mj as a vocal coach would be fire tooo imagine while playing with harmony he grabs the readers hand while he sings so they can feel his throat vibrate or sumn heeheee
wait your mind…
body language imagine ﹒ ⁺ ﹒⋆ . vocal coach!michael x reader ⋆ ﹒ ＊ ﹒ fluff with little plot, y’all already know the drill. i love mj fluff. ⋆ wrote this with 20% left on my phone, hot as the hinges on hell’s gates, in public, and irritated af. world cup is not for me.
you’re both in his home studio. the lights are dimmed, leaving a gold shimmer all over the padded room. it is so silent to the point that you can hear the friction between your lyric pages when you shift them on a stand in front of the microphone. michael is burning an incense in the back of the studio, filling the room with a light, musky scent. you settle in, doing some lip trills to warm up and sipping some sweet tea to prepare for recording. michael catches you mid hum, placing his headphones over your ears which makes you stop abruptly. “sorry, i didn’t mean t’ startle you,” michael huffs, hands still hovering over your head. he’s smiling at you—that sweet, genuine smile—and you completely forget to reply. the fact that his headset smells exactly like him doesn’t help much, either. faint notes of vanilla and leather hitting you simultaneously completely makes you forget what he was even talking about. michael looks back and forth, waiting for your confirmation that you’re okay. you eventually snap back to reality, dropping your head with a chuckle to camouflage your flushed face. you reassure him that it’s no biggie and he leaves you to it, exiting the room and getting comfortable in a leather armchair right outside the recording booth. you give him a thumbs up and he nods slowly, maintaining eye contact. michael reaches his arms out to scoot himself closer to the control panel and presses the intercom, “ready whenever y’ are, angel.” if that nickname hadn’t sent such a strong wave of relaxation over you, you would’ve called him out on being so obvious when teasing you. he sounds way more innocent—rather than charismatic—when he’s all giggly and smiley over making you flustered.
at one point in the session, you began having trouble with a tricky run. michael had been intently watching you the whole time, softly pressing his lips into a smile each time you hit an impressive note or got ‘in the zone.’ he loved watching you sing; nothing could compare to seeing the person he loved most being just as passionate about his interests, too. though, when he noticed you struggling, he waited for your explicit invite to come give you a helping hand—he wanted to make sure he didn’t interfere with your creative process!
soon enough, he was standing right next to you, gesturing with his arms and trying out different methods to get you to a point where you were satisfied with your performance. y’all slowed it down, took it note by note, and even attempted it together a couple times. still, you weren’t able to quite catch up to his agility. getting frustrated, you puffed and put your hand up to your temples.
“sweetheart,” michael tuts, “it’s okay, this is a really difficult one.” he places one pat on your head and lingers there, then proceeds to brush your hair with his fingers. “do you need a break?”
“no, mike,” you sigh.
“here, let’s try this..”
michael gently cups your free hand in between two of his own, then places it on his throat.
“we can try it again, together. we’ll do a slow take first, alright?” the vibrations transmitting through his skin feel like pop rock shocks to your fingertips. thousands of little shakes stinging your senses and sending a shock wave through your whole body. you try the run once, twice, three times.. however many times you want to until you felt pleased. michael did not complain once, just kept encouraging you through it while holding a hand over your own on his throat. with every flip, you could feel his adam’s apple slide up and down, something that subconsciously helped you pick up the momentum better. you imitated his placements, which eased your way into being able to completely do the run on your own.
and, just like that, you did it!
“that’s it!” michael’s eyes light up, leaning in to give your forehead a big kiss. you giggle, your face pressing into his chest and collarbone. “i knew you could do it,” he coos, capturing the side of your jaw in between his thumb and his fingers. michael continues staring at you in awe while his grin progressively softens into a droopy-eyed look of content.
“this beauty’s just good at everything, huh?”
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. although this does include mentions of real people, i do not know them personally or how they act. this is purely for entertainment purposes.
thank y’all so much for all the love on this fic!! i feel like a broken record saying this, but i genuinely can’t believe that people like my writing. i still can’t wrap my head around it!!
love hangover imagine/drabble ﹒ ⁺ ﹒⋆ . michael x f!reader ⋆ ﹒ ＊ ﹒ a bit of angst, mentions of cheating, fluff ⋆ whoever styled him here.. god bless you… also, this originally started as a drabble but i genuinely think i am unable of stopping whenever i start writing for michael. had to forcefully stop myself so i could finish another fic lol.
“i’m so over this, michael,” your sigh, breath harshly hitting the receiver of your telephone.
