( i believe it should be common sense that my works should not be used to train ai. also, spare me the bullshit of feeding my works into ai detectors. that shit is still ai and cannot be trusted .ᐟ i have been writing fanfiction since 𝟤𝟢𝟣𝟥 for fandoms like one direction, h*rry p*tter, hunger games, grishaverse and asoiaf. i’ve also been studying french literature since 𝟤𝟢𝟣𝟨, therefore, english isn’t my first language, but i always try to do my best .ᐟ ).
𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗦. ╱ 𝖬. 𝖩𝖠𝖢𝖪𝖲𝖮𝖭.
𝙎𝙐𝙋𝙀𝙍𝘾𝙐𝙏 ━━ 𝟭𝟵𝟴𝟰 ╱ 𝟮𝟬𝟬𝟵. you met him after your first grammys performance, that's all it was supposed to be ━ a congratulations. instead, it became twenty years of almosts, with crossed paths, late-night phone calls, lingering glances, separate lives and feelings neither of you seemed able to leave behind. ( 𝖲𝖫𝖮𝖶 𝖡𝖴𝖱𝖭 ╱ 𝖲𝖴𝖦𝖦𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤 ╱ 𝖤𝖵𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖴𝖠𝖫 𝖲𝖬𝖴𝖳 ).
𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖶𝖨𝖪𝖨𝖯𝖤𝖣𝖨𝖠 𝖨𝖭𝖲𝖯𝖮 ( 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡 ━━ reader has no name and can be imagined however you want. this was just for fun. marriage date is also voluntary innacurate . . . ).
𝗢𝗡𝗘 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗧𝗦. ╱ 𝖬. 𝖩𝖠𝖢𝖪𝖲𝖮𝖭.
𝙎𝙄𝙂𝙉 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙂𝙄𝙍𝙇𝙎 ━━ 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗥𝗔. some rockstars sign their fans' breasts. you wonder if your boyfriend is one of those. ( 𝖲𝖴𝖦𝖦𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤 ). 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒. flirting, teasing, 𝗯𝗼𝗼𝗯𝘀, shy!michael.
𝘽𝙀𝙉𝘿 𝙊𝙑𝙀𝙍, 𝘽𝘼𝘽𝙔 ━━ 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗥𝗔. after wondering if your boyfriend ever signed a girl's boobs, you wonder if he ever spanked someone. ( 𝖲𝖴𝖦𝖦𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤 ). 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒. teasing, 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴, light bdsm, fluff, shy!michael, mention of vitiligo, playful dom/sub undertones, praise kink if you squint.
𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙄𝙀𝙎 ━━ 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘 𝗘𝗥𝗔. you have a new piercing and you can't wait to show it to your boyfriend. ( 𝖲𝖬𝖴𝖳 ). 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒. age gap, you!25+, 𝗻𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗿𝗰𝗶𝗻𝗴, sensitive 𖬺 healing piercings, breasts worship, dry humping, oral sex ( f receiving ), dirty talk, brief mention of needle, praise kink if you squint, aftercare.
𝙎𝙋𝙀𝘾𝙄𝘼𝙇 𝙏𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙈𝙀𝙉𝙏𝙎 ━━ 𝗕𝗔𝗗 𝗘𝗥𝗔. you just had a fight with your boyfriend. unfortunately for you, he's also your boss ━ and you still have a work to do. ( 𝖲𝖴𝖦𝖦𝖤𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖵𝖤 ). 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒. fluff, angst with a happy ending, mild language, jealous!michael, mention of prince ❨ oops ❩.
𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙄𝙇𝙇 𝙃𝙄𝙈 ━━ 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗟𝗟𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗥𝗔. as an actress known for her professionalism and talent, you were very well respected by everyone and especially your boyfriend. but when you decided to bring michael to a very special shooting, things get ugly pretty fast ━ it’s time for you to remind him his place. ( 𝖲𝖬𝖴𝖳 ). 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒. established relationship, sub!michael, dom!reader, jealous!michael, insecure!michael, orgasm denial, 𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗷𝗼𝗯 ( m receiving ), praise kink, masturbation, reassurance.
𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 .ᐟ ━━ 𝗪𝗢𝗡’𝗧 𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘. ╱ reader under the age of 26 for age gap, incest, race play, age play, daddy kink, mommy kink, rape, non-con, any taboo.
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐢𝐢 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐯
𝐛𝐭𝐜
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: michael jackson x black!reader
𝐞𝐫𝐚: post-filming the wiz, pre-otw
𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: orlando and tallahassee, fl and manhattan, ny
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: phonetically-spelled accents, emotional cheating, mention of sex but nothing explicit
𝐰.𝐜.: 3.7k
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @studio03 @starlightz4mj (lmk if you want to be added)
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is the first fic i've written in six years. holy shit. proofread to hell bc i'm a perfectionist. the fic is an imagined backstory to "girlfriend" from off the wall (pretend that michael wrote it and not paul mccartney). this chapter is set up. the next one will get into the story more. thank you for taking the time out of your day to read. i hope you enjoy <3
Memories of freshman year in the dorms replayed in the quiet hallway as you walked to the payphone. Throughout the year, the hallway remained bare. The students inhabiting the dorms were the decorations. Girls in bright, bold pinafore dresses with books clutched to their chests walked in tandem. Slicked-back afro puffs with scarves. Blowouts. Microbraids decorated with wooden and glass beads and cowrie shells. The memories dissolved into millions of particles once you walked past them. You had the hall to yourself, maybe even the whole building.
Despite having all your things packed, you waited the very last day to take a Greyhound back home and start your summer break. You weren’t particularly eager. All your friends left to vacation out of state and visit their families. Your boyfriend made plans without you. The Greyhound fare devoured most of your savings, leaving you with a few dollars of spending change.
The silence amplified the jingle jangle of the coins in your purse. If your girlfriend from across the hall was still there, she’d let you use her red box to make a free long-distance call. She was from Mississippi, and her family didn’t have much money. A red box was essential. Mississippi wasn’t as far as you were trying to reach. You had someone in New York you needed to talk to.
Trapping the receiver between your ear and shoulder, you unclasped the kiss lock. You retrieved a dime and pressed it into the coin slot. Each phone in the building was a rotary. Most of the time spent there was dialing. Some days, the line for the phone was over half the length of the hall. You stuck your finger in the hole, rotated until it hit the barrier, and listened to the whir as the dial reset. Eleven times.
“Please deposit $2.50 for the first three minutes,” the automatic voice instructed.
You sighed. Eight quarters, five dimes. The trills and chirps from the phone sounded as loud as firetruck sirens in the empty hallway. Your heart pounded like a sledgehammer against your ribs. The other line rang for what seemed like 10 minutes. Then it crackled.
“Hello?” A gentle voice answered.
You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress a smile. Tingling spread from your fingertips to your forearms. You clutched the phone cord to stop the feeling.
“Mr. Michael Jackson,” you said.
◊
The two of you met at Disney World last year. Your family had paid for you and your best friend, Evelyn, to celebrate both of you getting full-ride scholarships to FAMU. You had seen more people at Magic Kingdom than ever and heard languages you didn’t know existed.
You dined at the Lunching Pad. Evelyn paid for the food: a Coke slushie, a blue raspberry slushie, and a cream cheese-filled pretzel. She split the pretzel and gave you the bigger half. She had been “dieting” since she found out about the acceptance.
“I needa look good for all them college boys,” she said.
Sipping the blue raspberry slushie, your eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on two men at the counter. One of them was light-skinned with reddish hair. The other was so skinny it was as if his skin was shrink wrapped over his bones. He had a planetary afro and hickory skin. He turned to look behind him. Sunglasses covered his eyes, but you knew from the facial structure, the nose, the lips.
