hello! this is a mini series about y/n, who was originally the daughter of a close, non-famous friend of michael’s who tragically passed away in 1986. michael, being her godfather, stepped up instantly to legally adopt her so she would never feel alone, raising her as his absolute own. i thought this was a cute little idea for my first series as i have many ideas for it!
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it was a sunday morning in neverland, 1990, and little y/n, who was four years old, was already up to no good.
you sat at the table with a big tin bowl in front of you, a mixing spoon beside it, and a box of brownie mix. well... what was brownie mix. you were completely concentrated on what you were doing. although you had chocolate powder almost everywhere, you had a mission and were absolutely determined to finish it. you had decided to surprise your daddy with some brownies—something you had never actually made before, but had seen your grandma make.
chocolate powder coated the shiny wooden surface of the kitchen island like a layer of dark snow. it was smeared across your cheeks, dusted over your tiny apron, and there was even a line going across your forehead.
you picked up the heavy metal spoon with both hands, trying your absolute best to stir the thick, lumpy powder. you remembered watching grandmother katherine stir the bowl so easily at her house, making it look like magic. but for your small, four-year-old arms, it was hard work. you let out a little puff of air and wiped your forehead with the back of your hand, leaving another chocolate streak across your brow.
"applehead?"
you heard the soft voice of your father and froze.
you slowly turned your head, clutching the big metal spoon tightly against your chest like a shield. michael was standing in the doorway wearing his favourite red corduroy shirt and loose black trousers, his hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. he blinked, looking from the chocolate-covered island to the powder floating in the air, and finally down to you, his tiny, messy daughter.
for a second, it was completely quiet. you held your breath, wondering if you were going to get in trouble for making such a massive mess in the kitchen.
then, michael’s shoulders started to shake. a soft, breathless giggle escaped his lips, and he covered his mouth with his hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"oh, my goodness," he whispered, walking over with light, quiet steps. he knelt down right next to your chair so he was at eye-level with you, reaching out to gently brush a stray clump of chocolate powder off the top of your head. "what is all this? are you trying to turn my kitchen into a chocolate factory, y/n?"
"i'm making a surprise," you mumbled, your voice small as you looked down into the dry, lumpy bowl. "for you. like grandma katherine does. but the spoon is too heavy, daddy."
michael’s expression softened completely, his heart melting at the sight of your sticky face. he didn't care about the messy countertops or the ruined apron at all.
"a surprise for me?" he cooed, giving you that warm, proud smile that always made you feel safe. he reached over and gently took the heavy spoon from your hands. "well, every good chef needs an assistant. do you think i can help you finish it, applehead?"
you nodded fast, your eyes lighting up. michael laughed softly, pulling up a stool right next to you and rolling up his sleeves, ready to help his little girl make the absolute messiest brownies in history.
with a lot of help from michael, you both managed to scrape the thick chocolate batter into a pan and slide it into the hot oven.
not even ten minutes had gone by before you were already leaning against the kitchen counter, staring intently at the closed oven door. you were practically bursting at the seams with impatience.
"is it done yet?" your voice whined, heavy with pure boredom.
michael chuckled softly, walking over to the sink to wash the stray chocolate spots off his hands. "no, applehead. we still have time. it takes a little while for the magic to happen." he dried his hands on a towel and looked down at you with a gentle, thoughtful smile. "do you want to colour while we wait?"
you thought for a moment, biting the inside of your cheek as you weighed your options. colourings was fun, but waiting was so hard.
"can we colour pictures of neverland?" you asked, looking up at him with big, hopeful eyes. "with the ferris wheel and the elephants?"
"we can colour whatever you want, sweet girl," michael said, his voice warm and soft.
he reached down and scooped you up into his arms, completely unbothered by the leftover powder on your apron. he carried you out of the kitchen and down the long hallway toward the family room, where a massive wooden chest filled with colouring books, crisp white paper, and every colour of crayon imaginable was waiting for you.
he set you down gently on the soft carpet, dropping down right beside you with a dramatic, playful groan that made you giggle. he opened the chest and began pulling out handfuls of bright crayons, scattering them between the two of you like little plastic treasures.