“i’m always open for you,” he takes a pause, “y’know that, right?” michael’s voice trails off. you twiddle with your telephone cord, letting silence fill the air. he just sounded so sure. so sure of you, so sure of the time you spent together.. something you haven’t felt before. yet, you would spend every night tossing and turning, unsure of how to proceed with him. not that he couldn’t reassure you, but your mind would have trouble wrapping itself around the fact that someone wanted you—your whole soul, body, mind—unchanged.
you’ve heard these types of statements come from past partners’ mouths so many times just to end up finding out they’ve been unfaithful. you didn’t want to subscribe to the ideology that you were incapable of being loved properly, but your track record made it real hard to hold on to hope. when you met michael, you were seventeen months into your self-discovery journey post-breakup with who you thought was your other half. the pain of falling into the same situation, yet again, was unbearable. it made you close yourself off to everyone as a form of protection. however, michael seemed to know exactly how to get under your skin and seep into your bloodstream. he would take you out on the most fun, carefree dates and handle you with such a care that you stopped feeling guilty for seeking comfort in someone else, momentarily. with him, you felt safe enough to be foolish without having to give up your self respect. lost in thought, your eyes go unfocused and you start drawing patterns into your duvet when your thoughts are cut off by a vibration in your ear.
“please answer me, sweetheart,” michael pleads with you, voice gentle to assure you that he is not demanding but purely looking for an answer.
“i know michael,” you raise your tone. realizing you’ve gone a bit overboard, you lower your voice, “i know.. but,” you return to tracing shapes over your bed. “i don’t want you to have to wait for me to be ready.”
“i would wait a lifetime f’ you, sweets, if it meant it helped you,” michael interrupts you and you hear him take a second to breathe in.
“thank you, mike. i appreciate that,” you try to lighten the mood somewhat. “i want this, i just need some time to think.”
“take your time.”
and just like that, you stubbornly hang up the phone. you didn’t know whether to yell, cry, or both. you loved the way you felt around michael, you loved feeling like you could breathe again, and you didn’t know where to start when it came to how much you loved his personality, but it was so incredibly hard to trust again.
lips pouting, you sit there. sit on your plush bed, crochet throw blanket draped over your criss-crossed legs, loose shirt adorning your straight shoulders and hot-pink lace bra, looking out the window as the sun sets. it’s so beautiful—something so concrete. every evening, you can steer your head to your window and be sure that there will be a sunset there. given, it looks a bit different every night, but it is there. there for you to see. there to wash you over with warm light and retract all your worries with a gentle woosh of a gust of wind.
maybe about five minutes pass before you nearly snatch the telephone from your bedside table, settling it on your lap and frantically circling michael’s number on the dial. a strand of hair falls in the way of your view, and you accidentally poke your eye trying to tuck it behind your ear in the middle of your frenzy. putting the speaker to your ear, you hold the bottom of the plastic with a second hand, knuckles turning white from pent up frustration.
the phone rings once…
rings twice…
rings thrice-
click!
“done thinking, love?” you hear him say on the other end of the line, hiding a smile behind the comfort of a voice call. you laugh, letting out a breathy “yes, yeah.. ‘m sorry for hanging up on you.”
“no problem, sweets. like i said, i’d wait forever for your call,” michael reassures you.
and with that, you melt into your satin pillowcases and continue rambling nothings to each other until the moon replaces the sun.
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. although this does include mentions of real people, i do not know them personally or how they act. this is purely for entertainment purposes.
vamp headcanons ﹒ ⁺ ﹒⋆ . vampire!michael x f!reader ⋆ ﹒ ＊ ﹒ suggestive language, 18+ mdni, mentions of blood/slight gore(?), mentions of sex, lowkey freakness ⋆ every time i see these pictures of him, man…
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael (specifically in this outfit) trying his hardest not to get swayed by your pleas to taste your blood just one time. it can’t hurt to try once! but his mind tells him another story; he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop once he got his teeth in you. you would be his post-dinner dessert each night and he would have to keep a small vile of your blood on him at alll times just to feel closer to you.
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael insisting on brushing your hair just so he can be a little closer to the part of your neck that connects to your shoulders, occasionally letting his hand droop over your traps gingerly while he places small pecks behind your ear. in moments like these, you can feel him inhaling a bit deeper than usual.
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael constructing a tour set for thriller where his sparkly glove would be covered in fake blood, but you convinced him to use some of your actual blood. not so much to the point it would make you dizzy, but enough to let him get a waft of your scent during performances. it would drive him insane, aware he was the only one who knew the origins of your sweet, deep red blood.
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael sneaking a suck of your fingertip whenever you cut yourself making dinner before bandaging you up caringly.
