thinking about... reader with acne and childhood bff!jacksons!michael who has the biggest crush on you despite it! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)
childhoodbestfriend!michael who notices the way you duck your head when he pulls out his camera—how your hand rises instinctively to cover the side of your face, fingers curling protectively over your round cheeks like you’re trying to hide the evidence of something completely shameful. he always catches your wrist before you can fully retreat from him, and his grip is always gentle and careful, like you’re something precious that could shatter if he’s not tender enough with you.
“don’t,” he says quietly, and his thumb finds the inside of your wrist where your pulse flutters from his touch like a trapped bird. the pad of his finger rests there until the frantic beating slows into an eased rhythm. “you look so pretty.”
and he means it, every single time. he’s never once looked at you like there was something that needed fixing or hiding or an apology for existing.
you’ve known this since before either of you had words for it.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who has been yours since before either of you understood what belonging even was. back when you had braces that caught every blinding camera flash during school photos and made you hate the sculpt of your smile. back when his vitiligo first started appearing across his knuckles like spilled milk, and he’d tuck his hands deep into his pockets during recess, shoulders hunched like he wasn’t aware of the fact he was forming his very first insecurity. that habit never really left him, even years later in his near twenties when his hands became something the whole world wanted to see.
you shared everything together. your firsts—an awkward, curious kiss when you were barely thirteen, all clumsy enthusiasm and uncertainty, teeth bumping and noses colliding because neither of you knew what you were doing other than the fact that you wanted to do it with one another, no matter what. you shared lasts as well, like the final time you brought your favourite stuffed animal to a sleepover because you’d realized his presence beside you was enough to keep the homesickness at bay. michael never made you feel small for needing that comfort. he just tucked the blanket around the both of you and pretended not to notice when you sleepily wrapped your arm around his waist and pulled him close like you had with your worn plush a mere week ago.
he was there during your worst days—the ones where you couldn’t stand your own reflection, where the face in the mirror looking back at you felt like a stranger wearing your features all wrong. and then he was there during your best days too, the brief windows when a new treatment or hack you found in a magazine at your local drugstore seemed to work and your skin glowed for three perfect weeks before it all came plummeting down into the familiar landscape of bumps and forming scars you’d grown to expect. he was there for the hope and the disappointment both, never flinching from either.
and now you’re both older, bodies settling into themselves in ways that feel both familiar and foreign. his face has sharpened into something striking—jawline defined, eyes deep-set and thoughtful, every angle of him transformed into an attractive specimen the camera loves. yours, on the other hand, softened and rounded in places you used to wish away, your features finding an alluring harmony.
but his acne started to show up as well. just like yours a couple years back.
and somehow, that made everything feel a little less lonely, because he looked just as beautiful despite the new texture residing on his features.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who always sits close to you during movie nights at hayvenhurst. his long legs folding up awkwardly on the couch because he’s still getting used to his height, still surprised by the way his body doesn’t quite fit into spaces it used to. his knees bump yours as he settles in beside you with a soft giggle, and your shoulders press together under the same blanket, the fabric warm and smelling faintly of laundry detergent and the cologne he started recently wearing—it was clean and safe, and it all smelt like home.
when you laugh at something on screen, he turns to look at you instead of the tv.
he loves the way your face moves when you’re happy—the way your cheeks lift and your eyes crinkle at the corners, the flickering illumination of the screen getting caught in the small creases of your skin like it’s been waiting for permission to land and rest there. he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, every bump and scar and soft curve, and he’s thought that for years now. but he doesn’t know how to say it without risking the only thing that matters to him.
so, instead, he opts for watching you laugh and memorizes the shape of your joy instead, cataloging it somewhere deep in his chest where he keeps all things he’s too afraid to say out loud.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who gets painfully self-conscious before interviews and photoshoots, and you always find him standing in front of the mirror in some backstage hallway, fingers hovering tentatively near his chin, his cheek, the side of his nose—taking inventory of every imperfection like he’s gathering evidence against every flaw. the fluorescent lights are merciless, washing out the glowing melanin of his skin and replacing it with harsh highlights of every insecurity he’s found over the years.
you walk up beside him and catch his judgemental eyes in the reflection, and you notice how he’s burning himself up from the inside with relentless criticism.
“you look handsome,” you say simply with a smile, and you mean it in the same uncomplicated way he always means when he claims how pretty you are.
he huffs a little laugh, shaking his head. “you don’ gotta say that…”
“i’m not jus’ sayin’ it,” you bump his shoulder with yours, grounding him. “you do. you always do!”
and the confident, unbothered way you say it makes something in his chest unclench. the harsh fluorescent burning softens into something warmer, like sitting by a fireplace on the coldest night of winter. he’s starting to think that warmth is coming from you standing unapologetically beside him.
he believes you, because you’ve never lied to him—not once in all the years you’ve known each other. because of that, a new sense of confidence surges through him and his frown is quickly replaced by a smile when he finally meets your eyes in the mirror.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who started seeing his own face differently after watching the way you learned to carry yours. you don’t hide anymore, not like you used to. you laugh louder now without covering your mouth, and you let him take pictures of you—candid ones where you’re mid sentence or rolling your eyes at a ridiculous thing he just said, completely unguarded and real in a way that makes his chest ache with something he can’t quite name just yet.
and if you can do that—walk into a room and not apologize for taking up any space—then maybe, he can too. maybe he’s been learning courage from you all along, the same way you learned it from the gentle insistence in his voice every time he called you beautiful.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who has the biggest, most ridiculous crush on you and does an absolutely terrible job of hiding it.
marlon teases him constantly. “boy, you’re starin’ again.” he whispers, elbowing his little brother in the ribs during rehearsal.
“i wasn’t—”
“you were.”
and he was. always. he can’t help it. you’re magnetic in a way that has nothing to do with symmetry or perfection, but everything to do with the way you exist in the world—you were finally unapologetically yourself after so many years of trying to shrink yourself into something inconspicuous. he’s watched you bloom into your own skin, and he can’t look away. and it’s not like he really wants to try.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who always asks before he touches your face, like he’s afraid of assuming he has the right even after all these years of knowing one another.
you’re sitting on the edge of his bed one night after a long day, exhausted and rubbing at your eyes, and he’s watching you like he’s trying to commit every second to memory—the slope of your shoulders, the way your hair falls, the particular shade of tired that softens your features.
“can i…?” he reaches out slowly, hand hovering in the space between you, and his fingers are trembling so very slightly that you don’t even notice.
you nod, expecting him to pull you into one of his warm, enveloping hugs.
but instead, his palm settles gently against your cheek, and the surprise must show on your face because the corners of his mouth curve upward into a small, nervous smile. his thumb traces a soft line near your temple, and his touch is so warm and careful that you find yourself leaning into it without thinking, like you’re a dainty flower turning toward the sunrays.
