Clingy Lover | Michael Jackson
Any era! Michael Jackson x F! Reader | Warnings: None. Long drabble based on a reblog asking for a Dwayne Wayne and Whitley (A Different World) scene recreated with Michael. Inspired by Baby Be Mine and Fall Again (somehow, lol).
Summary: You and Michael (mostly Michael) are being childishly clingy after he came home from touring.
Being with Michael was rare, given his schedule. Either he was working on a new album, recording and making songs, or he was miles away touring in different states and countries. So having a day to yourselves was like finding a diamond; rare but valuable.
What came with these days, however, was his clinginess, heightened to another level. But to be fair, it wasn’t like you were complaining much. The second Michael’s feet touched the stone way on his estate, he was already searching for you, asking and bothering all his staff members where and when they had last seen you.
And when Michael had finally spotted you, he could’ve sworn his heart nearly stopped at the sight of you. He found you in the backyard, wearing a visor, your hair tied back as you animatedly talked to the gardener. She was watering the flowers, tending them for the approaching season when Neverland would be opened to visitors.
The second you turned away from her, almost as if you had felt him staring, the biggest smile painted his face at the sight of your face. You had smiled and waved at him, squinting despite your visor. And ever since then, you could have sworn that Michael had been attached to you by the hip.
If you were sitting, he was there beside you, his arms wrapped around your waist. You started to stand? He immediately stood with you, making sure your hands were still interlocked. And forbid you ever thought of walking, he would follow you around under the guise of a conversation.
Right now wasn’t too far off from yesterday. Michael sat on the couch, dressed as comfortably as Michael himself could ever be. He swore that his white tee and black highwaters were comfortable, and though you heavily disagreed, the “argument” was long forgotten by now.
Michael’s arm wrapped around your waist, your head resting against his shoulder as you both stared at the television screen. The box TV was one of the newest additions, but the movie playing was decades old. Michael had brought it upon himself to try to make this the most relaxing time you could ever have.
And that came with his excuse: “Watching a movie you already know the plot to is more relaxing than a new one. Plus, who really wants to watch Titanic?” You did, but you conceded, not at all minding a “Modern Times” rewatch.
At some point during the movie, you had even mumbled that he was right with a playful grimace, purposely avoiding his gaze. You knew he would have that smug expression he always wore, and Michael even chuckled when he realized what you were doing.
The short time that passed was spent in the two of you shuffling around, readjusting yourselves while watching the movie. It had started when Michael shuffled, sitting up straight as his neck harshly pressed into the top cushion. Michael groaned in discomfort, shifting his head to the side–stretching his neck.
You glanced up at Michael. His eyes were narrowed, and his nose was scrunched. Michael shifted his shoulders back, and your eyes followed the movement. “You alright, Mikey?”
His eyes met with yours as he glanced down, and for a split second, Michael tried desperately to cover his expression–but he was too slow. He tried, but you immediately gave him a pointed look. Michael exhaled before hesitantly nodding, swallowing before he opened his mouth.
His voice was hoarse, slightly strained from the positioning of his neck. “Yeah. Couch just too stiff,” he complained. His eyes darted over your face for a moment before he turned back to the movie, his arm tightening around your waist. “Comfy my ass,” he mumbled, “Rip off.”
You narrowed your eyes at Michael, eyebrows furrowed in confused amusement, before you chuckled. You rolled your eyes as you exhaled and turned back to the movie. Michael tried to bite off his gleaming smile, teeth digging into his lower lip, but Michael couldn’t hide his expressions for the of him.
So there he sat, arm wrapped around your waist, with a smug and beaming look on his face.
You guys watched as Charlie Chaplin began his comedic antics, running around with his expressive expressions. Michael let out a wholehearted laugh, his arm leaning you closer into him.
Gently, you readjusted your head on his shoulder, pressing your ear against him. You could feel the radiating warmth off him, and the echo of his heartbeat with each rise of his shoulders. It calmed you down.