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael leaving love bites into your skin during sex. he would slowly lower his fangs into you, making sure it only leaves behind two imprints instead of his whole set of teeth. he would never go so far as to hurt you—just.. giving you something to remember him by.
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael and staying up at night to watch you sleep, running fingers through your hair as the moonlight shines down on your face. you’d wake up to him whispering sweet nothings to you, always greeting you with a “goodmorning, gorgeous.. i’ve been waiting to see your eyes all night,” and a wide grin on his face.
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael being too shy to let you see his bat form.
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael and letting you do his eyeliner because he can’t see himself very well in the mirror anyway. you’d sit on his lap, one hand resting on his shoulder and the other cupping his face and turning it to the side with your thumb. he would wrap his arms around you, one hand tracing up and down your spine while the other supports you from the divit of where your ass meets your leg. while you draw intently, he would hum one of your favorite songs and occasionally interrupt you to kiss your knuckles.
˳⊹ ﹒ vampire!michael’s fangs being slightly colder than the rest of his set of teeth, making you shiver under him whenever he goes down on you.
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. although this does include mentions of real people, i do not know them personally or how they act. this is purely for entertainment purposes.
drive in theater imagine ﹒ ⁺ ﹒⋆ . thriller!michael x f!reader ⋆ ﹒ ＊ ﹒ smut, 18+ mdni, cunnilingus, praise, dare i say this is just a tiny bit nasty.. ⋆ drive in theater with thriller era michael… that’s all.. walk with me… side note: anyone else constantly look over their shoulder while writing smut…
“c’mon, it’ll be fun!” he says in that innocent, half-whisper-half-laughing way that could convince you to jump off a bridge if he wanted you to. “besides, i’ll be there if y’ get too scared.” he makes a motion with his hands, clawing at your shoulders as if he were a monster. you giggle, shoo-ing his hands away and letting out a “fine! fine,” giving in to his ‘suggestion.’
michael parks his mercedes benz near the back of the ‘theater,’ hoping to get you a good view without hurting your neck from having to look up. he chose a horror movie despite your previous contests—typical of him. he loved a good horror movie, and he loved the way you immediately wrapped your fingers around his bicep when you were scared even more. it was a win-win!
michael let you watch about half of the movie before turning his head to you. he reached up, gingerly rearranging a hair strand behind your ear. his hand lingered there, right under your earlobe, making slow motions with his thumb as his fingers wrapped around the nape of your neck. you try not to pay him much mind—after all, he paid a pretty penny to see the pre-release of this movie with you. only the best for his precious angel.
his head finally tilts, sitting against the headrest of the backseat with a smile forming at the corner of his mouth as his eyelids become droopy. barely moving down to caress your arm, michael refrains as if you will wither away under his touch. he rests his hand on the soft skin of your thigh under the fuzzy blanket he brought for the both of you to share. you look at him through the corner of your eye, “michael, what are you doing?” raising an eyebrow playfully. “nothin’, beautiful,” michael coos. his hand begins to collect over your skin, squeezing your thigh a little. “don’t mind me, jus’ watch the movie,” he raises his pointer finger from your thigh and ducks his head to point at the projector. you listen, slowly turning your head back to the screen but your eyes lag behind in suspicion.
michael leans in to press a soft kiss to the top of your ear, letting out a soft exhale that makes your ear tingle and your eyes to go slightly dizzy. the fact that you could tell the movie was building up to a jump-scare wasn’t helping, either. he nestles his nose at the crook of your neck, tracing tender kisses along the tendons of your throat down to your collarbone. you raise your head a little to give him more access, but he pushes your chin down and instructs you to ‘just focus on the movie’ again.
couple of minutes later, michael is gnawing at the lace of your white panties with his teeth, scratching your hip-bone with his canines. he doesn’t pull them down, he just repeatedly raises them with his mouth then lets them snap against your smooth skin lightly. you want to look down, want to speak to him, but each time he denies you the privilege of knowing his next move by redirecting you to the movie.
“i like these, y’know,” michael’s lashes peppering butterfly kisses on your abdomen as he traces his lips up and down your waistline, occasionally giving you a moist peck. “they make you look heavenly, angel,” michael sighs against the dampened fabric of the flower appliqué. oh, how you loved that nickname—and michael could definitely tell. you were practically soaking through your undergarments; the material stuck to you like a second skin. he continues to take his time with you, pressing his cheeks against your moldable thighs and rolling his face to give you another kiss until he reaches your center.
