sigh. Then your voice softened even more.
“Are you alone right now?”
“Yes.” He didn’t even try to pretend otherwise. That was the thing—with you, he never had to perform.
a heart beat passed. Then quietly, almost shy: “Can you... just talk to me for a bit?” Then you sighed softly, like you were giving in despite yourself. “Michael...”
“Please, baby,” he said quickly, softer now. Almost embarrassed by how much he meant it. “Just... don’t hang up yet.” That word again —baby.
He said it like it was something fragile in his mouth. Like it meant home.
You exhaled slowly.“Okay,” you said. And something in him unclenched instantly. He leaned back against the headboard, eyes closing. “Just.. tell me about your day.”
“My day?” you repeated.
“Yeah,” he said, almost pleading now. “Anything. I just want to hear you.” There was a soft rustle, like you were shifting to get comfortable.“Well,” you began gently, “it was kind of boring.” He smiled faintly at that. “Well, I like boring,” he admitted.“You would,” you teased lightly. That tiny shift, that warmth—made his throat tighten.
For a few minutes, you talked. About small things. Ordinary things. a coffee you spilled, a song you heard on the radio, a moment outside where the sky looked almost too bright to be real.And Michael listened like it was the most important performance in the world.
No screaming crowd had ever sounded like this.At some point, his eyes drifted closed. His breathing slowed.
And you noticed.
“You’re tired,” you said quietly. “I know,” he murmured.
“Are you going to sleep now?” You asked curiously. He hesitated. Because sleep meant the silence would come back. And he didn’t want that yet. “Not yet,” he said. Then, after a beat, honest again: “Can you say it?”
“Say what?” He swallowed. “Goodnight.”
Silence. A long one... Then your voice, softer than before: “Michael... i don't think thats—”
“Please, baby,” he whispered again, barely there. “Just... say it like you used to.” That did something to the air between you. You took a slow breath. “Goodnight, Michael.”
His shoulders finally relaxed fully. Like something inside him had been held together all day and just now decided it was safe to loosen. “Again,” he whispered. A small pause. “Goodnight, Michael,” you repeated. He smiled faintly. “Thank you,” he murmured. You didn’t hang up right away.. Neither did he.
Because in that quiet space between cities and tours and everything that had gone wrong, your voice was still there. And for a few seconds longer, it was enough to make the loneliness feel far away.
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Michael kept the phone against his ear even after you stopped speaking, like moving it away would break something fragile between you. You were still there.
Breathing.
He could hear it faintly, just beneath the line. And that alone kept him from hanging up. “Are you still there?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you said. His eyes closed again, relief flickering through him so quickly it almost hurt. “Don’t go yet,” he said, softer. Not a demand. Just something closer to a need he didn’t know how to hide anymore. “I’m not,” you replied.
That should’ve been enough. But it wasn’t. It never really was, not when he got like this and the room felt too big again. Atlanta skyline glowing faintly through the curtains. Somewhere far below, traffic moved like nothing in the world was paused on this call.
Michael turned onto his side, curling slightly on the bed like he could make himself smaller. “I hate when it gets like this,” he admitted.“When it gets quiet?” you asked gently.
“Yeah.” He stops.“It makes me think too much.”
You didn’t interrupt. You just stayed with him in it. That was always what undid him. “I keep hearing them screaming,” he said slowly. “And then I come back here and it’s gone. Like it was never real. And I just...” He stopped, swallowing. “I don’t know where to put all of it.” The silence that followed wasn’t empty, It was listening.“Michael,” you said softly. “Yeah?”
“You’re still there.” He let out a shaky breath at that, eyes tightening shut. “I know,” he whispered. “I just... I don’t feel it sometimes.” Then your voice, a little firmer now, but still gentle: “Where are you right now?”
“My hotel room.” He said quickly. “And I’m here,” you said simply.
That made his chest ache. Because you were. Not physically. Not in any way that should’ve been possible anymore.But still there. In the space between words. In the line that neither of you had hung up. He turned his face into the pillow, gripping the phone harder. “I don’t want to lose you again,” he admitted suddenly.
The honesty came out before he could stop it. Like it had been sitting in him too long. Then you spoke, carefully:
“Michael... we already broke up.” That should’ve been the end of it. a boundary, a fact. But instead, he whispered, almost helpless: “I know.” And then, quieter: “I just didn’t stop missing you.” A breath from your end.
soft & unsteady.