"alright, princess," he said, handing you a bright yellow crayon. "show me what we're drawing first."
you both leaned over the big sheets of paper. your tiny fingers gripped a green crayon while michael carefully filled in a drawing of a carousel. every few seconds, you peeked over at his paper, your eyebrows furrowing in serious concentration.
"don't go outside the lines, daddy," you warned, pointing a chubby finger at a tiny spot he missed.
michael chuckled softly, his shoulders shaking as he carefully pulled the crayon back inward. "i'm trying my best, captain. your grandma katherine is the master artist, i'm still learning."
finally, after what felt like an absolute eternity for a four-year-old, a loud, sharp ding! echoed from the kitchen.
you gasped loudly, your entire back straightening up as your eyes went wide. "the brownies!" you exclaimed, dropping your crayon without a second thought and scrambling to your feet.
your little feet smacked against the hardwood floor as you bolted down the hallway toward the kitchen.
"y/n, wait! don't touch them! it'll be very hot!" michael called out, his voice a mix of amusement and sudden panic as he scrambled up from the carpet to chase after his tiny, fast-moving daughter.
by the time he burst into the kitchen, you were standing a safe two feet away from the oven, bouncing on your toes with your hands clasped together under your chin. michael let out a breath of relief, adjusting his red corduroy shirt before walking over to the counter. he grabbed a pair of thick quilted oven mitts, giving you a playful, dramatic wink.
"stand back, princess," he whispered, opening the oven door.
a wave of sweet, warm, gooey chocolate air rushed into the room, making your mouth instantly water. michael carefully slid the baking pan out and set it on top of the stove. the edges of the brownies were perfectly crinkled and smelled absolutely amazing.
"can we have them now please please please!" you begged, jumping up and down on your tiptoes with your little fists clenched tight against your heart.
michael stood by the counter, pulling off the thick oven mitts and tossing them aside. he looked down at you, folding his arms across his chest with a playful, teasing look on his face.
"you haven't even had breakfast yet, applehead," michael said, raising an eyebrow.
you stopped jumping, pouting your lips out as far as they could go. "but brownies are breakfast! they have eggs in them! i saw the box!"
michael let out a chuckle. he couldn't even handle your toddler logic. he walked over and picked you up again, settling you right on his hip so you could look down at the hot pan safely.
"nice try, princess," he chuckled, bopping your nose with his finger. "but that doesn't count. how about we eat some real breakfast? you can have them for dessert later after dinner."
you stared at the pan of brownies, your face falling instantly into a dramatic pout at his words.
"after dinner?" you whined, the word sounding like the worst punishment in the entire world to your four-year-old ears. "but daddy, that's forever away! the sun hasn't even come up all the way yet!"
michael laughed softly against your hair, rocking you slightly on his hip to soothe your tiny tantrum. "it's not forever, silly. the day goes by fast when we're having fun. plus, if you eat chocolate now, you'll be bouncing off the walls before lunch."
you rested your chin on his shoulder, crossing your small arms as best as you could while he carried you over to the fridge.
"i want pancakes then," you mumbled into his shirt, still a little stubborn but willing to compromise if it meant getting something sweet. "with smiley faces on them."
"pancakes it is," michael said, setting you down safely on a high stool at the clean side of the island. "one giant smiley face pancake coming right up for my favourite little chef."
he immediately went to work, hum-singing a quiet melody under his breath as he pulled out the mix and a frying pan. you watched him, your frustration completely melting away as he did a little spin on his heel while reaching for a spatula, making you giggle.