“my pretty flower,” michael utters, his breath sending shivers down your spine. he plants a wet kiss right where the pink rose rests on your panties then breaks out into a small lick, the duration of which drives you insane. you relax into the seat and door of the car and slightly push your hips upward. michael giggles as he drives one of his long digits underneath the bottom of your underwear, too impatient to completely take them off. he kisses you, hungrily too, while the tip of his nose begins to push upon your clit in perfect harmony. he is slow, considerate, and careful with his placements. in your dazed out state, you still happen to notice a jump-scare and slightly jolt under his touch. he places his hands on top of your thighs and moves to give you a kiss above your belt line, “shh, baby, y’r okay. ‘m right here,” and he continues back down, lapping his tongue against your slippery, pulsing center at a torturously slow pace. you nearly begin riding his face out of impatience, but he pushes your hips back down and resumes his careful devour of your flavor—his favorite. his tongue feels like plush feathers on your sticky outer petals, sending a radiating heat in your body through your sensitive bulb. he transitions in and out of you, dragging your delicious scent across his face and onto your inner thigh. as he goes down on you, he sprinkles praises and compliments as if you are something holy. you can’t escape one of these moments without hearing a drowned out, “beautiful,” or a comment about giving you the world and taking care of you. he starts to massage your delicate button with his finger, giving him more freedom to treat your insides with his mouth. with every flat press of his tongue transforming into a slide into your needy hole, you let out a whimper in an effort to stay quiet enough for y’all to hear the radio script of the movie. “that’s it, angel,” michael praises you again, breath cold against your heated center, “always so considerate f’ me.”
in an instant, you bloom. you’re no longer quiet. something about michael’s worship always gets to you, and you can’t help but give him what he’s working so hard for. he licks the white substance oozing out of you like it’s some sort of ice cream, missing a couple drops here and there but it’s solely so he can go back deeper and slower while cleaning you up.
he drives the both of y’all back home, going on and on about scenes he enjoyed in the movie. you tease him, asking how he could possibly remember anything from the movie when he spent the whole time with his head between your thighs in the backseat. he just laughs, not wanting to ruin the fantasy. in reality, he watched a gifted copy of the movie earlier that day so he could give you his undivided attention tonight.
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. although this does include mentions of real people, i do not know them personally or how they act. this is purely for entertainment purposes.
rehearsal headcanons ﹒ ⁺ ﹒⋆ . bad!michael x f!background dancer!reader ⋆ ﹒ ＊ ﹒ mostly performance jargon, some fluff, flirting, mentions of alcohol, suggestive language, 18+ mdni ⋆ thank y’all so much for all the positive reactions to my other post!! i honestly did not expect for people to enjoy it so much. i was so pleasantly surprised. thank you everyone! :)
˳⊹ ﹒ bad era!michael and tearing his shoes. he would insist on practicing in a specific type of loafers; always a deep, rich color (if not black) with a luster that made them almost reflective. they would start off fresh and polished, then end up almost dull from all the skidding around. the soles would be coming off, and the edges at the front of the shoe would be so eroded to the point you could see the khaki crumbles of the inside layer of leather. he ran through shoes like he was a ballerina breaking in brand new pointes and having to buy new ones by the end of a singular show.
˳⊹ ﹒ bad era!michael and going insane after his orange juice. between breaks, he would instinctly reach into one of the velvet curtains behind the stage to find his favorite ice-cold beverage. when he would finish a bottle, he would slosh the metal straw around the empty container, letting it clink and ding against the glass. “who’s ‘n charge o’ the refills?” he would ask worriedly, barely being able to get a sentence out after giving it his all in rehearsal. the bottle was swiftly removed from his hands, condensation gathering where his hand previously held it. he was radiating heat, sweat, and pure passion. well, more-so frustration now rather than passion. his orange juice was his fuel during practice; not having it meant he had to jump, jog, butt-kick, and even run up and down the halls of backstage to keep his adrenaline up while another drink was prepared for him. during one rehearsal, he damn near raced out of the venue to buy a fresh gallon himself when he was told the team was nearly out of that delicious, sweet yet savory, orange flavor. after receiving his orange juice, he would sometimes down it in one go like he was a college football coach watching his team lose at a bar. once done with refueling, michael would hop up, bursting with energy and ready to go ten more times. “alright,” he would command with one loud clap, “lemme hear it from the top!” signaling with his pointer finger circling the air. he would get into formation faster than everybody else, already making slight tweaks to the intro and asking for the instrumental to ‘sizzle’ a little more.
˳⊹ ﹒ bad era!michael and spending forever in his trailer between looks. he loved admiring the work of his stylists. when he felt a bit extra (and nervous for a show), he would thank everyone on his way out to the stage. nobody was in the clear from michael’s thanks: their mothers, the curtains, the floor, and the ceiling all got their appreciation. it was as endearing as it was silly.
