Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader
Summary: Countryside getaway with Michael <33
Warnings: Smut, mentions of domestic violence
Carefully folding another one of Michael's shirts, you place it into the already overcrowded suitcase lying open across the bed.
Summer light spills warmly into the bedroom windows, painting a golden glow over the cream sheets beneath multiple piles of clothes. Bubbles is currently sitting on the bed, eyes following each item you pick up and fold away into the suitcase.
The television faintly plays in the background of your room. You're hardly paying attention to it until you catch the interviewer announce, "for his first televised interview since finishing his upcoming album, please welcome Michael Jackson."
You begin looking around for the remote, finding it on your bedside table, you immediately reach for it and press the volume button so the sound becomes louder.
Michael appears onscreen, the only reason as to why you're watching this show, he enters through an open doorway. You've never taken the time to watch Maya Sterling's interviews. From what you've heard, she seems nice to her guests.
The overall atmosphere of the set appears comfortable. A live audience watches, the camera pans over to them once in a while to catch their reactions. A warm light casts over the two couches as Michael sits down on one and Maya sits on the other after shaking each other's hand.
Bubbles immediately shoots across the room and towards the television at the sight of Michael. He makes continuous noises and points to him, looking back at you, you smile, "yes, that's Michael."
He presses both hands against the television cabinet, jumping onto it to try and get a closer look. "He's not actually in there," you laugh as Bubbles wanders to both sides, trying to figure out a way to release Michael from his trap.
He returns to his initial position which rests against your pillow. Practically flying as he succeeds a far jump from the television stand to your bed.
"Oh darling," you have a brief moment of anxiety, believing that he may fall. He spins in place whenever the camera redirects from Maya to Michael.
"Now..." she clasps her hands over her knee, leaning forward to Michael, "everybody wants to talk about this new album." He maintains his smile, nodding for her to continue. "You've been working on it for a long time, and from what we've already heard, this record feels very different from anything you've done before."
Michael's eyes leave hers for a second to find an answer, "it's very personal." He shifts comfortably in his chair, hands loosely link together, "I think every album sort of becomes...a reflection of where you are emotionally at that time of your life."
Maya nods, listening carefully, "and this one?"
Michael pauses for a second, "this one came from a very honest place. There's anger in it," he admits, closing his eyes at the memories flooding from his past, "there's frustration...loneliness sometimes..." his expression softens at the next words, "but there's love too."
"Beautiful look night," her hand gestures towards his outfit. The crowd applauds in agreement.
Michael's ducks his head, smiling shyly, "thank you."
"But I do have to ask," she continues with a smile, "because your image has always evolved alongside your music...what image are you trying to convey with this album? There's something more intense about this era."
"I want something more...powerful," he motions subtly towards the military inspired detailing worked into the gold accents of his outfit. "Strong silhouettes. Strong colours. Almost like armour," he adds.
"Armour," she repeats gently.
"Because people can be very cruel," he briefly looks down at the floor before smiling, "but, there's still softness in the album too."
"Love songs?" She sneakily asks, raising her brows.
"Maybe," Michael presses his lips together to prevent his smile from answering the question.
"Do you think he's talking about me?" You look over at Bubbles who blinks at you slowly, offering no useful response. Regardless, you hug one of Michael's shirts against your chest, inhaling his faint scent. "Bubbles," you whisper, "I guess I inspire art."
"You've been incredibly busy lately," she moves onto a topic which covers his personal life, "do you ever actually rest?"
Her question causes Michael to laugh quietly under his breath, "a little."
He smiles, slightly embarrassed, "I try to."
Maya tilts her head teasingly, "you don't sound convincing."
"No, I really do," he clarifies, placing his hand out to reinforce his point, "I've just had...a lot of reasons to enjoy being home lately." You watch from home, knowing exactly what he's referring to, your hand absentmindedly reaches to rub gently over your stomach.
"So what does a normal day look like for you right now?" The interviewer glances at the ceiling for a second, configuring her next question.
"There really isn't a normal day," Michael leans back slightly in his chair. His words immediately generate a laugh from the audience. "But usually..." he continues, smiling softly to himself, "I'm in the studio very late."
He thinks for a second, "very late."
Maya laughs, "and when you're not working?"
"Hmm," he shrugs lightly, "watching movies, music, being around my family." His words feel deeply genuine.
"Do you still get nervous performing?" Maya lifts her hand to rest against her chin, actively listening to what Michael has to say.
"Yes," he answers immediately.
She raises her brows in surprise, "still?"
"Oh yes," Michael nods, laughing quietly, "I think if you stop feeling nervous completely...you stop caring." The audience applauds lightly once again. "It means something to me every single time."
"Great answer," Maya nods as Michael smiles politely. "The anticipation surrounding this release is enormous," she gestures towards the audience, "record stores are already preparing for it months ahead."
Michael laughs, shaking his head in a combination of disbelief and flattery, "that's really sweet."
"Does that pressure ever scare you?" She inquires, leaning forward to observe his expression closely.
"Sometimes," he nods honestly, "people connect memories to music. And when you know that...you want to give them something real."
"That's a very beautiful way to view it," she compliments, brows knitting together in understanding. "And without giving too much away...what can people expect when they finally hear the new album."
"I think," he begins carefully, "people are going to hear parts of me they haven't heard before." Maya watches him, nodding after every word. "There are songs that are very personal," he repeats his earlier comment, "and there are songs that feel hopeful."
"But more than anything," he looks back at Maya, "I want people to feel something when they hear it. Whether that's comfort...or strength...or love. I just want it to be honest."
"Wow," the interviewer pauses for a second, completely taken aback by Michael's deep and honest response. The audience laughs at Maya's reaction whilst applauding Michael.
Your eyes remain fixed on the screen. On him. Even now, after hearing him speak like this so many times in private, it still catches you off guard seeing the rest of the world witness this version of him you know best. The one who sits awake at three in the morning, overthinking lyrics, melodies and whether people will understand what he's trying to say.
Onscreen, Maya smiles warmly at Michael for a second longer before lightly adjusting her leg to rest over the other. "Well," she says with a small laugh, "I'm not going to pretend I don't see the ring on your finger."