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thank you for reading! this is just only 1 of the chapters of the mini series i am doing. i hope yall like it as this is my first ever fanfic!
a collection of all my manager!michael x gn/fem popstar!reader stories. while works are posted out of order, they're sorted chronologically here <3
i. hold the phone! (album)
hold the phone! — reader's first album with manager!michael, a youthful and girly pop album themed around slumber parties, girliness, prank calls, and fun.
what's in the headlines? — the beginning of something amazing. reader and manager!michael form a strong relationship and fun dynamic during this era. michael subtly begins his habit of spending on and spoiling reader. celebratory dinners are hosted by michael for reader every other night.
works for this era:
sugar daddy tendencies
michael's crush starts
texts/posts that are themcore
ii. miss connection (album)
miss connection — reader's second album, a return to her girly sound with hints of more mature themes. this album is themed after connections and misconnections, framing reader as cupid.
what's in the headlines? — fame hits hard. everyone is making choices for reader, choosing her look, sound, rival, and even her boyfriend! reader struggles with her love for her new boyfriend and her fondness of her own manager, juggling both men until finally realizing she truly loves michael.
works for this era:
michael's better company, anyways
him & his sexy ass glasses
he's jealous over your pr boyfriend
vacay? without you? no way!
texts/posts that are themcore
era moodboard
iii. honestly, (album)
honestly, — reader's third album, a mature exploration of her new self-chosen identity themed around her being the director of her own life.
what's in the headlines? — the messiest era. reader and michael are frequently on and off. both love each other, but fear the consequences of anything permanent. michael reconnects with his ex-wife via co-parenting; reader grows jealous. reader tours this album, selling out stadiums and gaining a reputation for how close she is with her fans.
works for this era:
learning a new lesson (18+)
he's jealous after an afterparty
it's just the music
can he be your boyfriend again? (18+)
jealous of his ex-wife
era moodboard
caring for you while you're drunk
texts/posts that are themcore
iv. intermission (a break in music)
intermission — reader takes a break from music, having established herself thoroughly in the industry.
what's in the headlines? — the resting period. a more domestic time where reader uses her fame to do fun things. reader and manager!michael become official during this era, overcoming doubts and insecurities. reader spends more time with the kids, and the paparazzi and tabloids spread photos of her with them.
works for this era:
him & his sexy ass glasses pt2
era moodboard
texts/posts that are themcore
iv. ask & receive (album)
ask & receive — reader's fourth album. theming tbd.
what's in the headlines? — the victory lap. reader returns to music with a bang. more events tbd.
i’d be mad as hell if my man’s fans had been calling me every name under the sun for 2 months straight and the only time he breaks his silence is to let them know he don’t use facebook 😭😭😭 idk why this cracks me up
Synopsis: The future King and Queen of Pop first met as children on a summer evening in 1972 Los Angeles. Both budding superstars with a talent that threw them into the spotlight young, they found comfort in the idea of never having to “perform” for each other; always able to just exist as themselves. They’d found a lifelong best friend in each other, a confidante they could never live without while on their way to becoming the most famous faces in popular music. Little did they know it at the time, but they’d also found the future love of their life.
Set between the Jackson 5 and Mature eras, content will vary and won’t turn 18+ until they’ve both reached adulthood.
Jackson 5/Jacksons :
Episode 1 — Debut
Episode 2 — The Rittenhouse
Episode 3 — Connection
Episode 4 — When We Grow Up
Off the Wall :
Thriller :
Bad :
Dangerous :
History :
Invincible :
Mature :
──── ♡ I don’t have a taglist, but I don’t mind making one if people wish it so. Thank you if you decide to read.
What a shining example of a black father. He would go in the middle of the night to fck that girl and would be back in time to cook breakfast like a true black king. Some of y’all’s daddies still ain’t come back from the grocery store,what an angel.