Neither of you spoke again for a while. Just that quiet thread between you—still uncut. Michael shifted the phone slightly, pressing it closer. “Can you stay with me a little longer?” he asked. And after a long pause, you answered: “Okay..” He closed his eyes fully then.
Like that one word was enough to keep him from falling apart completely. Minutes passed And still..Neither of you hung up. no goodbyes, no decisions, no clarity. Just two people holding onto a line they weren’t ready to let go of yet, even if neither of them knew what it meant anymore.
Time slipped by without either of you noticing.
The city outside his hotel window had gone quieter. Even the traffic sounded distant now, blurred into a soft hum beneath your breathing through the phone. Michael hadn’t moved much from where he lay curled against the pillows, jacket still half on, stage makeup faintly smudged beneath tired eyes.
You were still there. That alone had settled something restless in him. Until—A soft sigh came from your end of the line. “Michael...” Immediately, his eyes opened. The way you said his name made his stomach tighten. “Yeah, baby?” Another pause.
Then gently: “I really have to go.” The words hit him harder than they should have. He sat up slowly, gripping the phone tighter. “A-Already?”
“It’s late.”
“I know, but—”
“Michael.” His chest tightened at the softness in your voice. Because you knew exactly why he didn’t want the call to end. He rubbed a tired hand over his face. “Just a little longer.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“I know.” A tiny silence. Then he whispered, smaller this time: “Please.”
Shit.
He hated how desperate he sounded. But not enough to stop.The room already felt emptier just hearing you prepare to leave it. You exhaled softly through the line. “You need sleep.”
“I need you,” he answered before thinking. The silence afterward was immediate. Michael shut his eyes hard, regret flashing through him. But it was too late now. He’d said it. And it was true. When you finally spoke again, your voice sounded fragile. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself.” He swallowed hard. “I know.”
Then quietly, almost ashamed: “But can you just... say goodnight again first?” You didn’t answer immediately. He could hear your breathing shift slightly, like you were hurting too. And somehow that made him more desperate, not less. “Baby,” he whispered softly, “please.” The nickname came out cracked around the edges this time.
“You don’t understand,” he continued quietly. “After we hang up it gets all quiet again.” Your breath caught faintly. Michael stared at the dark ceiling above him.“I know it sounds stupid,” he murmured, “but when you say goodnight it feels like... i don’t know. Like somebody still cares if I make it through the night.”
A long silence followed that, So long he thought maybe he’d ruined everything.
Then finally—“Oh, Michael…” The tenderness in your voice nearly undid him. He pressed the receiver harder against his ear like he could somehow get closer to you through it. “Please,” he whispered again. And then, finally: “Goodnight, baby.” His eyes closed instantly. A shaky breath left him before he could stop it, You heard it.
“Goodnight, Michael,” you whispered after a moment. He stayed quiet for a second, almost like he was absorbing it. Holding it somewhere safe inside himself. Then softly: “One more?” A tiny laugh broke through your voice—tired, emotional, helpless. “You’re impossible.”
“But you’re still here,” he whispered back. That silence again, Then you said it one last time, voice barely above a murmur: “Goodnight, Michael.” He smiled against the darkness of the room, small and exhausted and heartbreakingly relieved.
“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered. Neither of you hung up immediately. Of course not.You stayed there together for a few more quiet seconds, listening to each other breathe like letting go too fast might hurt worse.
And when the line finally clicked dead—Michael kept the phone against his ear anyway.
contains: childhood friends to lovers, 1k words, yearning, obsession, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness.
writer’s note: my obsession with michael is stronger than ever and i couldn’t help trying to write something. i kept thinking about a ‘childhood sweethearts’ trope and this is the result.
long before the world knew his name, michael knew the specific creak of your back porch steps. even as a child, your presence felt like a soft exhale in the middle of a scream. while the jackson house was a whirlwind of rehearsals, rhythmic thumping, and joseph’s booming voice, your porch was a place of stillness.
you were the girl with the gentle eyes who didn't ask anything of him. he’d slip out of his house, sometimes with a bruised ego, sometimes just exhausted from rehearsals, and find you sitting on your back steps.
you were always quiet, possessing that graceful stillness. you didn't demand he perform or dance, you’d simply move over to make room, offering him a piece of gum or a cool glass of water.