The audience reacts immediately with a series of cheering, applauding and a few loud whistles. Your heart drops suddenly at the mention. Something which has been kept a secret for so long is finally being addressed.
Michael looks down shyly at his hand, as if he somehow forgot he is wearing it. Maya gestures towards one of the cameras dramatically, "can we zoom in on that for a second please?" The camera obeys and the picture is consumed of Michael's hand and his gold band catching brightly beneath the studio lights.
"You've been hiding your left hand this entire interview," she laughs softly at his reaction.
"You absolutely have," she nods, breaking into a fit of laughter. "Alright, tell me honestly," she points at the ring, "did you choose that yourself...or did your fiancée choose it for you?" The audience erupts at the word 'fiancée.'
"She encouraged it," he smiles to himself now, glancing down briefly at the ring before answering.
"Of course," he looks almost offended by the question, "excellent taste."
"You know exactly what a woman wants to hear," Maya closes her eyes, impressed with his answers, the women in the audience cheer in agreement. "Is your fiancée going to kill you for telling everyone tonight?"
Michael maintains his smile, although his eye twitches slightly, "of course not." The sincerity in his voice is evident. He glances between Maya and the audience, "is that really what people think of her?" He plays it off as a joke, causing a few laughs to erupt from around the room.
The interviewer immediately shakes her head gently, "no, not at all."
"She's not like that," his fingers absentmindedly play with his ring, "she's very kind.
Back in the bedroom, you melt entirely. He says it so naturally. As if defending you isn't even something he has to think about.
"You look very happy," Maya smiles.
He looks embarrassed by how true it is, "...I am." The audience awes.
Meanwhile, you immediately bury your face into his shirt again, "oh my God." Bubbles watches you from the bed, unsurprised by your emotional collapse.
Maya watches Michael carefully for another moment, clearly entertained by how shy he's become over a single question about a ring. "Well," she smiles knowingly, "the audience is very happy for you." The crowd immediately applauds again.
Michael lowers his head slightly with another quiet laugh, still looking almost overwhelmed by the attention. Maya glances at the director briefly before looking back at Michael. "And of course..." her tone softens, "there's also been a lot of speculation recently."
Michael already knows exactly where this is going. And so do the audience as they cheer and laugh knowingly. Your body stills immediately. Bubbles looks up at the sudden silence and stillness from you.
After finally telling Michael's family, you haven't bothered with hiding your stomach when going out in public. It's no surprise people have caught on, considering how evidently pregnant you look.
Maya smiles gently, "about whether or not you're expecting a baby." The audience screams. Michael laughs softly beneath his breath, briefly rubbing the side of his face while shaking his head slightly. Maya tilts her head, "so...is there anything you'd like to comment on about that...like if there's any truth to it?"
For a second, Michael doesn't answer immediately. And somehow, that alone already tells everyone everything they need to know. Finally, he manages to look back up with the softest smile imaginable, "yes."
The entire studio explodes. People begin standing up to cheer. Even the crew backstage and behind the camera begin applauding.
Your hand immediately flies to your mouth, "oh my God..." Bubbles startles slightly by your reaction before quickly climbing across the bed and towards you. Bringing a hand up to rest against your arm to check if you're okay.
On television, Michael looks completely overwhelmed now by the audience's response. Maya looks genuinely stunned for a second before laughing happily, "so it's true?" He nods once in confirmation, "you're going to be a father?"
Her question shifts his expression instantly. Suddenly, it feels real hearing someone else say it out loud. "Yes," he smiles softly, "I am."
Maya presses a hand lightly against her chest, "that's beautiful."
Michael glances down for a second before smiling shyly again, "thank you."
She suddenly grins, "okay, so everyone wants to know...are they a boy or a girl?" The audience cheers in agreement, anticipating his answer.
"Sorry," he laughs awkwardly, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" She repeats in disbelief.
He shakes his head, smiling, "we decided we wanted to keep it a surprise."
The audience collectively groans as Maya leans back in her chair, "oh that would drive me insane."
Michael laughs at their reaction, "I like not knowing."
"You really don't have a preference?"
He pauses thoughtfully for a second before smiling to himself, "I think eventually...I'd love both."
The audience reacts instantly, mostly laughing at the implication. Maya's eyes widen, "oh, so you're planning ahead already?"
Michael laughs slightly harder now, "well-"
The audience completely loses it. Michael shakes his head smiling helplessly before finally calming again. "But honestly," his expression softens naturally, "for right now, I really don't mind. As long as the baby's healthy...and knows they're loved."
His answer changes the atmosphere instantly. Suddenly, it doesn't sound like a celebrity interview anymore. It sounds like a father already in love with the child he hasn't even met yet. Even Maya looks visibly emotional now.
And back in the bedroom, you're sitting on the edge of the bed, beside the open suitcase. You feel your chest ache a little at his words. Already knowing Michael is sincere with what he says.
Onscreen, Maya smiles warmly at him while the applause slowly settles. Bubbles is sitting beside you as you both remain fixed entirely on the television.
A sharp gasp leaves you as you spin around on the bed, "Jesus Christ."
"I didn't mean to scare you," Michael's eyes widen at the unexpectedness of your reaction. Bubbles immediately perks up at the sound of Michael's voice. His entire face lights up as he immediately goes towards him.
"I could've died," you stand up to lightly hit his arm.
"Don't be so dramatic," Michael smiles, taking Bubbles into his arms and rocking him like a baby. His eyes glance at the television, "...you're watching me?"
"No," you press your lips together and shake your head, "this guy who looks exactly like you is on TV."
"Oh no," Michael watches himself being interviewed. He's wearing the same clothes as he just came back from the set.
You look over at television for a brief second before turning back to him, "what?"
Bubbles' hand moves over Michael's face, he allows it for a second before gently pushing it away, "I hate watching interviews back."
"You were doing fine," you reassure him.
"I look nervous," he laughs awkwardly, staring at himself through the screen.
"No you don't," you laugh under your breath, "you handled each question perfectly."
