Hello! I’m literally obsessed with your fics so much, your writing is the greatest ever!!
So yk how there’s a lot of pictures and videos of how people would always like put their arms around Michael’s waist? I was wondering if you could do a fic inspired by that in a way? You can take it any route you want, but I just thought it’d be so fun!
𝑴𝒚 𝑴𝒂𝒏
Michael Jackson x Reader
Synopsis: People keep holding onto Michael, and you just had to remind people he's your man.
Content/Warnings: Fluff, silly, everyone loves Michael, slightly jealous reader, Michael down bad
W.C. 1.2k
Masterlist
You knew getting into your relationship with Michael that he was one of (if not the most) desirable man on the planet. You knew that people were infatuated with him, that he just had an infectious personality that drew people towards him.
What you didn't realize was that people loved, LOVED, touching him. Specifically his waist. People adored wrapping their arms around his little waist, pulling him close or even manhandling him *cough* John Landis*cough*
People just absolutely loved being able to hold him in their arms, and you honestly couldn't blame them. You got to do it everyday, and it was addicting. Most people were respectful about it, although it did occasionally come across as people wanting him badly. Again, you completely understood, what was there not to want? There were a few guys who you swore up and down had crushes on Michael, something you found kind of impressive. He was so loved that even grown ass men were thirsting over him, and yet he came home to you every night. God definitely had favorites, and you were one.
It was cute most of the time, you loved seeing Michael get the love he so very much deserved. But there were other times where you felt it was a little unnecessary. Like with Diana Ross.
She absolutely loved wrapping her slimy arms around his waist, pulling him close to her chest and pressing a gross kiss to his cheek. Part of it was utterly revolting, and the other part made you want to double over laughing at the idea of her thinking she actually had a chance.
Michael had outgrown her years ago, which was funny because she was the one who needed to grow up.
The first few times it had happened Michael had worried that you would be upset with him, that it would cause a big issue like it had with some of his previous relationships. What he didn't expect was for you to assure him that you knew he meant well and that you didn't feel threatened in the least. If anything, each time she pushed at the boundaries he had clearly set up, it just made you want to shove your steady relationship with Michael in her face. Which is exactly what you did.
You and Michael had been invited to some after party for an award show. He had immediately told you that the she-devil would be there and that the two of you didn't have to go. You assured him that you were a big girl, you weren't afraid of the woman. Michael had smiled, admiring your confidence with small stars in his eyes.
He was accustomed to Diana causing problems in his relationships. He understood she was overly affectionate with him, and how it came across to others, but none of it was purposeful (at least on his end). With you, he didn't feel like he had to step on eggshells. He knew that if things got too much for you, that you would happily step in and shut things down with a smile and a backhanded comment. He found the whole thing really attractive, to the point where he often let people hang onto him just to see you come up and claim him as your own.
So when you left to get drinks that night, he could already tell that Diana was about to make her move, and he wasn't too inclined to stop it. She came up to him, a coy smile tugging on her lips, "I see you've finally gotten a moment to breathe." She disguised the comment as a joke, laughing slightly.
Michael shrugged, "If anything, my lady is the one that's getting a break. I like keeping her glued to my side."
She brushed off the comment, "M'sure. But you know you suit a more mature woman."
He did everything he could not to laugh at her obvious advances. "I've got one."
She decided to move on from the topic of you, opting to weasel her way into his arms with pure flattery instead. She congratulated him for what felt like the 50th time on his newest album and the awards he had won. He nodded politely, thanking her each time. She finally decided to make her move, an arm wrapping around Michael's waist as she introduced him to someone he already knew.
Almost like you could sense it, you turned from a conversation right as her arms settled around his waist, cheek pressed up against his. Michael felt your gaze, and he couldn't wait for the silent storm that was coming.
Your eyes narrowed as she continued to hug him, waiting for the woman to get a grip on reality and pull her wrinkly arms away from him. Except she just kept holding him, she was clearly feeling bold today.
You politely excused yourself from the conversation you were having, walking slowly towards Michael. You didn't feel the need to rush yourself, you knew this would be over before she even realized. Once you got to him, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The action should have shaken off the older woman, but she simply shot you a glance.
You felt a laugh bubbling up, she really had some nerve. "Hey, baby" You spoke sweetly, grabbing his chin and turning his face towards yours as you placed a long kiss on his lips. Out of habit, Michael immediately turned his full body towards you, twisting out of Diana's grip. His hands found your hips as he kissed you back. You deliberately wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer, staking your claim. The kiss lasted far longer than it should have, but you really wanted to shove it right in her face and Michael had absolutely no qualms.
When you pulled away, Michael's lips chased after yours. You smiled and kissed his cheek, well aware of the stares you had gathered. "We're in public, baby." You carefully fixed the hem of his jacket.
He spared a glance around the room, "Then let's go somewhere private."
You nodded, a smile playing on your face. Your eyes finally landed on Diana, a fake surprised expression dawning your face. "Oh! Diana, I didn't see you there, how are you doing?" She started to answer before you cut her off, "Sorry, you've got something in your teeth. Well, it was alright seeing you." You turned on your heel, making your way to the door.
Michael quickly fell into step behind you, pulling your arm around his waist to really let the message sink in. You cast one last glance over your shoulder at Diana, a triumphant smile on your face as you gave her an 'innocent' wave goodbye.
june 25th, 2009, our angel was taken from us. michael’s life was selfishly ripped from him. michael was a hardworking, selfless, kind, and compassionate soul. he healed the world, in so many ways—always thinking of new ways to advocate for world peace. he was known by so many people, not only as a superstar, but also the empathetic, and gentle person he was. 17 years feels too long. 17 years without his smile and his gratitude. this day is a day of honor, and a day of respect. michael, you are so loved and will continue to be loved for generations moving forward. i hope you are in the happiest place, angel. we love you.
Pairing: Otw!Michael Jackson x girly, shy reader who doesn’t play
Synopsis: After a conversation with Michael, you just can’t pass up the chance to beat the shit out of Diana Ross.
Word count: 3.4k
Warnings: not proofread, D*ana and her criminal behavior,, mention of drugs, peer pressure (drinking), yk typical studio 54 shit, we’re all going to pretend there was a 2nd studio 54 in L.A. okay? Ok., reader lowkey wants to eat michael alive (i mean who doesn’t), reader refuses to drink…yeah I think that’s it the fights kind of short but like idk man leave me alone im tired
A/N: Technically a sequel to I Can’t Help It, but can be read as a stand alone. All you need to know is that the reader is La Toya’s friend who Michael got a crush on and now you’re dating. Loosely inspired by Doechii’s Tiny Desk performance of Bullfrog.
Ever since Michael and Q finished recording Off the Wall, life had been a complete whirlwind for you and Michael. You expected that because your relationship was still very fresh, Michael would consciously or subconsciously put you on the back burner while he dealt with everything. You had begun to spiral, already planning ahead to be disappointed with how little you were going to see him, imagining scenarios where he would bail on you with no notice or argue with you about his schedule, making you question if you were willing to sit to the side and wait for a man.
Luckily, none of those scenarios happened.
Michael invited you to every photoshoot, introducing you to everyone “in case you needed something”. He made sure you were comfortable in a chair where you could see everything with your favorite snack and drink, before allowing himself to focus on the shoot. After nearly a million photos with outfit changes, background swaps, the team huddled up together narrowing down their options. Several minutes later, Michael rushed over to you, “What do you think?” He held up two photos, one of him sitting on the ground with a purple satin shirt and pink background, the other him in a suit in front of a brick wall. You hummed carefully considering both. “This one, you seem more confident,” you pointed to the suit photo, watching as a big grin spread across Michael's face. “I thought the same.
You went to his music video shoots as well as his TV performances, and whenever you couldn’t make it, you’d watch the performance from your couch at home allowing yourself to let out giggles and roll around, completely obsessed with how fine your man looked in his element.
Despite Michael and your best efforts though you rarely had any time to go out. Michael’s new wave of stardom and your schedule made it impossible to meet up outside of “work”. So when Michael invited you over to his house, you didn’t hesitate to drive over. “Not that I’m unhappy that we're staying in tonight…but why are we staying in tonight?”
“I just want to spend the night with you,” he replied, handing you a bowl of ice cream without meeting your eyes.
“Oh, really?” You asked, not hiding the doubt in your voice or your face. Michael blinked his doe eyes at you innocently as you stared at him suspiciously.
It didn’t take long for him to crack, “Well…”
You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of your ice cream.
“Q’s knows the people who run Studio 54 and they agreed to play the album a lot and let us take priority with drinks and booths.” Michael’s eyes drifted away from yours, the eye contact becoming too much as he asked, “Do you want to come with me?”
You fought to keep your smile from growing too wide. You shouldn’t be so enamored with how shy he was, how careful and considerate he remained. You leaned back on the couch's armrest, body fully turned towards him, “Of course, Mikey. Who’s gonna be there?"
Michael went still as a statue at the question and you nearly groaned. It had only been a few weeks that y’all had been together, but this was one of the first behaviors of Michael’s you noticed: the freezing. Like a kid caught being bad, Michael would just tense up at any mention of him doing something that might piss someone off. “Who’s going to be there, Mike?” you asked firmly, trying to rack your brain with who would make you angry.
“Well, there’s Q…and Rod…Toya will be there,” his eyes scanned your face as if the mention of your best friend would distract you, seeing no change he continued, “Janet, Randy, Marlon, Carol, and a few celebrities. And, you know, just the regular people who go. It’s not like we're going to shut the place down just for us…”
You weren’t going for it, “Michael.”
At this point he had fully walked away, now on the other side of the room looking through his movie cassettes. “You know…Diana might be there,” he mumbled, not daring to look at you as he heard you bowl clink as you put it down.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
You and Michael had several long talks these past few weeks, ranging from gossip to childhood memories, wishes, dreams, and life in general. Frequently you two would end up discussing the harsher personal aspects of your lives, comforting each other and providing words of advice when the time was right. Diana had been brought up during those conversations numerous times and each time it solidified your burning hatred for her more and more. The first time he mentioned her you were asking him about the Wiz, you wanted to know how he met Quincy and how he ended up in the project. Michael told you all about Diana putting in a good word for him and the producers reaching out, swooping him up the moment he said yes. He told you how Diana had known him practically his entire life and how he even used to stay over at her house. You remembered your throat burning and your stomach growing nauseous when you thought back to interviews you had seen of the two of them, way before you had properly met upon his and La Toya’s return to Encino. Her rubbing up on his arms, blatantly flirting with him without a single care for the camera capturing every word she said.
At the time you tried to gently explain how you felt without explicitly telling that you thought Diana was an old bitch who shouldn’t flirt with eighteen year olds. However you were too gentle the first time, Michael brushing you off saying that sure he had a childhood crush but “it wasn’t like that.” Every time since you tried to get him to see how strange she was but, Michael wasn’t hearing any of it. It was the only real "argument" you two had, if you could even call it that. Michael realized immediately that any mention of Diana would frustrate you. While he thought you were adorable huffing and puffing at him, he wasn’t exactly interested in seeing you come face to face with the women you clearly despised.
“I didn’t invite her,” was all Michael could think to say. “Just the other night she called me, saying she heard that we’d all be at the club and was tired of waiting for her invitation. I didn’t know what to say, doll.”
“Say-” you cut yourself off, “nevermind.” You hated this tightrope act you had to walk when it came to her, any push too hard against their “relationship” Michael would pout, eyes sad. He was so close to seeing the issue and yet so far.
You didn’t look at Michael as he padded his way over to you, “It doesn’t matter.” He ignored the way you took a deep breath, ready to argue that it does in fact matter. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not worried about her, baby. I’m worried about you and us. I want to have a good night out with my girl, whoever happens to be there isn’t going to change that.”
The urge to rip out your hair was so incredibly strong, you clenched your fists nails digging into your palms. You wanted to explain that she’s not going to “happen” to be there. She’s going on purpose for the sole intention of seeing Michael. You wanted to tell him that you just might kill her if you see her. But as you looked up at him, his face was so earnest, so cautious, clearly not wanting to upset you, all you could say was, “Ok, Mike.”
----
You had arrived at Hayvenhurst an hour or so before you were supposed to be at the club. Michael’s eyes widened when he saw you slip through the door from where he was planted on the couch, “Hey, doll.”
You walked over giving him a kiss on the cheek, “Hi, Mikey,” but didn’t linger, rushing back over to the stairs ignoring Michael’s calls for you to come back as you walked straight to La Toya’s room.
“Look at you. Coming in and out of my house as if you live here.” Joseph continued on his walk past you, he never liked giving you too much of his time.