"is it loud over there today?" you’d ask softly, your voice a melodic contrast to the harshness of his world.
michael would just nod, his large, expressive eyes searching your face for any sign of judgment. "they’re just... practicing the same turn, over and over. i think my feet forgot how to walk normal," he’d whisper with a shy, tired smile. you’d nudge your shoulder against his and allow him sit in the safety of each other’s company until the sun dipped low.
for a few minutes, he wasn't a prodigy. he was just the boy next door who liked the way you smelled like lavender soap and sunshine.
those moments became his blueprint for peace. he learned early on that love wasn't just an applause, it was the way you looked at him and cared about him when he wasn't performing.
as the jackson 5 took off, the distance between your front doors grew into a breach of fame, but michael’s silent obsession began to root itself in that distance. you become the anchor he tries to hold onto through letters and late-night calls.
he develops a habit of memorizing you, not in a creepy way but more in a devotional way. the rhythm of your voice, the way you tilt your head when you listen, the quiet hum you make when you’re thinking. he carries those details with him everywhere, especially on the bad days.
when things get too harsh, too loud or too demanding, he closes his eyes and imagines your porch, your voice, the soft way you say his name. “michael…” like it’s something delicate, like it matters. he compares every woman he meets to the graceful, soft-spoken girl who used to hold his hand in the tall grass. but they were all too loud, too eager, too demanding.
he started keeping a small candid photo of you tucked into his jacket pocket, a reminder of the only person who knew the boy before the myth. he’d stare at it until the edges frayed, wondering if you were waiting for him or if he was chasing a ghost.
he becomes protective (possessive, even) of your memory. he hates the idea of you changing or, worse, finding someone else who might provide what he did for you.
he became a king, but in his mind, he was still that boy looking through your window. he started calling you from payphones in london, tokyo, and paris, his voice dropping into that breathless, shy register he only used with you.
"do you still have that old swing?" he asks, his voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and desperate longing. "i keep dreaming about it. i dream that i’m sitting there and you’re brushing the dust off my vest. everything is so shiny here, y/n. it’s too bright. i just want to sit in the dark with you for a little while. promise me you won't let anyone else sit on those steps. that's our spot, okay? only ours."
by the mid-80s, michael is at the most successful and burdened moment of his life. you’ve remained in his inner circle, a quiet fixture in the studio. the only person who can walk into a room and instantly lower his heart rate. his crush has evolved into a quiet, simmering obsession. he tracks your movements not out of malice, but out of a deep-seated fear that if you leave his sight, the "magic" that keeps him sane will vanish.
he treats you with a reverence that borders on worship. if you’re in the room, his eyes never truly leave you. he’ll be in the middle of a high-stakes meeting, and the moment you walk in with that gentle, grounded aura, his entire posture softens. he’ll find excuses to touch you, straightening your collar, lingering as he brushes a stray hair from your face, his fingers trembling slightly.
he starts to get protective, borderline possessive, though he hides it behind his gentle demeanor. if you mention another name or a man you met, the air in the room shifts. he doesn't yell; he grows unnervingly quiet, his large, expressive eyes tracking your every movement as if he’s trying to memorize the way your lips move. he begins to realize that the thought of anyone else touching your hand, the hand that used to hold his when he was scared of the dark in gary, is physically nauseating to him.
michael sees you as a piece of his lost childhood that he successfully "saved." he becomes intensely focused on keeping you "unspoiled" by the industry. his obsession manifests in the way he catalogs your likes and dislikes. he remembers a candy you liked when you were seven and has it imported by the crate. he notices if you’re sad before you even realize it yourself.
the confession happens during a private moment at neverland, far away from the cameras. the "safe haven" isn't enough anymore; he wants to own the haven. he’s tired of being the boy next door, he wants to be the man in your life.
he’s pacing the library, the firelight dancing off the curls at his temples. you’re sitting in an armchair, watching him with that same gentle composure that has always been his anchor.