“Girl,” you whispered. Your hand grasped Evelyn’s, and you brought your face closer to hers. “Look to yo’ right. I think that’s Michael Jackson.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes, but she looked anyway. He had turned away to give his order at the counter. She leaned forward and backward, almost falling out of her seat, to get a glimpse of his face. She sucked her teeth and yanked her hand away from yours.
“Not every man with a ‘fro is Michael Jackson.”
“I know what I saw. I’mma go talk to ‘im.”
The two men walked to a table close to the counter. You stood up. The force of your knees unbending pushed the chair back. You snatched Evelyn’s bag from the table. It held her Polaroid Pronto! and a pad with a pen inside its rings for the Disney characters to sign. Your legs trembled with every step you took, and you picked at the skin of your lips with your teeth.
“I’m…I’m so sorry to bother y’all,” you said once you reached their table. Your hand dove into the bag and fished for the pad. Your eyes focused on the darker man and then dropped to the food on the table. It was him.
“May I have yo’ autograph please, um…Mr. Jackson?” Sweat trickled from your hairline to your brow. Your fingers clenched the pad.
His lips split into a smile, revealing a row of straight, white teeth. It liquified your insides. He took his sunglasses off and stared into your eyes. A fierce heat struck your face as if he had thrown the sun at you. You looked up at the ceiling to avoid his gaze.
“Of course,” he said. “And you can just call me Michael.”
Nodding, you handed him the pad. Evelyn appeared at your side. Her hand curled around your arm and squeezed. Michael’s manicured fingers flipped through the pages filled with autographs by Mickey Mouse and his crew and the princesses.
“Who am I making this out to?”
You stammered out your name. “Sorry,” you took a deep breath, “I’m very nervous.” You said it again, clearly. A breathy laugh pushed out of him.
“That’s a beautiful name.”
He looked up for a short while and bit his lip. Evelyn dug her rounded nails into the plush flesh of your arm. The heat in your face dispersed to the rest of your body. Your fingertips pulsed with what you imagined static from the television felt like.
“Thank you.” You tilted your head down in a slight bow. Michael slipped the pen from the rings of the pad and started writing. “How you findin’ Orlando? You…you like it?” You asked to fill in the silence.
“Ah yeah, it’s nice,” he said, keeping his head down. “Even though, right now, I’m feelin’ hotter than a bowl of grits.”
You and Evelyn giggled. He looked up at you with a smile that reached his eyes. His skin glistened from the sheen of sweat coating his face. He gave the pad back to you and wiped his palms on his jeans.
“We might can find something to fan you off. We know most people ain’t used to heat like this,” Evelyn said.
“Y’all from out here?”
“Yes, we are. This our first time at Disney actually,” you told him. Michael nodded along and said that he had been there a few times since it opened. “We’re celebrating getting into college on scholarship.”
“Congratulations! Your folks must be proud,” he said. “Uh…Bill and I here,” he looked out the corner of his eyes at the light-skinned man, “we sure could use some company. Would y’all wanna walk around with us?”
Your eyes popped open, eyebrows raised. Your nails dug into your palms. Evelyn slapped your arm, confirming that you weren’t in a dream world. A short, incredulous laugh escaped your throat as you shook your head.
“Absolutely!”
After they finished eating, the four of you walked to the Skyway to Fantasyland. Evelyn sat on one side of the bucket. You sat on the other side, facing her. Michael sat next to you, and Bill took the last spot next to Evelyn. The cramped bucket squished you all together like the drupelets of a blackberry. Michael and Bill rested their arms outside of the ride to free up some space. Any jerk sent the bucket into a little sway.
You and Evelyn asked Michael a flurry of questions about the industry. The most exciting things. The most vexing things. When he answered, he looked around, going from the questioner to something in the sky or on the ground. He never stuttered. He’d hum and take a second to think before he answered. His eyes never left yours when you asked him something as if he’d miss the question if he looked away even for a second. He tucked, untucked, and chewed on his lips. His fingers fidgeted with each other.