You didn’t like giving him your time either, “Look at you walking around the house as if your son’s work didn’t pay for it,” you rushed inside La Toya’s room not wanting to hear his response.
La Toya turned from her vanity to look at you, “Joseph?”
“Yeah,” you placed your bag on her bed and started digging around for your hair supplies.
She turned back around and continued applying her foundation, not bothering to ask about her father she completely moved on, “I would’ve tried hard to get Michael to leave you alone if I knew every time you’d come over he’d try to steal you away.”
Taking her lead in the conversation, you teased her back, “Don’t worry, you're still my favorite Jackson.”
The two of you got ready together, singing to Donna Summer and laughing your asses off when the boys tried to convince you to unlock the door so they could annoy you. Stumbling out of the room half high on La Toya’s hair spray, you held each other as you made your way down the staircase while also trying to stop laughing at Toya’s story.
“Ain’t nothing La Toya says is funny enough for y’all to be laughing like this,” Marlon said, completely unamused with how long they had been waiting for you.
Shoving Marlon out of his way, Michael went to you,“You look good mama,” he complimented you shyly, taking your hand into his, as he tried to keep his gaze from wandering.
The drive to the studio felt short with the boys playfully shoving each other in the limousine and teasing Michael’s grip he had on your hand. You laughed along with them, while subtly side-eyeing your boyfriend, usually he was too shy to hold hands in public, opting instead to hover in your general vicinity. “Are you okay?” you whispered.
Michael nodded silently, looking out at the crowd of paparazzi waiting outside the door as y’all finally arrived. “Let’s go. Don’t stop no matter what they say or do, okay?”
“Okay.” With your confirmation, the Jackson’s filed out of the car, Bill taking up the rear.
Michael wasted no time dragging you around the club, introducing you to any artists he knew you liked before forcing you on to the dancefloor with him. Hours passed in blurs of the most popular songs pumping so loud you felt the bass in your chest. You tried your very best to keep up with Michael but it was fucking impossible with the boots you had worn. “Okay, enough! I need to sit before I pass out!”, you yelled into Michael’s ear.
He led you over to one of the bars, waving down one of the bartenders.
“Water for me, please,” you huffed, hand against your chest as your adrenaline wore off and the pain in your feet took its place.
Looking around you saw people dancing with each other, doing lines and drinking themselves silly. You gulped down your water, taking a moment to admire the most interesting part of your environment, your boyfriend. Michael leaned up against the bar beside you, staring out to the dance floor with pure amusement in his eyes. You took in the way his curls were styled perfectly, and his clothes fit him just right.
He broke your concentration as he turned his head to you with a soft look, “I haven’t been out dancing in a long while, doll.”
Your heart stopped for a millisecond, “I’m glad you’re having fun.”
Michael opened his mouth to speak before his eyes focused on something behind you, his peaceful smile replaced with a look of terror, “Not now, gosh.”
“What?” you whipped your head around to see a small group coming towards the two of you. “Who-”
“Michael!”
“Oh hell nah.” You felt Michael’s hands wrap around your wrists as you tried to get out of your seat.
Diana Ross was strutted out from the center of the group, wrapping her long arms around Michael before either of you had the chance to think. “It’s been too long, Mikey.”
You wanted to throw up.
“Who’s this?” she asked as if she had just noticed you. You didn’t fail to notice the arm she kept around Michael’s shoulders as she sized you up.
Michael introduced you, “We’ve been dating for a bit now, Di.”
Di???
“Really?” Diana asked condescendingly, as if she could never imagine.
Michael gave you a pleading look, you bit your tongue so hard it bled.
“Well, it's nice to meet you.” Her voice was actively chipping away at the last of your patience, “Let me buy you a drink, on me. Any friend of Michael’s is a friend of mine.”
“Oh, no. I’m good, I don’t drink,” you excused through gritted teeth.
Diana looked you up and down, “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” your voice was flat.
One of Diana’s crew laughed in your face, “Girl nobody cares, have a drink.”
“No, I don’t drink, period,” you start to turn away from the rando, “the fuck…?”
Seeing the look on your face Michael stepped out of Diana’s reach, “You know, I think it’s about time we found the family.”
He began to pull you away from the bar when Diana stepped right into your faces, “What’s the rush, we haven’t even talked.”
You put a hand up in the small space between y’all, “You can back up.”
Diana grabbed Michael’s arm, not sparing you a glance, “I haven’t even been able to properly congratulate you on the album, Mike.”
You pushed her arm off of Michael, “No, because why are you grabbing him up on him like that? Like you his girl or something, back up.”
“Let’s just go, doll,” Michael started to walk away and at first you followed him, though your eyes never left Diana’s.
You pushed past her, subconsciously mumbling to yourself, “Fucking, weird bitch.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, having the audacity to look at you as if you were in the wrong.
“Oh? Are you losing your hearing?” You turn around, clearing your throat aggressively, “You’re too fucking old to be acting like this towards him! You’re fucking weird!”
Diana turned up her nose at you, “You got some fucking nerve.”
“What are you gonna do about it? Feeling froggy, bitch?”
‘Do it, do it.’ you mentally begged as you watched her become completely outraged. You saw the hit coming a mile away and stood perfectly still as Diana’s hand came across your face hard.
You launched yourself at her, knocking her ass to the ground. Wasting no time you started slamming your fists into her face and chest as you straddled her waist. You were so fucking angry. How much has she gotten away with over the years? You were focused. Hit after hit after hit, you didn’t even register sounds of shock and horror coming from the crowd surrounding you both. You didn’t care. You didn’t care about Diana’s desperate attempts at hitting you back or her bony ass hands pulling at your hair and pushing at your chest to get you off of her. You just kept punching, taking a sick satisfaction at the feeling of hands hitting her. You felt hands pulling at you from all over trying to stop you, you pressed your thighs and knees into her sides to get a good grip on her and kept going, grabbing her shoulders and slamming her on to the ground.
“That’s enough!” A pair of strong arms grabbed you around the waist and tried to drag you away. Only when some people grabbed Diana's shoulders were they able to finally separate you two. They weren’t moving nearly fast enough though, you took advantage of the fact that you were standing above her to kick at her side with your heavy boots. Realizing what you were doing, the person behind you picked up the pace.
You kept trying to throw your body weight towards her, to break free from the grasp as you clawed at the person's arms and hands. “Nah, let me at her. Raggedy bitch, I’m sick of her ass. I’m tired of it.”
“It’s over, kid.” You knew that voice, you put your anger on pause to focus. You looked over your shoulder. Bill. Fucking Bill.
“You better let me go or I’m gonna hit you too, Bill. Don’t make me.” You liked Bill. But as far as you were concerned he could get it too, because why the fuck was he stopping you right now?
Bill didn’t look concerned, he just kept carrying you through the crowd. He didn’t let you go until you were on the other side of the club. The moment you were back on your feet you started hustling back towards the crowd, more than ready for part two now that you knew how easy it was to overpower her.
A firm grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks. “Let’s go home, doll.” Michael, precious Michael. He looked so sincere as he gently tugged at you. His eyes scanned over your face, “Did she hurt you?”
A harsh laugh escaped you, “What? You didn’t see what happened?” You know he did. And he knows you know.
“Come on, girl.” You let him pull you out of the club and into the backseat of his car. The ride was silent as Bill drove you both back to Havenyhurst. Michael held your hand the entire time, gently running his thumb across your knuckles as he watched you take deep breathes, fighting to let go of the last of your anger. Thanking Bill for the ride, you and Michael made your way up to his room as Bill set out back to Studio 54 to wait for the other Jacksons. You laid down on the carpet not ready to head over to Toya’s to get ready for bed.
Michael joined you on the floor, “I… I appreciate that you stood up to her,” a shy smile on his face before he got serious again, “But you really shouldn’t get into fights for me.”
“Calling it a fight is generous.” Michael gave you a look. “She started it,” you defended.
“You goaded her.”
“And?”
Michael sighed, wrapping you up in a hug, squeezing you tight. You breathed in his cologne, mumbling, “You're not mad at me, are you?” You knew you weren't wrong in anything you said or did, but Michael was so close with Diana you wouldn't have been surprised if he still just didn't get it.
Michael took his time finding his words, only making you more nervous. “I'm not mad. I know how protective you are of Toya, Janet …and now me. I saw it coming.” He pulled back to look at you, “I just don't want to see you get hurt, you're lucky her security wasn't there.”
You hummed into his neck before pulling back, taking his face into your hands. “I know you two have history, Michael, but look at me. She’s bad news, okay. I don’t trust her at all. I don’t like her at all. And I’m not comfortable with the way she acts towards you or the fact that you don’t know how to tell her no.”
Michael tilted his head as his eyes roamed your face looking for something. He must have found it because after a moment, he nodded, “I promise.” You sat like that for a while, your thumbs gently brushing against his cheeks, Michael long since closed his eyes basking in your presence as he tried to wrap his head around everything. “You know, Janet doesn’t like her either.”
“‘Cause she’s smart.”
Some more time passed, "You're crazy you know that?”
You squeezed his face gently, “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”
Michael giggled, bringing you even closer, “It was kind of cool though.”
“You think so?” you asked, a bit surprised.
He shrugged, “You fight better than Jermaine, I’ll tell you that much.”
That end line is based off an interview jackie and tito gave saying jermaine would start fights and run back home so tito could finish them- I didn’t know how to end this ngl can you tell be honest
summary: reader is a single mom and michael’s longtime makeup artist. he convinces her to bring her kids on tour. that’s it. that’s the plot.
word count: 1702
author’s note: i cannot explain to y’all how passionately i feel about this request. i will probably write all of these scenarios eventually, i love them all so much.
ps. this is certainly a part one of many because my ass cannot shut the hell up about this.
pps. i have mad beef with l*sa m*rie pr*sley (do not picture her in this fic i beg), but ever since i learned that her kids called michael mimi, that fact has not left my mind for one single second.
enjoy! ♡
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
“Mimi!” Your son shrieked at the top of his lungs, launching himself at Michael so violently that he almost certainly would have knocked him over if he’d weighed more than forty pounds soaking wet.
Your daughter was gentler about it, but she also ran right to Michael, koala-ing herself around his leg.
You watched them, amazed by how comfortable they were with him. They had no idea what it meant to be in Michael Jackson’s personal space, or that the man they tackled with hugs every time they saw him was the most famous person in the world.
To them, he was just Mimi—the nice guy their mommy worked for. The guy who lit up whenever she brought them around. The guy who would drop whatever he was doing to play with them. The guy who brought them toys and souvenirs from every city or country he traveled to. The guy who always shared his orange juice, and made sure that wherever you were working was stocked with all their favorite snacks (which he insisted he got for himself, but you’d never actually seen him touch).
Their favorite games to play were “makeup artist” and “record producer,” and he always let them touch all the fancy makeup products and expensive music equipment. Whenever another adult tried to stop them, Michael would glare at them like he was daring them to ruin their fun. They always backed off after that.
It was all painfully endearing.
You tried your best to keep your personal life from interfering with your work, you really did, but being a single parent with no reliable childcare made that virtually impossible.
The first time you’d asked Michael if you could bring them along with you to the set of a music video he was working on, you nearly died from nerves. I’m so sorry, it’ll just be a one-time thing, the babysitter fell through at the last minute, and—
He’d cut you off, his mind already made up from the moment you’d mentioned the word “kids.” Bring them. Please.
Eventually, you stopped trying to line up a babysitter altogether, and bringing them to work with you became a regular occurrence—not only allowed, but expected. Michael was just so good with them, and they were so at ease around him, and you loved to watch the three of them interact.
Not that you had anything but professional feelings for him. Definitely not that. It just did your heart good to see them with such a kind and gentle man after their deadbeat dad had left you all in the dust.
It had nothing to do with the way he looked leaning back in the makeup chair, his eyes closed while your daughter powdered his entire face with the ugliest eyeshadow color imaginable and your son played with his hair, twisting it into complicated “braids” that were going to take the actual hairstylist hours to unknot.
Nothing at all.
“Hey, appleheads.” Michael caught your son and held him tight with one arm, ruffling your daughter’s hair with his free hand.
Then he glanced up at you, and you practically melted at the sight of him looking so thoroughly pleased to have your children attached to him in the most inconvenient way possible.
“Hey, mama.”
The nickname had started with him referring to you as “your mama” when talking to your kids. They’d be giggling conspiratorily about some outlandish thing they wanted to do, spot you, and Michael would whisper dramatically, “I dunno. You gotta ask your mama first.”
Or they’d be ooh-ing and ahh-ing over one of his makeup looks, and he would beam proudly, “Didn’t your mama do a good job?”