*Hey beauties, it’s been a while, huh?😭. For my Honey readers, I can’t remember if I stated but my book is on Wattpad under the same username if you’d like to finish it! I might continue posting on here for anybody who wants me to. This is a curveball of my usual but, I’m feeling the energy and I need to write honey! Not interested? Scroll, interested? I hope you enjoy and for anybody who doesn’t know, ALL my imagines, fanfics, the main character is BLACK. Also, this will be Bad Era meaning around 1988 for this story. I will try my best to be as accurate as possible but a little background—the main character is 25. Music is centered around Dionne Warwick and Kelela. I know Kelela wasn’t around during this time but let’s pretend! Thanks😭 Also! Baby, I be writing, this is going to be long! This is a test chapter as well, I can write more…🩷 enjoy!*
THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS.
TIMING: SUMMER 1988 PAIRING: BLACK!OC X BADERA!MICHAEL
Your perspective pans above the young lady lying on her side, her body clinging to the edge of the bed and fingers gripping the sheets. *The music swells in* Her tears silently fell, your point of view shifting to the various artwork splattered on the walls. An apartment building she calls home—rooms packed with supplies, stuff animals, and furry pillows. Your gaze switches back to Kaliyah. The heartfelt voice of the woman in her headphones causing the waterworks to worsen. “Anyone who had a heart would love me too…why. won’t. you?”
A story reflecting on the whimsical life of the black woman.
Thoughts transmuting into enemies, nobody really puts a looking-glass 2 our struggles.
The world badgers us, an angel always perched on our shoulder, preventing our honest dialogue from escaping.
This, a love letter dedicated to the black woman who’s never felt seen. Whose always had 2 shrink consciously.
Be free, black woman. Be whimsical because you ARE allowed to be anything you wish.
Be wild, be bold and let nobody diminish your light.
ACT I.
“Knowin’ I love you so, a-anyone who had a heart would love me too.” A soothing falsetto moving around the air—in-tune with the voice behind the soft padding of her headphones. Kaliyah breaths in sharply, she exhales fast. Taking in another gust of air to calm her nerves—tears slip from her lashes and rough sniffles escape from her nostrils. She couldn’t hold it back anymore, her chest sinking in and chills overtaking her body. A box fan spitting a harsh breeze on her skin—the one way she was attempting to keep from being overstimulated—it sits on a dresser in front of her. A wail escaping from her quivering lips, her face burying into the plump pillow she lays her head on.
A pink teddy on her body, the silk bundled up between her thighs and a tall window behind her allowing the sounds of the world to flow through. The vermillion curtains draped, slightly wavering on the headboard. The lamp still on as it flickers faintly in the living room, her fingers graze her thigh, bare nails digging into her skin as her eyebrows crease. “I fucking knew better.” Her voice frail, barely above a whisper.
Her throat numb from the ginger she consumed, having made a cup of natural juice in the primitive hours of the day. The same recipe—3 carrots, 3 oranges, a piece of ginger, and a whole lemon. The specific time in the morning coming back to her like a boomerang, the flashback washing over her closed eyes. He knocked on the apartment door 15 minutes later, Tobias, Kaliyah’s now ex-boyfriend. The expression on his face, she couldn’t forget it if she wanted to. The devastating look knowing he gave up, knowing he no longer loves her the way she loves him. The screaming match they held etched into the walls and her body drowning in a pool of reveries.
“But, I love him.” Her voice trailing off, orbs looking at the CD player in her hand. The backpack resting on her nightstand comes into view, the honk of a McLaren riding by was followed by the shouts of the neighborhood kids below. A collection of spray paint bottles arranged around the sack, she hadn’t made any art in the city since she’s been in a relationship. It’s been six months, six months. How dare she abandon her passion, something that once was her reason for living?
A wave of anger settles across her mind—she threw everything to the side for him. The neurons in her brain firing and the wires reconstructing themselves, her blurred vision clearing up as she blinks a couple of times. Her body beginning to move after resting for what felt like forever, Kaliyah sits up to stare in front of her. The white paper peeling off in some places, strokes of multicolored paint lining the walls. Some strokes made into quotes, others transformed into pictures it took hours for her to do. The young woman nodding her head, the embarrassment shedding off her and out the window sill. “And I can’t rewind?” The notes blasting causing her to become aware, she rips her headphones off and begins to move as if she’s on a mission.