“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, and his voice slightly cracks on the words, betraying just how much he means them.
you feel the embarrassing heat creep up your neck and spread to the tips of your ears. you tip your head down bashfully, trying to escape his intense yet also gentle gaze. “michael…”
“i mean it,” he tilts your face up with the tip of his slender, index finger, so gentle it barely registers as any sort of pressure to look at him. “i really, really mean it.”
childhoodbestfriend!michael who notices when you’re having a bad skin day—when you’ve been picking at your face without realizing it, or when your foundation is applied a little thicker than usual and you won’t quite meet his eyes the way you normally do.
he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. he just pulls you into a hug, rests his chin on top of your head, and whispers sweet reassurances about how breathtaking you are no matter what.
and you do know, because he never fails to tell you—you’ve counted about a hundred times this month alone. but hearing it again still makes your throat tighten with affection for this boy who has been yours for as long as you can remember.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who loves the way you touch his face too—with absolutely no hesitation or disgust, just pure tenderness that makes him feel more seen in a way he never is on stage in front of thousands of bodies.
you’re backstage after one of his destiny tour shows, and he’s sweaty and exhausted and slightly broken out along his jawline from the stress of wanting to perform perfectly. you reach up to brush his damp curls back from his forehead without thinking twice about it, your fingers gentle against his overheating skin.
“you were so amazing tonight!” you exclaim and your voice is flooded with genuine awe.
he closes his eyes and leans into your palm against his face like it’s the only thing keeping him upright through all this chaos. “you made it better by bein’ here, lil’ lady!”
you softly laugh at the silly nickname and roll your eyes. “uh huh, right.”
“i’m serious,” he insists, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re so sincere it makes your heart stumble over itself.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who gets quietly protective when other people make careless comments about your appearance.
he had invited you out to studio 54 one night after finally convincing the bouncer to let both of you in despite being underage through some networking techniques. after what felt like days of endless persuasion from the needy boy, you finally agree to go as long as you can wear a full face of makeup. under the colourful lights that paint you a mixture of pink, blue and gold, someone—clearly drunk and very thoughtless—says something cruel about your skin, and michael’s jaw tightens so fast you think he might actually crack and fracture the bone into two.
“michael, it’s fine,” you murmur, catching his forearm gently before he can say something he’ll regret.
“they shouldn’t talk t’you like that.” his voice is low with annoyance, anger simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over any second.
you look at him seriously, squeezing his arm to bring him back to you until he takes a breath and nods. but his hand finds yours under the bar table and doesn’t let go for the rest of the night, his thumb tracing absent patterns across your knuckles like he’s reminding himself you’re still there beside him, safe and sound, still his in whatever way he’s allowed to have you.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who takes pictures of you all the time—polaroids, disposable camera shots, blurry images where you're mid-laugh or caught completely off guard in the most unflattering angles possible.
"why d'you always take pictures of me?" you ask one day, watching him shake out another polaroid, watching with a smile as the image of you in a silly pose develops in his slender hands.
he shrugs, smiling that shy, lopsided smile that never fails to make your stomach flip. "cause i like lookin' at you."
its such a simple answer that’s delivered so casually, but your heart does something so complicated in your chest that it leaves you light-headed for just a moment. because he says it like it’s so obvious—like there’s no other possible reason he could ever need.
childhoodbestfriend!michael who finally, finally tells you how he feels on a quiet night in his room when it’s just the two of you, the window cracked open and the sound of crickets drifting in on the warm breeze that smells like jasmine and summer.
you're lying side by side on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and he's been quiet for too long. the silence feels heavy with something unspoken that’s been building between you for years. it’s threaded in the thickness of the humidity, and it’s almost unbearable.
"what're you thinkin' about?" you ask, finally breaking the sickening silence as you turn your head to look at him.
he turns to meet your gaze and thoughtfully hums, falling into another brief silence before finally answering: "you."
you laugh softly, trying to lighten the sudden weight in the air. "what about me?"
"jus'... everything." he swallows hard, and you can see his throat jump up and down with the effort of trying to regurgitate the feelings he’s held for you since you were both kids with scraped knees and impossible dreams. "i love your face. all of it. every little part. the way y'smile, the way your nose scrunches up when you're concentrating, the way your skin catches the light... i love it."
your breath stops completely, caught somewhere between the confines of your lungs and the tightness of your throat. it feels like fireworks are being lit in your chest, sparking and crackling, and threatening to burst into an unsaid confession you’ve been holding for the same amount of time.
"and i know—i know you don't always like the way you look, but i do. i really, really do. and maybe tha's selfish, but i needed you t'know." his voice drops to barely a whisper, trembling a bit at the edges. “i’ve needed you t’know for so long now.”
you reach over, fingers finding his in the small space between your bodies, interlacing together like they’ve been anticipating this moment since the beginning of time.
"it's not selfish," you whisper. "i love you too."
his smile is so bright and relieved that it could crack the sky wide open, could lighten every dark corner of the world into something blinding. when he pulls you closer, tucking you safely against his chest where you can feel his anxious heart racing against your cheek, you finally come to the realization that maybe this is what home has always been—not a place, but him all along, the boy who has loved every version of you and taught you how to love them too.
i was listening to simulation swarm by big thief on loop while i wrote this and i was getting emotional I LOVE PROJECTING IN MY FICS!!! I hope u enjoyed
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⋮ ✶ ┆it’s family dinner night and you’re cooking for michael and his brothers but maybe everyone has something they wanna tell you?
⋮ ✶ ┆𝒻. reader x husband!michael j. | you aren’t a good cook. some lowkey bullying from his brothers. comedy. fluff. imagined thriller/thrad era but it doesn’t matter. michael comforts you. lowkey some slop. 0.9k wc
𝓂asterlist
You’d been toiling away in the kitchen all morning to prepare for today. It was Sunday evening, and the day you would be having a family dinner with Michael and his brothers.
His sisters and parents wouldn’t be joining this time, mostly because Michael insisted that having everyone in the house at one time was a recipe for disaster.
On the menu tonight was a lemon chicken orzo. It was quick and simple but tasted like a lot of effort was put into it.
You’d set the table and spent the day cleaning the house and had Michael taste test the food which he’d insisted was amazing, as he always did.
So you were pretty confident when dinner rolled around and everyone had packed into the dining room.
“Y’know Michael is always raving about how his wife is the best cook so I’ll be tha’ judge of that.” Jackie said as you placed a full plate in front of him.
You were nervous for them to try your food but you loved cooking, taking care of people, and serving guests so you were excited.
“Well I don’t know about best but I hope you like it.” you smiled and placed the next plate in front of Tito who smiled back and thanked you.
“This looks really good, almost professional chef good.” Jermaine called from the opposite end of the table and you flushed at the compliment.
Once everyone was served you took your seat beside Michael at the table with your own plate.
Everything was going fine at first as you watched everyone take their first few bites but then you heard an abrupt clatter as Marlon dropped his fork to the plate and ducked his head.
“Is uh everything okay?” you asked, blowing at your own fork before taking a bite.