On very rare occasions, when they were being cranky and you were getting frustrated with them, he’d pretend to get all stern and say, “Y’all better mind your mama, now.”
Things like that. Very normal. Totally fine.
You hadn’t bothered correcting him when he started saying it in other contexts, because, well… mama was practically your name.
He probably didn’t even notice he was doing it.
“Hey, Michael.” You laughed as he started to walk towards you, an awkward shuffle with a three-year-old clinging to his leg. You’d ditched the “Mr. Jackson” formality after your first day of work, when he’d insisted you call him by his first name. Michael. It felt awfully good on your tongue.
“Get off him, you two. Let him walk.” You scolded them—not unkindly—but Michael shook his head. “I got ‘em. Gimme those too.”
He reached for the duffel bags you were holding, one for you and one for the kids, and threw them over his free shoulder with ease.
You were suddenly struck by how utterly ridiculous it was that Michael Jackson—your boss, the man who hadn’t had to carry his own luggage in decades—was standing there holding yours. Not just your luggage, but your entire world, right there in his arms.
This was going to be a long tour.
“‘m glad you came.” He flashed you a megawatt smile, and you had to refrain from rolling your eyes.
“It’s my job. And you didn’t give me much of a choice.”
Even though you were comfortable bringing the kids to work with you, taking them on tour was a whole other story. Michael had asked you multiple times before, but you’d always insisted on keeping them home. They’re just babies, they’re too young, you’d reasoned, but that excuse was beginning to expire now that they were three and four years old.
And he’d looked so cute when he was pleading with you to bring them along, how were you supposed to say no?
You were a weak, weak woman.
“Aw, you’re makin’ me feel bad.” Michael pouted, giving the kids a look. “Tell your mama you wanted to come on tour!”
“We wanted to come on tour!” They echoed him simultaneously, sing-songy in a way that made him laugh. Not the quiet, subdued laugh that he used during interviews, or the forced, fake one that he used when he was talking to someone important, but a deep, genuine, belly laugh. It made your chest hurt.
“You trained them to say that.” You did roll your eyes then, falling into step beside them as the four of you made your way into the airport, followed by several bodyguards.
You got a few odd looks from the staff as you walked past, no doubt because this big-deal celebrity was walking around with two small humans hanging off him like a couple of spider monkeys.
Other than that, there was a suspicious lack of commotion. Normally, when you went anywhere with Michael, there were screaming fans and flashing cameras coming at him from every direction. Today, the airport was quiet, and it didn’t occur to you why until you’d gone through security without having to wait in line.
This man shut down the entire damn airport.
Something about that realization made you feel… thrilled? It was a reminder of just how important he was. How he had the whole world at his fingertips. How he could have anyone he wanted bowing to his every whim, but for some reason, he chose to spend time with you.
At least, you felt that way for about five seconds before the rational part of your brain reminded you that duh, it was because you were his employee. You’d worked for him for years, and he liked your kids. That was all.
Michael had to put the kids down to go through security, but they stayed glued to his sides, clutching at his jacket and pants leg like he might get lost in the nonexistent crowd if they weren’t careful.
It was the easiest boarding experience of your life. The private plane was roomier than anything you could have possibly imagined, and for your kids, who had never flown before, it might as well have been Disneyland.
The seats were set up in pairs, and Michael sat in one of them, your son plopping right next to him and your daughter climbing onto his lap. That left you standing alone, hands on your hips, trying your best to look offended.
“Where am I supposed to go?"
The three of them looked at each other like that was a possibility none of them had considered.
“Sorry, mama.”
Michael chuckled and nudged your daughter gently off his lap, gesturing for both kids to follow him across the aisle to another pair of seats. “You sit right there. We don’t wanna hurt mama’s feelin’s.” He whispered like he was talking just to them, but it was still loud enough for you to hear, and your eyes practically rolled out of your head (even though your heart felt like it was going to explode).
The lightheartedness of the moment dissipated when your daughter suddenly burst into tears.
Michael looked alarmed, glancing from her to you like maybe he’d said something wrong.
“I wanna sit with Mimi!” She wailed, reaching for him, and you watched in real time as he all but melted into a puddle on the floor.
“Hey, hey, honey. ‘s okay. I’m gonna be right over there.” He pointed back across the aisle to the seat he’d been in before, but she was inconsolable.
“B-but I‘m scared.” She stared at him, eyes bigger and glassier than you’d ever seen them.
Michael’s face softened impossibly further. You didn’t know a human being could look like that.
“I know.” He nodded solemnly. “Me too.”
You raised an eyebrow. Both kids looked confused but curious.
“R-really?” Your daughter sniffed. Michael nodded again.
“Oh, yeah. I hate to fly. I used to cry all the time when I had to get on a plane.”
That made her stop crying. Just like magic.
Because if Mimi was scared, but he could be calm on the flight, she could too.
“Still wanna sit with you.” She pouted, and you knew the second she stuck her lower lip out that Michael was a goner. You were definitely not getting that seat next to him.
“Mama?” He looked up at you, both of them wearing matching puppy-dog looks on their faces.
Imagine going to visit Jaafar at Hayvenhurst, where he's been staying by himself for the duration of filming the Michael biopic. You sit in on him rehearsing Bad, and after he's done, he's still high on adrenaline, but now he's horny and wants you bad. You refuse his advances because you don't want to be disrespectful by having sex at the Jackson family home even though nobody has lived there in years. Jaafar tries to corner you, but you run off, and well, it becomes a cat and mouse type of game where you try to create as much distance between the both of you by finding different places in the entire house to hide from him.
It ends with him finding you, eventually and he fucks you 😜. Okay someone please write this!
I love how everytime I read a fanfic of michael and his dad appears along the story they put it in the trigger warnings as j*e like he's some kind of entity
hii i wanted to first say that i really love your stories and i wanted to request a story where reader and michael are really close friends but they both have feelings for eachother. michael is in the process of getting everything ready for the thriller mv (like all the technical stuff lol) but last minute the female lead cancels because she got sick and michael has to ask reader for a hugeee favour if she could step in. reader says no at first but then because she has a soft spot for him she eventually says yes and when they’re learning choreography and the tension is painfully OBVIOUS to everyone around them. maybe also a part where they’re filming the mv (its up to you!!) thank you 🤍
filming | michael jackson
- summary: thriller!michael wants bestfriend!reader to star in the short film of his. reader doesn't want to. he leaves it alone. ola ray, unfortunately, gets sick. take a guess on who's next in line.
word count: 7.7k
warning: mentions of john l*ndis, another attempt at comedy but i realized it definitely doesn't start as one, so also a bad attempt at angst, mentions of ola ray, terribly written kissing scene, too many nothings in the dialogue, RUSHED hello obviously it's me, the ending is hella rushed
* no usage of y/n, mike refers to reader as 'sunshine' mostly
author's note: HELLO. To the requester, I'M SORRY. for taking SO LONG. Same goes to everyone else, the long periods of time I take to get to each request is bonkers. I still have a few more after this, and you guys are probably expecting it by now, and I'm truly sorry, it's pretty difficult to churn out writing especially when you want it to be acceptable enough for the ones that request it. This sounds passive aggressive, but I promise I'm not trying to be, I appreciate you guys so so much and I'm honoured I've been requested to write for you.
Speaking of, again TO THE REQUESTER, I absolutely love your ask, and I did it just slightly more differently from your original prompt, so I'm sorry if this doesn't go the exact way you want it to!! I truly hope you like it either way, and again, I'm soo so sorry for taking so long. I genuinely think it's a warning at this point about how long I take for each request. As always, thank you for requesting! I love you.
+++ not proofread, as how things go here. also, the ending is insanely rushed. and off. I'm sorry...
+++ english isn't my first language! and I'm not a professional writer by any means, so ignore all the mix of british and american spellings, please, thank you! Hope you all enjoy!
Sipping on the cup of coffee, you observe Michael in front of you. He's tapping his foot on the concrete, following a rhythm in his head. Hand busily scribbling on a notepad, while his other one has been inching towards his cup of orange juice for almost three minutes now.
Raising your brow, you wonder if he's ever going to take that sip within the next hour.
As he continues to scrawl quietly without even blinking, you shift and lean against the backrest of the chair, eyeing the passers-by walking and lively conversing.
Lively conversations, you miss what that feels like.
Quietly snickering at your dramatic inner thoughts, you shift again, resting your chin in a relaxed manner atop the palm of your hand. Focusing your gaze back onto Michael.
It's almost unbelievable how much your friend gets into his work without any distraction.
When Michael called and asked to meet up for breakfast, it was nothing out of the ordinary. The two of you usually meet at least three days per week, anytime either of you are available for a brief catch up. Michael, especially, would try his darn hardest to not make the days few and far between.
Having been friends with him for so long, and you still vividly remember the reason why he's so intense about hangouts. It's a few years back, and he was in the middle of creating Off The Wall. By then, you’ve already been friends with each other for almost five years. Despite knowing his bizarrely busy work life, with tours and shows for The Jacksons, you didn't recall him being as busy as he was then for his adult solo album debut.
Yes, you understood the immense pressure and focus it takes for that. Particularly when it meant so much to Michael and how much of a perfectionist he is. But when it had been nearly a month filled with cancelled lunches and zero attempts at rescheduling, you took that as a hint that maybe Michael simply didn't think you're worth his time.
It hurt like hell then, and you know how they say ‘You can look back fondly’ or whatever? Yeah, it still hurts like hell just thinking about it.
It was nearing 2PM on a Wednesday, and after receiving a no-show, no-call, no nothing from Michael since yesterday, which was your mother’s birthday… that’s the last straw for you.
You take a deep breath, staring at the landline. Okay. Okay. You can do this.
Mustering up the courage, you hurriedly reach for the telephone before the opportunity to change your mind presents itself. Dialing the number you know by heart, you already predict that it'll just lead to Michael's home answering machine. And that suits you just fine.
You're absolutely done trying.
The telephone clicks, and surprise surprise, his machine answered. Clearing your throat, you prepare the script you had in mind for a while now.
“Michael, it's me. Listen, whenever you're free, I'm gonna need my things back. I already memorized them, so… Anyway, I left three of my sweaters and one of them, that navy blue one? Yeah, it should still be with Janet. Can you ask her to return it to me please? Also, you can keep my books, I just need my favourite one back. It's Demian by Herman Hesse… if you forget. There's some of my hair products left in the guest bathroom cabinet, if you want it you can keep it. If not, you can throw them out. I would come by myself and pick these up, but I don't even know where you are anymore these days, so it's easier this way. Okay, thanks… Goodbye.”
Almost slamming the telephone down, you take a long and deep breath. There. You've finally done it. Almost a month of nothing from him, and you've finally had enough.
God, it's like you're acting like a fling of his.
Well, you somehow emotionally feel like one when years of friendship come to a stop without any heads up. Quietly pouting to yourself, you plop on the couch and try to hold back your tears. Only Michael could bring your sensitivity out like this. That darn man.
It feels like you've been in your dreams forever when three timid knocks come onto your front door. Blinking your sleep away, seeing the television running and its blaring light, your eyes squint. Noting the tub of melted ice cream and another empty tub of the same flavour placed on the coffee table, you realize you fell into a deep sleep after consuming “post-break-up level ice cream” with M.A.S.H playing in the background.
Yikes. Maybe Michael was right in staying away from you. Downright mess is what you are.
Miserable at the thought, you comb your hair with your hands in an attempt to look presentable and trudge all the way to the front door.
Opening the door with curiosity, your eyes widen at the sight.
There's Michael, looking the most forlorn he's ever looked, holding your Demian novel. He bites his lip nervously, and you will yourself to avoid focusing there, and instead decide to cross your arms.
“Where's the rest of my stuff?”
He averts his gaze briefly, holding out the book more pronouncedly. “I didn’t forget your favourite book, sunshine.”
“Alright. Now where's the rest of my stuff?”
Michael frowns further, and with his soft voice, he says, “They’re back home… May I come in? Please?”
Huffing lightly, you begrudgingly open the door wider to let him in. Michael enters, almost shyly. His eyes wander to the state of the coffee table, and his heartstrings tug. It takes a no brainer to figure out the cause of that.
He fixes his gaze onto you again, and you speak up before he could.
“Don't you have work to do or something?”
“I uh… I took a break for the rest of the night. Figured I could use one.”
You hum in response, arms still crossed in defiance. “You usually take those breaks at 10PM.”
“Sunshine, it's almost 11 o’clock.”
Quietly berating yourself for sleeping the whole day away, you clear your throat in embarrassment. “I knew that.”