In turn, he asked what you planned to do in college. He hadn’t been part of many conversations regarding college as a means of upward mobility; that wasn’t his path. You were going for biology. Physics for Evelyn.
“We got a couple of geniuses here, now,” Michael said to Bill. He nodded without a word.
“Ah, nah. We’re very normal,” Evelyn said.
“Yeah,” you agreed, turning to Michael, “just like you.”
You all spent the rest of your time riding every ride in Fantasyland and talking. First, it was all about music and hobbies outside of professional and academic life. Eventually, the more you talked, the more you broke into the surface. Michael asked about your and Evelyn’s families and upbringings. He offered insight into his relationship with his family.
At the end of the day, Bill and Michael walked you and Evelyn back to her car. She asked Michael for an autograph before they left. He obliged. After he signed the page dedicated to Evelyn, he went back to yours and added something else to it. She joked and said that she’d find ways to bring up spending the day with Michael Jackson in every conversation. That pulled a chuckle out of him.
You said your goodbyes, and he gave you both hugs before he and Bill left. You and Evelyn plopped down into the seats with loud huffs, exhaling the weight of the day. Evelyn reached into her bag and pulled out the pad to look at the autographs.
“I cain’t believe it,” she said.
“What?” you asked, leaning over. “Show me.”
She turned the pad to you. Your eyes widened, and your breathing clipped as you read what he had written for you.
All the best, Michael Jackson.
P.S. Here’s my number. Call me whenever you get some free time. I’d love to talk to you more. (212)841-0226
“That man wants you!”
“I ‘on’t think so,” you said, shaking your head.
“He gave you his number. What you think that means?” Evelyn asked. She tore the page from the rings of the pad and held it in between her index and middle fingers. You reached for it but retracted your hand.
“I ‘on’t know. Ricky and me, we been going on strong and—”
“Sista, ditch yo’ boyfriend. That is Michael fuckin’ Jackson.”
◊
“Hey, baby. I’ve missed you.”
His smile floated on his voice through the receiver and into your ear. The first time you called him, it was a few days before your freshman year started, three months after you had met at Disney World. He said he was worried you wouldn’t call and that he’d never get to speak to you again. You exchanged addresses so you could write to each other and talk more frequently.
The last time you spoke on the phone was during winter break. He wrote you once a week. Sometimes, you waited longer if his schedule was more packed. His letters to you were never less than three pages long. You sent him pictures of you throughout the week along with your letters. Evelyn walked with you every Saturday to your mailbox. She was there to share your excitement when you received an envelope without the name of the sender. She was there to comfort you when you didn’t receive a letter that week.
To protect his privacy, you never put his name on an envelope. Rumors surrounding you and your mysterious pen pal spread around your hall like an airborne virus. All of which were true to an extent. Whenever the girls asked who your letters were from, you always replied with “I cain’t really say.”, so they assumed it was a big-time celebrity. When your boyfriend visited, they assumed you were cheating. You didn’t think so despite the emotional connection and pet names. You believed cheating was strictly physical, and you hadn’t crossed that line.
“I’ve missed you too, love. I’ve especially missed yo’ voice. Y’know, I reread yo’ letters and try to imagine what it would sound like if you said those words aloud.” Your voice became light and airy, remembering all he wrote you. Many of the girls in your hall loved the Jacksons, especially Michael. They brought their records from home, so you heard his voice that way, but it wasn’t enough.
“Anyways,” you continued, “I ‘on’t have much time and these calls are expensive. I just wanted to let you know that all my girlfriends have left for vacation. My boyfriend made plans for the summer that do not include me.” You said the last sentence in a tight-lipped manner, emphasizing the “t” and “d” sounds.
Michael knew about your boyfriend, Ricky, well enough. You brought him up in the first letter you sent before things between the two of you went any further. In his letter back to you, he wrote, “I don’t know what your boyfriend has to do with me.” You figured you shouldn’t care if Michael didn’t. In subsequent letters, you complained about his selfishness and his inconsistency. Ricky sent you letters too but much less frequently than Michael. In all his letters, he promised to visit you. Something always came up, though. He visited you only once the entire school year.