But not even a minute later, Michael moved again, shifting his back against the couch. Your head fell off his shoulder, and you blinked as you backed away for space. You glanced at him. Michael’s eyebrows were furrowed, and his eyes were narrowed. His hand went slack against your waist as he grumbled in discomfort.
You stared, thinking. Then your eyes landed on the throw pillows nearly hanging off the cushion. Immediately, you leaned forward, reaching to grab at least one or two. Confused, Michael paused for a minute, staring at you through his lashes.
But you didn’t pay him any attention, not even when you felt his hand softly grazing against your waist, readjusting his hold.
Your fingers wrapped around the blue and white striped pillow, the knitted texture pressing against the tips of your fingers. You groaned as you reached for it, exhaling small breaths when you grabbed it and pushed yourself back beside Michael.
His hand quickly readjusted against your waist, fingers subtly flexing at the adjustment. He glanced down at you, eyes narrowing as you pushed the pillow behind his back, not opening your mouth once to direct him.
But you saw him visibly relax, the tension in his shoulders evening out at the additional support. You smiled, lifting your hand to poke his forehead. “You’re welcome.”
Michael’s expression turned sour. He stared at you with a joking expression, his lips and nose scrunched as he feigned disgust. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was a bit embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it–to put a pillow behind his back. So he played it off, and you playfully rolled your eyes at him, childishly poking out your tongue.
His eyes followed the movement, and in a fit of impulse, Michael attacked your sides with his fingers. The sensation made you squeamish, and you immediately broke out in a fit of uncontrolled laughter. He was tickling you.
Amused, Michael’s chuckles flowed into yours, blending as you continued to laugh wholeheartedly. You were trying, and failing, to get away from him and his grimy fingers.
But somehow, you ended pressed against his chest, Michael’s breathing fanning against your ear as he laughed, fingers still attacking. “Michael, get off,” you breathed out, voice cracking from laughter. Michael shook his head. “Deal with it,” he retorted.
You turned your head to glance at Michael, whose eyes immediately found yours. His smile was as wide as it could be, and his eyes glistened with a childish glint. He raised his eyebrows at you, teasing, laughing. His chest rose against yours.
You could feel your fingers tense against his shoulders, and you pursed your lips in an attempt to fight back a smile. But then the phone rang, unexpectedly. You both jumped at the sudden ringing. Damned be that phone.
Michael exhaled, rolling his eyes. His fingers tensed against your waist, hands subtly pressing into your skin. Just one day. He wanted just one day where he wouldn’t be nagged. You glanced at the phone, placed stupidly on the coffee table. You sighed, “I’ll get it.”
“Nuh uh,” he grumbled. You glanced at him. “What?” he mumbled, feigning innocence. You gave him a pointed look. And Michael rolled his eyes once more before glancing at you. “Just let it ring,” he began, “If it’s that important, they can send it to voicemail”
You stared at Michael, pursing your lips. “I’ll get it,” you repeated. Michael stared at you, eyes darting across your face. You remained rigid until he, himself, finally and reluctantly let go of you. He pushed himself into the pillow as his hands fell from your waist.
Immediately, you stood from your spot against him, walking an extra foot to the coffee table. The nagging ring persisted.
Your hands reached out for the handset before you had even reached it. “Hello?” you answered. Michael’s eyes trailed to you, watching as you knelt on the carpet, the transmitter pressed tightly against your ears.
Your free hand rested against the cord, fingers twirling it as you listened. After a moment, you nodded your head before peering behind at him. His eyes lifted to yours. “It’s Janet,” you mouthed before turning back.
Michael tried, desperately and irrevocably, to tear his eyes away from you. To wait until the call with his sister ended. He even tried to pace it, tapping his fingers against his knee to keep him distracted, but his eyes kept darting your way, watching as you nodded your head animatedly, excitedly talking to Janet.
Even Charlie couldn’t tear Michael’s gaze away. The movie’s sound effects played in the background, mixing in with your voice. But Michael couldn’t stop staring. He hated being clingy. Truly.