“Listen, I uh… I got home for a short minute earlier this afternoon, and I heard your message.” Michael looks at you carefully, placing the novel on the armrest of your couch.
“Apparently you heard but didn't listen. Because where is the rest of my stuff?” You ask him again, almost exasperated this time.
“Please, sunshine… Don’t do that,” he gently says. His eyes gleaming with concern. “I'm sorry.”
“It's forgotten, Michael. Just give me my stuff and it'll be all done.”
The man starts shaking his head adamantly, walking closer to you and firmly gripping your hands. “No, I'm sorry. For cancellin’ on you. A lot of times. For bailing last minute. I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I swear I didn't intend to hurt you.”
You shake your head, pulling away from Michael’s grip. The action stabs right through his heart, pain etched into every corner of his face. Walking around the room and cleaning up your mess, you tell him in a distracted manner. “I mean, Michael, I understand you're busy with everything. Truly. That's why I prefer not to disturb your life anymore, seeing how important it is for you to—”
“Stop,” he pleads as he tracks after you, taking the empty tubs of ice cream from your grip and places them back on the table. Taking your hands in his again, he leans in slightly and briefly bumps your forehead with his. “Please, don't do this. I can't take that. Not you, sunshine,” he whispers.
“Michael,” you sigh out.
“I'll make it up to you. I'll do anything, okay? Anything you ask me, I'll do it. Just, please…” he whispers timidly. Taking your hand and kissing the back of it, Michael continues. “You're not gettin’ your stuff back, alright? Not anytime soon. You have a home there, and I’m askin’ you to come back there tonight.”
Shaking your head stubbornly, you tell him you couldn't.
“Call in sick tomorrow. Please. I'll tell them I have a family emergency, and we'll– we'll spend the day together. Okay? We can go wherever you'd like, you name it. I'll even tell Bill to let you drive, if you want?”
“Michael!” You interrupt him, frowning in disbelief, “What makes you think I'm going to call in sick for you tomorrow when you haven't even had a full conversation with me for longer than a minute in the past three weeks?”
He freezes, lips parting in surprise and his eyes dull by the second. Michael shifts closer and nods, “You're right… I'm sorry.”
“You missed my mother's birthday,” you whisper, your heartbroken eyes tearing right through his soul. “She asked after you.”
“I know,” he whispers in response, letting out a shaky breath. “I already got her somethin’, as an apology. I'll give it to her soon.”
You hiss softly, “Just your presence would have sufficed, Mike.”
“I know, sweetheart, I'm sorry, I promise I'll do better,” he says, desperately cradling the side of your face, “I just need you to be patient, please, I can't– you can't just ask for your things like that, it scares me terribly.”
“Well, how do you think I feel?” you ask him, pain lacing your voice. “I know I'm no musician or artist, so I know time is wasted if you spend it with me—”
“That's not it at all, sunshine,” he argues, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “Don't say things like that. I never meant to hurt you, I just, I got carried away, but that won't happen again. Ever, okay? Please?”
Michael leans in and presses a soft kiss against your temple, “I'll do better, I promise. We'll meet up at least five days per week, or however you want it. I'll schedule and everythin’, okay? Please, baby?”
You almost melt at what he says to you, heart beating faster at the nickname. He's never called you that before.
“Mike…” you trail off.
“Please,” he whispers against your neck, wrapping his arms around the back of your waist. “I'm sorry. Please don't be mad anymore. You’re such a precious friend of mine, I can’t lose that. I'll do better.”
It takes another moment of silence, his grip tightening around you, head buried into your shoulder, before you manage to quietly tell him, “Okay.”
His whole figure melts the tension away, sighing out and pressing a soft kiss against your neck. “Thank you,” Michael whispers.
So, that's how it led to Michael being serious when it comes to planning little brunches or meet-ups in the years following. He never forgets to call you back to do a raincheck if his schedule couldn't allow a spare moment of freedom. If a last minute cancellation happens, he'd apologise the same day by sending flowers or on the rare occasions when he could, Michael sends himself with a rental movie and bags of snacks. Inviting himself in for a late movie night. And you can't complain.
Which is why you're sitting for breakfast with him, though you wonder why he decides to have it with you at the cafe across from Westlake Recording Studios. The cafe you're at is still in the studio premises, and with Michael being here, they've taken extra precautions so there would be no disturbance from the press or fans so early in the morning.
“Mikey,” you nudge your foot against his softly below the table. “Please, for the love of God, drink your OJ.”
Slightly jumping in surprise, Michael looks at you sheepishly before putting down the pencil. His hand finally gets its grip on the glass of orange juice, taking a big gulp before smiling widely at you.
“Sorry, sunshine. I was in too deep again, huh?”
You hum in amusement and shrug, “It's how you always get, Mike. What's gotten you so out of it this time?”
“It's uh, my short film, remember the one I told you about the other day? They're gonna start auditions soon. I'm just writin’ down some ideas I have, y’know… maybe they'd oughta’ put some of it in, I don't know,” Michael shrugs as he flips through the notes.
“Oh, is this the one for that Thriller song?”
“Yes,” he says, smiling at your excitement.
“Mike!” you gasp, clasping your hands under your chin, “Oh, I can't wait for that! You must be dying to start production already!”
He nods, taking a bite of his toast. Tilting his head, Michael murmurs softly, “They're gonna have auditions next week.” Eyes flickering to the side, he bites his lip nervously. As per usual, you will yourself to look away to avoid lingering your gaze on his lips. Clearing your throat, you look at him with a raised brow.
“What's bugging you?”
“The auditions… the main character they're findin’ is supposed to play my love interest. And I knew that going in, but uh, I'm just– I'm just thinkin’ how awkward it would translate on camera. Me with a stranger and all. You know what I mean?”
Nodding along to his words, you give him an emphatic look. You know Michael. He's the furthest thing from shy, but that's when he's on stage. With cheering audiences and dance grooves to help him find his rhythm. Although, Michael is harsh on himself because you personally have never seen him act as awkward as he thinks he is. Nervous, sure, but that happens to everybody. Your hackles slightly rise at the thought of another woman acting intimate and close with him, but you brush that off. There's no time for silly business like that here. You want to tell him it's not going to be a problem, but instead resort to a different method once you spot the genuine gleam of concern in his eyes.
“Mike, you'll be fine. And if you're anxious at all, just…” you think for a moment before snapping your fingers, pointing to him. “Just imagine you're on stage. You'd practically be on stage right? With cameras, crew members, an audience. Just pretend you're on stage dancing with a lovely girl. You'll knock their socks off!”
Michael quietly chuckles at your words, nodding along. “Thank you for your tip, sunshine. But I, uh… already had my own solution, if that's what we're callin’ it.”
“Oh? And what's that?”
It takes a beat of silence. Michael tries giving you a slow, smooth grin. Letting out a nervous laugh.
You look back at him with confusion, your eyes getting narrower with every second that passes. He shrugs and raises his brows, seemingly suggestive.
Then, your brain clicks. Eyes briefly widening before a grimace quickly replaces your look of bafflement.
“No way in hell, mister.”
“Sunshine, please!” Michael scoots his chair annoyingly loudly to be right beside you. The iron stools drag against the hard concrete, making that irritating screeching sound repeatedly enough that it turns some people's heads. You shake your head incessantly but this doesn't deter the man. Instead, he's decided on gripping both your hands on the table. “It'll be so much fun! And I'll feel so much better with someone I know!”
“Then get LaToya to play! She was already with you in that song with Paul!”
“I'm not doin’ that! C’mon, sweetheart! Don't you want to make me happy?” Michael continues to plead, eyes wide and doe-like specifically to torture you. Sometimes, you genuinely think the universe blessed him with those to weaken your resolve. You groan and look away, covering your eyes.
“What's gonna make you happy is a successful short film, and having me on it won't bring anything but unnecessary trouble! I'm not an actor, Mike!”
“You don't need to be a good one with this particular vision,” he says in a sing-song voice, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. Michael rests his chin on top of his other hand, eyes locked into your gaze, never flicking away. “What do you say, sunshine?”
You poke his forehead. “I say no.”
“What if yes?”
“In your head, maybe. But I say no. Next topic.”
“Sunshine…”
“Michael. Don't make me hit you with that toast of yours.”
•
After your toast threat, Michael admits defeat with much grumbling in tow. But he’s left you alone about it… in his own way.
Two days after the Toast threat, he starts… pulling things.
You’re in the middle of doing some work when a knock comes onto the door followed by frantic rustling. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, you get up and open the door just slightly. Michael’s been telling you to get a peephole but you’ve imagined far too many scary things enough to not pursue that idea.
Outside, there’s nobody except… flickering your gaze down on the doorstep, two bouquets of flowers and a box of chocolates set in between. You raise your brow and open the door wider. Of course, it’s Michael but even for him this is a little too much. He cancelled the brunch you were supposed to have earlier but had already apologized by sending you some food the moment he hung up. There’s something else going on here.
Naturally, you reach for the box of chocolates first.
On top of the box was a note. You hold back a shocked gasp once you read the words.
‘Do you wanna be my co-lead? Take blue bouquet if yes! Take pink bouquet if no :(‘
‘I’ve asked the secret messenger to hide and see what you pick, so if there’s a creep in the bushes, that’s him :) so don’t worry.’
‘Love, Mike’
This is when you know Michael is almost desperate to get you into this filming gig because in a normal circumstance, he’d never let anyone, not even any of his brothers, play a trick and have a peeping Tom moment on you.
Scoffing aloud, you only take the box of chocolates and exaggeratingly hold out the pink bouquet, for anyone in the vicinity to see.
“Got it, thanks!” a muffled voice comes out from one of the bushes to your left and you hold back a grimace before immediately going back in.
Two days later, he does it again.
No plans to meet up for today, but he usually calls around 3PM to have a chat. Your landline rings on the dot, and you pick up. Before getting any word in, Michael speaks up, making you jump.
Gasping in offense, you murmur poutingly, “You take that back or I’ll hang up.”
“I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean that.” Ignoring the name he calls you again, despite the butterflies in the pits of your stomach, you scold him.
“Mikey, I’m not going to say yes! Lay off, good lord.”
Muffled voices can be heard from his side, and your ears prick at hearing the words ‘audition’, ‘girl’, ‘long queue’.
Oh sure, when someone is talking to you, you have to ask them to repeat it a few times, but background conversations from the other line? No trouble at all. Figures.
You snap out of it once the words heard finally register into your brain.
“Michael?”
“… Yes, sunshine?”
“Are you asking me… the same time they’re having auditions for the role?”
“Listen…” he starts.
Then the line clicks.
Your mouth is left agape, realizing he hung up after not knowing how to excuse himself. The nerve. Laughing to yourself, you continue your day.
•
Days later, despite your underlying suspicions and high alarm, you go against them when Michael invites you to visit the set. He promised you beforehand about leaving you alone in regards to having you in the video, and there’s no ulterior motive behind his offer.
You’re having the time of your life eating from the snacks table as Michael tells you about the filming. He was already in costume, and you have to avoid looking at him again, because God… he looks absolutely wonderful in it. Beyond wonderful.
Discreetly shaking your head out of your thoughts, an absentminded hum leaves your lips. “Did you find an actress?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Ola. She’s nice.”
“Nice?” you ask, looking at him briefly. “Just nice? How’s the choreography training? Went well?” Biting your lip, you take a gander at all the mini bagels laid neatly on a tray in front of you. Unbeknownst to you, the man beside you almost melts at the adorable view.
Clearing his throat, Michael shrugs. “Well, it’s not like she’s gonna be dancin’ with me. We’re just walkin’… and yeah, it went okay. I just have to cuddle up close to her more and such.”
“Oh,” is all you can say, in fear of exposing the ugly envy rearing its head out of you. “Fun.”
“Yeah, wish it’s you instead, though,” Michael murmurs in response, busily fussing with the lapels of his jacket.
You turn to him with wide eyes, “I’m sorry?”
“Oh, nothing! Nothing, eat your bagel, sunshine.”
•
“John. John, we got a problem!”
“Excuse me, guys,” the man says to you and Michael, grinning before leaving the two of you sitting on folding chairs set behind the cameras. You blow out a breath, giving a look to Michael.
“What is it?” he questions.
Shrugging, you speak to him in a hushed voice, “He’s a little much, isn’t he?”
Michael’s face contorts into confusion before raising his brows in surprise, “Who– John?”
“He’s all up in your face, that’s for sure. And why does he keep lifting–”
“Sunshine!” Michael softly tuts at you, holding back his laughter. “Stop that.”
Raising your hands in surrender, “I’m just telling you the truth!”