˳⊹ ﹒ bad era!michael and laying down on the floor with his dancers at the end of rehearsal. as soon as the music shuts off, michael spreads out his arms and splats onto the ground as everyone else follows. the live band, the sound team, the management team, the background dancers—all drop onto the smooth surface of the stage and inhale their first real breath that morning. you were told that rehearsal with michael was no joke, and now you truly felt it on your own skin. the only sound that can be heard is the heavy, labored breathing of everyone around you until you catch a giggle from michael’s direction. between broken gasps of air, you finally feel the freedom to do the same, rolling your head back further into the floor to open up your lungs to more air. after a full rehearsal, it felt as if your chest cavity was way too small to hold the amount of air you needed and your lungs felt too warm to contain any refreshing oxygen, but none of that mattered because you knew your performance was stellar. it seems like michael himself shared the feeling, as you were the first team member he looked to when we was almost done catching his breath. shooting you a quick glance mid-chuckle, michael lazily raised his gloved arm to give you a limp thumbs up while fluttering his eyes. puzzled, you pursed your lips slightly (lightheartedly, of course) and lifted your head towards him just to notice him raising his eyebrows, bobbing his hand to reinforce the thumbs-up, and flickering his eyelids once more. right then, you realized he was trying to wink. amused at his failed attempt, you threw your head back down and let out a sincere “ha!” your eyes closed and opened gently as your gaze moved to the ceiling, satisfied with your performance. he dragged out a coy “whaaat?” before dropping his hand with a thud, eyes still on you.
˳⊹ ﹒ bad era!michael and constantly asking for more suspense to build in the instrumentals. he was a perfectionist—he needed everything to ooze, for the audience to feel how he felt when he sat in the studio and heard the first demo. it got to a point where you and all of the other dancers would break out in a laugh, barely holding your positions, as he asked for a longer hold of a synth wave that nearly hit three minutes of pure ‘sizzle.’ it was a quirk of his! even though it made your arms tremble from being held up for so long, it made him all the more interesting to work with.
˳⊹ ﹒ bad era!michael approaching all of his dancers to thank them for showing up and showing out, giving everyone a full hug despite the fact that you were all absolutely drenched from head to toe. you felt bad for the stylists and artists—all of their work would always end up ruined from practice. however, that’s exactly what made michael shift his attention to you at the end of every rehearsal. you didn’t look frenzied, you looked perfectly put together by dedication and talent. in his eyes, you were dedicated. the beads of sweat gathering at your temples along with your torn accessory from an earlier dance break made you look like a pure reflection of what it meant to love the stage. it was hypnotizing—almost as if he was drunk with this post-rehearsal image of you while he tossed and turned in bed, unable to ‘sober up.’ it was moments like that, like when his eyes fell on you mid-choreography and the world seemed to slow down. if there was anything he loved as much as music and performing, it was seeing someone else be as hungry as we was. oh, and hungry he was! when it would be your turn to receive your hug, he would always surprise you from behind by towering over your shoulder, cold, loose curls draping over your shoulder as he leaned in. he would bring his lips to the point where they were hovering just behind the tip of your ear, whispering “surprise!” in a low tone that made you twitch each and every time. like clockwork, you would always turn slowly to find him smirking that familiar, mischievous smile you always saw him give on tv. except, in these moments, it was just for you. once your eyes met, he would dip a little to meet your level and brush his fingertips from the side of your hip to your back, dragging the motion out like a sly feline. he knew what he was doing—his eyes were always innocent but his hands told another story. michael’s hands would linger on the small of your back as he would fully turn to face you, both of you quietly giggling as everyone turned to tend to their own matters. this would allow him to pull you in ever so slightly, which you could help but follow. you’ve tried standing still, which would provoke him to hook his free hand into one of your belt buckles and ‘encourage’ you to close the distance. once he had you where he wanted, he would bring his hand up to your chin—not making contact but close enough to feel his heat—and ghost his long fingers across your cheek and to the back of your neck. his lips would part as he rushed a glance to your own, but he never acted on that impulse. to cover up, he would pretend like the reason his mouth opened was to say something like, “good job today, sweets,” or “c’mere, pretty.” pulling your head and back into an embrace, he would brush your hair (occasionally playing with strands of it), and featherly pat a rhythm on your spine as the hug lasted longer than what is socially considered a ‘casual hug.’ he would send you off with another flat pat on the plush of your ass, not daring to curl his hand. he would utter something along the lines of, “thank you for giving it y’r all today,” then press his hand to his lips to blow you a make-shift kiss in the thick air as you begin to walk away. you give him a small wave, bat your eyelashes a bit, and give him that gorgeous smile that you know makes him melt. as you’re about to disappear into the changing rooms, you notice his eyes are practically glued to you and his stance has softened a little. you give him one last giggle, knowing the effect you have on him, then flee away.