"you're doing it again," you say softly in a worried tone. "you're overthinking. come sit down, michael."
he stops abruptly, turning to you. his voice is a whisper, thick with years of unspoken words. "i can’t just sit down anymore, y/n. don't you see? i go out there and i give them everything. i give my blood, my sweat, my childhood... and then i come to you to get my soul back. but i’m tired of leaving it here and picking it up later. i want it to stay with you. i want me to stay with you."
he moves toward you, his movements fluid but desperate, kneeling at your feet and resting his forehead against your knees. “i’ve been obsessed with the way you say my name since i was six years old. please... tell me you feel the weight of it, too."
once he declares his feelings, there is no going back. michael’s love is all-consuming. he wants you in the front row of every show, in the studio for every take, and in the room every time he wakes up. it’s a suffocatingly sweet kind of love; he wants to build a wall around the two of you where the world can’t hurt him and where you’ll never have a reason to look at anyone else.
you are his living sanctuary, and he is a man who has spent his whole life trying to find a home he can finally lock the door to.
contains: sexual themes, fingering, dom!michael, use of “mama” and “baby”.
1982
it was a cold friday night, and the movie theater was packed. you stood near the entrance, checking your makeup in the reflection of the glass for the hundredth time.
a black car pulled up next to the curb besides you and there he was, michael jackson. you two had been going out for a couple weeks now, but everytime you saw him it gave you the biggest of butterflies.
as he stepped out the car and turned towards you, his face softened, and a huge smile spread across his lips.
“y/n.” he called out, walking towards you with the biggest grin you’d ever seen this man have. “you came,” he said, almost like he still couldn’t believe it. you laughed. “of course i came.”
“you look so pretty,” he said quietly. “i’ve been thinking about you all day.” your cheeks grew warm “really?” he nodded.
“all week actually.” he glanced down shyly, then looked back up at you. “i couldn’t sleep last night because you kept running through my head.” you giggled, “oh stop it.”
he reached for your hand carefully, intertwining his fingers with yours. “after you, m’lady.” he said, extending his hand out towards the theater doors.
as you two walked in together, the soft hum of the popcorn machines, and the slushy maker filled the air. michael held your hand tight, pulling out the two tickets from his pocket before pulling you two towards the booth.
“tickets please.” the worker said, obviously out of habit. michael handed him the tickets, before looking at you and smiling. “enjoy the movie.” he said, stamping them before handing them back to michael.
as you two walked down the hall he turned to you, “are you gonna get scared?” he teased, dragging out his words. “no, of course not” you giggled, covering your face with your free hand.
as you two entered the theater, he held you close, leading you up the stairs right to the back of the theater. “all the way in the back?” you asked, “yep. we can see everything from here!” he smirked, before sitting down.
as the lights dimmed and the movie started, your hands stayed interlinked. around 20 minutes in you felt his hand pull away from yours and glide on your thigh slowly.
you noticed, turning to him to find him already looking back at you. “are you even going to watch the movie?” you asked, “hmm, why would i?” he whispered. his hand moving slightly higher on your thigh.
“michael..” you whispered, he hummed in reply before turning back to the screen. his fingers sprawled out on your thigh. moving his hand up and down slowly, before he starts fidgeting with your skirt.
then, he turns to you whispering “do you know how hard it has been for me to act like a gentleman around you, y/n?” his hand moving now under your skirt, his fingers brushing your panties.
“what are you’ doing michael..” you ask, a sudden wave of heat washing over your core. his thumb rubs your thigh, moving towards your clothed clit.
“feeling you, mama.” he whispers looking down at you, his curls falling into his eyes. he then moves his thumb to push down on your clit. earning a soft moan from you. “shh, we don’t want to interrupt the movie do we?” he teases, adding more pressure just to be a tease.
he starts moving his thumb in tiny circles around your clit, your panties almost soaking. “p-please.” you say, as quietly as you can, little moans leaving your mouth. “please what, mama? use your words.” he leans down towards your ear, lifting his thumb up waiting for a response.
“p-please.. t-touch.” your voice quivering, “mmm, good girl.” he growls, before sliding his hand into your panties. his long fingers feeling all throughout your folds. “so wet for me, hm?” he teases, earning more quiet moans from you.
he brings his two middle fingers down to your entrance, before pushing them inside of you in one quick motion. “f-fuck” you cry out, the sudden movement filling up your whole core. “can you take it?” he asks, still facing the movie.