A pair of black leggings slid up her thighs, they accentuate her behind and the small of her back. An oversized hoodie coating her upper body, the material ebony as well. She always remained invisible, no clothing that would catch attention under any circumstances. Her heart flooding with adrenaline as she ties her tennis shoes secure as she could, the grin tugging on her lips couldn’t be contained. She exits out the door, her eyes catch the darkness in the apartment when she closes the entrance. A black scarf tied around her nose and mouth, doe-eyes aiming down the corridor and a desire aching in her fingers.
Painting was her way of feeling seen, the way her fingers transmuted days of unhealed feelings into awe-inspiring imagery came naturally to Kaliyah. She blew a cloud of smoke out the side of her mouth, her fingers flicking the roach onto the gravel beneath her shoes. Her eyes scanning over the various lines she made, all connecting in the ways she wanted. Having to hide herself was common in childhood, isolating just to feel comfortable with her own being and to step away from the stressors of life. So, when she became Michael Jackson’s wife it felt like a joke being played on her by the universe. She loves her husband, absolutely, adores him to the moon and back but his fame is otherworldly. He became her safe space, a person she could liquify her body into when she was feeling frustrated with the world. They didn’t just share their traumas to one another, they actively heal them everyday they live together.
He was always watching, not directly…at least. Following her tags from six months ago, his heart being stringed along in a wild goose chase across the southern heat. Dressed in a disguise from head to toe, his eyes always hidden but constantly spotting her works. The last Captain KO tag came on a dusty sunset evening, Michael not knowing until days later when he went searching once more. His lips pursed to the side, hands buried in his pockets and heart hanging off a ledge. Imagine his surprise when he saw a tall frame move through the streets, a sack clinging to her back and a paint can falling out the pocket. On one of his wild escapades to find her pieces once more, he took the risk of grabbing the can off the ground. A band of trumpets playing in his head when he seen the letters KO written in black ink on the label.
The stars twinkling above him and determination on his mind, he followed her. Someone who made art that amazing, their mind had to be soaked in beauty. The people he moves past not recognizing his disguise strikes ease in his heart, Bill would kill him if he knew he came out here by himself. The biggest star in the universe chasing a woman on the sidewalks, oh, the things we did for love. His eyes peeking behind a wall, watching her arms move from left to right. Hoodie thrown to the ground, thick curls floating above her shoulders—the blowout she did that day doing her justice. Kaliyah’s silhouette feeding his gaze, his feet felt light.
Her face coming into view for just a second, plump lips, button nose and a pair of almond eyes that were expressive even in the dark. A heat coming to his cheeks seeing the ink engraved across her arms and lower back, cavernous dimples above the back hem of her leggings.
Michael’s heart was trying hard to separate from his chest, he could see light shining in front of her—a star so bright. He couldn’t stop himself, his feet carrying him forward trying not to trip on the bricks and debris of abandoned buildings. Kaliyah in the midst of her work, her head turning back when she hears a creak in the wind. Her fingers yank the mask back up her face, her arm reaches for the hoodie seconds later. “Wait.” A quiet voice catching her off-guard, Kaliyah standing upright. She turns, strands of hair sticking to her forehead.
Edges coiled with beads of sweat and her eyes wide with curiosity. A man coming toward her in a large trench coat, a kinky wig on his head, and foundation smeared on his skin. Michael stops in front of her shakily, his eyes peering at her through his aviators. Seeing her face more clearly made the breath catch in his throat, she was undeniably gorgeous. His eyes went down to the gravel, a timid smile coming onto his lips. “Can I help you?” Kaliyah’s curls cradling the light from the moon, she arches her eyebrow then tilts her head down. He looks younger, at least he’s not an old creep.