"Every part," you smile, reaching for his hand and squeezing it gently. You let go and gesture towards the suitcase, "I'm almost done with packing, I just need to grab those vitamins."
"Yeah," you look around, trying to remember where you left them, "I'll be back."
You disappear from the room. The second you're gone, Michael looks down into the suitcase again. Still holding Bubbles with one arm, he absentmindedly begins moving some clothes around to make more space.
A slow grin spreads across his face, "...oh." Folded carefully between your clothes is delicate lingerie. Michael physically covers Bubbles' eyes with one hand, "don't look." Bubbles immediately fights his hand away.
"No, seriously," he laughs quietly, "you don't need to see this." He lowers his voice, "...your dad's going to get lucky on this trip."
"Found them," you hold up the pack of vitamins in your hand, walking towards the suitcase and shoving it in there. "Is that it?" You look up at him.
"Okay," you reach forward to grab both sides of the suitcase, trying to pull it close, it doesn't move. You try again harder, still nothing.
Michael watches silently from the edge of the bed, trying not to laugh, "you packed half the closet."
"It's for a week," you defend yourself, unable to stifle your laugh after reevaluating what you packed.
He laughs softly beneath his breath, stepping closer, "excuse me." You move aside, allowing him space to access the suitcase. He kneels beside it, trying to force the two sides together himself. He looks up at you, "I need weight."
You press your lips together, teasingly brushing your hair behind your ear, "what do you want me to do about it?"
"The suitcase," he laughs, furrowing his brows. "Can you stop making everything I say into something dirty?"
Bubbles immediately climbs into the suitcase, preventing any of you from taking it. "He knows we're leaving," Michael laughs, shaking his head.
You crouch down to pick up Bubbles, holding him close to your chest, "we won't be gone for too long; we'll miss you loads."
"Stand on it," Michael instructs, pointing at the luggage. The extra weight finally helps as you carefully step onto the suitcase with Bubbles in your arms. Michael manages to zip it shut as the suitcase flattens slightly, "there."
He stands up, smoothing his trousers after kneeling on the floor. You step towards him again, Bubbles balances comfortably against your hip. Michael barely gets another word out before your fingers hook gently into his collar, pulling him closer and into a kiss.
His eyes widen at the boldness of your actions, immediately melting into it, one hand settled instinctively against your waist whilst the other steadies Bubbles between you both.
When you finally pull back, his eyes remain half-lidded for a second longer. You smile softly, "you look nice."
"You saw the interview," he laughs quietly beneath his breath, ducking his head slightly, "you liked it?"
You glance down briefly at the sleeves rolled to his forearms and the few buttons left undone at the top of his shirt. Then back up at him, "very much."
He physically has to look away for a second, genuinely affected by your compliment. Bubbles suddenly squeezes himself further between the two of you with a dramatic little noise of complaint.
Michael looks down at him seriously, "she's complimenting me. I thought you'd be happy for me." You burst into laughter immediately. Bubbles only clings tighter to your shoulder.
Michael crouches to grab the suitcase handle from the floor. His movement pulls the fabric of his white shirt tighter across his shoulders for a second before he straightens again, "ready?"
You glance around the bedroom one final time before nodding, "yeah."
The hallway downstairs feels a lot cooler after the humidity of the bedroom. Your footsteps echo softly against the staircase while Bubbles remains tucked comfortably against your chest. One small arm loops lazily around your neck.
Behind you, Michael carefully carries the suitcase. "I'm getting a nice view right now," Michael laughs, biting his bottom lip at the sight of your ass moving down the stairs.
"Look who's saying weird stuff now," you mutter quietly.
Outside, the July afternoon air burns your skin. Harsh sunlight hits across Neverland, casting everything gold. Michael heads towards the car parked near the front steps while you linger slightly behind with Bubbles still in your arms.
From nearby, one of the housekeepers approach with a knowing smile. "I'll take good care of him," she holds her arms out for Bubbles to be transferred to her.
"Thank you," you try to let him go, but he only clings tighter to you. Michael notices and starts laughing from beside the car.
Eventually, Bubbles allows himself to be taken into the housekeeper's arms. Michael walks over just long enough to gently scratch beneath Bubble's chin affectionately. "We'll be back soon, okay
You lean forward to kiss the top of Bubble's head once more, "we'll miss you."
Michael opens the passenger door for you. The housekeeper disappears back towards the house carrying a deeply emotionally abandoned chimp as the two of you get into the car.
"Finally," Michael turns his key into the ignition, "we can leave."
"And have you all to myself," you tease, pressing your hand awkwardly into his hair just to annoy him.
"Stop that, Y/N," he pushes your hand away, looking into the mirror and fixing the curls you messed up.
"I'm starting to think you don't like me," the car begins moving as Michael approaches the gates to leave the property. You turn your head to look solemnly out of the window.
"I'm sorry," he glances at you apologetically, bringing his hand to rest against your thigh.
"I was just joking," you release a small laugh, placing your hand over his in reassurance.
"Oh," he looks between you and the crowd gathered behind the entrance with cameras, flowers and bags clutched excitedly in their hands.
The gates open and Michael slowly passes through, avoiding an accident as everyone surrounds the car. The yelling becomes louder once they realise the two of you are in the car.
"Congratulations Michael!"
"Congratulations on the baby!"
Your eyes widen at how fast they've collected the news, brought gifts, and arrived at Neverland. Michael laughs softly beneath his breath, already used to the chaos.
You gaze in awe at the baby products they have with them. Some are wrapped in small boxes whilst others are in full display with stuffed animals and baby clothes. Michael comes to a stop before glancing towards you, "do you want to take some?"
You hesitate for a second, having never been in this situation before, you accept the offer, "yeah." Michael pushes a button on his door which lowers your window just enough that security nearby helps to pass a few of the gifts carefully towards the car.
"Thank you," you say sincerely, "you're all very sweet." You can imagine they want to see your bump, but you couldn't afford a second to open the door and show it off.
As much as you want to lift yourself out of the seat, and hover enough that it can be easily seen through the windshield, it will come out as a very unflattering picture if someone decides to snap a photo.