“y-yes” you manage to get out, as he begins pumping his fingers in and out of you. “your’so tight f’ me, mama.” he groans, a tiny moan leaving his mouth as he curls his fingers inside of you.
you moan, before he brings his free hand up to your mouth, silencing you from making anymore noises. “shh, baby, quiet for me.” he coos, curling his fingers inside of you once more. your moans are muffled against his hand, his grip against your face tightening.
all you can hear is the movie, and the sounds of your pussy each time he pushes his fingers in and out of you. “you gonna’ finish for me, mama?” he groans, his movements becoming faster. “go on, make a mess on these fingers.”
your legs shake as you squirt on his two fingers. he pulls away, leaving you empty and throbbing. bringing his hand up to his mouth sucking on his fingers, groaning at your sweet taste in his mouth.
you fix your skirt before turning towards him, his eyes meeting yours. “you did so good.” he says, squeezing your thigh softly. you two then turn to the movie screen, the credits already rolling.
i promise i don’t bite 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯... i sadly can’t follow back since me and lil my sister share an account on here. so yeah (╥﹏╥) if u like to be moots hmu 🤙 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
contains: sexual themes, fingering, squirting , dom!mature michael. fem!reader & use of ! baby & mama. kinda rushed? ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ mature!michael barely looked up from the papers spread across the table when you walked into the room.
“Baby,” he said softly, already reaching for you the second you got close enough. You sighed dramatically. “You’ve been ignoring me for an hour.”
“I’m working.”
“Yeah..sure.” He finally glanced up then, amused by the pout on your face. Mature era Michael always had that unfairly calm expression when he knew he was getting under your skin. “Come here,” he murmured. You stepped between his knees and immediately his hands settled on your hips, warm and possessive through the thin fabric of your skirt. He leaned back in the chair, staring at you quietly for a second before smiling a little. “Attitude today?”
“You started it.” You rolled your eyes. “Oh, did I?” His fingers slid slowly along your thighs, teasing, unhurried. The movement made you inhale sharply and he noticed immediately, eyes darkening just slightly. Michael loved that—loved seeing your composure crack first.
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“Mama,” he said lowly, thumb rubbing against your skin while you tried not to react, “you get needy so fast.” You rolled your eyes, but it was weak. “S-shut up.” That only made him laugh softly. “So pretty when you’re pretending not to want me.”
The worst thing about Michael was how patient he was. He’d keep you right there between his legs, touching you slowly until your hands ended up gripping his shoulders for balance. Meanwhile he stayed completely composed, looking up at you with that lazy little smile like he had all the time in the world. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Can barely stand still. Mmh.”
“Michael…” You bite your lip. “Mmhh..There she is,” he whispered instantly, voice warm with satisfaction the second you finally sounded desperate for him. “That’s my baby.” He smirks and bite his lips. “You’re gonna’ have to keep it down mama, if you don’t want to get caught. I’ll gladly fuck you in the middle of my office with an audience if it meant that everyone knows you’re mine and I’m yours, you wan’ that?”
He carefully placed you down on his lap, and lifted your skirt, to put his hands down your skirt. “Spread your legs baby.” He helps you spread your legs wider with his big hands. His fingers ran down your pussy to dip into your soaking hole. Oh and did i mention he already took your panties of?? You let out a moan and touched his wrist as he took his wet fingers and circled your clit with them.
“Ohhh yess moan for me baby. Moan for me. That’s a mama mmhh.” he cooed into your open mouth. Your breath fanning his face as he started to finger you harder and faster.
“Fuck, look at thattt, you’re so fucking wet mama. Hear your delicious juices already squirting around my fingers” His fingers curled up to hit your g spot and you were convinced that your half of your skirt were completely soaked at this point. “That feels good Mmh?” He grabs his clean hand to make you look at him. You can also feel that he’s hard.
Then, He slides his second finger inside you, slow and deliberate, curling it to find that spot again, Making deeeeep eye contact with you and that makes your vision white out, and you moan, long and loud, unable to help yourself. He tried and adds a third finger… yes girl, a third one.
stretching you, filling you, and he starts to pump them in and out, his wrist twisting, his knuckles dragging against your walls in a way that makes you see stars. “A-ah! ff-fuckk, michael! Yes!”