“I-uh, I’ve been following your art for a while.” The more words that left from his mouth the realization began to dawn on her, he recognizes it so well. He doesn’t know what took a hold of him, his fingers reaching to take the glasses off his face. She felt her chest go up and down in real-time, the heat that crowds her being causing her vision to blur. She stumbles back, ripping the mask from her face and tossing it to the ground. “I know this is a surprise, to say the least. But please, don’t scream.” Michael rushes forward seeing that she was seconds from falling out, his hands grasping her arms gently.
She gasps feeling him touch her, he shushes softly, Kaliyah staring up at him and her gaze searching his as she swallows a lump in her throat. “You’re Michael J-Jack—
“I’m just a person who loves your work, that’s it.” Her legs felt weak, his voice soft to the touch. Her mind straightening up in seconds, a few tears slipped from her eyes unconsciously. His words wanting to push out how beautiful she is, his desire he tucked away for another day. She was already overwhelmed. She had never felt so seen, the way he looked admiringly upon her that night is something she remembers to this day.
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you. You paint so beautifully.” Kaliyah’s eyes falling down to his neck. “Look at me, please.” Her lids fluttering up and back onto his with no hesitation. “I don’t know what happened or who hurt you, but don’t ever let them stop you from doing this again.” His eyes trailing up to the artwork behind her. His words replenishing her spirit and her mind relaxing once more.
He became aware of his fingers around her arms, Michael pulling away seeing how worked up he was becoming. “Out of the most deepest admiration and respect, I’d love to take you out to dinner…romantically, if that’s okay.” Hands locked behind his back and his eyes peeking down at her through low lids, his heart racing but sure. He knows what he wants. The moonlight coating her deep skin, she fiddles with her bare nails as her thick coils waver in the wind. “I love your tattoos.” A smile couldn’t help but slide on her mouth—she shifts on her feet the rocks beneath her weight clinking softly. His teeth sinking into his bottom lip.
Michael’s body leaning toward her, he could tell she became hesitant. Kaliyah’s eyes scanning the area around her momentarily. “Maybe you should go, this isn’t a safe area and if the police come you’ll go to jail with me.”
“I don’t care about jail, if you wanting to make the world beautiful is wrong then I don’t wanna be right.” She felt her next sentence being gripped between her teeth, her body jerking forward and into his after hearing a yell far away. Kaliyah becoming paranoid—he catches her proudly.
Kaliyah’s head switched to the sound, she faces him, her fingers holding onto his forearms. “I can’t go out with you, I just…I just went through a breakup. I’m sorry, I have to go.” Her voice breathless as she draws away, Kaliyah grabs her hoodie and throws it on quickly. Michael’s eyebrows creasing, he fights against his arms wanting to pull her in. Her hands grabbing at the spray cans across the ground, she packs them inside her sack with the caps on top of the chemicals.
“I apologize, you-you deserve better.” Her gaze falls upon him, standing from her feet with her head tilting to the right.
“How do you know what I deserve?” She swings her backpack over her shoulder, the fabric of her mask wedged between her fingers.
“I can show you, I’m a man of action.” Michael clearing his throat, his eyes looking away for a brief moment. “What’s your name?”
“Kaliyah.” He straightens his posture, a smile lifting on his face. Her fingers squeeze onto the strap of her backpack, if you were to ask her what this night felt like she’d tell you—it felt like a fever dream. She wouldn’t believe this all happened until a bouquet of flowers appeared on her doorstep a week later. So huge it had two movers to come with it—lilies spurting out, orchids so bright to the eye, and various other species he particularly picked out for her. Her body stuck to the kitchen counter as they transferred it into her living space. The soulful music playing gracefully around her swaddled her temple, the saxophones echoed around her head.