“Hmm hmm. Just too hot.” he hummed and took a large gulp of water. He seemed to make eye contact with Michael for a moment before returning his eyes down to his plate.
Weird.
Across the table you noticed everyone in similar states of disarray. All making different faces. Jermaine had begun coughing slightly, Marlon had a grimace on his face as he stared at the wall ahead, while Jackie and Tito had put their hands over their mouths.
You turned your attention to Michael beside you who sat eating his food normally and meeting your eyes with a shrug.
“So how’s the food everyone?” you asked with a small hint of suspicion.
“Good.” a cough.
“Great.”
“Amazing.”
“So good I don’t even want seconds.” Marlon hadn’t torn his eyes from the wall yet.
You furrowed your brows.
You took another bite and an idea began forming in your head. “Y’know I may have overcooked the orzo a little. And the chicken is a little burnt but I don’t think it’s too bad.”
“I think it’s delicious baby.” Michael said as he placed a hand on your thigh from under the table, reassuringly.
“I mean it could—“ Marlon began speaking but was cut off by Michael’s firm tone.
“Marlon, finish your food. She spent all day on this so don’t be ungrateful.” he clicked his tongue.
“But I just think— never mind.”
You let the silence fill the room a little longer before it was too much for you to take. “Alright what’s going on?” everyone’s eyes turned to you then as you all stared at each other waiting for someone to break the tension.
“I’m so sorry but you’re a terrible cook.”
“This isn’t very good.”
“Maybe just a little off recipe.”
You furrowed your brows at their simultaneous responses.
“Really, it’s that bad? Michael has never once complained about my cooking?”
“How long has he been eating your food for? Probably got used to it.” wow way to be delicate.
You frowned slightly, turning to Michael again who looked like he wanted to jump across the table.
“You guys are not about to drag me into this. Apologize to her right now. ” he pointed a finger to everyone at the table but he didn’t deny anything they’d said.
“Seriously so you weren’t gonna tell me that my cooking sucked?” you crossed your arms over your chest defensively.
“No— I just—“ he looked around helplessly when you turned your anger on him, not knowing what to say.
You abruptly got up from the table and left the dining room, not waiting for further explanation before heading towards your bedroom stating that they could order a pizza instead. Your feelings were officially hurt.
Michael didn’t waste a moment following after you because you always came first in his mind and he wanted to make sure you were okay.
He found you seated on the bed, changing out of the clothes you’d picked out for dinner, your top already half off.
He sidled up next to you and tried to pull you into his arms which you slightly rested but he didn’t let go.
“I’m so sorry baby. And for the record I do like your cooking just the way it is because you made it with love and you made it for me.” he whispered into your hair pulling you into his lap.
“Well that’s great but I still want it to taste good too and for you to not tell me it didn’t—“
“I know I should’ve said something and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about my brothers. When you’re feeling up to it, I’ll make them all apologize.” he kissed your temple and you melted into his arms a little.
“I still don’t really forgive you.”
“What can I do to make it up to you?” he pressed you closer to his chest.
“Hmm I can think of a few things.” you said pulling back so he could see the grin crossing your face.
⋮ ✶ ┆it’s family dinner night and you’re cooking for michael and his brothers but maybe everyone has something they wanna tell you?
⋮ ✶ ┆𝒻. reader x husband!michael j. | you aren’t a good cook. some lowkey bullying from his brothers. comedy. fluff. imagined thriller/thrad era but it doesn’t matter. michael comforts you. lowkey some slop. 0.9k wc
𝓂asterlist
You’d been toiling away in the kitchen all morning to prepare for today. It was Sunday evening, and the day you would be having a family dinner with Michael and his brothers.
His sisters and parents wouldn’t be joining this time, mostly because Michael insisted that having everyone in the house at one time was a recipe for disaster.
On the menu tonight was a lemon chicken orzo. It was quick and simple but tasted like a lot of effort was put into it.
You’d set the table and spent the day cleaning the house and had Michael taste test the food which he’d insisted was amazing, as he always did.
So you were pretty confident when dinner rolled around and everyone had packed into the dining room.
“Y’know Michael is always raving about how his wife is the best cook so I’ll be tha’ judge of that.” Jackie said as you placed a full plate in front of him.
You were nervous for them to try your food but you loved cooking, taking care of people, and serving guests so you were excited.
“Well I don’t know about best but I hope you like it.” you smiled and placed the next plate in front of Tito who smiled back and thanked you.
“This looks really good, almost professional chef good.” Jermaine called from the opposite end of the table and you flushed at the compliment.
Once everyone was served you took your seat beside Michael at the table with your own plate.
Everything was going fine at first as you watched everyone take their first few bites but then you heard an abrupt clatter as Marlon dropped his fork to the plate and ducked his head.
“Is uh everything okay?” you asked, blowing at your own fork before taking a bite.
“Hmm hmm. Just too hot.” he hummed and took a large gulp of water. He seemed to make eye contact with Michael for a moment before returning his eyes down to his plate.
Weird.
Across the table you noticed everyone in similar states of disarray. All making different faces. Jermaine had begun coughing slightly, Marlon had a grimace on his face as he stared at the wall ahead, while Jackie and Tito had put their hands over their mouths.
You turned your attention to Michael beside you who sat eating his food normally and meeting your eyes with a shrug.
“So how’s the food everyone?” you asked with a small hint of suspicion.
“Good.” a cough.
“Great.”
“Amazing.”
“So good I don’t even want seconds.” Marlon hadn’t torn his eyes from the wall yet.
You furrowed your brows.
You took another bite and an idea began forming in your head. “Y’know I may have overcooked the orzo a little. And the chicken is a little burnt but I don’t think it’s too bad.”
“I think it’s delicious baby.” Michael said as he placed a hand on your thigh from under the table, reassuringly.
“I mean it could—“ Marlon began speaking but was cut off by Michael’s firm tone.
“Marlon, finish your food. She spent all day on this so don’t be ungrateful.” he clicked his tongue.
“But I just think— never mind.”
You let the silence fill the room a little longer before it was too much for you to take. “Alright what’s going on?” everyone’s eyes turned to you then as you all stared at each other waiting for someone to break the tension.
“I’m so sorry but you’re a terrible cook.”
“This isn’t very good.”
“Maybe just a little off recipe.”
You furrowed your brows at their simultaneous responses.
“Really, it’s that bad? Michael has never once complained about my cooking?”
“How long has he been eating your food for? Probably got used to it.” wow way to be delicate.
You frowned slightly, turning to Michael again who looked like he wanted to jump across the table.
“You guys are not about to drag me into this. Apologize to her right now. ” he pointed a finger to everyone at the table but he didn’t deny anything they’d said.
“Seriously so you weren’t gonna tell me that my cooking sucked?” you crossed your arms over your chest defensively.
“No— I just—“ he looked around helplessly when you turned your anger on him, not knowing what to say.