You came hard on his fingers with a loud, shuddering scream. “Michael—! Fuck, I’m cumming—!” Your entire body convulsed hard, thighs clamping around his fingers, shaking your head and stopping his hand, powerful waves of pleasure crashed through you. “Fuckk.. atta girl, mmhh so, so good.”
Your pussy clenched and fluttered around his fingers gushing wetly on his lap and fingers while he continued to rub your clit, to see a small reaction. “Mean, huh? aww look at you mama.”
through every pulse of your orgasm. You thrashed on the chaise, moaning shamelessly, eyes squeezed shut as the intense release left you trembling and breathless. His other hand stayed firmly on your hand that’s stopping him.
you fix yourself on him and your skirt then turning towards him very shy… his eyes meet yours. “you did so good mama. So good.” he says, squeezing your legs softly. you two smile at each other and he hugs you right. “You really embarrassed me, Michael.” You said shyly. (◞‸ ◟)💧 He kisses your forehead. “Don’t be embarrassed’ mama, you did so well.”
mil talks ૮ • ﻌ - ა. First time writing smut.. heh nervous >.< its lwk ahh.. so I’ll probably delete it.
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ mature!michael with his personal assistant girlfriend! is soooo 😵💫 because everyone thinks you’re just the calm girl following him around with a clipboard and a schedule, but nobody notices the way michael looks for you in every room first. like he trusts you with everything.
his schedule, his food order, reminding him to eat, calming him down before interviews, fixing his cuffs before award shows (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) and he gets so attached to your presence that if you’re gone for more than ten minutes he’s immediately asking, “where’s she at?”
and the relationship staying secret for a while because technically it’s “unprofessional,” but michael makes it SO difficult. always pulling you closer absentmindedly when he’s tired. always finding excuses to keep you near him during meetings. sitting beside you instead of across from you even when there’s space everywhere else.
his staff definitely notices before the public does 😭 especially because mature era michael gets clingy when he’s overworked. like after long rehearsals he’d just quietly rest his head on your shoulder while you go through paperwork, too exhausted to speak properly. “you need sleep,” you’d mumble. “Need you first.” (◞‸ ◟)💧
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and god the tension during tours??? him whispering little comments in your ear while people are around like it’s nothing. fingers brushing yours under tables. making direct eye contact with you during performances because you’re standing backstage trying not to fold (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
plus michael being sooo protective over you without making it obvious. if someone talks to you disrespectfully his entire demeanor changes. suddenly he’s quieter, sharper, standing closer to you.“Is there a problem here?”
and the thing is, michael trusts very few people completely, but he trusts YOU with every vulnerable part of himself. the exhausted version. the insecure version. the version sitting on the hotel floor at 3am humming unfinished songs while you organize papers beside him.
sometimes he’d just stop and stare at you for a second like he’s overwhelmed by how much comfort you bring him.“what?” you’d laugh. he’d smile softly, reaching for your hand without even thinking about it.
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ mature!michael with his personal assistant girlfriend! is soooo 😵💫 because everyone thinks you’re just the calm girl following him around with a clipboard and a schedule, but nobody notices the way michael looks for you in every room first. like he trusts you with everything.
his schedule, his food order, reminding him to eat, calming him down before interviews, fixing his cuffs before award shows (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑) and he gets so attached to your presence that if you’re gone for more than ten minutes he’s immediately asking, “where’s she at?”
and the relationship staying secret for a while because technically it’s “unprofessional,” but michael makes it SO difficult. always pulling you closer absentmindedly when he’s tired. always finding excuses to keep you near him during meetings. sitting beside you instead of across from you even when there’s space everywhere else.
his staff definitely notices before the public does 😭 especially because mature era michael gets clingy when he’s overworked. like after long rehearsals he’d just quietly rest his head on your shoulder while you go through paperwork, too exhausted to speak properly. “you need sleep,” you’d mumble. “Need you first.” (◞‸ ◟)💧
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and god the tension during tours??? him whispering little comments in your ear while people are around like it’s nothing. fingers brushing yours under tables. making direct eye contact with you during performances because you’re standing backstage trying not to fold (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
plus michael being sooo protective over you without making it obvious. if someone talks to you disrespectfully his entire demeanor changes. suddenly he’s quieter, sharper, standing closer to you.“Is there a problem here?”
and the thing is, michael trusts very few people completely, but he trusts YOU with every vulnerable part of himself. the exhausted version. the insecure version. the version sitting on the hotel floor at 3am humming unfinished songs while you organize papers beside him.
sometimes he’d just stop and stare at you for a second like he’s overwhelmed by how much comfort you bring him.“what?” you’d laugh. he’d smile softly, reaching for your hand without even thinking about it.