The both of you try to keep your laughters at bay, almost to no avail before John appears once again, face stricken. Taking off his glasses, he rubs the bridge of his nose before looking straight at Michael. “Uhm, Mike?”
Michael gets up from his seat, looking at John in concern. “What’s up?”
“Ola’s not coming.”
“I’m sorry?” Michael and you say in unison, his tone more in surprise, yours more in disbelief.
“Yeah, she’s got the flu. Or her aunt’s got the flu. I don’t know, someone got the flu but she can’t make it, I wasn’t really listening after that,” John says, putting his hands on his hips. Michael crosses his arms, tilting his head.
“Well, we can shoot tomorrow?”
John shakes his head, “No dice. She won’t be able to get here within the next few days, and we gotta start shooting today. We have to cut her.”
You exchange a look with Michael, and the latter speaks up, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s a little harsh, ain’t it, John?”
John shrugs, and his unconcerned behaviour leaves a bad taste in your mouth. “That’s how it is, Mike. You know that. No show, no go. We can’t delay filming any longer, either way. So, I’m gonna get that list of runner ups for the girl character, and we’ll start from there, huh?”
“Wait, uh… but I still need to get comfortable with her, is that right?” Michael says, beginnings of anxiety radiating off of him. Giving him a worried look, you take a step closer and reach out to pat his arm comfortingly.
“No time, Mike. Don’t worry, you get the hang of it as we film. You’re a natural,” John waves his hand away.
“Yeah, but John, it might get into my head and I can’t really perform if things get into my head–”
“I’ll do it,” you blurt out before cowardice could get to you.
“Sorry?” the two men say in unison, both in surprise.
“I’ll do it. Mike is comfortable with me. It makes sense,” you repeat, giving a small smile to John. His face quickly brightens, and he grips your shoulders firmly.
“You just made my job a whole lot easier! I could kiss you!”
“Better not, huh?” Michael mutters, pulling you away from John’s grasp, slight frown on his face and his eyes gleaming with something. Unperturbed by this, John rushes away like a man on a mission.
Michael turns to you, hands coming up to rest on your shoulders. He looks at you with concern, “Sunshine, are you sure? I promise, I didn’t plan this or anything. I wouldn’t actually pressure you like this, y’know that right?”
“I know, Mike. Don’t worry.” You gaze up at him softly, brushing imaginary dust off of his shoulder, “I just didn’t want to see you get into your head about that kind of thing.”
“Always lookin’ out for me,” he says quietly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “Promise me you’re okay with this? Because if not, I’ll let John know and it would be no problem.”
“I promise,” you say. Nodding firmly.
Michael looks at you for a few more seconds, gazing into your eyes. He smiles widely after, leaning in to kiss your cheek. Murmuring softly, he pulls you into a tight hug, “You’re a lifesaver, sunshine.”
“I know,” you sigh out, returning the hug. You wanted to curse everything for putting yourself in this position, but everything comes to a stop when you’re in his arms.
You’d do anything for Michael, it seems. It’s only right when he does almost anything for you.
Besides, it’s not a totally bad thing when Michale smiles at you in a way he does. You take that as sort of a reward point, internally storing it in your head. It’s too late to back out now.
Gosh, what did you just get yourself into?
•
The filming is supposed to begin by now, but a grace period was given for you to learn what you’re supposed to do. The crew is still setting up the scene, hustling and bustling around the space. It’s the scene after the movie, where you’re walking out of the theatre and Michael runs after you. John describes the energy you’re supposed to have which is a little flirty, a little teasy, all that junk. He’s pointing on all your T-marks, explaining the lines your character says.
Nodding along, you adjust the denim jacket you’re wearing. The hairstylist is doing some finishing touches when Michael comes up to you with a wide grin. He’s been grinning like a fool ever since you agreed to do this. “Everythin’ okay, sunshine?”
You smiled at him in amusement, “Okay until you appear with that exhausting smile of yours.”
Chuckling softly, he gazes at you up and down, nodding in absolute delight. “You look really good.”
You push down the urge to look away shyly, and instead teasingly throw him a grin. “You really think so? I’ve never worn these types of pants, what do you think?” Giving him a little spin once the hairstylist rushes off, showing him the whole look in a playful manner.
Michael ignores the way the fabric clings to your legs and how the top hugs you in all the right places. He ignores how the makeup somehow enhances the lighthearted gleam in your eyes, and how the vibrant color on your lips make them appear much more kissable, if that’s even possible.
“Absolutely beautiful, sunshine. I’m tellin’ you now, you’re breaking the hearts of people around here.”
Nudging him gently, you let out a shy chuckle. Michael softly grins and grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and lightly sways them from side to side. John walks up to the both of you, a bright smile on his face. “Are we ready?”
You nod, a nervous twinge blossoming from your stomach. “Mhm.”
“Hey,” Michael whispers as everyone gets ready for their cues. “Just like we practiced, hm?”
You’re aware Michael’s intention was to soothe your nerves, but what he didn’t realize is that the practice is the last thing you want to remember.
A little over an hour ago, you and Michael were inside an empty room, while John and a couple other onlookers discussed the pacing and the actions you’d be doing. You’re not in costume yet, as the wardrobe was still in the middle of handling sizing and whatnot. The scene of you talking outside the theatre was fairly easy. It was quickly practiced in one go before John moved on to the most important sequence for you two.
“And then, I just… slowly guide you, in a way. But we’re just walkin’, alright? Nothing else, just you and me walkin’ down the path,” Michael gestures, telling you how the scene goes.
Nodding and giving him a playful smile, you say, “Well, I’m walking down the path while you’re acting like a goofball?” Michael laughs and nudges your chin, muttering sheepishly. “Yeah, if you put it like that.”
So, the practice begins. You’re walking, walking, walking. Swinging your hips ever so slightly, because John says for you to ‘be alluring, but not too much’. You can’t really decipher what he actually needs, but you leave it be because Michael looks at you in the most reassuring way the whole time. Assuming there’s no qualms with how you’re doing so far due to the silent observation the other crew members are doing, you continue doing the same thing.
Walking down the small space, Michael moves to the rhythm and does his little ministrations. Teasingly grinning, taking steps around you. When the song gets to a point, he goes behind you and places both his hands on your shoulders, making you laugh and look back at him, continuing the walk around the floor. He laughs along too, and pulls you closer before taking a few steps back again. It almost feels like you’re dancing with him, with the way he moves and glides along the beat and having you subconsciously follow his timing.
He steps around you again, walking backwards and mouthing along the words playing, and you bite your lip and softly reach out to stroke his jaw. Michael stills ever so slightly before grinning, ignoring the heat making its way to the apples of his cheeks. He softly ghosts the back of his hand down your arm, making you shiver mildly at the contact. Michael eyes your reaction, and snakes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as he gazes down at your lips.
Leaning in for just a second, you teasingly look away afterwards, catching him off guard. The arm Michael has around your shoulders slides down to hug your waist, squeezing it once before letting go fully as he proceeds to mouth the words, intensity burning in his eyes.
The walk goes along further, with you having to turn around due to the limited space yet maintaining the energy. A little tug of imaginary rope shared between you and him, entrancing the rest of the room. They all stay quiet during your choreography, scared any movement will somehow break the tension. But as they note the way you lean closer to Miichael’s warmth and how much more comfortable he seems to be with touching you in a carefree way, more so than with Ola, they don’t think anything can break the tension.
You bite back a grin, having your own little staring contest as Michael shakes his head, grinning in a defeated way when he finally blinks. Coming closer, his hand reaches out to slide across your stomach, and he’s slowly walking around you in controlled pacing. You hide your gasp at his soft touch, but Michael only gazes at you with a playful gleam in his eyes. His fingers inch a short hair’s breadth away from your torso before making its way gracefully to the small of your back.
Okay, this might be the no air conditioning in the room, but you don’t think Michael was supposed to be nearly as touchy as he is right now.
He shifts closer again, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into a firm hold as the verse ends. You look at him silently as his dark gaze flickers down to your lips before going back up to softly stare into your eyes.
The sound of clapping breaks the bubble, and you lightly pull away, not going far when Michael’s hold on your hand tightens. “That was great, guys,” John says cheerfully, clearing his throat as the other crew members disperse, some of them exchanging knowing looks and mischievous smiles. John pats you on the shoulder once before squeezing Michael’s arm.
“We’re in luck! I think we’re ready to go, she’s a natural,” he says, walking out the door before rearing his head back for a short second to continue. “Oh, uh, Mike? I know what I said the other day, but maybe tone it down if you want to air it on TV, huh?”
Your eyes widen before looking at Michael who could only clear his throat and look down at your interlocked fingers. Flitting his eyes towards you, he murmurs so quietly. “You were really great.”
“I was?” you ask, smiling sheepishly.
“Yeah,” he nods, grinning wider, reaching to gently stroke your cheek. “You’re perfect, baby.”
Letting out a heavy sigh, you try your hardest to expel the memory of the practice– and how he called you ‘baby’ yet again with no warning– and only remember your dialogue. Nodding to let them know you’re ready, Michael guides you to move behind the fake doors, getting on your marks. He gives you a silent look of assurance, taking your hand and kissing the back of it briefly before pulling away.
“Alright, everyone, quiet on set! Mark. And we’re rolling… 3,2,1, action!”
You take a deep breath, centering yourself before walking out the door. Strutting your way to the front and arms crossing as you land on the mark. Michael’s cue comes in and he runs after you, charmingly laughing as he says his line.
“It’s only a movie!”
Throwing him a tantalizing look, you say your line in a pouting manner, “It’s not funny.”
He looks to the side before giving you a knowing look, smirking roguishly. “You were scared, weren’t you?”
“I wasn’t that scared,” you reply, timid and small before facing to the side in disgruntlement. Although, your eyes are still looking at him, finding it hard to actually turn around at your cue, too lost in the way he holds himself in front of the camera.
“Yeah,” he says quietly tilting his head, smiling that attractive, heartbreaking, arresting knockout smile of his. You’re so bothered by it, you finally turn around and walk away. Michael laughs in a way that makes you think he could read your mind, and he says his line, “You were scared.”
He follows after you, already reaching his arm around your waist before John yells out into the megaphone, “Cut! That was great!”
As if he didn’t hear a thing, Michael wraps his arm around your waist, talking to you quietly. “Hey, sunshine, can we have a movie night after this?”
Raising your brows, you look at him curiously. “Sure, Mikey, but why so sudden?”
Michael shrugs as he tugs your ear affectionately. “No reason, I just miss you.”
“Yeah, of course,” you say in response, giggling when he smiles widely at your agreement. You hear someone clear your throat, and it was the stylist glancing between you and Michael back and forth.
“Sorry, Michael, I’m gonna have to steal your girl for a sec’, hair needs some touch ups.”
Your lips part, about to tell him that no, you’re not his girl before Michael speaks up. “Yeah, sure. I’ll let you do your thing. See you in a bit, sunshine.” Then, he walks away.
Leaving you almost sputtering at his lack of denial, lack of reaction, lack of anything really. Just pure, casual agreement.
Noticing your facial expression, the stylist laughs to himself, “Boy, you two must be a show for your friends.”
What is that supposed to even mean? you think to yourself, pouting in annoyance.
•
It’s the following night where you plop on the couch, sighing and resting your head back. You’ve finally finished filming the necessary parts, having succeeded in bringing life to John’s and Michael’s visions, and now all you want to do is sleep for the next two days straight. Once you arrived home, the only thing on your mind was a long, hot shower. Checking that off the list, you can move on to the sleeping bit.
Three knocks come onto the door. You only groan out, eyes still closed, “It’s open!”
It could only be one person, anyway.
“Sunshine,” Michael’s soft voice calls out as he opens the door, entering while holding a paper bag, presumably filled with snacks and a rental movie. “I told you to never leave your door unlocked.”
“Even when I’m right here?” you ask, squinting one eye open, looking at him.
“Especially when you’re right there,” he shakes his head, placing the paper bag on the coffee table.
Almost whining, you fall and lay on your side, burrowing into the couch. “Oh, c’mon, Mike, I knew you were coming in anyway! I’m too lazy to walk all the way over there, and reach out my hand all the way to the doorknob, and open it for you. I’m beat!”
Chuckling quietly, he looks at you in amusement, “It takes six steps from the couch to the door, sweetheart.”
“Same difference,” you wave your hand away. “Gosh, I’m beat. Remind me to never do this again. I’m fine and dandy doing my own work, thank you very much.”
Michael hums, leaning down to softly stroke your head as he smiles. “Too tired for movie night, I take it?”
“No, no, you wanted a movie night, we’re going to do movie night, okay?” you say, quieting down when he starts shaking his head.