“What I’m tryna say is I’m completely free. I’m all yours. If you’d like to see me, I’d love to see you.”
“Darlin’, I’ll have you up here by Saturday,” Michael replied.
You squealed and clutched a hand to your chest. “I’m so excited. It’s been forever. Sometimes, I feel the ghost of your arms wrapped around me from that one time we hugged.”
“I just…I wanna hold you. I can’t stop thinkin’ about you.” He took a sharp inhale and then sighed. “I…you just do somethin’ to me. I don’t know.”
It was wrong. You knew it was wrong, but you’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t fantasized about it. How he’d feel and how he’d sound. Was he generous or was he selfish? A mix of both? You hadn’t been touched in nearly a year. When Ricky visited you, he kept the physical affection to a minimum.
Flirtatious paragraphs that ventured into this territory from Michael’s letters spurred on your fantasies. You played coy until your lustful thoughts of him infiltrated your dreams, which didn’t take too long. You started engaging with him. All these desires were relegated to the last page.
“You getting yo’ own self carried away.” A light laugh pushed out of your mouth. Your fingers ran up and down the phone cord. “I gotta hang up soon. I miss you, and I cain’t wait to see you,” you said. You put the phone back on the hook and returned to your empty dorm room.
◊
The Greyhound left at 8:30 am. It was a 5.5-hour ride to Orlando with one stop in Gainesville. You loaded all your luggage onto the bus save for an old shoebox. That was where you stored Michael’s letters to you. Reading them kept you occupied for the entire ride. You had a habit of highlighting your favorite lines. Luckily, the bus wasn’t full enough yet for someone to sit in the seat next to you.
You smiled. Throughout the months of correspondence, there was a sharp incline in Michael’s feelings and desire for you. While he made it clear that his feelings were beyond platonic in his first few letters, his words weren’t as fervent and desperate as the ones in his later letters.
From
When I look up at the sky, I find solace when I remember that we’re looking at the same moon and stars. That’s how we stay connected. We’ve always been connected. One day, the universe will bring us together again.
To
I see you behind my eyelids. You’re the first thing I think about in the morning. You’re the only thing I think of throughout the day. When I wake up, I reach over to my nightstand and look at your pictures. I catch myself envying the sun because it gets to caress your face. I envy your friends because they get to indulge in your presence. My soul is starved of you.
You had read through three-fourths of the letters when the bus pulled into the station. A man helped you unload your luggage and roll it to the exit. You thanked him and looked around to find your mother. She stood behind a “No Parking” sign with her back against the wall. She parked your father’s truck right in front of the sign. Her index and middle fingers held a dwindling cigarette between them.
“Mama!” you yelled.
Her head whipped towards the sound of your voice. The cigarette fell from her hand as she ran to you. She snatched you away from your bags and pulled you into her arms. “My baby,” she whispered against your shoulder.
You leaned your head on top of hers and returned the hug. Your hands rubbed circles onto her back. You allowed yourself to relax against her body, let her warmth swallow you.
She pulled away after a few moments and said, “Oh!” She reached into her shirt and pulled out an envelope. A sender address with no name. “This came in this mornin’.” You took it and stuffed it in your shoebox. “Now, let’s move befo’ they tow us.”
Your parents’ house was five minutes away from the station. On the way home, you talked little about your classes and much about what you did in your free time. Many of your girlfriends were avid partiers, and they took you out to discotheques and house parties. Your energy drained more quickly than a gator chasing its prey. Three months into partying, you were able to keep up with everyone else, drenched in sweat and dancing for hours on end.
Your mother pulled into the driveway: two columns of cement as wide as tires with weeds and grass growing from the cracks. She told you to leave your bags in the truck so your father could bring them in when he got home from work.