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ mature!michael with a brat girlfriend who knows exactly how to get under his skin ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ like arguments between you two never stay calm because you’re stubborn, emotional & dramatic, and michael is somehow worse because he hates when you pull away from him.
like imagine storming around his hotel suite after a fight, grabbing your purse while he’s standing there in sweats and a black fitted shirt, already exhausted.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“With who?”
“Why do you care?” wrong answer. because suddenly he’s following you through the room with that irritated look on his face, jaw tight, hair messy from running his hands through them too many times. mature era michael always seemed so softspoken publicly, but with you? he gets sharp when he’s upset. not yelling. he hates yelling but his voice gets quieter which is honestly scarier.
“You think I’m stupid?” and you roll your eyes because you know he’s jealous. you know exactly what this is. michael’s older, richer, more experienced, but somehow he gets soooo insecure with you because you’re young, pretty, and impulsive. you still go out with your friends, still get attention everywhere, still know how to make him worry without even trying.
and he HATES when you act bratty during arguments 😭 like cutting him off with sarcastic little comments while he’s genuinely trying to talk to you. “Maybe I should just leave then.”
“Stop saying that.” immediately. because that’s the thing about michael — he can handle attitude, eye rolls, slammed doors, all of it. but the second you act like you might actually leave him, he folds. completely.
you’d notice it too. the shift in his face. suddenly he’s quieter, watching you carefully while you avoid his eyes. and after a minute he’d walk over slowly, grabbing your wrist gently before you can move away again.
“Mama,” softer now. “Don’t do that.” and now HE’S frustrated because he still wants to be mad, but you look upset too and he’s weak when it comes to you.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
he’d pull you against his chest despite you still pretending to be annoyed, one hand rubbing your back while he talks quietly above your head. trying to calm both of you down at the same time.
“you drive me crazy, y’know that?” and you’d mumble something like “you’re dramatic.” then he’d laugh under his breath because maybe he is. but he loves you too much to ever let an argument stay an argument for long.
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ mature!michael with a brat girlfriend who knows exactly how to get under his skin ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ like arguments between you two never stay calm because you’re stubborn, emotional & dramatic, and michael is somehow worse because he hates when you pull away from him.
like imagine storming around his hotel suite after a fight, grabbing your purse while he’s standing there in sweats and a black fitted shirt, already exhausted.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“With who?”
“Why do you care?” wrong answer. because suddenly he’s following you through the room with that irritated look on his face, jaw tight, hair messy from running his hands through them too many times. mature era michael always seemed so softspoken publicly, but with you? he gets sharp when he’s upset. not yelling. he hates yelling but his voice gets quieter which is honestly scarier.
“You think I’m stupid?” and you roll your eyes because you know he’s jealous. you know exactly what this is. michael’s older, richer, more experienced, but somehow he gets soooo insecure with you because you’re young, pretty, and impulsive. you still go out with your friends, still get attention everywhere, still know how to make him worry without even trying.
and he HATES when you act bratty during arguments 😭 like cutting him off with sarcastic little comments while he’s genuinely trying to talk to you. “Maybe I should just leave then.”
“Stop saying that.” immediately. because that’s the thing about michael — he can handle attitude, eye rolls, slammed doors, all of it. but the second you act like you might actually leave him, he folds. completely.
you’d notice it too. the shift in his face. suddenly he’s quieter, watching you carefully while you avoid his eyes. and after a minute he’d walk over slowly, grabbing your wrist gently before you can move away again.
“Mama,” softer now. “Don’t do that.” and now HE’S frustrated because he still wants to be mad, but you look upset too and he’s weak when it comes to you.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
he’d pull you against his chest despite you still pretending to be annoyed, one hand rubbing your back while he talks quietly above your head. trying to calm both of you down at the same time.
“you drive me crazy, y’know that?” and you’d mumble something like “you’re dramatic.” then he’d laugh under his breath because maybe he is. but he loves you too much to ever let an argument stay an argument for long.
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