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. although this does include mentions of real people, i do not know them personally or how they act. this is purely for entertainment purposes.
plot: michael has been working tirelessly on his upcoming album, “off the wall.” sluggishly reporting to joseph by day, sweating the nerves off around noon in the dance studio, and flopping onto the booth’s couch with a raspy throat by midnight rendered him nearly empty of all the energy he had left after twenty long years of performing. as the inevitable exhaustion took over, michael’s body and mind insisted on a break. in a desperate attempt for an escape, he calls upon a newly-moved-in neighbor whom he’s been curious about for a bit.
content: lots of fluff.
author’s note: hello everyone… is this thing on… this is my first time writing something outside of my usual genre/medium, so i am super nervous to put this out there. this is really a trial run to see if you guys like what i write. i know not much happens in this post, but please let me know if this is something you’d like to keep reading! this is really just context and world building… boring, i know..
i’ve been completely consumed by my michosis and have read a ridiculous amount of fanfiction, so i thought—why not give my own a try! i concocted this mess up on my drive back from my second time watching the michael movie and i had to get my thoughts out somewhere besides my notes app and notion. i hope this was written well enough for it to be readable and enjoyable, but i am 100% open to constructive criticism and advice! i also tried my best to keep descriptions of the main character as general as possible. i apologize in advance if this is buns, it’s been a while since your girl has touched anything literature related…..
the first day you moved into the neighborhood, michael immediately took notice. when bored, michael people-watched. although he would’ve loved to be more sociable with others in his area, his rising fame and the pressures of his family prevented him from being able to do so. as a result, he watched you from afar; he noticed that you liked to play your music loud and drive with your windows down, he noticed that you preferred a certain lace detail in your clothing, and he even took note of the specific way you like your hair twisted into a clip.
found himself feeling inspired by the rush of being attracted to someone, even if he didn’t realize what the feeling quite was yet. for weeks, he tried hyping himself up to talk to you, but was constantly pulled in one way or another. however, to his surprise, he was let out of the studio early on a warm, humid summer night because of some technical issues in the booth. he knew he wouldn’t get another chance like this for a good minute, so he set out to finally meet you that night.
ding-ding!
the gentle chime of the front door barely makes it through the mixture of white noise and jazz coming from your table-top radio. your pen stops its quick, confident stride for a moment. good thing you only use this rusty excuse of a radio as background noise whilst you write—otherwise, you definitely would’ve missed the doorbell.
your eyes go out of focus, more fixated on your sense of hearing to ensure you weren’t mistaken. you snap a quick glance over the messy and unfinished page, then the clock, then back to the coffee table. it was 11:06 pm and you weren’t expecting anyone. mind blank, you turn a knob about twelve degrees left-ward to lower the volume on the radio and listen intently.
another ring flutters through the air.
your pen makes quick contact with the paper once more:
check out doorbell. too quiet.
noted. you had to make sure you wrote it down somewhere before you forgot to get to it, yet again. you exhale a half sigh before remembering:
long overdue to set up record player.
of course, couldn’t miss that either. the radio served its purpose for the first couple days of moving in, but something about the scratchy hum behind every song drove you insane if you listened for prolonged periods. for crying out loud, it had been a full month since you moved to encino—it was time for an upgrade.
slightly shifting your weight on the plush couch, you adjust your view from the coffee table. your fingers feather over the leather texture as you subconsciously bring the covers together to close it. behind the port red spine is a waterfall of yellow-stained pages engraved with your most personal—and random—thoughts.
you furrow your brows as you realize there’s a pillar obstructing your view from the glass panes of the front door.