You're unfamiliar to these scenarios. A woman begins crying the second you're handed the small gift bag from her hands. You're unsure how to react other than repeating how thankful you are. And you truly are. They're not inclined to go to this extent, but you're grateful regardless.
Michael watches you with the softest expression possible. He mostly just waves warmly towards the crowd, occasionally thanking people while you continue accepting a few gifts into your lap.
Eventually, the car begins moving completely away from the gates again. The crowd's cheering slowly fades behind you as the road opens ahead. You glance down at the tiny pile of gifts resting against you.
"Do you want to put that in the back?" Michael asks, not wanting them to feel like a burden the entire car ride.
"Sure," you begin moving your seatbelt away so that it doesn't restrict you from getting out of your seat. You turn around, having easier access to place everything into the backseat, your back is against the roof and you're in a bent over position.
You suddenly feel a light tap against your ass. Nothing that stings or causes you to be slightly pushed forward, but the intent to do so causes you to raise your brows at Michael, once you sit back on the seat, who smiles as if he's oblivious to what just happened to you.
He reaches for the glove compartment that's in front of you. His gaze is divided between the road and what he's looking for. Eventually, he retrieves a CD case with multiple tracks written on the back in black felt tip.
He holds it out for you to take, once you do, he closes the compartment and speaks up, "this is the full album."
You gasp dramatically, flicking through the binder and finding the titles on each CD placed into its protective sleeve, "you should be so proud of yourself, baby. When can we play it?"
"When we get there," Michael confirms with a nod, wanting it to be a special moment with no distractions. It's strangely intimate. You're the first person besides Michael and his team of producers to listen to the complete album.
"When will we get there?" You look over at him suspiciously.
He presses his lips together, already knowing you won't like his answer, he looks briefly at the watch sitting on his wrist before estimating, "it's about five right now...so we'll probably get there for ten."
"What?" You're in pure disbelief, head leaning slightly forward as if you didn't hear him correctly.
"Nine, if we're lucky," he adds as if it's any better.
"This heat feels so much worse when you're pregnant," you begin fanning yourself with your hand before deciding to turn the AC up and then immediately off, "actually, this just makes me feel sick."
"I'm sorry, baby," Michael immediately feels bad for you, "we can stop at the services whenever you feel like having a breather."
"Okay," you nod at his reassurance, eyes closed in anguish at the humidity.
A few minutes go by, before you speak up again, "what is this place like?" You refer to where Michael's taking you to.
"You'll really like it," he smiles at the mention, "I haven't been since before I met you." He owns this property in a secluded, rural town, "I usually like to go whenever I need peace; it's so quiet," he comments, being so unfamiliar with the concept as his life functions in loud spaces.
The occasion for travelling is Michael finishing his album. He's taking the next few days away from music and focusing it all on relaxing with you.
About an hour passes. Time is spent listening to music over the radio and fanning yourself from the heat. The scenery begins changing as Michael takes an exit off of the highway. You're driving through a small town with old buildings and knackered road lines.
The route is still lively as many people pass through the area. Market stalls are in place, beginning to close for the day as people make last minute sales whilst packing their stock away.
The image disappears as you're taken down a suburban street. Your attention fixes completely on one particular house. It's small, worn down since the last time you saw it as what was once pale blue paint has faded into an almost grey shade.
Your eyes stay glued to it through the window. And as the car passes, you turn in your seat to keep looking at it for another few seconds.
Michael notices, pulling his brows together softly as he watches you, "is everything okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," you look back at him with a forced smile.
"What is it?" He looks in the rearview mirror to catch a glimpse of the house you were focusing on.
"I stayed there for about a year," you recall your foster experience, "I was like ten or eleven."
His hand tightens slightly around the steering wheel, his mind flickers to the stories you've collected over the years of staying in multiple homes. "How were they?"
"Horrible," you summarise. "The mom was an alcoholic. She'd drink all day...like constantly." You pause for a second, gaining the courage to cover the next part, "and when she got drunk, the husband would try and get her to sleep with him..."
Michael's jaw tightens, looking over at you, he wonders how someone can exploit this onto a child. "He thought I was too young to understand," you continue with a defeated tone, "I just can't wrap my head around why someone would do that in front of two children with one being their own daughter."
"Was she nice to you?" Michael refers to the daughter you mentioned.
"Well..." you begin, thinking back to everything that happened in that house, what you were exposed to. "She was older than me by a year," you laugh once quietly, but there's no hint of amusement at all, "she would always call me ugly...but I do feel sorry for her. Growing up in that environment, it did something to her."
Michael nods, although his eyes remain fixed on the road, he's listening to everything you say. He slowly reaches across the centre of the console until his hand finds yours over your lap.
"Sorry," you laugh for a second, "we were having fun and I just ruined the mood."
"You didn't ruin the mood," his thumb traces over your skin, "I appreciate you telling me about it."
"I'm in a better place now," you lift his hand to press a soft kiss against his knuckles.
The sun hangs lower, almost setting, it bathes everything outside in deep gold. Another hour passes and you shift uncomfortably in your seat repeatedly. "I need to pee."
"We're not that far," Michael looks down at his watch, "do you want to wait or do you want to go to the services?"
"I can't wait," you shake your head, wincing slightly. Recently, peeing has become quite painful. Since the beginning of your pregnancy, you've been experiencing the need to go more often. It's turned into an annoying habit.
A sign which demonstrates the next service station to be a few miles away comes into view. Your legs shake at the pressure building, it doesn't help when the car drives over a speed bump that you feel as if you can't hold it in any longer.
Luckily, there's an available parking space in front of the entrance which Michael takes. You don't waste a second, reaching for the handle and speed walking towards the ladies restroom.
Cool air hits your skin once entering the services as air conditioning is blasted to the coldest setting. You disappear into one of the toilet cubicles as Michael takes the opportunity to head towards the men's.
You lift the bottom of your dress to prevent it from falling into the toilet as your underwear is lowered to the floor. Your legs begin to ache as you hover over the seat instead of sitting completely on it. You're overcome with such relief once finally getting the chance to pee.