You abruptly got up from the table and left the dining room, not waiting for further explanation before heading towards your bedroom stating that they could order a pizza instead. Your feelings were officially hurt.
Michael didn’t waste a moment following after you because you always came first in his mind and he wanted to make sure you were okay.
He found you seated on the bed, changing out of the clothes you’d picked out for dinner, your top already half off.
He sidled up next to you and tried to pull you into his arms which you slightly rested but he didn’t let go.
“I’m so sorry baby. And for the record I do like your cooking just the way it is because you made it with love and you made it for me.” he whispered into your hair pulling you into his lap.
“Well that’s great but I still want it to taste good too and for you to not tell me it didn’t—“
“I know I should’ve said something and I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about my brothers. When you’re feeling up to it, I’ll make them all apologize.” he kissed your temple and you melted into his arms a little.
“I still don’t really forgive you.”
“What can I do to make it up to you?” he pressed you closer to his chest.
“Hmm I can think of a few things.” you said pulling back so he could see the grin crossing your face.
idk if you deleted that post abt how you think being in a relationship with michael would be like (for yourself) but i agree and i think that would be the reality for most ppl, especially if you have unpacked trauma and fears. it takes a specific and special woman to marry michael jackson and he unfortunately never found the “one”. a woman with interests like his, a kind heart, a good personality, and who could match his lifestyle. it makes sense though—given how high profile and intense his life was.
not to mention his own personal struggles, coping style, and insecurities would’ve def been challenging to deal with. as someone who is avoidant and has a fear of intimacy and a struggle with it and michael probably did too, that relationship wouldn’t have lasted. a roommate thing like you said
omg I didn’t think anyone actually read that so yeah I deleted it lmao. but yes I wholeheartedly agree ! I honestly get sad when I think about how he passed and never really found his “one” or person.
I’ve gotten a few new reqs and I promise I’m not ignoring you guys, it’s just a lot of em and I’m trying to think up more unique scenarios. And I’m a slow writer. But trust it’s otw. (and if your req was from two months ago… uhm just burn me atp but that’s coming too). 😭
⁀➴ no warnings!!! i was inspired to write this bc i was imagining things michael never got to do,, sighhh and wardrobe asked skai to homecoming on SU and she was never asked, lmao
⁀➴ you haven’t gave prom much thought. thats lie, thats been the only thing on your mind since you started high school. on your 18th birthday you wished for the perfect prom night. the dress, the hair, the shoes, the makeup, but most importantly your date.
and you tried not to speak too much about prom around your friends, because they always asked if michael was taking you. honestly you didn’t know. you only started dating him at the beginning of the year. in his words he would’ve asked you sooner but his dad believed it was no time to be involved with girls. he needed to stay focused on the group. you highly doubt since you weren’t the finest thing in freshman year but agree to disagree.
of course, michael wasnt at school much. between recording, practice. tv appearances, and traveling with his brothers, seeing him in the halls felt seeing a shooting star. sometimes only showing up to get the work for the next 2 weeks then disappearing again.
seeing each person day after day getting asked, made your stomach twist. you didn’t, couldn’t admit you were jealous. the girls squealed over dress colors and corsages. the boys bragged about the limousines their parents were paying for. you truly tired to tell yourself that it didnt matter to be asked. that it was just one dance for one night.
as those days passed you became slightly embarrassed, the kids quietly teased you. they questioned the authenticity of your relationship. you were the michael jacksons girlfriend and he still hadn’t asked you. technically they didn’t know you were girlfriend, i wasn’t hard putting two and two together. when michael was at school he spent all his spare time with you. he waited for you to come out when class ended, held your hand in the halls, ate with you at lunch, and walked you home after school. thats all proof they had, until friday. one day before prom
another day of trying to convince yourself not to expect anything. you sorted though your locker trying find this specific something you lost.
“cuse’ me miss, have you a really beautiful girl with beautiful browskin and such pretty long eyelashes?” michael’s sweet voice asks you. completely ignoring his question, you squeal and wrap your arms around his neck. when you look up you see a crowd of people surrounding you and you see marlon holding a rose. you let go of him and give him a confused look. he begins walking back giving you a silly grin.
marlon begins clapping creating a rhythm,signaling everyone to do the same. you covered your face as you realized whats going on. then he began singing.
“i’ve been thinking, dreaming of one special girl” he pointed at you. before he spun, qnd marlon singing background and dancing dramatically.
“oh! and i hope she’ll spend one night with me!” he does more footwork. earning cheers from the crowd.
marlon hooting in the back ground “ooh! tell her, mike!”
michael spins around to grab the rose from marlon. ‘so tell me, pretty baby, what do you say? will you be my date on prom day?” as danced his away towards you, holding the rose for you grab.
“gosh mikey, yes!” your face, now covered in tears from laughing the at this whole performance. you wrap your arms around his neck, as he rocks you back and forth. the crowd that gathers around you begins clapping, before they disperse since the bell starts ringing.
“we practiced for 2 days and marlon still was messing up.” michael rolled his eyes. you two held hands on the way to class. you laughed some more, squeezing his hand .
“michael, it was amazing, you dont know how much this meant to me.” now at your class, giving a peck his cheek. “thank you.” you looked at him in his eyes with a sweet smile. and michael looking at your with hearts eyes, mouth agape wanting to say something but your mean old english demands you come into to class, and michael to get to his. he continues to hold your hand for as long as he could while you walked in.
now, at lunch your girls are freaking out. they couldn’t believe michael asked you in that way, maybe like just a rose or a poster but a performance was next level. you couldn’t believe it either, now your not-so secret, secret is out. which doesn’t scare as much as it did.
while michael walked you home, fingers intertwined with yours. randy and marlon walked in front you.
“what color dress are ya wearing?” he realized he never asked.
“hmmmm, like a off-white one.” you answered in casual way, you always known exactly what you wanted to wear and got exactly that. michael nodded slowly thinking of his outfit.
finally arriving at your house, he walks you up your porch stairs. “y’know im glad you said yes, even though marlon kept do the wrong steps.” he kept back to them as they waited for him on the side walk.
“hey! y’know can hear you, right?” marlon shouted. michael whipped his head over his shoulder and stuck tongue out.
“anyways, never in a million years would i have told you no. i honestly wasn’t expecting much.” you shrugged. michael put his hand over his heart, obviously offended.
“i can’t believe you could think so little me!” his tone now overly dramatic. you giggled at his antics, slapping him on his shoulder.
“i got to get going now, these two idiots are rushing me” looking over his shoulder and seeing both marlon and randy touching their wrist signaling him to hurry. “ill be here tomorrow, at 6:30 sharp!” you nodded eagerly before he kissed you on the lips. “eugh! michael!” randy and marlon yelled. he quickly pecked all over your face one last time before walking off while waving at you.