“I just wanted to be with you tonight, sunshine. No movies necessary.”
Oh. Okay.
“Well… what do you wanna do?” you ask, getting up and sitting with criss-cossed legs on the couch.
“Well, I actually, uh… I wanted to talk to you about somethin’,” Michael says, sitting next to you on the couch, making himself comfortable.
“What is it?”
“It’s been runnin’ around my mind since… forever. More than usual, recently.”
Nervously fiddling with his shirt, Michael turns to look at you. The glint of what you see as desperation appears in his eyes, and all you could do is stare back at him with parted lips.
“Y’know I love you, don't you?” he asks in a small voice.
Nodding slowly, you reply in a whisper. “Of course.”
“And I hope you love me… the way that I love you,” he continues, giving you a slow look of nervousness, brows raising expectantly.
You're frozen still, mind whirring violently as you take in his words. Is he being serious? Could it be… Wait. Your happiness halts as what he says registers, and all you could do is let out a weak laugh before you could outwardly pinch yourself from being delusional.
“Mike, are you saying your character lines to me again?”
Michael stares at you in befuddlement, eyes widening, taken aback. “I was?”
“Yes,” you feign a laugh to cover your disappointment, “It's pretty similar.”
The man gets up abruptly from the couch, pacing back and forth in front of you, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he lets out an ‘Uh’, ‘Um’ and cursing quietly to himself every now and again.
Baffled at his behaviour, you try sporting a teasing laugh. “What, are you trying to tell me you're a creature of the night or something?”
You're joking but secretly, you pray to anything that hears you it's truly, truly not that. You don't think you could handle Michael being a werewolf. Or a werecat, for that matter.
“No, no, no,” he says in a rushed state, going down on his knees and grabbing ahold of your hands. Eyes looking into yours softly. “Baby, I'm being serious.”
Stilling again at the name, trying to push down your feeling of thrill and excitement, you ask him to clarify further. “What's going on, Michael?”
“I meant…” he starts, biting his lip before taking one of your hands and kissing the knuckles, “I love you… in a way a friend shouldn't, sunshine.”
“I… I beg your pardon?” you say, face etching into surprise.
Michael nods and reaches to stroke the side of your face, murmuring quietly. “I’m… in love with you, sunshine. I've been lovin’ you like this for a while now.”
“Michael, stop playing around.”
“I'm not,” he says firmly. Leaning his forehead against yours, Michael continues in a hushed tone. “I've been in love with you for ages, and I didn't say anythin’ cause I didn't know how… how you felt. But yesterday when I… when we were practicin’ and I was holding you, and your eyes, your face…” he trails off as he brushes his lips against your jaw, making you melt with desire.
“Your face said somethin’ to me,” Michael says, gazing at you, his eyes sparkling with want, getting brighter with every second that passes. With a voice almost shaky with trepidation, he asks you, “Didn't it, sunshine?”
“Michael…” you whisper hoarsely, focusing on his lips.
“Hm?” He's now inching closer, lips ghosting against the corner of your mouth. “Tell me I'm not seein’ things?”
Shaking your head dazedly, you could only tell him, “No, you're not.”
Almost heaving a deep sigh, Michael kisses your nose. Smiling sheepishly, he says, “I knew it.”
“Mike!” you laugh, caught off guard.
“I knew I wasn’t trippin’, baby! God, I’m so glad,’ he says with the tone of excitement lacing his words before looking at you in a shy manner again.
Before you could laugh off the remnants of tension brewing between the two of you any further, Michael leans in and whispers against your temple. “You have no idea how happy I am, really. Truly.”
“Then you must know how happy I feel, Mike,” you say softly in response.
Michael hums, and starts to leave small kisses against the side of your face. "That's good to know.”
Silence fills the room save for the sounds of him pressing his lips down to your neck, inching closer to the arch to your shoulder. The both of you melting into each other, relief brewing in his heart as well as yours at the thought of finally escaping the imprisonment of feelings for each other. Michael softly says, “Baby, I’m… dyin’ to kiss you. Can I? Please?”
Biting your lip, you notice his gaze of desire and could only bring yourself to nod. Leaning in closer to him, you both finally meet in the middle.
Your lips make contact in a gentle manner, almost hesitant at first. Michael cradles both sides of your face gently as he leads you into the kiss. Parting your lips every so slightly, he tilts his head and shifts closer. Pressing his lips more firmly against yours, the both of you sigh in relief, as if you’ve both been underwater for so long and now, you finally get the chance of fresh air. The soft brushes drive you crazy, as well his thumb that’s now slowly stroking your neck. Nipping at your bottom lip, you gasp and he chuckles quietly, briefly pulling away.
Before you could whine, he gets up and hushes you warmly, “My knees were hurtin’, baby.”
Taken aback, you laugh shyly and pull him to the couch next to you, leaning in to kiss him deeply this time. Michael sighs into your lips and wraps his arms around your waist. He’s holding back a groan as you reach your fingers to run through his hair, and the man squeezes you more firmly as he parts his lips from yours, trailing to the slope of your neck. Each kiss makes you tilt your head further, carefully cradling the back of his head.
“I've been wantin’ this for so long,” Michael mutters, pressing a final kiss to your shoulder. Pulling his head back completely, Michael looks at you with what you could only call as a wonderment. The both of you are still holding each other as if you're never letting go, and you shyly lean down and press a kiss on his nose.
“I never would have guessed, Mike.”
“I think I was hidin’ it pretty well,” he let out a low chuckle, “Well, that's what I thought until one of the crew members came at me earlier askin’ why we weren't together yet.”
Your lips part in surprise, the warmth of embarrassment filling every inch of your being. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Michael nods, laughing again at your state, “I'm sorry too… because that was kind of the last straw before I gathered the courage to tell you.”
Giggling, you bury your face into his shoulder, leading to Michael softly stroking the back of your head.
“Sunshine?”
“Hm?”
“Are we… Are we okay with where this is goin’?”
Sighing and shifting closer against Michael, you nod happily.
“Good because… I was wonderin’ if… you'd be my girl?” he asks you, lightly lifting your head off to look into your eyes.
Lips tilting upwards, you look at him in amusement, quickly noting the callback of his dialogue from the shooting again. A disapproving shake of your head as you laugh heartily.
“There you go again! Where's the promise ring then, huh?” Swatting at his chest repeatedly, the both of you chuckle like lunatics on the couch, filling the room with a sense of warm comfort and the excitement of starting something new.
so im js scrolling and looking and im seeing all this stuff abt what’s going on w baenation. At first im like oh its a cute little thing where ppl who like jaafar and jermajesty and stuff.. absolutely not.
ppl made a gc w his FIANCÉE and asked her invasive, disrespectful, and inappropriate questions and yall expected NOT to get blocked?
like okay she’s a Zionist but what does that have to do with YOU? (don’t take this as me defending her actions) but like seriously. Yall aren’t supporting HER yall are supporting jaafar so wtvr tf she got goin on should NOT pertain to you.
and the whole jermajesty and the diddy situation..? Like don’t sit up here and act like SOME of yall weren’t making diddy jokes. Like yall fail to realize that diddy son and Jermajesty are childhood friends (and again it’s cool that he took accountability im not defending his actions) but when accountability is taken DEAD THAT SHIT AND LEAVE IT ALONE..
(i updated this cuz i saw comments on TikTok abt it lol) like going into someone’s followings…seeing WHO they r following and then clicking on said person and going through that acc is STALKER SHIT. like ppl swear liking a post means u support something… yall act don’t scroll on ig and aimlessly like shit?
And then yall claim MJ would’ve like Gen Z??? Like no way in hell would he ever like it, bc the same way yall harassing his family is like the same shit HE had to deal with when he was alive. SOME of yall r the ppl he a fw on the low fr.
and when this second movie come yall can probably expect to not see a damn thing from jaafar and his fam OUTSIDE of the movie.
Like it’s okay to be a fan, it’s okay to write fanfics and thirst over them bc like— what is a famous person with out that and its okay BC ITS FICTIONAL HALF THE TIME! But when ppl start to merge fiction with reality and saying hella weird things it gets out of hand COMPLETELY disgusting.
This is what happens when you put ppl YOU KNOW NOTHING ABT on a pedestal and act as if they some saint. And on that note all this bs is childish and immature and at the end of the day jaafar, his fiancée, jermajesty and the rest of the Jackson ARE HUMAN BEINGS like… get tf up, put the phone down AND GO OUTSIDE 😭
actress!reader has a feature on ELLE Magazine and they had 'Phoning It In' as a segment to be published in their interviews.
pairing: actress!reader x bad era Michael, platonic but gets slightly questioned by interviewer
A/N: This is written in the style of a magazine interview. The whole scenario is described from what they witnessed in the call.
Initials to help you navigate the dialogue: Elle Magazine (EM), Your Initials (Y/I) Michael Jackson (MJ)
Phoning It In
EM: 'We like to do a little fun segment in our features--just a little insight on who our favorite celebrities closest friends might be. And to test that friendship, we'd like you to do a prank call. Choose someone who would one hundred percent answer your call and wouldn't hesitate to help you in a time of need. Do you have anyone in mind?'
Y/I: 'Oh! I know just the person who's always on the phone. I haven't called him back in a week! He might be a little mad.' (laughs) Y/N places the phone in her lap and quickly dials a number. The phone doesn't even ring more than twice before it was answered.
Y/I: 'Hello? Are you there, Mikey?'
MJ: 'Y/N? Girl, finally you call! What-'
Her profession takes the wheel as she schools her face to a worried expression.
Y/I: (looking slightly panicked) 'M-Mikey, Mikey, wait a second-- I need your help. I'm in a bit of trouble...'
MJ: 'What? Where are you? Are you safe, baby?'
Y/N mouths 'Oh, God.' with a look of absolute guilt on her face, meeting my eyes. I catch the little pet name at the end, curious at who would the notoriously single actress have calling her 'baby'. The soft tone of the man's voice was unmistakable, but I had to have confirmation. Is that Michael Jackson?' I mouth back to her. She nods with a shy smile and clears her throat before she continues.
The room started to feel electric then, the King of Pop--notorious for his own pranks (most of the time lead by his adorable and equally famous friend Macaulay Culkin) was on the phone getting pranked and I'm here to witness it.
Y/I: 'I-I'm safe, Mikey. I think...my car just broke down. I don't know what to do! I was on my way to you but something sounded bad with a 'POP!' and now the car won't move. Please don't be mad, but its the BMW...'
MJ: 'The one I gave you? How did that happen? Are you okay? Where are you? Hold on-'
The line crackles a bit from his end, like the sound of rustling papers and a scrape of a chair. It's a little inaudible but we hear a few voices and a muffled 'Bill!' come from the receiver. Y/N and I look at each other both out hands over our mouths to stop our laughter. Y/N's openness and energy had me feeling like we were two best friends having a slumber party, trying to make a phone call a school crush! Then, something wicked comes across Y/N's face before she lets out a yelp of surprise.
Y/I: 'Oh, Mikey! Someone pulled over! Finally. I might be saved!'
Putting her elite acting skills to work, I almost fell for it myself by the relief of her voice.
MJ: 'Wh-What? Who?'
Y/I: 'A man's here! He just pulled his big truck over in front of me. Oh, he's walking over. Uh... he kinda looks surly, Mikey. Oh there's two of them! His friend kinda looks little creepy...'
MJ: 'Do not get out of that car, girl. I'm tellin' ya! I will be there. Do. Not. Move.'
Y/I: 'Mikey?'
MJ: 'Are they still there? Are your doors locked? Bill's gone to get the car.'
Y/I: 'Mikey! No wait! It's a prank! I'm not stranded anywhere. I'm sorry!'
The mix of panic and amusement etched over her face, Y/N giggles non-stop at her friend who had gone quiet at the other end of the call.
MJ: 'Girl, are you serious right now? Baby, I thought you were about to get kidnapped or murdered!'
Y/I: 'I'm sorry! I'm at a studio with ELLE Magazine doing an interview and they wanted to do a prank call on one of my friends.'
With her face flush from laughing and excitement, Y/N coos adoringly at her frazzled friend and apologizes profusely.
MJ: 'I'mma get you back, girl. Just you wait.'
MJ: 'Maybe Muscles can pay you a visit.'
A soft hiss comes from the small speaker, the sound made by the singer himself as a threat to the actress.
Y/I: 'You wouldn't dare Michael! Please, he absolutely hates me!'
Michael's loud cackle bursts through. With a bit of sleuthing, I come to find this 'Muscles' guy was actually the famous singer's 4-foot long boa constrictor! Even I would be scared to trick the multi-platinum album singer if he had ammo like exotic wildlife.