After cleaning yourself up with tissue and wipes, you unlock the door and walk towards a sink to wash your hands. Glancing up at the mirror to inspect your appearance, another woman helps her two small children wash their hands.
She smiles warmly the second she notices your stomach, "how far along are you?"
"Almost six months," you return a smile, shaking your hands into the sink to dry them.
"You're glowing," she looks over you.
"Thank you," your hand absentmindedly rubs your stomach.
A little boy and girl hide behind their mother's leg. You slightly crouch, despite your bump protesting it, you reach their level, "hi."
They stare at you cautiously, overwhelmingly shy, "...hi."
You laugh softly, "they're adorable."
She smiles proudly, "do you know what you're having yet?"
"My husband and I are keeping it a surprise," you press your lips excitedly together at the idea of calling Michael your husband.
"Oh, both of mine were surprises too," she gasps, "it was worth the wait."
"Aww, I'm sure it was," you glance down at the children again, "it was lovely talking to you."
"And you," she drags her kids by the wrist and leads them towards the hand dryer.
Once outside of the restroom, you look around for Michael, but there's no sign of him. You begin to assume he's probably still in the men's room despite the conversation you had with that woman.
The service station offers a variety of food options. A Starbucks sign draws your attention, suddenly craving a hot drink, you immediately join the short queue. Only a minute later, you begin studying the display of pastries as you're next to be served.
The cashier looks to be a lot younger than you, around his early twenties, his entire face changes the second he notices you, "hey."
"Hi," you smile politely, looking at the menu above him.
"What can I get for you?"
"You've got a pretty accent," he cuts you off with a compliment, eyes half-lidded.
"...thank you," you're unsure what else to reply with.
"You visiting?" He leans against the register comfortably. You glance down at your stomach in confusion. You're visibly pregnant.
Before you can respond, someone else speaks up, "what are you ordering." Relief floods through you instantly. Michael stands beside you wearing his baseball cap and sunglasses. Completely disguised to everyone except you.
The cashier immediately straightens once realising this is your man. Michael casually slides one hand against the small of your back whilst looking at the menu.
"Two hot chocolates?" You look at Michael, trying hard not to laugh at the cashier becoming professional once again.
"And those cinnamon rolls," he adds calmly.
"Yeah. Sure," the cashier nods quickly. Michael reaches for his wallet whilst the awkward guy uses his utensil to reach for the two pastries and hurriedly pack everything together.
"Probably easier to focus on the job than flirting with customers, huh?" Michael twists the knife.
The cashier refuses eye contact, going bright red immediately, "right. Yeah. Sorry."
You bite the inside of your cheek in an attempt to not laugh. Michael only smiles politely while taking the drinks from him, "appreciate it." Michael takes your hand, perfectly balancing the cup holder with your drinks in his other as you take the bag of pastries.
He guides you out of the building and towards his car, letting go of your hand to dig through his pockets for the keys. Unlocking your door with the turn of his keys, he opens it, you hear him mutter something under his breath.
You're unable to catch it as he closes the door behind you once ensuring your dress won't get caught. Michael walks around to his side and gets into the driver seat, turning the key into the ignition and waiting a second before moving off.
Both hot chocolates are in the middle of the car, you take one and open the lid of its takeaway packaging, allowing it cool down before drinking.
"Unbelievable," he quietly mutters under his breath. You immediately grin whilst taking a sip. "Flirting with someone pregnant."
"Mhm," you hum, secretly enjoying this possessive side of him. You open the pastry bag, breaking off a small piece before holding it before his mouth, "eat." He leans forward enough for you to place the food into his mouth.
Gradually, the highway begins thinning out into quieter roads. The loud rush of traffic disappears, the streetlights become fewer and farther between as countryside surrounds you.
You're comfortably curled against the passenger seat with the empty pastry bag abandoned beside you. Michael looks calmer than he has in weeks. One hand rests loosely against the steering wheel as the other occasionally taps to the music playing through the speakers.
You feel a kick press softly against your stomach causing your hand to instinctively lower against the bump. Michael notices, "they're awake?"
You nod, "mhm." Reacting a lot more natural and calm, completely different to how painful the first kick was a few weeks ago.
One hand leaves the steering wheel briefly to rest against your stomach too. The baby kicks beneath his palm a few seconds later. He smiles softly to himself, "don't worry, we're nearly there."
"Thank goodness," you laugh, feeling as if you've been trapped in the vehicle this entire time.
Eventually, a small, wooden sign appears near the roadside which welcomes you into the town. Immediately, you fall in love with it. The entire place feels frozen in time. There's tiny shops with flower boxes beneath the windows, old brick buildings covered in climbing ivy, couples walking slowly along narrow sidewalks.
Everything feels quiet. Peaceful. As if life simply moves slower here.
"Oh my God..." you laugh under your breath in amazement.
Michael glances sideways briefly at your reaction, smiling instantly, "I knew you'd like it."
The road narrows further as Michael drives deeper into the countryside, eventually winding between long stretches of trees and open land. Finally, he turns into a smaller, private road almost hidden beneath overhanging branches.
The cottage sits tucked away between rolling hills and tall trees as if it's something protected from the rest of the world. Its walls are stone, supported by dark wooden beams. Wildflowers spill around the front garden, there's even a swing hanging near the front of the house.
Your chest aches looking at it. The kind of home that belongs in peaceful memories, not magazines or television, just real life.
You lean back into the headrest, turning to look at Michael, he glances over at you as he slows the car. "What are you thinking?"
You mean it with your whole heart. For the first time in a long time, you can actually picture a normal life. Morning coffee together. A child running through the garden. Michael carrying groceries through the front door. Rain against the windows at night. Simple things neither of you really get to have.
Michael watches you stare at him for another few seconds before speaking again, "I always come here when everything gets too loud." You lift your hand to caress his cheek.
You suddenly understand this isn't just a holiday home, it's the closest thing Michael has to disappearing. No crowds, camera, performances. Just him.
The engine finally shuts off. In the silence afterwards, you realise how peaceful it really is here. Just birds somewhere in the distance and trees moving softly in the evening breeze. You almost don't want to speak too loudly in case it ruins it.