⁀➴ your mom helped with your hair while your dad gave you run down on what he expects tonight and if michael acts up he’ll find him, he doesnt care about who the hell michael is. you and your mom laugh at him. you do your make up lightly, sliver shimmer on your eyelids and velvet blush with gloss to match, your long lashes curled. you put on your sliky dress and your kitten heels to match. your done in a curly up-do, so the focus is only on your dress. as you run your hands down your dress, you hear.
“michaels here, honey!” your mom yells. you check the time 6:27, you only smile and shake your head.
as slowly you make way down the stairs, your eyes land on michael. hes truly awestruck by you. like it was only you and him in the room. you see mrs.jackson standing next your mother, giving her a smile and a waving. at the last step michael your hand, helping you down.
“wow. you look so….beautiful” michael slowly taking you in. his eyes roaming all over your body.
“you don’t clean up to bad you self.” you running over his chest, smoothing out his collar. he puffs up his chest in confidence. he takes your left hand and slip slips on your white rose corsage.
“oh my, mikey this is beautiful” you gasp. a blinding flash interrupts your sweet moment with your boyfriend.
“i guess its time for pictures…” you sigh out.
they made you guys do the most ridiculous poses, insisting that you needed to do them. forcing them to wrap up quickly because you know that your parents be your parents would keep you there and have you guys miss prom. as michael lead you to his car, both of your parents remind you two stay safe and make good choices. your father being the loudest one saying “have her home no later than 10pm!” michael salutes at his request.
prom was all you dreamt of, but you and michael ultimately decided to leave early. ending your night at the dinner sharing a strawberry milkshake.
no proofread bc im lazy. i totally made up some bs for those lyrics.. this so fun and silly to write
Hiii lovely! I have a question but idk if it’s weird to ask it , sorry in advance😭😭 I’m not a black person and i know that in most of your fics it’s mike x black reader and i wanted to know if i still can read the fic and imagine myself easily or if it’s full of details ? Tysm for your answer !! 🫶🏻🫶🏻
I’m very confused about what kind of response you wanted to this question but I’m just gonna say this. MJ tumblr/fandom is a very curated black space. Ask yourself why you asked this question and why you think it would be an issue for you as a non black person to read a fanfic where the reader is black when black people have been reading fan fiction where the reader is so clearly white (or predominantly not black) for the longest time without issue (aside from underrepresentation). Asses your own comfort levels and if the “details” are going to hinder your immersion, then don’t read it. I am black so I’m going to write from my experience and through a black lens because that’s all I know. If you don’t like that, I promise you there are plenty other writers elsewhere to accommodate you. That’s the beauty of this.
synopsis: you were an upcoming artist, your producer quincy Jones had you over late night at Westlake studio to record a song for him & michael ends up arriving as well, and when you're recording the song michael seems absolutely breathtaken by your vocals
a/n: song inspired by "I like" by the kut klose, just seen a whole bunch of michael edits to this song 😩, so just imagine this song only being only just you and not the group.
warnings: shy!michael, flirty!michael (?), mutual pining, flirty!reader, slight cursing, michael admiring you from afar & upclose, just enjoy !
Your apartment — 1985
It was currently 1 am in the morning, you were in your bedroom papers scattered everyone, sheets filled with music lyrics and other song ideas for your upcoming album. You were currently sleeping finally getting some beauty rest after another long day of going over vocals and lyrics practicing over and over and over until you had enough for the day. Your silk press wrapped in a bonnet, you were extremely comfortable wearing your moomo. You had no plans getting out of your bed for the night.
Until that cell phone rang that was sitting on your vanity, you were still knocked out refusing to get up, it finally stopped ringing just to ring again two minutes later. You groaned rubbing your sleepy eyes trying to rub the sleep away. You threw your covers off your body getting annoyed from being woken out your sleep. You rubbed your left eyes walking over to your vanity picking up the phone sucking your teeth. "Betta be something important." You murmured before placing the phone to your ear finally picking up.
"Hello?" You said, voice annoyed yet groggy.
“morning sunshine.” A voice echoed through the phone, you knew that voice from anywhere. The greatest producer in the entire world right now.
Quincy Jones.
You blinked your eyes trying to blink the tiredness away, you ran a hand down your face sighing. “What is it Q?, do you have any idea what time it is?”
He checks his watch. “mmh close to two in the morning, you able to come in right now? Got a few vocals I want you to do for me.” He smiled even though you couldn’t see it.
“Q….you want me to come in the studio at,” you turned your head to look towards your clock that sat on your dresser. “two in the morning, are you okay?” Your voice slightly annoyed.
“well if you want the greatest album in the world as a woman artist then i suggest you get on up and get dressed, i sent a driver he’ll be there shortly so if I was you I’d be getting up right now.”
“You sent a driver for me without me even sayin’ yes or no?” You sucked your teeth but you knew he was right, if you wanted to be the best there was only sacrifices that came with success and if losing your beauty sleep was in the category then so be it. “I’ll get dressed, I’ll be there in twenty.”
“thank you.” He said then hung up. The line running cold between the two of you now, you slowly placed the phone back down and let out a loud aggravated groan. “why the fuck is this even my life.” You muttered the words under your breath as you stared at yourself in the mirror, still half-asleep.
Twenty minutes that was all Quincy had given you. Twenty minutes to fully wake up, get dressed, fix your hair, grab your things, and somehow look presentable enough to walk into a recording studio at two in the morning.
You shook your head. “This is so irritating.” You looked through your closet to find something comfortable to wear throwing on sweatpants and a fixed tank top. You grabbed your bag and headed downstairs. The driver was already waiting outside exactly when Quincy said it would be. Of course it was.
You rolled your eyes walking towards the car backseat, you got inside looking at the driver, a soft smile spreading across your lips. “Good morning.” You greeted trying to uplift yourself, the tiredness drifting away. The man who was driving you said his good morning back and started driving away.
The drive through Los Angeles was quiet, the streets nearly empty at that hour. You rested your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. You were tired. Extremely tired, but you knew if Quincy called it was always strictly about music and business, never no games. And if waking up at two in the morning meant being the greatest female artist in the 80s then so be it.
After a while the car came to a stop, you looked out the window looking at the building. Westlake studio. You sighed before stepping out the car thanking the driver before you go. The moment you stepped through the studio doors the familiar smell of coffee and lots of people moving in the hallway evening at three o’clock in the morning now greeted you.
A few people were still working despite the ridiculous hour. You spotted Quincy almost immediately, a soft welcoming smile on your face already. “mornin.” You said walking towards him. He looked completely awake which honestly annoyed you a little bit, how the hell wasn’t this man ever tired?.
“Finally,” he said. “Took you long enough.” He laughed “come on. I’ve got something I want you to hear.” He let you farther into the studio. You were talking about the melody he wanted you to try when you suddenly noticed someone sitting a few feet away.
You stopped dead in your tracks, like seriously you stopped dead in your tracks. It was Michael Jackson. Thee Michael Jackson. The same man you admired because of his amazing footwork and amazing performances. And oh my gosh that amazing soft voice he carried. It was like you saw a ghost your jaw dropping just a bit, this was your first time ever meeting Michael Jackson, you’ve meet plenty of celebrities but never Michael jackson which was an complete shock to you.