Y/I: 'I'll let you go, Mikey. Sorry again, baby. Kisses!'
MJ: 'I will have my revenge, girl!' He teases her light heartedly before saying good bye and the line clicks dead.
EM: 'Well, that was... amazing! He really fell for it! I noticed he calls you 'baby' a lot, is that how you and your friends usually call each other?'
Y/I: (blushing) 'Yeah! Of course. We make nicknames for each other a lot.'
EM: 'He was really concerned. He was about to drive over to you even if he didn't know where you were! And he gifted you a car?'
Y/I: 'Yes. He's just very caring like that. He cares for his friends very much.'
EM: 'He sounded very protective of you.'
Y/N only answers with a laugh which leaves me to think this non-answer was slight confirmation on my 'more than friends' speculation. This might have been an innocent prank between friends, but I think we uncovered something else in this relationship... I hope we can snag an interview with the ever-so-busy and elusive singer himself to get more of the juice!
i love your writing style, can i request ❝ You are so annoying. ❞ — ❝ You love me. ❞ with yourmajesty pls
𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 — 𝐉𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐣𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧
Pairing: Jermajesty Jackson x fem!reader
Summary: You’re having way too much fun annoying your boyfriend.
Warnings: A little suggestive at the end.
You were sprawled across your bed, scrolling through TikTok watching all the edits of your boyfriend that had managed to find their way onto your for you page. Somehow an edit turned into ten— you were invested, to say the least.
The edits were good, way too good. They were a variation of humor and thirst, but the real source of entertainment were the comments.
"I need that jermmediately", "I need him jernow", "he's so jerfunny". Some comments were so iconic that they became part of your daily vernacular.
That was a week ago, and you hadn't stopped. Truth is, you couldn’t. You were having the time of your life, Jermajesty, not so much.
"Baby, can I jerplease have some?" You asked your boyfriend as he walked in, eating some of your favorite chocolate.
"We're still doing this?" He huffed as he grabbed another chocolate and put it in his mouth, "you gettin' nothin' if you don't stop that."
"You're so jermean" You pouted, making him roll his eyes.
"It's not even funny."
"You're right. It's jerfunny." You threw your head back laughing as you heard him groan again.
"Fine, we can both play this game." He put the box aside and walked over to you.
"What are you doing?" You asked.
Jermajesty grabbed you by your legs, flipping you around and giving your ass a loud smack, making you squeal.
in which: You’re married to Paul McCartney & meet Michael during the making of The Girl Is Mine, & a long line of abuse, mistreatment, and unexpected circumstances bring you and Michael together
Michael Jackson x Older Woman! Reader
Yall I’ve literally never seen anyone write for an older reader and young michael, its usually always mature era michael and young reader. sooo reader is 9 years older than Michael in this fic.
in this fic: fluff/smut, friends to lovers, mommy kink, softdom!reader, sub!michael, black reader, physical/mental abuse, lots of yelling, pregnancy used to oppress reader, michael being good with kids, reader got hands
word count: 4.9k
tag list (just comment to be added) @mysterioussag @savagenctzen @xyahx @agustdpeach @tojiswifeforlife @rebelatbay @justalocalloser
—————————————
At first, your marriage to Paul McCartney was quite sweet. You’d gotten married in 1978, The first 3 years were quite nice. Flowers were gifted to you weekly. Your home was peaceful and fun. You’d had your first child by May of 81’, a beautiful baby girl who you’d named May McCartney, named after the month she was born. Of course, Paul didn't want to stop there, nor did he want to give you a break, so by January of 82’ you were pregnant once again, much to your dismay.
You of course loved your children, but sometimes it felt like Paul maliciously got you pregnant in order to mess with your career…You were a supermodel before having children, and while you still were booked, it was much less frequent since you’d had children. Lucky for you, your dear friend Michael has always been a helping hand since you met him in 82’.
April 14th, 1982
You were 5 months pregnant and tired as hell, but of course Paul needed you to come with him to the studio to hear a song he was recording with breakout star Michael Jackson.
You really would rather be at home with your baby girl, who’d you’d begrudgingly had to bring with you because Paul refuses to hire a nanny, and no one was available to watch her.
You rocked May while sitting on the couch, praying for no disturbances from her for the sake of your mental wellbeing and Paul's anger issues. She’d been surprisingly calm all morning, so your anxiety was soothed for the most part.
Michael greeted you quite kindly and was absolutely delighted by the sight of your baby. Michael himself had always been a family man, at 24, he had thoughts about having a family, but he disregarded it for his career, he had a whole life ahead of him.
He was quite puzzled by why a woman was actively pregnant with a baby while having a newborn, but he wouldn't question it, not in front of Paul, at least.
He just smiled and kept his behavior sweet. He took notice of your beauty. Especially your face. Full lips, pretty eyes, white teeth, your dark skin somehow glowed despite your tired eyes.
All was well until May decided she required some attention from her father. Her caramel arms reached out to him, she began whining. While you rocked her and attempted to shush her, her whining only got increasingly worse until she was full on crying. Paul stepped out of the live booth and went off on you about keeping her quiet, much to Michael and Quincy’s surprise. You didn't really have it in you to let his disrespect slide today, so you shot back a comment about how he was embarrassing himself in front of colleagues, that his child just wanted to be held by her father which is completely in her right, and that if he gave a fuck about interruptions that much he shouldve let you stay home.
He opened his mouth to retort, but was swiftly interrupted by you, “Shut the hell up and get back in the booth, Paul.” Paul knew that tone all too well, the one you used when you were at your wits end with him. He knew to back down or he’d be even more embarrassed. He took his ass right back in the booth and continued recording. The baby kept fussing, surprisingly stopping when Michael sang, which was a god send for you, and hell for Paul.
When you’d left, Michael gave you his number under the guise of wanting to babysit someday, which you didn't mind. What you didn't know was that Michael really just wanted to be near you in all your beauty.
April 27th 1982
Paul had left out for whatever the hell he was doing, opting to leave you at home alone, you’d invited Michael over for him to babysit while you took a nap. You weren't aware of it, but Michael had dropped everything to go over to your home when he’d gotten that call.
You opened the door to his sweet smile, welcoming him in with a quick “hi sweetie.”
You informed him of the basics of taking care of May, and that you’d already changed her diaper so he won't have to deal with anything like that until the time you wake up from your nap, which you’ll promptly handle.
You then took a nap, one that lasted a record breaking 4 hours. When Paul is with May you can barely get 45 minutes of sleep before he barges in claiming he "doesn't know what to do.” You were surprised when you woke up on your own and not to any disruptions, and got out of bed, your blowout now messy, clearly going through bed-head.
You walked down the stairs and into the living room, happily greeted by Michael and May, who Michael was controlling the arm of, making her wave and telling her to ‘say hi to mama!’ You couldn't help but smile at the sight of your sweet girl giggling in Michael's arm. Michael's heart fluttered at the sight of your smile, it was contagious, he couldn't help but smile brighter.
You took May into your arms while she smiled at you. “Thank you so much Michael.” Michael rubbed the back of his neck, “no problem Ms.McCartney,” He reassured you. You’d happily walked him out of the door and within seconds May soiled her diaper and laughed, “Yes, haha, very funny.” You joked with her before going to change her diaper.
Paul had come home 5 hours later, and the first thing you told him when he walked in was how good of a babysitter Michael was today.
“You think I want to hear you talk about another man taking care of my child?” He complained. You shot back at him, "You wouldn't have to if you took the time to watch her yourself." A look of fury took over his face, he stomped over to you and raised his hand up, as if he was going to hit you.
You swiftly moved out of the way and ran into the kitchen where he promptly ran after you. He grabbed you by your hair and dragged you out of the kitchen. You got up on your feet, spotting you saving grace, the flower vase from your most recent bouquet.
Without thinking you flung it at him, hitting him in the shoulder. The next thing you’d picked up was a picture frame with a photo from your wedding day, which was swiftly thrown at him as well, striking him in the jaw. He didn't want much smoke after that. With him clearly backing down, you’d began—rightfully so—berating him.
“What the fuck made you think that was a good idea Paul!? You have lost every fucking brain cell in your mind if you thought i would let that shit slide, get the fuck out of our fucking house before i call the fucking police on your stupid ass!”
And with that, he left.
Unfortunately you did in fact, let it slide sometimes.
The fighting increased more and more, until you gave birth to your son, Mason, on August 4th, 1982.
For the last month of your pregnancy he’d left you alone for the sake of your baby.
In those months leading up to your birth, Michael had come over more frequently, specifically on weekends. He’d play with May while you slept peacefully. Those were the only days you’d felt comfortable in your own home.
November 8th 1982
Michael had been at your home for a while now, sitting with May in his arms while you two talked about his upcoming album Thriller.
“Michael I'm really grateful for you, you know? You make time to come babysit for free even with how busy you are.” You said to him, interrupting his tangent about the Thriller music video.
He smiled sheepishly, putting his head down to instead look at May, “Nah it’s no trouble really, I love it here with you guys.” In reality, it was a lot of trouble to get here, but something always pulled him back to your home at 10am on Saturday mornings. He tried to tell himself he just loved babies and kids, and that May was the force pulling him back to your home, but deep down he knew it was you. Your pretty, dark toned skin that shone on mornings when you’d sit outside in the sun while Michael was with May, your manicured hands that always ruffled his hair when he did something you thought was cute, your sweet voice following it with, “Your cute, kid.” He knew he shouldn’t be, but he was gaining feelings for you, quite fast.
November 29th 1982
Michael album released today, and you were absolutely elated. You’d already bought the vinyl and was now loading it into your record player.
As the first song played, you’d made yourself and Paul a nice breakfast, things were looking up for the two of you. You hadn't gotten into a single fight since Mason was born, and you were quite appreciative of that.
As you swayed your hips to the music Paul came up and hugged you from behind. “You look stunning.” He spoke after a few moments. You laughed, “Why thank you husband,” you moved from his grasp to grab two big plates and one very small, toddler sized plate, “go grab the babies, im about to plate breakfast.
With Macy in her high chair and Mason in his baby rocker, you began dishing out everyone’s breakfast, and that morning you enjoyed breakfast as a lovely family.
Of course, that happiness only lasted for a short year and a half before the madness started up again.
February 28th 1984
Today was a very important day, the Grammys Awards. You and Paul of course were attending, along with your dear friend Michael, who’d had many nominations.
Your gown for the night was a stunning black maxi dress, you’d paired it with some classic Prada pumps, and a white pearl necklace. Paul sported a matching black suit.
You’d arrived as a couple, your dress accented your curves perfectly. The opened back of the dress added a sexy touch to your look.
As soon as you walked in the area designated for guests to mingle, Michael whisked you away from Paul in seconds, not that Paul had even noticed. He was busy talking to some waitress about a bunch of nothing. You didn't think anything of it though, perhaps they were having a real conversation.
Michael introduced you his friend, Brook Shields, who you’d heard about a few times while he was babysitting, then his producer, Quincy Jones, his brother Jermaine, his body guard, who you’d known to be a sort of father figure to him, Bill, and finally his sisters Latoya, Janet, and Rebbie.
Janet was the first to speak, “So this is the woman my brother won't shut up about?” she exclaimed, smiling while pulling you in for a hug. Latoya spoke next, “You’re even more beautiful than he described,” she said when you’d given her a hug. Michael was blushing, telling them to knock it off, you, however, were flattered.
In your time you’d known Michael, you’d grown to become a little attached to the sweet young man, even sometimes feeling a bit of romance for him, however you locked those feelings away. Your marriage is doing good right now, and on top of that, you were nine years his senior. It’d be absurd of you to pursue him!
Michael didn't miss the way your smile expanded when his sisters told you how much he talked about you. He also didn't miss how delighted you were to tell him your marriage was going well, so he was unsure of if he’d ever have a chance with you.
The night went on with you sticking by Michael's side up until the awards were given. Which is when things began to derail.
In his speech for his last award, his eighth award, he said something that made your heart swell. At the end of his ‘thank you’s’ he added, “And thank you to the woman who provided peace on my worst days. She allowed me into her home and provided a calm I was in desperate need of on my worst days and she didn't even know it. Her and her babies are the sweetest thing to ever come into my life, thank you for trusting me Ms.McCartney.” The crowd went wild. Cheers were coming from every corner of the room. The big screens flashed to you where you were smiling while patting your heart, a clear sign of love and appreciation, but not flirtatious or anything that could have a romantic undertone. You were aware of Michael's underlying feelings for you, you’d known since the week he started bringing flowers when babysat. He claimed they were an addition to the home, but you and he both knew that was a lie. He did little things like make dinner when you slept in particularly late and putting the children to bed. You’d caught him staring at you for much too long plenty of time, but you were so much older than him you really only thought it was just a crush he’d get over eventually. . Paul was sitting beside you squeezing your hand in clear anger. You were aware of the argument you were going to have once you got home, but you couldn't bring yourself to care right now.