The ends of the silk robe wrapped around her frame tickling the hairs on her legs, Kaliyah’s hand over her heart and a curled bang falling over her brows. Her eyes scanned that letter repeatedly, bending over the counter with her thighs tightening together and her foot running up her calf. The tip of her index finger between her teeth. “Oh my god.” And that was when she fainted.
“Kaliyah, if you’d let me…I have a performance coming up. Wembly in London. I’d love for you to join me, you can stay backstage for the performance. I’ll have a hotel arranged for you and you’ll be safe, under my protection.” The young lady stands in front of him, arms folded over her chest and thoughts raving with a multitude of emotions. “I’d like to show you my art. In person.” He nods his head to her, his body beaming with jitters. He wanted to change her mind badly, he noticed his eagerness was pride and went with a smoother approach. She glances at the nearby buildings, the dust settling around them peacefully. The birds crying in the sky as they flew by, his cologne sweeping into her nose.
“Okay, yes.”
And so she showed up, in an outfit that the world would forever know her for. A long-sleeved, butter yellow, silk top that accentuated her cleavage and a pair of high-waisted denim capris with white kitten heels. Kaliyah’s hair blown out with a few dazzling pins on the side of her part. Her apartment being managed by her sister for 50 bucks, she boarded the jet with a sound mind. He didn’t accompany her on the plane—she learned later that it was safer if he didn’t. A glass of champagne in hand and a pair of black sunglasses, that his publicists gave her, around her eyes. She was heavily guarded, walking into the stadium was surreal.
They all crowded around her, her feet attempting to keep up as she hears the roar of the souls watching the King of Pop. Their energy infectious and quite overstimulating—she felt tingles fill throughout her body as her hands begin to shake. She holds onto the strap of her purse tighter than usual, the bag glued to the side of her rib. “I don’t think I can do this.” His publicist leaning down to hear what she said, the dance break of Smooth Criminal running in the background. “I need to go home right now.” She screams over the music, the woman sharing looks with the security next to her. They all come to a stop, locking around the two of them in seconds.
“Just come with us, we can get you some water. He’ll come to you as soon as he gets off stage. We’re running on a tight schedule.” Kaliyah’s chest moving up and down, she didn’t want to make a scene so she accepted. The publicist allowing her to hold her hand as they skate throughout the hallways, the vibrations knocking on her ears continuously. They come to his dressing room, his name plastered on the doorway in bold lettering. They led her in, Kaliyah rushing to the nearby couch. It took a moment for her eyes to settle on the environment, his stage outfits hanging loosely in the corner and a bright vanity resting next to the couch. “As promised.”
A cart wheeling in refreshments and plates of hot hors d'oeuvres, she sits back on the cushion as they move it in front of her. “Thank you, guys, I’ll take it from here.” They all filed out, the security closing the door behind them as they awaited outside.
“Welcome to the Bad World Tour 1988, we’re ecstatic that you accepted Mr. Jackson’s invitation. We already briefed you on the plane, no need to go over it again. He’s already been made aware of your request to go home, he would like to talk to you if that’s alright?” Her legs crossed, her heart dropping to her stomach. She wished they didn’t say anything, she gulps down a stream of water. “We have some time between the intermission, well…he’s stop the concert for the time being.” Kaliyah removing the bottle from her lips, her eyes bulging out the sockets. “No need to panic.”
“What?! I’ll stay here he doesn’t have to do that. Seriously.” She heard commotion outside the door, a horde of footsteps moving down the hallway. The publicist’s radio shrieking on her shoulder, a gruff voice coming through the speaker.
“Mr. Jackson is coming down the hallway. I repeat, Mr. Jackson is coming down the hall.” Everything felt presidential, the woman rushing to the door to open it briskly. The moments that passed by came quick, he walks into the room and his presence stood in front of her. The silver from his shirt casting a glare from the cart, he ambles up to her, his body moving around the refreshments and his fingers reaching for her hand. She allows him to take it, a kiss pressing against her knuckles.