“You and Ricky got any plans?” she asked. You sat at the dining table, and she brought you a glass of water. Your fingers tapped on the glass.
“No, mama,” you sighed. “He’s um…he gon’ be busy this summer.”
She pulled out the chair across from you and sat down. “Shame. I thought I’d see him more often.” She shrugged and leaned back into the chair.
“Yeah, well, you know he be workin’ a lot.”
She nodded. “I cain’t wait for y’all to get married. I just hope y’all ‘on’t turn out like yo’ daddy and me.”
Your parents’ marriage had been rocky for as long as you could remember. When you were 10 years old, they stopped sleeping in the same room. They never had conversations with each other unless they were discussing things regarding you. They barely looked at each other. A marriage of obligation instead of one of love. All of this because your father impregnated your mother out of wedlock. You were surprised they didn’t get a divorce while you were away.
“I watched him grow from a good little boy to a great man,” your mother continued. “I’m so happy you got someone who loves and cherishes you. That’s what you need in yo’ life. That’s what you deserve, baby girl.”
All the saliva drained from your mouth. Your mother loved Ricky. Meanwhile, you brought home a shoebox filled with letters from another man. Despite the emotional neglect and broken promises, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her that you were unhappy. That your relationship wasn’t too far off from your parents’. Why should you annihilate your mother’s perception of him?
Ricky wasn’t all bad. He had put in the effort where it counted. Always greeting you with flowers. Always complimenting you. Opening every door because he believed a lady didn’t need to touch a single handle. Buying you things just because it made him think of you. He never hit you. He never yelled at you, but you probably would’ve preferred that over the cold shoulder for hours.
He was, especially, a hard worker. His father died when he was younger, and he was forced to take over the man’s role at an early age. He cared for his family deeply and provided for them. But this also meant that he wouldn’t be able to detach himself from them for his wife.
“Well,” you cleared your throat, “enough about Ricky. Let’s talk about me.” You laughed, nervous. “I met this wonderful girl from New York. She invited me to spend some time with her and her family over the summer,” you lied. “I’ll be leavin’ tomorrow mornin’.”
Your mother hummed in delight, quirking her eyebrows up. She grabbed your glass of water and took a sip. “I guess we ‘on’t have to bring yo’ bags in.”
After a few hours, your father returned home from work. He greeted you and kissed you on your cheek. Your mother retired to her bedroom. You recounted everything that happened at college to your father. He listened without much input. All he did was slide his cracked hands into yours.
“How’s everything with you and mama?” you asked.
He shrugged. “Same old, same old.” The bags under his eyes have grown since you last saw him. The sun aged his skin and turned it leathery from all the hours spent working in the citrus groves.
“I’m leavin’ for New York tomorrow,” you told him.
“What time you need me to get you to the airport?”
“Eight-fifteen. Eight-thirty. The flight’s at 9 a.m.”
“I gotchu, baby girl,” he said, a subtle smile garnished his face. Then he stood up and kissed you atop your head before walking to his bedroom.
saw this and thought about michael having you wear one of his costumes and show the picture somewhere accidentally while you guys are in a secret relationship 😭
there’s this current conversation on twitter about di*na r*ss and michael that has been bothering me. i genuinely don’t understand why some people talk about michael’s "love" for her as if it’s something beautiful or romantic. i don’t see it that way. when a child grows up deeply attached to an older adult who becomes a mother figure, a mentor, and someone they depend on emotionally, i don’t think we should call it love or just a childhood crush. michael was a literal child when he met her and she was already an adult and in a position of influence in his life. don’t get me wrong, you can have childhood crushes, but the fact that he ended up calling her a mother, a sister, and a lover once an adult himself and stated his romantic feelings for her… come on.
i find it disturbing when people ignore the grooming and power imbalance and reduce everything to "pure love" or an "obsession". a child who is emotionally attached to an adult doesn’t have the same understanding, agency, or perspective as an adult.
i don’t think we should call what he felt for her pure love. he was groomed into feeling that way and that’s disgusting. michael deserved adults around him who protected him and truly cared about him, not whatever this shit was.
if you don’t see a problem with an adult being close to a child and watching him grow into adolescence and adulthood and later calling him sexy, kissing him in front of everybody, while he considers her like a mother figure and a lover, then, i don’t know what to tell you.
there was nothing pure between them. and the fact that she had to go all this way to not appear in his biopic tells me everything i need to know about this.