When the night ended, you congratulated Michael, promising him to take him out somewhere nice in celebration, he of course refused but you simply told him refusal wasn't an option.
On the ride home you and Paul argued about Michael. He insisted that Michael should stop babysitting, saying Michael was ‘too comfortable with his wife.’ You begged to differ, arguing back that Michael was a sweet boy who meant no harm and helped you out quite a bit. The argument spanned the entire ride, and once you arrived home it’d only escalated.
“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that boy will ever be invited into our home again!” Paul spat at you while you walked over to the nanny you’d hired for the night, happily grabbing Mason from her arms, and letting her know that she could grab her things and go.
You spoke sternly, “Not only will Michael be back in this house, Michael will be here tomorrow afternoon.” Your head turned to Mason, who was now cooing at you, and bounced him up and down on your hip while walking to your couch and taking a seat, placing him in your lap.
Paul was furious at that, “How dare you disrespect me! I am your husband and the man of this house! You aren’t shit without me!” he yelled. You kept your focus on your baby, who was becoming quite upset at Paul’s screaming, and began bouncing your knee to soothe him, not even sparing Paul a response. This only infuriated him even more, he stomped over to you, causing you to become more guarded.
“Paul, I suggest you take some steps back and bring your voice some levels down while I'm with my baby.” You warned him.
Paul chuckled, clearly amused by that, and screamed at you, “I can do what I want in my damn house! What are you not understanding!? My house, my god damn rules!” You scoffed, his name wasn't even on the paperwork for the home. He continued, “That little pervert won't be getting anywhere near this house anymore!” By this point he’d gotten all up in your face, much to Mason's displeasure. This caused you to stand up, you wouldn't risk him having the upperhand if anything were to pop off.
“Paul you see our baby is fussing, can you please save this for another time?” You spoke calm, almost carelessly so that Mason would get the impression that everything was okay, unfortunately Paul didn't get that memo, he started right back up again, “I should smack the hell out of you for this shit!”
At that you were shocked, but didn't let it show, you spoke calmly once again, “Paul if you touch me while I am holding my child—“ You were swiftly cut off by Paul's palm connecting with your cheek.
For a moment you were still, only able to hear your son crying and Paul’s continuous screams. Then something in you snapped. You quickly walked up the stairs and into the nursery where you placed Mason into his crib.
You walked into your bedroom and slipped out of your heels, then your dress, and put on a pastel pink sleep romper. You took your hair, which was freshly blown out, and pulled it back into a ponytail, securing it tightly, then you twisted it into a bun, and finished it off with one more hair tie to make sure it was stuck in place. You took your jewelry off, which was the same time that Paul had walked into your shared bedroom.
He spoke casually, “Are you sleeping early?” You didn't reply to him, you just walked up to him and wordlessly punched him square in the jaw. The area impacted turned a bright red, but you didn't just stop there. Using his thrown off state to your advantage, you quickly punched him a second time in the chest, which made him collapse.
His collapse prompted you to stomp him in the stomach, causing him to cough and wheeze in pain. Your fury shone bright with this ass whooping. You screamed at him, “How fucking dare you put your filthy hands on me, and while im holding our child at that!” You got on top of him and straddled his chest, “Im so fucking done with your—“ you raised your fist, slamming it into his face, “disgusting,” you punced him again, “abusive behavior,” you began choking him, “I’ve put twelve of my greatest years into this relationship!”
“Please…” Paul begged airlessly.
You disregarded that, blinded by rage, "I've sacrificed my career for you! Because you wanted a family that you don't even give a shit about!” Paul couldn't do much but grab at your arms, his legs began kicking the air behind you.
“I gave you everything and you fucking throw it away every chance you get, I’m done!” You squeezed even harder. Paul's eyes began to roll to the back of his head, his kicking slowed. Your hands never let up, not until,
“Mommy?”
Your daughter’s sweet voice made you freeze, you took your hands off of Paul's neck and swiftly turned to her, smiling. “Hi baby, mommy and daddy were just…wrestling.” You got off of Paul and walked up to May, lifting her into your arms and bouncing her on your hip. Her little voice spoke, clearly still sleepy, “I didn't get a goodnight kiss before I went to bed.” You kissed her forehead, and she put her head on your shoulder, you reassured her, a wave of affection running through your body, “It's okay honey, I’ll put you to bed.”
You took her into her room and laid her in her little bed. You kissed her cheek, wished her a goodnight, and rubbed her back until she fell asleep.
Paul was still catching his breath when you’d walked back into your bedroom. You didn't say anything to him, instead opting to walk over to the landline, promptly dialing your lawyer's number, and informing her that you wished to divorce your husband for reasons of physical, verbal, and emotional abuse.
Paul stumbled into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, thinking it was safest for him to sleep as far away from you as possible.
You slept soundly in your bed that night.
March 1st 1984
In the morning, you called Michael to ensure that you were still going out that day. He of course didn't refuse.
Paul was nowhere to be found, but you’d learned from his assistant that he’d checked into a hotel across town, much to your pleasure.
You decided to switch up your look for your outing with Michael, you’d washed your hair while in the shower, opting for a picked out fro as your style for the day.
You put on a calf length pink skirt that flared at the bottom and a white turtle neck that was smoothed out and overlapped your skirt at the hips. It wasn't very cold in California, even in February, so there was no use for a coat. Your shoes—white pumps—completed the look.
You looked at yourself in your large full body mirror. You looked stunning, but something was off.
You took a closer look at every detail of your outfit and quickly noticed that you were still wearing your wedding ring.
You pondered on whether or not you should take it off, ultimately deciding that you were getting divorced so there was no point in socially flaunting your marriage with your ring.
You’d hired a nanny so that you had the entire day to you and Michael.
Michael had arrived 30 minutes earlier than you’d expected.
You were putting on your setting powder to complete your makeup look, when the doorbell suddenly rang. The nanny was already there so she opened the door for Michael and let him in.
He was waiting on the couch when you sauntered down the stairs with a bright smile. He looked handsome today, he sported a white polo and black slacks. Michael greeted you with an even brighter smile and a bouquet of peonies, which were your favorites.
You allowed him to come inside, smiling and giggling about how he remembered your favorite flower.
“Are the kids coming with us?” He questioned.
You replied back instantly, “No silly! Today is all about you. I hired a nanny to watch May and Mason and we,” you grabbed your purse, leading Michael to the door, “are going to brunch.” You left in Michael's car, in which you were able to get more acquainted with Bill through light conversation.
You’d arrived at the restaurant, gotten seated, and ordered your food. The restaurant was pretty high profile, so you weren't super worried about running into crazed fans since everyone there was either plain rich or famous themselves. There were camera flashes from outside every now and then but for the most part it's quite peaceful in the restaurant.
You were enjoying a conversation with him, food long gone and eaten, when Michael took notice of something and spoke before he even processed it, “You’re not wearing your wedding ring.” You paused, a little taken aback by his bluntness, then addressed the elephant in the room, “Michael…” You sighed, “I’ve decided to divorce Paul. So there's no reason to wear it.”
On the outside, Michael looked shocked. On the inside though? Michael was ecstatic! Every prayer he’d ever sent to the heavens above had clearly been answered.
He quickly stammered some sort of response, “O-oh. Well uh, that's great, i think…are you uh—um looking for…anyone new?” You laughed at his question, giving him a knowing look, “I’m not particularly on the hunt for a guy but if anyone wanted to come swoop me off my feet, this would be a good time.” Michaels eyes lit up at that, which you’d immediately noticed.
He perked up quite happily now, which he tried to conceal, but failed miserably to do so, “So uh… What do you look for in a guy? I mean any guy would be—be lucky to have you but uh—ya know, not every guy is deserving.” He rubbed the back of his neck with hand, clearly nervous. This made you giggle, which was absolute music to Michaels ears.
You began describing your ideal man, “I like guys that have something going for them, you know?” Michael nodded. He had something going for him, he was Michael Joseph Jackson for pete's sake! So far so good, he thought. You continued, “I don't really care what race he is, he doesn't have to be a giant but I do like man taller than me, I don't care if he’s rich, but he can't be dirt broke,” Michael’s smile grew wider at that, he was tall and he had plenty of money, he was checking all the boxes right now, “He had to be kind and patient, I have to children, so those qualities are important. He must be good with children, no exceptions.” Michael was great with kids! At first he wasn't sure if he had much of a chance, but now? His hopes were quite high. There was one more thing he had to ask though, just to be sure, “What about age though? Li—like is there any age range you won't do?” His anxiety returned with that question, he quietly awaited an answer, opting to look down at his cup of OJ.
That question evoked the fattest laugh out of you. Michaels goal was clear to you now, you had to speak on it, “Michael, if you want me, you can just say that.” Michael was extremely flustered that you’d caught on to his (very obvious) intentions. “I—I didn’t mean to come off like that, I just—well,—I wasn't sure if I even had a chance…” He looked up from his juice and at you, desperation clear in his voice, “Let me take you out soon, please.” You smiled, flattered by his offer, “Well, you do have a chance, but it’ll be harder than just taking me on a few dates,” You took a sip of your strawberry daiquiri,” You can take me out this weekend.” Michael only nodded his head in pure excitement. He couldn’t believe the woman he’d crushed on for two years was giving him a chance! You on the other hand were quite nervous for what the future held. He was good with your children, they adored him, but would you two click the way you’d hoped?
You found that out quite quickly though, because before you knew it Saturday night came.
March 4th 1984
You’d concluded your date with Michael and arrived home to two children who were already asleep thanks to the nanny.
Michael had come inside with you, slyly telling Bill to drive off without you noticing, so by the time you asked him why he hadn't left, Bill had left 25 minutes ago.
You laughed at him, “You sly dog! Slithering your way into my home.” He looked at you with a level of hunger in his eyes you’d never seen before, “Can I slither into your bed too?” You gave him a flirtatious smile and grabbed his hand, pulling him up the stairs and into your room.
Michael didn't waste any time kissing you, his lips collided with yours the second your room door closed. He was moving much faster than you’d expected, but you weren't one to complain.
You two got undressed and under the covers. It wasn't long before you were riding Michael's dick off the bone. He’s never had sex before, so this was his first time. He thanked every heaven above his first was you.
You were overloading his senses. Your manicured fingers weaved through his hair to pull his head up whenever it flew back, telling him to watch you while you ride him. Your perfume was all over him now, your entire room smelled like that sweet vanilla scent you always wore, actually. Your soft dark skin was rubbing against his with every move you made, every grind, every bounce. He was gonna go crazy in this bed.
“Oh Jesus! God I cant, I cant think baby I—fuck.” He squealed underneath you, gasping for air every time your sweet hole clenched down on him. Your pussy felt like paradise to him. He couldn't help but want to stay like these forever. Your warm, wet, tight hole was making him feel things he’d never felt before, things he didn’t even know he could feel.
“You're doing so good for me baby, taking everything so well.” You praised him, your words going straight to his dick and making it twitch inside you. Your body was in heaven with how good he was filling you up, hitting every spot perfectly. “You’re filling me up so good sweet boy, so much bigger than Paul.” You told him, which made him moan and squeeze your hips harder, clearly on the edge of cuming. He could barely form words, just curses and noises.
“Yes! Fu—mommy please, please, please, please.”
That one caught the both of you off guard, but instead of pausing, you played into it, “My pretty boy, you wanna cum, huh?”
“Yes! yes please! please don't stop please—“ He was swiftly cut off by you sinking down and squeezing on him, your climax hitting you in a wave of pleasure, causing him to throw his head back in a silent moan and squeeze your hips in his hands, bucking into you and cuming deep.
“Thank you mommy, thank you thank you thank you.” He kept repeating thank you mindlessly. His brain was blank. His mind could only comprehend the warm hole taking every last drop of him.
You didn't stop there. You didn’t stop for quite a while. You rode him all night, siphoning every last bit of his sanity along with it. He was completely pussy whipped.
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soooo how do we feel abt this fic? im ngl yall i dont like it and i wont be writing a part two. 😭 i mean its aight but the passion i had for it when i first started writing it vs when i finished is crazy like i literally barely even had the motivation to write the ending
anyways yall this kind of premise is actually gonna become a series of mine soon, so stay tuned for that andddd now im finna go start chapter 6 of april showers brings may flowers bye chat! 😽👋🏾