“right,” your utter to yourself, slightly annoyed that you have to actually get up to see who in the world could be at your front door at this hour. plopping your hands down by your side, your hoist yourself up from the oh-so-comfortable couch and pray that whoever is on the other side of that door better be bothering you for a real good reason. head down, you skim your eyes over your clothing and breathe relief that you look presentable. earlier that day, you had ran some errands and threw on something accommodating yet chic. low-waisted, white, flared lounge pants with a laced band paired with a matching lacey bralette that is partially hidden by an embroidered sweetheart-cut top wrapped your curves beautifully. simplistic jewelry adorned your wrists, ears, and hands, leaving room for the statement necklace that draped down your chest. your hair, shiny and moisturized, carried your scent of almond and tonka bean. your glistening skin, your neatly manicured nails and toes, and the lived-in nature of your makeup made you breathtaking without you even knowing it.
shuffling in your fuzzy bunny slippers, you make your way through your warmly lit living room. all the mood lighting made it difficult to see at night, but you liked it this way—cozy! as you approach the door, the figure of the person waiting outside becomes clearer. you can’t quite see their face, as the glass on your door is warped, but you can make out that the person might be a man around your age. as you’re opening the door, you see him reaching for the doorbell once more.
the outside smell hit you immediately: the relaxing, intoxicaiting scent rain leaves mixed with the delicious honeysuckles from your yard immediately made you let your guard down. you could hear the soft trickling of water from a nearby creek, and the warm lighted lamp-posts weren’t helping your alertness.
you stare at each other in awkward silence. michael slowly lowers his hand and puts it in his pocket. then, more silence.
your eyes followed the line of his arm, pointing directly to his perfectly fitting, grey trousers that blended with long, white socks. ironically, he wasn’t wearing loafers but some house slippers, just like you. a simple white t-shirt fell over his shoulders and his hair was beautifully styled. he smelled of fresh air and hidden florals.
“can i.. help ya?” you manage to squeeze out, almost whispering. you recognize him immediately. you knew he lived in the area, but you never expected him to be at your doorstep trying to make friends. you imagined he’d.. well.. just stick with his brothers and other celebrities.
“ah, yes! i‘m sorry for bothering you s’ late. i live across the street. i jus’ wanted to introduce myself—i’m michael,” he extends the arm from his pocket, the other hidden behind his back suspiciously. michael seems overly excited at such an hour. his eyes were completely entranced by you, entirely glued to your face. his outreached arm trembled a bit, nervous to be within your personal space. it was as if you were something holy, and you looked even better up close. he sat there, staring at you in awe in between words and inhales.
against all your instincts, you shake his hand reluctantly. you hoped you wouldn’t regret opening the door to a man at night, but you were too tired to think of that. “well,” you raise your eyebrows and give a worried smile, “it’s nice t’ meet you, michael. i appreciate your effort to.. engage with your community,” you say, unsure of whether to carry the conversation or go back inside. you knew very well who he was, but you decided to amuse him for just a bit since he was clearly nervous.
michael looks as if he wants to say something but stammers, pointing to you that he doesn’t want this conversation to end just yet but the silence has to be filled with *something*.
“i.. hope you aren’t causing yourself trouble by being hospitable at this hour,” you continue, hoping he got the hint.
“no! no, ‘course not. i was jus’ thinking it would be rude of me not to introduce myself to my new neighbor,” michael chuckled breathily, eyes darting everywhere, “here, i brought you somethin’ as a house-warmin’ gift.”
michael reached behind himself, finally revealing what he was holding behind his back the entire time. the second you see it, you can’t help but melt a bit. it was a tiny mimosa flower, freshly watered as made obvious by the tiny droplets left behind. the flower was resting in a hand-painted, clay pot that had slight imperfections here and there making it all the more sweeter. as you’re stuck in time, surprised by the gesture, michael nudges the flower towards you.
“i-i hope you like flowers.. i painted the pot a bit to give it some color.. since—y’know.. i noticed you like your yard quite vibrant so i figured you’d appreciate a vibrant pot!” he was practically scrambling for anything to say, anything to fill in the agonizing awkwardness of the moment.
you blinked a few times and stretched out to grab the pot with both hands, afraid you might drop the tiny plant. “thank you, michael.. this is very nice of you,” you examine the flower a bit, then secure it in place between your rib and your left arm. “and yes, i do like flowers,” you nod.
“great,” michael lets out a laugh and looks down, rubbing the nape of his head, “that’s great! ‘m glad.”
you exchange a few pleasantries before you eventually coerce michael to go the hell home. as nice as this gesture was, it was nearly midnight and you were one tired girl. he lingers a bit on your porch after you close the door, which makes you worry a bit, but you’re nearly out and you could not care less at this point.
this slowly became a pattern over the course of a couple weeks. sure, it was odd at first. after all, you and michael had barely any interactions outside of your night talks. however, you found yourself thinking you didn’t mind the company. it didn’t hurt to make a friend in the neighborhood.