Sure, he could often play it off as him being romantic, but he couldn’t hide his irritation. For goodness’s sake. He felt irritated over the fact he was upset you stepped away to talk to his sister. Michael exhaled, pressing his lips together as he glanced at you.
Then he stood, pressing his palms against his thighs to stand. His socked feet padded against the carpet, the floorboards subtly creaking at his weight. You stopped for a second, glancing behind at him. You furrowed your brows at him, continuing to talk on the phone. Michael only gave a small smile.
Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Carefully, you lifted your hand from the cord and placed it over the transmitter. “Michael?” you whispered. He only lifted his eyebrows, coming to a stop just behind you. You blinked, your eyes trailing over him. What was he up to?
“Hello?” Janet’s voice called. You blinked rapidly, subtly caving inward as your attention refocused. Your hand fell from the transmitter, and you spoke into the receiver. “Yes? Sorry, Janet.”
Michael took this as his chance, and he immediately sat behind you. You glanced back at him, but Michael only threw another one of his smiles. He jutted his head toward the telephone, signaling for you to continue. Your voice grew hesitant, attention continuously drawn back to him.
He leaned closer, his arm moving to wrap around your waist. You allowed him, even pressing into him. His chest pressed against your back, his heart’s rhythmic beating thumping against you. Your eyes nearly faltered closed, the radiating warmth comforting to your body.
“Uh, yeah,” you stumbled, talking into the receiver. Janet continued to talk about the decorations for her party, from the banners to the cakes. You half listened, attention starting to split between Janet and Michael.
Michael’s breathing neared your ears, fanning against the outer shell of your ear. You gave him a pointed look, but Michael didn’t even care. He only leaned closer, lips trailing down as his free hand rested over your forearm. Softly, he started to trail his hand up your arm, his hand nearing yours.
You softly exhaled into the handset, your free hand trailing toward his around your waist. You softly pat his hand, trying, not really, to get him to stop his antics, but you couldn’t help the fact that you were leaning further into him. Michael smiled against your ear.
He could hear the muffled sound of his sister’s voice, the receiver slowly starting to part from your ear. His fingers grazed against your skin as they trailed their way to your lifted hand, swiftly resting over yours. He intertwined his fingers with yours over the handset, and your breathing nearly faltered for a moment.
That was before you realized what he was doing. You sighed, trying to bring the handset back against your ear. But you felt your hand stop in the air. Michael. You turned back toward him.
He glanced up at you, the corner of his lips lifting as he started to press his lips under your ear. His breathing fell against your neck, grazing against the lifted hair. Your eyebrows lifted in warning, but Michael continued, eyes still connected to yours.
“Michael,” you muttered. Michael pressed another kiss against your neck, his arm softening its hold against your waist. Your breathing picked up, chest rising higher than usual. You could feel your body instinctively burrowing into his chest, leaning into him. You blinked, fingers loosening over the handset.
You could feel his hand softly pulling the handset out of your hand, his vast palm brushing against the back of your hand in movement. You bit the inside of your cheek, pulling yourself to tear your gaze away from him. Immediately, you tried to tighten your hand over the receiver, trying to beat Michael’s obvious intentions.
He tugged at the handset, trying to take it, but your grip tightened harshly. “Let go,” you muttered, your voice nearly dying out at the presses of his lips. Janet’s voice died out, and all you could hear was the sound of his lips, the blended mix of your breathing, and the floating music from the movie.
Michael tugged again, his hand around your waist moving to rest over yours. “Hang up,” he whispered against your neck. You turned to him, exhaling. He tried again, tugging at the handset. Your fingers subtly slipped, and your eyes nearly widened.
You tried to tighten your hold, but Michael was too fast, immediately taking his chance to tug it out of your hand and place it back on cradle. You gasped, eyes widening as you turned to the telephone. Your mouth opened agape in shock.
“Michael!” you exclaimed. Michael smiled, readjusting himself so his head could rest on your shoulder. His eyes turned back to the TV box, his hand quickly returning to intertwine with your free hand. “Close your mouth, baby. Flies gon’ fly in,” he retorted.
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