𑣲⋆ otw! era michael jackson x reader ⠀₊⠀ ׁ⠀ word count — 658
summary : one of the jobs that comes with being a boyfriend, according to michael, is being a taste tester for his girlfriend’s notoriously bad cooking
includes : fluff, kissing, established relationship, etc.
m. list
california, 1979
the kitchen was filled with the clattering of silver pots and pans on the stove while the blur of los Angeles heat and noise— honking and cheers leaked in from the open living room window.
your hair was tied back and your long polkadot dress brushed against the wooden floors barely as you worked in the kitchen.
to say that you knew what you were doing however..
your boyfriend’s voice pulled your attention as it spread across the small apartment flat.
“baby!” he called, “the movies almost on!” his voice said in that familiar gentle and breathy tone.
michael revealed himself from behind the wall, his deep set brown eyes lighting up when he found you.
the sleeves of his striped yellow and black sweatshirt were rolled up, revealing the smooth skin of his arms beneath as they rested on the sides of his black jeans.
“there you are,” he smiled as he stepped closer, his eyes flickering to the events on the stove.
his smile faded slightly while confusion took over his face, his gaze turning back to you.
if there was one sentence anyone could identify you as, it would be that you were certainly not a great cook.
that didn’t stop you from trying anyway. after all, practice is what makes perfect.
he leaned slightly against the counter.
“is this what you’ve been doing the whole time?”
you nodded, your smile still existing faintly on your lips.
“i’m trying out a new mac and cheese recipe i saw in the newspaper,” you clarified, stirring the pot.
michael hummed.
“really? you didn’t like the one from— what was it.. the betty crocker cookbook? i thought that was your favorite one.”
“when i attempted it though, it looked and tasted nothin’ like it was supposed to.”
your boyfriend let out a soft laugh under his breath, his hands finding the sides of his face.
“i don’t think thats the book to blame, baby.”
you shot him a look, causing for him to only laugh harder as he rose from against the counter and stepped behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders.
“i’m just joking, you know that.”
as his head leaned down beside yours, his voice had practically been a whisper in your ear, his hands moving to your waist.
you wouldn’t admit it out loud that you knew that michaels words were true.
even if you do recall best to your memory that you’re sure you followed that recipe word for word.. that obviously wasn’t the case— although you just couldn’t exactly pinpoint where things went wrong.
you didn’t concern over it, either.
because you had your boyfriend— Michael, who was kind enough to volunteer to taste your cooking.. something you wouldn’t even do yourself.
surpassingly and nonetheless fortunate, michael hasn’t gotten sick yet.
you scooped out some mac and cheese with the wooden solid spoon and blew on it for a few moments before offering it over your shoulder to the man behind you.
you watched as michael ate it without protest and chewed silently with no sudden disgust flickering over his expression.
“how is it?” you asked expectantly after he finished swallowing.
Michael leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek.
“it’s good..” he smiled, pausing. “but maybe.. we could order in?”
your expression darkened almost instantly, michael’s hands around your waist tightening slightly.
“no—baby, it’s just this once,” he added quickly, his voice apologetic.
“you said that last time too.” you murmured, a smile tugging at your lips as you turned around. “did you think i forgot?”
he laughed, shaking his head, pulled you closer and gently untying your hair from the loose hold you had it in.