He was sitting quietly near the console, dressed casually instead of all the fancy outfits he wear. He was listening to everything some other producer was saying. You hadn’t expected him to be here at this hour. Michael noticed you looking and immediately gave a small, polite shy smile as if he knew you already.
“Hi.” He said
You smiled back. “Hi.”
Quincy glanced between the two of you. “Michael, this is the artist I’ve been telling you about. (Name) meet Michael, Michael meet (name)”
You looked at Michael, making direct eye contact with him he looked even better up closer as if he was an angel who snuck on earth it was breathtaking. You extended your hand out. “Hi Michael, it’s nice to meet you.”
he looked down at your hand then back at your eyes, he was a gentleman yet also a big flirt to the ladies. So accepting a handshake from a girl as beautiful as you?, unacceptable. He spread his arms out embracing you in a friendly manner hug. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well (name)” he said then stepped back enough to look at you after you two stopped hugging.
Quincy just stood there watching letting the two of you greet each other, you damn near would’ve thought you were gonna pass out. He smelled amazing. He was tall. He was breathtaking. You seriously thought you were hugging an angel for a second. After you two separated from the hug you smiled and nodded your head.
Michael smiled as well a bit. “I’ve heard some of your work.”
You looked at Quincy. “You’ve been talking about me?”
“Only good things” Quincy chuckled a bit. “Enough talking, let’s work”
You walked into the recording booth and slipped the headphones on, your lyrical notebook sat directly in front of you on a stool so you could see your lyrics that you had scrabbled on pages with other ideas. Your foot tapping on the floor, your hand tapping lightly on your thigh as you practiced lowly before the music even started.
Quincy and Michael sat behind the booth on chairs, Quincy dealing with the equipment while michael just sat there like he had no time in the world, you thought it was odd at first which made you completely more nervous because thee michael jackson is sitting in your recording session right now. The person you admired dearly.
“You ready?” Quincy asked you pressing down on a button that allowed you to hear him from behind the booth. “Yeah, I’m ready.” You said nodding your head lowering your head closing your eyes giving yourself a prep talk before the song began. “You’re confident, you’re strong, you’re beautiful, and you work miracles on everything you create.” You muttered.
Quincy just sat there and watched giving you time. After a few minutes he pressed the button again. “You ready now?” He asked. You raised your head and nodded. The instrumental began. You closed your eyes and began singing.
“tender lovin it’s what I want, don’t wanna rush it nah,” you started singing keeping your eyes focused on your notebook. “let’s take it nice and slow honey, caress my body and hold me tight, don’t let me go baby, until I get enough ooh.”
The room became completely silent, michael had been casually listening at first. But within seconds his expression changed. He leaned forward slightly.
You continued singing resting your notebook on a stool propt up so you could still read it. “baby tonight the loving is right, you know how I like it, yeah. You know just what I want, babyy.” Your voice wasn’t loud. Didn’t really need to be loud honestly.
“I like the way you tease me, I like the way you squeeze me, I like the way you touch me,” you pressed both your palms on the headphone muffins closing your eyes the lyrics just flowing out your mouth. “I like the way you sex me.”
Your voice carried lots of emotions naturally, moving effortlessly through the melody. “Turn down the light baby, take off what you have on, let’s do it to the music, come bring your lovin on, my body’s yearnin for you baby, for a taste of your love. Only you can fill this appetite, come satisfy my love.”
Michael felt as if he was hearing an angel on earth, his eyes watching you the entire time you sang. You looked beautiful in his view, no. You looked breathtaking just like how your voice was breathtaking. You still didn’t look up from your notebook refusing to make any eye contact with Quincy or michael.
When you finally finished the first take, you opened your eyes. Quincy immediately pressed the talkback button. “That’s it.”
you smiled. “Good?”
“Very good.” He said putting his coffee cup on the table.
You looked toward the control room finally looking up, michael was still staring through the glass, he wasn’t staring at you in a weird way, more like he was genuinely fascinated and amazed by the sound he’d just heard. Quincy noticed, of course he noticed. He knew Michael since he was five years old he knew every emotion and expression on his face like the back of his hand.
“michael?” Quincy said which caused michael to blink snapping out of staring at you through the glass window. “Hm?” He said.
“You got somethin’ you want to say?” Quincy asked looking at michael turning his chair slightly towards him. Michael looked slightly embarrassed, he rubbed his hand on his neck his cheeks warming up.
“No i just…” he paused before finally found his words. “…her voice is really beautiful Q, I never heard something like that before it’s….wonderful y’know.” He looked at Quincy.
You were too busy looking over your notes to overhear what was just said about you, flipping through all the pages and scribbled notes you took down on almost five full sheets of paper. Your hand tapping against your thigh singing a few words lowly.
Quincy leaned back in his chair with a knowing grin, he looked at you behind the glass then his eyes went back to michael. “She’s gonna go places somewhere with a voice like that,” he picked up his coffee cup taking a sip.
Michael nodded his eyes, eyes going to the floor too shy to say anything or even too shy to the point he’d be scared you’ll overhear. “yeah…she definitely will.” He muttered under his breath.
Quincy sighed and pressed the talkback button. “You ready?” You looked up from your notes giving him a thumbs up giving him a confirmation. And the next track began playing through the speakers, Michael quietly turned his attention back toward the booth.
The instrumental started rolling through the speakers again. You adjusted your headphones glancing toward Quincy through the glass. “Same thing?” You asked.
“Same thing,” he confirmed. “But this time, don’t think about the notes, just feel it.” He gave an example with his hand like an ocean wave.
You nodded as the music started to begin. “baby tonight, the loving is right you know how I like it, you know how I want it.”
You continued singing getting through the rest of the verses, you vocals were amazing. Michael remained in the control room, sitting quietly beside the console. He had originally planned on staying for only a little while but the longer you recorded the more interested he became in what you and Quincy were building with this song.
There was something different about your voice, it wasn’t simply that you could sing. Plenty of people could sing. You made the lyrics sound like they meant something.
“Come on baby, don’t you hold back on me, give me everything you’ve got, you know I wanna give you all my lovin, it will be good to the last drop.”
“I like the way you kiss me, I like way you squeeze me, I like the way you hold me tight, I like the way you touch me, I like it when you love me right baby, I like the way you sex me, making love all through the night baby.” You continued singing, your voice slightly faltering a bit.
Quincy noticed it, course he did but he continued letting you sing for a few more minutes.
“Come on, come on baby, I like the way you squeeze me, hold me tight, I like the way you touch me, taking your time, I like the way you see me, come on, come on baby.”
“Give me your love, I like the way you squeeze me, all that I want, I like the way you touch me, and taking your time.” You finished the song, you let it fade naturally. Silence filled the entire room.