You open the glove compartment, remembering the CD case Michael gave you of the entire album. You both step out of the car, temperature finally dropping after a long, hot drive, the cool evening air rushes around you.
You stand near the footpath, hugging the CD case carefully against your chest as Michael moves around to the back of the car, lifting the suitcase out.
He balances it upright before digging into his pocket for the house keys. A small silver chain jingles softly in his hands. He studies them for a second before eventually holding one up, "this one."
You take it from him as he reaches back down for the suitcase again. The front porch creaks softly beneath your feet as you walk towards the door. For a moment, everything feels strangely intimate. Unlocking the place together, standing there in the quiet, no security, no staff. Just you and him.
The key finally turns, you push the door open slowly before immediately stopping, "...Michael."
"It's pitch black in here."
He laughs softly, dragging the suitcase inside, "hold on." The door closes behind you both, surrounding the house in near total darkness, except for faint moonlight filtering through the windows.
You hear Michael fumbling somewhere beside the wall, "found it." A warm, golden light suddenly floods the room and you're finally able to see how pretty the cottage looks inside. There's wooden floors, soft cream walls, bookshelves, old framed photographs, a knitted blanket thrown over the couch. Everything feels cozy.
Michael drops the suitcase beside the stairs with visible relief. "Okay," you clasp your hands together, "what do you want to eat?"
"I'm starving," your eyes widen, wondering if he's feeling the same.
"We should've just got something from outside," he shoves his hands into his pockets.
You shake your head, "we've been doing that too much lately." You wander towards the kitchen, opening cupboards curiously, you list what you can find, "pasta, beans, and plenty of canned soup."
Michael leans against the doorway, watching you in amusement, "I haven't been here in two years."
You continue investigating the kitchen, eventually finding some rotten garlic and onion. "Smells disgusting," you hold them cautiously, throwing them into the bin and running immediately towards the sink to wash your hands.
"Guess we'll just have soup," you dry your hands with towel provided, managing to gather a select few of different soup cans. You start reading the labels, "tomato, chicken noodle, mushroom...which one do you want?"
"This one," he picks up a can and hands it over to you.
"Okay," you look around the kitchen again, "where are your pans?"
He walks towards another cupboard near the oven before crouching down and opening it. Inside are a few neatly stacked pots and pans, "here." You kneel beside him to grab one.
The soft sound of soup pouring into the saucepan fills the warm kitchen. You place it onto the stove before twisting the hob and igniting a flame beneath it.
Michael continues to open drawers, trying to re familiarise himself with the place again, "we should go shopping tomorrow."
Your attention is immediately stolen, "like...normal shopping?"
Michael smiles at how excited you sound already, "yes. Normal shopping."
The staff are usually the ones who did something as simple as grocery shopping. The idea of going with Michael feels overwhelmingly domestic. That alone makes him want to give you every normal thing in the world.
A comfortable silence settles as the soup cooks quietly on the stove. The kitchen slowly fills with the smell of tomato.
Michael speaks again, "we should listen to the album."
"Now?" You ask, looking up at him after watching the pan. He nods once. "Okay," you smile at the fact he's sharing everything he's been carrying within himself.
"We should probably unpack a little first," he says as you lean back against the kitchen counter. He finally pushes himself away from the doorway, "I'll take the suitcase upstairs."
You follow him a few moments later as he drags the suitcase up step by step. The upstairs hallway feels even cozier than downstairs somehow. Its soft lighting and faint smell of old books and clean linen linger through the rooms.
Michael nudges open one of the bedroom doors with his shoulder, "this one." You step inside to find the bedroom is simple but beautiful.
A large bed sits near the windows, curtains partly open to reveal the nighttime countryside. A bookshelf rests against the wall, a record player in the corner, an old arm chair beside the fireplace. Everything feels personal. Where Michael actually breaths.
"This is the biggest room," he explains, setting the suitcase down near the bed, "I like to stay in here."
You wander slowly further inside, "yeah?"
He nods, "there's two other bedrooms."
"Does anyone else come here?"
"There's furniture in them," his hands settle behind his back, "but nobody really stays here except me."
The place suddenly feels even more private. You move towards the windows beneath soft as Michael begins unzipping the suitcase near the bed.
Outside, the countryside view has completely disappeared into darkness except for distant lights scattered far across the hills. "It's so quiet here."
"That's why I like it," his voice sounds so soft.
You turn around to look at him, he's already watching you, the suitcase sits entirely forgotten. Michael stands up after crouching on the ground, "come here." You smile immediately, crossing the room and towards him.
He reaches for your waist the second you're close enough, gently pulling you into his chest. One of his hands settle instinctively against the curve of your stomach whilst the other brushes softly along the back of your thigh.
His thumb slowly lifts your shirt to trace the bare skin, "I love you."
He leans forward, taking your lips in his, your arms settle around his neck. The kind of kiss that comes from finally being alone after weeks of noise, people, and cameras. It becomes rushed once your fingers slide into his curls automatically as Michael pulls you closer into him.
For a few seconds, the outside world feels as if it no longer exists. You eventually pull back first, pressing your lips together to savour the lingering feeling he left. "Food's going to burn."
"We can make more," he moves his hands to rest against your ass, pulling you even closer.
"No we can't," you laugh under your breath, "the rest of the cans have expired."
Michael sighs, finally letting you go, "fine."
Downstairs, the cottage feels comfortably warmer. The kitchen smells faintly of tomato sauce whilst the rest of the house glows softly beneath the lamp light.
Michael leans against the kitchen counter, flicking through his disc binder. Months of hard work sitting in his hands. He ejects the CD player and carefully slips one of the tracks into it.
Music begins playing through the room. You're listening to HIStory before anyone else in the world. Throughout the evening, the album slowly fills every corner of the cottage.
Some songs make Michael talk immediately. Explaining certain lyrics, laughing about recording sessions, pointing out tiny production details you never would've noticed yourself.
During this time, you manage to finish cooking, grab some plates, and place Michael's portion in front of him. It isn't the best considering Michael has a limited selection of seasoning in his cupboard, but he still compliments your cooking, as he always does.