“cmon,” he said softly. “we’ll order something good.”
you brushed a strand behind your ear, no longer in the mood to argue.
intro. ❪ 𝔀.𝐜. 0.6k ❫ ✐ when your pesky pup manages to escape also accidentally leads you to meeting your future best friend.
contains 𑣲 ﹕ no use of y/n. childhood themes. fluff! fluff! fluff! michael's fear of small dogs begins. just a good and sweet meet cute! since this will be a continuous series, y/n will be replaced with ❪ ❤︎︎ ❫ !
❤︎︎ ゛reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ
childhood bsf!reader who first met michael when you were only ten years old.
❛ 𝒿une 71’ ⎯ 𝓔ncino, california. ❜
your puppy had slipped out through the front gate that afternoon, disappearing into the neighborhood before anyone could catch her. after searching every familiar street with no luck, you started going door to door, asking anyone who answered if they had happened to see a little puppy wandering around.
eventually, your tiny sneakers carried you up the long driveway of a quiet house you’d never visited before.
you knocked twice against the dark wooden door, rocking back and forth on your heels as you waited.
a tall man answered first—he introduced himself as bill, smiling kindly as he listened to your rushed explanation about your missing puppy. before he could answer, another little boy wandered into the entryway, curiosity getting the better of him after hearing the sound of your voice from down the hall. bill glanced over his shoulder with a knowing smile.
“michael,” he said gently, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “this is…”
you quickly introduced yourself, offering him a small, shy smile. bill chuckled to himself, quietly hoping the two of you might finally have someone your own age to talk to. after promising they’d keep an eye out for your puppy, he wished you luck with the rest of your search.
but michael had barely said a word. he simply stood beside bill, hands tucked behind his back, watching you with those big, curious eyes.
you had already turned to leave before suddenly stopping at the edge of the porch. looking back over your shoulder, you smiled brightly.
“it was really nice meeting you, michael!”
you lifted your hand into an enthusiastic little wave before skipping back down the driveway, continuing your search from house to house.
bill watched you disappear down the sidewalk before glancing toward the little boy beside him.
“she seems like a nice girl.”
he looked down to find michael still standing exactly where you’d left him, quietly watching through the front window until you disappeared around the corner.
after that, you’d often end up at the jackson’s estate looking for michael, asking if he could play. in the beginning, he’d beg his mother to come up with an excuse due to excruciating shyness until she started to encourage him to be a bit open minded. katherine would see you playing outside all by yourself, she knew you and michael would get along very well, so one day she finally forced him.
“really, mother?” he slouched as he heard her accept your invite to come play with some new games you got.
“you’ll be fine, michael.” she held his shoulders and planted a kiss on his forehead before sending him out the front door.
the two of you settled cross-legged on your living room floor, a brand new game of trouble spread between you. at first, michael was careful to explain each rule exactly as the little instruction booklet intended, quietly correcting you whenever you tried to move a piece somewhere it wasn’t supposed to go.
“says who?” you challenged with a grin, nudging one of your pegs a few extra spaces anyway. he blinked at you for a moment before letting out the tiniest laugh, following your lead of disobedience.
before long, the rules had been forgotten altogether. the two of you made up your own as you went, arguing over whose turn it was, popping the bubble far harder than necessary just to hear the loud pop, and laughing until the board looked nothing like it had when you’d started. just then, your tiny puppy came running in from the noise of laughter and obnoxious popping, scattering the board with one clumsy leap before attacking you with kisses. when she turned her attention to michael, he was quick to hold out a hand in surrender. “uht-uh,” he laughed, “you can keep that over there.” he teased, pointing back toward you.
needless to say, you and michael became inseparable after that.
i have this need to write reader kinda like elvira from scarface, where you are trapped in an unhappy marriage. until your husband, who just started business with michael ( his new manager .ᐣ ) introduces you to him and . . . michael gets instantly smitten with you and starts pursuing you during the night . . . you play hard to get, but eventually . . . 🤭
( medias, here, are just to illustrate the scene from the movie that gave me inspiration ━━ reader will always be up to your imagination with me ).