Then Quincy slowly leaned forward the talkback microphone. “Again.” He said
You immediately pulled the side of the headphones away from your ear getting slightly frustrated. “Again?” You asked sucking your teeth.
“Again.” He said once again.
“Q-“
“Trust me on this, just do the last part again… more emotion, more feeling, let it flow out.” He said talking into the microphone.
You sighed dramatically rolling your eyes and putting your headphones back on. The track began again. You started singing again pressing your palms on both sides of your headsets. “come on, come baby, I like the way you squeeze me, hold me tight, I like the way you touch me, taking your time, I like the way you sex me, come on, come on baby.” You sang the part again with more emotion than the last time, it sounded beautiful like extremely better than the last time.
When the final note ended, nobody spoke for several seconds. Quincy pressed the button. “That’s the one.”
You smiled your frustration fading away. “Thank God.” You stepped out the booth taking the headphones off and setting them down to the side. You walked toward the console and dropped into the chair beside quincy. “We done now?” You asked.
“Almost.”
Michael was still nearby, quietly listening to the playback, when your vocals came through the speakers again for a preview of how you did inside the booth. The studio became full of chatter and laughter about how good you did. When the “come on, come on baby,” part came on you smiled nodding your head looking at Quincy. “That’s that shit right there.” You laughed.
While everyone else was too busy talking your focus shifted towards a certain someone beside you. You turned your rolling chair spinning towards him, “hello to you.” You smiled looking at Michael.
He looked at you almost shocked that you were talking to him, someone as beautiful as you were talking to him?, was he dreaming?, he stayed silent for a minute blinking his wide eyes. Then he snapped out of it. “oh uh…hi” he said softly chuckling a bit at his nervousness.
You giggled at his shyness finding it cute that you had thee Michael Jackson blushing over you. “How are you?” You started off with something casual trying your hardest not to scare him off or anything. “why are you at the studio so late? Thought a superstar like you should be sleeping or somethin.” You said.
“I’m fine,” he said completely avoiding eye contact with you. He shifted in his seat, his gaze fixing firmly on the lit-up mix console as if the lit dials were the most fascinating thing in the room. A subtle blush crept up the back of his neck, contrasting with the cool, effortless superstar aura he usually projected.
You leaned your elbows on your knees, watching him with an amused smirk. "You sure about that, Michael? you seem a bit shy right now.”
That made him glance up at you for a split second, a soft, high-pitched chuckle spilling out before he looked down again. "No, no... it's not that," he insisted softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He fidgeted with the silver zipper on his jacket. "I just... I don't usually see people lay down vocals with that much heart on the very first try. You... you really mean what you sing. It's special, (Name)."
Hearing him say your name so casually sent a sudden jolt straight through your chest, but you kept your cool, tilting your head. "High praise coming from you," you said softly. "Thank you that really means a lot to me actually, especially coming from you oh my gosh my little sister would’ve fainted if she knew I was sitting in front of michael jackson." You said with a soft laugh.
Michael bit his lip, trying to hide a growing smile as he finally met your eyes. “I’m serious, you could go places with that voice of yours."
You giggled, loving the way he turned soft and flustered under your attention. "Well, aren't you a sweet talker," you said smoothly, rolling your chair just a tiny bit closer to his. "So... what keeps you up at three in the morning? Is it always music, or do you just like hanging out in studio control rooms at ridiculous hours?"
"A little bit of both," he said, easing up as a light spark entered his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, watching you carefully. "Music is always in my head, honestly. It never really turns off. But what about you?, did quincy also wake you at odd times of the night?”
"He absolutely did," you laughed, tossing your head back. "I was actually finally get rest then my phone just started ringing and now look where I’m at, finishing a song.”
He let out a genuine, beautiful laugh, his hand covering his mouth for a second. "I'm really glad you did," he murmured, his tone dropping into something surprisingly tender. "What do you like to do when you're not being dragged into the studio in the middle of the night?"
"uhh well i like cooking, i really enjoy makin’ food I also love just staying home and gardening," you said, holding his gaze with a warm smile. "What about you? Do you ever just get to be normal?…well I’m not asking in like an odd way y’know but it’s like you’ve been famous your whole life.”
"I try to," he said softy, looking deeply entertained by you. "I like watching old cartoons, drawing, buying books... simple things, really."
The two of you kept talking like that, completely tuning out the background noise of the studio. Quincy and the engineers were still chatting and adjusting levels in the back, but it felt like a total bubble had formed around the two of you. Michael's initial shyness started melting away into sweet, gentle flirting, his eyes locking onto yours as you swapped stories, jokes, and little secrets about your routines.
"Alright, night owls," Quincy’s loud voice suddenly broke through the atmosphere as he stretched his arms. "It's almost five in the morning. Driver's outside for you, sweetheart.”
You blinked, snapped back to reality. "Wait, already?" You glanced at the studio clock in disbelief. Time had completely flown by while talking to Michael.
"Duty calls," Quincy chuckled, giving your shoulder a affectionate pat before heading out toward the back lounge to pack up.
You stood up, grabbing your bag and smoothing down your sweatpants. Michael stood up right along with you, looking surprisingly hesitant to let the moment end. He rubbed the back of his neck, stepping a bit closer as you swung your bag over your shoulder.
"Leaving already?" he asked softly, looking down at you with a slight, hopeful smile.
"Duty calls, remember?" you teased softly, smiling up at him. "Unless you want Quincy calling me at two in the morning again tomorrow."
He chuckled, but his eyes held a subtle warmth as he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small pen and a piece of scrap paper from the console.
"Before you go..." he began, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes with that same kind expression. "I was wondering... maybe I could get your number? So I don't have to go through Quincy every time I want to hear your voice."
Your heart did a little flutter, Michael jackson wanted your number?, what the fuck? "You want,” you pointed at yourself. “My number?”
He rubbed the back of his neck being shy again, he was never this used to just getting girls number himself he always had his trusted security bill do it for him but michael realized he was a grown ass man and as beautiful as you looked you deserved to be addressed directly by him. “y-yeah if that’s fine with you I don’t mean to make you uncomfo-“
“oh boy please I could literally faint right now, the hell do you mean uncomfortable.” you laughed. You took the pen from his hand, your fingers brushing lightly against his, sending a warm spark straight through you. You scribbled your home digits down onto the paper and handed it back to him.
He looked at the paper like it was pure gold, carefully folding it and slipping it into his pocket. "Thank you, (Name)" he whispered, stepping into your personal space.
"You're welcome," you said softly.
Without hesitating, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a warm, genuine tight hug. Michael instantly wrapped his long arms around your waist, holding you close against him. He smelled intoxicatingly good a mix of fresh cologne and soft warmth. He squeezed you gently before slowly letting go, his hands lingering on your waist for just an extra second.
"Get some sleep, okay?" he murmured, giving you a beautiful, radiant smile.
"Only if you do the same," you smiled back, giving him one last playful look before turning toward the studio exit where your driver was waiting.