“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, formally. Thank you for coming.” His breath touching her skin, he made it difficult for her as he stands upright again. His taped fingers lingering on her palm, Kaliyah peers up at him, her eyelids fluttering as she snaps out of her thoughts. Her hand moving back softly and to the hair poking her eye. “Kathy.” His publicist shutting the door then trailing away to the rack of clothing by the wall.
“Thank you for inviting me. This is all so much but, I’m grateful.” A cheeky smile arising on his lips as he sits down next to her on the couch.
“I’m grateful, I really wished you didn’t want to leave but if that’s what you wish. I’ll make it happen for you.” His eyes on her intently, her fingers pushing her hair to the side. A deep breath flooding out her mouth and her gaze softening on his face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, I know this can be a lot when you haven’t experienced it before. I should’ve took that into account. I can make it up to you, please, let me make it up you.” The curl falling between his eyes caught her attention for a second, she shifts in her seat then grins gently.
“I suppose, Mr. Jackson.” She squints her eyes at him and they share a laugh, the tune of their voices breaking through the air.
“I made a song.” It spills out, Kaliyah taken aback by his words.
“Wait, Michael.” Before she could ask questions, a group of hair dressers and makeup artists flood into the room. Chaos surrounded the room immediately, he stands up taking her hand into his. Kaliyah stood with him, a woman bending down to fix the sequined socks around his ankles. Another group of people grabbing a mixture of clothes off hangers, she could barely keep up with actions in the room. Michael’s stare fixated on her the entire time, she didn’t understand how he dealt with this.
“I’m gonna perform it and I want you to watch.” The warmth that overtakes her body as he looks closely at her, a makeup pad dabbing on his cheek moments later.
“Oh my gosh, n—
His body being tugged away from her as his deep laugh flooded the corridor, Kaliyah being left in the dressing room with Kathy by her shoulder. “Come, let’s watch.” She heard the chant of his name as they filed down the airway, the flashes of cameras from below reflecting on the glass. Fans push the metal gates made to hold them back, the paparazzi catching a photo of her. A hand obstructing her face to shield her eyes and Kathy jutting the pair of sunglasses, she gave her on the jet, in her direction. “You alright?” She asked, her fingers flicking toward the window and security lining beside Kaliyah.
“Yes, this is a hell of a walk.” The publicist chuckling, her tense shoulders dropping for a moment.
“We’re almost close.” And indeed they were, a few more turns and scenery changes and they entered backstage. She noticed the quaking under her feet, the crowd becoming unbearable to listen to. A sound so deafening you couldn’t hear the individual next to you. Dancers shooting past them while fixing the clothes on their bodies, Kathy places a pair of headphones on her head. Kaliyah turning to her as the sound blurs in her ears, she exhales. Fixing the grip on her purse, it loosens.
A hand on her back as she’s lead to the side of the stage, the music started straight away. The groovy beat dropping and the pressure of the sound waves pushing on the headphones. “Pretty baby, I got kisses for your lovin’.” The score of the music causing her body to move along with the beat, a smile on her face that could’ve been seen from the crowd. “Cause everyday I watch you paint the town so pretty.” Michael’s head nodding toward her, his hand dragging down the back of his neck and his feet shuffling skillfully.
The rogue curls across his eyes shake as he moves robotically across the floor, a beaming look on his face as the people roar once more. The leather jacket moving with him and the belted accessories flinging wildly. Kaliyah beginning to jump up and down out of excitement, she strips the headphones from her ears wishing to listen to the song at full force. Her cheeks flushed with heat as he showed off, his energy projecting onto her and his supporters. A feeling lying over her as she believes for a minute that she wouldn’t see him anymore after this day. With the worries spotting her mind, he had other plans for them.
I bet you michael was laughing his ass off when someone in the crowd threw that glove back at prince,and i read somewhere that Michael got a whole ass copy of this video clip and he got them to give away cause he got too much copy of it and the title of the video was “prince is mean”