you’d find yourself opening your door to find a smiley michael waiting to hold a ten minute conversation at most. unfortunately for you, though, these meetings were often at night. michael confessed it was because of his demanding schedule, but claimed he still wanted to make an effort to be ‘more sociable,’ though you didn’t notice him putting in quite as much effort with the other neighbors. on nights that michael wasn’t able to reach your doorstep but still had something to say, he would leave notes under your doormat. they were nothing extensive; most of the time, it would be a handwritten note wishing you a ‘good night’ or ‘sweet dreams,’ sometimes sprinkling in a tiny heart next to his signature. you couldn’t help but giggle at the situation—it was so obvious he had take a liking to you, but you were too shy yourself to say anything. so, you would just continue like this:
michael would tell you to wear your hair more often one way, you would brush his arm when greeting him. he would bring you a sketch he made of you, you would crochet him a hat. just tiny exchanges that drove you closer but never quite pushed over the line to tell each other about the growing fondness you had for each other. you found yourself looking forward to his spontaneous visits, even though y’all didn’t talk about anything more interesting than what color the sunset was that night and what you had for dinner.
there was a certain ease in talking to michael. no matter what you told him, he would smile, laugh, and poke you for more meaningless events in your daily life. he was truly interested in getting to know the itty bitty details of how you lived your life, and his kind demeanor did not change as you moved on to more serious topics and got closer. despite his status, he became a sort of personified version of your journal: he would listen to your daily nothings, and you would listen to his. at the foot of your doorframe stood michael jackson, now *mikey,* about twice a week ready to amuse you with the same simple song and dance, no pun intended. eventually, you got him a stool to sit outside on, because he insisted on not intruding your personal space with his ‘dirty shoes’ and ‘studio smell,’ but you knew it was really an excuse because he wasn’t ready to be so up-close and personal with you yet. so, there you sat at night, discussing anything and everything for a couple minutes before michael had to drag his exhausted body to bed.
it would be a bit different tonight, though.
michael showed up, as per usual, in his sweaty clothes and damp curls. he stood by your doorstep, waiting with a honeysuckle picked directly from the front of your yard. you’re out on the porch in nearly seconds, excited to see what he has for you this time. you greet each other, he places the flower in your hair, you talk, you laugh, and so on. an hour passes in what feels like minutes, and you communally agree it is time to head to sleep. michael reaches out to give you a hug, a recent development in your friendship that still sends shocks throughout your body each time. you’re a woman electrified, but at the same time, you feel like goo in his arms. he still smells like the fresh leaves of nature and he holds you with such a caring embrace that makes you not want to let go. he brings an arm up to the back of your head, stroking your hair in gentle curves that nearly put you to sleep. unfortunately for you, though, he slides his hands down to the small of your back and pats you to signal his goodbye. as he pulls away, you trace a line along his arm and he gives you a pained smile, mouthing “i‘m sorry,” as he pulls farther away. his head begins to turn right as you open your mouth to speak.
“mikey,” you called out quietly, part of you hoping he didn’t hear you because you don’t know if you’re actually going to carry this out.
“yeah?“ he looks back towards you.
“thanks for spending time talking to me,” you approach him and bring your hand up to his face hesitantly. his eyes widen as he is realizing what might happen. then, he breaks the sweetest smile you think you’ve ever seen someone on earth give you.
“‘course, beautiful,” he coos, eyelids heavy as he pulls your arm back in to him. the nickname makes your heart feel like its beating at a million beats per minute and generating enough heat to power the entire sun. you stare at him as if he is fireworks personified; something to marvel at and take in. eyes lowering as the distance between you closes, he slides his hand down from your arm onto your palm. he strokes your thumb a bit, all while resisting the urge to stare at your lips, or the dainty outfit you have on, or the mesmerizing way your hair is catching the porch light. your hand is now featherly held in his, and he leads it to rest on his collarbone.
you rise on your tippy toes and place a soft kiss on the side of his face, right where his eye meets the cheekbone. the heat radiating off of your cheeks and the flutter of your lashes against his skin made him feel like he would explode right then and there. you pull away slowly, staring a burning hole through his skin right where you kissed him. you are too afraid to look at his full face and see his reaction. you’re both in a shock—standing still without saying anything. the only thing that can be heard is your heavy breathing against his flushed cheek and the crickets of grass hoppers. you sense his face move, and he breaks out in a giggle. he throws his head back a bit, inhaling some much needed cold air. you feel like you’re about to pass out when he leans down to your ear, lips barely brushing against the cartilage right where you wear the stud he bought for you. michael raises one of his arms to gently cup your face between your jaw and you ear, running small circles with his thumb over your temple. he takes a second to think about what he wants to say, humming into your eardrums and shaking up your whole world once again.
“thank you. i’ll make sure you to bring you something extra special tomorrow.”
disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. although this does include mentions of real people, i do not know them personally or how they act. this is purely for entertainment purposes.
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