Other songs affect him differently, he becomes quiet, and you notice those ones the most. During those tracks, Michael usually watches your reaction instead.
Another track begins playing through the speakers. "This one's called You Are Not Alone," he watches you instead of the CD player, almost nervously. You lean back further into the couch, as you've changed locations, listening carefully as his voice fills the room softly around you.
By the end of the first chorus, you look over at him, "that's beautiful."
Michael's eyes lower briefly to his hands before speaking, "I want to make a video for it."
His brows furrow confusedly, "so?"
You look down at your bump, "so I'm pregnant."
"Michael," you laugh in disbelief.
He shifts slightly closer to you on the couch, "it doesn't matter." The sincerity in his voice causes your chest to tighten instantly. He gestures towards you as the song continues, "you think I don't want people to see that? You're carrying our baby."
You glance down shyly at your stomach again, "I just don't look how I used to."
He shakes his head, hating the way you're speaking about yourself, "you're always going to look beautiful."
Your eyes lift towards him as he continues, "I wrote this about you." His thumb brushes gently across your knuckles as his voice lowers, "about how you make me feel...about loving someone so much that even loneliness doesn't feel the same anymore."
"So will you do it?" He eventually asks.
"I'll think about it," you smile, not wanting to give in straight away.
"Of course," he reassures, bringing your hand up to his lips and kissing it gently.
Your other hand moves to your handbag next to you on the couch, "...I brought the envelope."
Michael pauses for a second, registering your words, "the gender one?"
You nod, opening the zip and taking it out, it feels heavy in your hands, "I think we should open it."
He looks down at the envelope you're holding, his hand slowly moves up to smooth over his face in thought. "Wait here," his pace changes as he quickly gets up from his seat and walks out of the room.
You lean forward to watch him walk up the stairs, ignoring his instruction, you decide to follow him and see what he's up to. Once reaching the last step, you're met with the sight of Michael with his back turned to you, searching through the open suitcase.
"What are you looking for?" You walk further into the room, looking over him as he crouches in front of it.
"We need to record this," you can hear the smile on his face.
"Okay," you nod, releasing a small laugh, your hand reaches up to rub your stomach instinctively.
"Michael," you call his name softly. He hums in response, encouraging you to continue, "Turn around."
He looks over his shoulder and at you. Your hands move to unzip the back of your dress. You grab the sleeves and gently pull it down; your dress falls to the floor in a puddle around you. You're left in your underwear as Michael takes in the sight of your half-naked body.
He eventually stands up, dropping the camcorder he was looking for back into the suitcase, it lands on top of your folded clothes.
You bite down on your lip as Michael begins unbuttoning his shirt. You watch his skin gradually become exposed, stepping closer and helping undo his trousers as well.
He lightly shoves it aside once it reaches the floor. Your arms wrap around him as he holds onto your hips, he stares into your eyes for a few seconds before leaning forward to kiss you.
Your head tilts back slightly as he applies pressure onto your lips. You're suddenly pushed onto the bed with Michael climbing on top of you. Heart rate escalating as your body collides with the mattress. Your brows knit together, pulling Michael into you, wanting him as close as possible.
It takes a few tries, lost in the moment, for your bra to unhook as you fiddle with the mechanic. Once it's finally off, you manage to throw it across the room, the least of your worries as Michael's clothed erection feels hard against your thigh.
He stands up again, you watch as he looks into your eyes and takes off his boxers. You try to contain your smile at the sight of his fully aroused cock. He returns to his position of balancing over you. Both arms stable himself beside your head.
"Mm," you release a teasing moan at the feeling of his cock straining against your inner thigh. He smiles shyly at the sounds you're producing. You want to look down at what he's exactly doing by your entrance, but the view is obstructed by your bump.
Michael presses his lips together, groaning quietly under his breath as he pushes his cock into you. He tries his best to be gentle and slow, but the movement and stretch causes your face to wince. Your arms move to grip his back.
"I'm sorry," he apologises after witnessing the evident pain on your face, he stops for a second, allowing you to regain your breath.
"I'm okay," you manage to reassure him despite finding it difficult to form sentences in the state you're in. You pull him down by the shoulders, obliging, he leans further into you, allowing him to gently kiss your lip.
He begins thrusting into you, slow at first, your body naturally adjusts which allows him to go faster. You raise your hips slightly, compelling him to go even deeper.
Michael lifts your leg, taking you deeper and at a new angle. The only sound in this dimly lit room being a wet, heavy rhythm of your skin against Michael's and the breathless, quiet whimpers going along with it.
You lean into the pleasure, being so close to him, feeling him move inside of you, somehow makes you feel safe.
You're nearing your release. Michael's grip stays on your hips. He groans at the sensation of thrusting his tip inside of you that you can feel it repeatedly hit your cervix.
"Michael," you manage to call his name between breathy moans, "I'm close."
"Me too, baby," he speaks so gently even when he's thrusting deeply into you.
Just as his words leave, the bed decides to give up and collapse. You scream at the feeling of suddenly being dropped as Michael's eyes widen. He stops moving. You both look into each other's eyes in complete shock at what just happened.
"The bed..." you say after a few seconds, "...did it just-"
"Break?" He finishes your sentence before nodding in confirmation, "are you okay?"
"I'm fine," you laugh after a few seconds, realising how ridiculous the situation actually seems, "let's just finish."
"No," Michael's brows knit together, "stand up. You can get hurt."
"I'll be fine," you shake your head, wanting to come desperately, "please, baby."
He lifts you gently by placing a hand behind your back, still inside of you, he decides to rest you against the wall beside the broken bed to resume thrusting.
You're already sensitive; releasing your orgasm comes quick as your eyes close at the sensation of fluid leaking from you. Michael's release follows shortly as his thrusts become gradually slower. Your eyes open at the feeling of his orgasm being released inside you.
Your head collapses onto his shoulder, a surge of tiredness coming over you, Michael secures his arms around your waist. You eventually look up as he begins to smile, your hand strokes his curls before pushing his head down to gain better access to his lips.
The kiss is small and gentle. After pulling away, Michael turns around, walking towards the bed with you beside him in his arms. Inspecting the broken frame, he sighs, "I'll have to get that fixed."
"We can do that tomorrow," you laugh quietly under your breath, beginning to feel fatigue after the fulfilled day, "what other room can we sleep in?"
"This is the only room with a double bed," Michael explains, smile fading slightly, "the others only have single beds.
"...well," you grin teasingly, "see you tomorrow."
You begin to move away from Michael as he reaches to take your hand, "what do you mean?"
"I guess we'll sleep separately tonight," you press your lips together, anticipating his reaction.
"I'm not going to sleep by myself," Michael looks at you horrified.
"Fine," you roll your eyes jokingly, "we can sleep together."
You leave the room, holding onto his hand, you're guiding the way to another room which is next door. Reaching for the handle, it opens to a dark room with drawn curtains. You flick the light switch on to reveal a single bed.
"Hm," you blink, unsure what else to expect. You let go of Michael's hand, walking towards the bed and lying down. The blanket is thin, but you don't mind as the summer nights have become warm too.
He stands before the bed, hands behind his back as he watches you. "Come in," you gesture for him to join you in bed. He smiles, wondering how you'll both fit.
He removes the blanket for a second before lifting himself and settling into the mattress. It's exactly small as Michael had described. You barely have room to move without bumping into him. Not that Michael seems to mind.
One arm rests comfortably around your waist as your head lays against his shoulder, blankets tangle around the two of you. Every time you try shifting to allow him more space, he simply pulls you closer.
Outside, the countryside remains silent except for the occasional warm breeze against the windows. For a few moments, neither of you speak. Just enjoying being away from everything.
Michael suddenly stirs, "the envelope."
"Oh," you're suddenly reminded, "do you want to open it now?"
"Yeah," he gently removes you from him before climbing out of bed, "I want to record it too."
"Okay," you quietly laugh, resting both arms behind your head to relax. "Please can you get me something to wear?" You're currently nude, beginning to cover yourself with the thin sheet of blanket.
He nods before leaving the room. You watch as the open doorway reveals him going into the room which locates a broken bed you can't believe the two of you broke.
He arrives back a few moments later, wearing sweatpants, holding the camcorder and your nightdress. He hands it over to you, thanking him, you sit up to put it on.
As you do so, he begins pressing several buttons on the camcorder before accidentally pointing it at the ceiling for a few seconds. He finally looks satisfied, "there." A small red light blinks which ensures it's working.
Michael gets back into bed beside you, balancing the camcorder in front of the both of you, squeezing together on the small bed.
"Okay..." he begins, "today is July 12th 1995..." he glances at you proudly, "and tonight, we're finding out if you're a baby boy or girl." You smile shyly beside him, amused with the character he's putting on for the future child to watch.
He angles the camera directly at you, "and this..." he says softly, "is your beautiful mom."
You laugh as the frame focuses on you for a few seconds before stealing the camcorder from him, "and this...is your sexy dad."
Michael's smile drops, "you can't say that."
"The baby's going to watch this someday."
The camera begins to shake as you laugh at his reaction. He takes it back and adjusts it again to point at your stomach, zooming in on the curve of your nightdress
"This is you," a small smile appears on your face, his free hand reaches across instinctively against your stomach, "you've been kicking your mom all day. I don't know what you're doing in there."
You laugh quietly beside him, "they're going to be a dancer like you."
Michael looks up, "a dancer?"
"Mhm," you nod, "all that moving."
He smiles before glancing back at your stomach, "you hear that?" His thumb brushes softly against the fabric of your nightdress, "apparently you're practicing already."
You lean your head lightly against his shoulder, "or maybe they're just impatient."
"Then they get that from you," he turns the camera to focus on the two of you lying against the headboard.
"Let's just open the envelope," you hold it up between your fingers.
"Okay," he lowers the camera as your thumb carefully unsticks the edges. It eventually opens and you retrieve what's inside.
The room suddenly feels quiet.
You unfold the paper carefully, eyes scanning the information before reaching the conclusion. Then reading it again. Your breath catches.
"Baby?" Michael waits for you to say the gender.
You don't answer straight away. Just staring down at the paper, a smile slowly forms. You can't stop even if you try.
His voice sounds nervous, "tell me."
You finally lift your eyes towards him. In a small voice, you reveal, "we're having a girl."
The words settle between you.
Michael just stares. As if time has just stopped. "A girl?"
You nod, laughing through the tears which have started to form, "a girl."
"A girl?" He repeats again, quieter this time, his voice cracking from emotion. You nod again to confirm it. He suddenly looks overwhelmed, eyes watering almost instantly as he laughs in disbelief, "...a little girl."
The camcorder catches everything from the stunned smile on his face to the way he looks at you, unable to process how he feels.
You move towards him as he wraps both arms around you tightly. The camera tilts as it keeps recording. "I love her so much," you whisper emotionally.
He nods against your shoulder, "me too." He presses multiple kisses against your forehead, cheeks and hair. "A little girl," he says again softly as if he still can't believe it.
He reaches over to switch the camcorder off, the red light disappears, but neither of you pull away from each other yet. Not for a while until the both of you settle back properly into the tiny bed again.
Michael's arm stays around you beneath the blanket. Your fingers trace absentminded shapes against his chest before speaking again, "...I'm just thinking of my mom right now."
He listens to you open up. Staring quietly at the wall next to Michael, "my dad was horrible to her...and then she was cruel to me." You admit, "but...I understand parts of her now."
He says nothing again, allowing you the space to continue, "he'd scream and hit her for talking to other men while he was out with other women himself." Michael's arm tightens around you.
You swallow hard, "and I used to think it was normal...but now I'm becoming a mother too..." You look down towards where his hand rests gently over your stomach, "and my life looks completely different."
He watches you carefully. Your voice almost breaks, "you're gentle with me. You make me feel safe instead of afraid. You're nothing like how my dad was to my mom."
For a moment, Michael can't even speak. Nobody has ever trusted him this deeply before. He reaches up carefully, brushing his fingers against your cheek. "You've always deserved softness," he whispers, "long before you met me...I'm just angry nobody gave it to you sooner."