A month flew by in a blur of final mix approvals, photo shoots, and promo prep. Before you knew it, release day had arrived. Your debut single hit the radio waves, and the response was an absolute explosion.
Every time you turned on the radio, your vocals were blasting through the speakers. Record stores were putting up promotional posters, and Quincy’s vision had proven 100% right the track was an instant hit, soaring up the Billboard charts at a ridiculous pace. Critics were praising your vocal control, emotion, and presence, calling you the breakout female artist of 1985.
You were sitting on your living room floor surrounded by music magazines and charts, still trying to process the fact that your dream was officially coming true, when the phone rang again.
You picked it up, barely finishing your "Hello" before a loud, joyful voice filled the earpiece.
"Did I tell you or did I tell you?" Quincy’s voice boomed. "Top ten on the charts already! You're taking over!"
"I can't even believe it," you laughed, clutching the phone tightly. "Thank you for waking me up at two in the morning for this."
"Never doubt the master plan," Quincy chuckled. "Hold on a second, somebody here wants to congratulate you."
There was a brief shuffle on the line, the sound of the receiver changing hands, and then Michael’s voice came through, filled with genuine excitement and warmth.
"Hey, Congratulations!" he said softly, but you could hear the huge smile in his voice. "I saw the chart numbers today. I'm so, so proud of you.”
"Thank you, Michael," you said, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the chart positions and everything to do with him. "It feels completely surreal."
"You deserve every bit of it," Michael said softly, his voice dropping into that sweet, intimate tone he reserved just for you. "I told you that night in the studio... your voice is special. Now the whole world knows it too."
"Well, having you cheer me on from the start definitely helped," you teased playfully.
"I'm always in your corner," he replied gently without hesitation. "Actually... Q and I were thinking we should celebrate. Just a quiet dinner, away from all the noise. What do you think?"
You leaned against the wall, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "Just Quincy and you? Or are you asking me out, Michael?"
There was a brief pause on the line, followed by a soft, flustered chuckle from Michael that sent your heart fluttering.
"Well... Q can come for the food," Michael murmured playfully, his shy charm shining through. "But I'm definitely asking you."
“well I’ll definitely like that.” You said smiling.
𝗧𝗛𝐼𝗦 𝗦𝗘𝗥𝐼𝗘𝗦 .ᐟ.ᐟ contains depictions of 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘺, 𝘫𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘺, 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘵, 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘴. Reader discretion is advised. 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗦 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗞 is a 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝘀𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗰 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗮𝘀. It is not intended to depict or make claims about the real lives, intentions, or relationships of any real individuals. 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛.
♥︎ 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟖. 𝑙𝑜𝑠 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑎. The first letter arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, tucked between a department-store catalogue and a handful of bills she had no interest in opening.There was nothing remarkable about the envelope itself. Cream-colored paper. Her name written neatly across the front. No return address. No indication of where it had come from. She knew anyway. Michael's handwriting had become familiar to her long before she had ever given herself permission to study it.
There was a certain looseness to the way he formed his letters, the occasional flourish at the end of a word, the places where his pen seemed to hesitate before continuing. He wrote as though his thoughts moved faster than his hand could keep up with them. She had seen the same handwriting in notes passed around the house, on scraps of paper left beside records, on little reminders he'd written for himself and promptly forgotten about.
This was different.
She stood in the hallway with the envelope resting between her fingers, staring at her own name. For a long while, she did nothing.The sensible thing would have been to tear it in half. The decent thing would have been to give it back unopened.The safest thing would have been to tell Jackie. Instead, she carried it upstairs.That was the first mistake.The letter was four pages long. Michael began with ordinary things. he told her about a song he had been working on. Mentioned that Randy had been bothering him. Complained, rather dramatically, about having been awake far too late the previous night. There was something almost charming in the way he filled the first page with inconsequential details, as though he were trying to convince himself that he had written for some harmless reason.
Then, halfway down the second page, the tone changed.
I know this isn't something I ought to be writing to you.
She stopped there. Her thumb pressed against the edge of the paper. She continued.
But I've tried keeping it to myself, and that hasn't made it go away.
The room seemed quieter. Outside, a car passed along the street. Somewhere downstairs, the telephone rang once before falling silent. She read the next sentence.
I think about you much more than I should.
Her eyes lingered.Then came another. Sometimes i think you already know. She folded the letter.She couldn't read any further. It was absurd, really. She had known Michael for years. He was Jackie's younger brother, somebody she'd seen at family dinners and studio gatherings and quiet afternoons when the Jackson household seemed to have more people moving through it than any ordinary home could possibly contain. She knew his laugh. Knew his temper. Knew how quickly his moods could change when he was tired. Knew how he became quieter when something had genuinely upset him.
She knew him.
That was precisely why this frightened her. Because she knew enough to understand that Michael rarely said something he hadn't thought about first. And she knew enough to understand that this was not a passing whim. She placed the letter inside the drawer beside her bed.
She did not throw it away.
The flowers arrived two mornings later. White roses. Not an enormous arrangement designed to attract attention, but something smaller. Tasteful. Almost modest.There was no card. She didn't need one. She stood in the doorway looking at them while the delivery boy waited patiently for her signature. After he left, she carried the vase into the kitchen and set it near the window.Then she stood there staring at the flowers as though they had personally offended her. They were beautiful.That irritated her even more. Michael had always possessed an almost infuriating understanding of small gestures. He didn't need extravagance. He knew precisely how much was enough to make something difficult to dismiss.That evening, Jackie came by.
he walked through the front door carrying a paper bag from the restaurant down the street, kissed her cheek and began talking about his day before he'd even taken his coat off. his gaze eventually wandered toward the window.
he smiled when he saw the roses. "Those are lovely." She looked over her shoulder. "They are." He placed the food on the counter. "Who sent them?" She hesitated. It lasted less than a second. It was enough. Jackie looked at her. She lowered her eyes toward the flowers. "They were delivered." He laughed softly, unaware of the carefulness in her answer, and began unpacking dinner. She watched him for a moment.
The guilt came quietly.That was the worst part. There was no dramatic betrayal yet. Nothing had happened. She hadn't kissed Michael... she hadn't encouraged him.. she hadn't told him she felt the same. But she had read the letter. She had kept it. She had put the flowers in water. And somewhere inside herself, in a place she refused to examine too closely, she knew why. Michael had always liked beautiful things. Music. Old records, flowers, children's drawings, the gardens at Hayvenhurst. Women with striking faces whom he sometimes called beautiful fish in that odd, private way of his, as though beauty itself were something to be admired without necessarily needing to be possessed. But this was different...
the fourth letter contained a pressed flower again, the fifth contained a photograph, michael was sitting on the floor of a studio in the picture, his curls falling loosely across his forehead, one knee drawn toward his chest and a notebook open beside him. He looked tired. Younger than the photographs that appeared in magazines. Less polished. More like the Michael she knew when there weren't cameras around. She turned it over.
On the back, in his handwriting, were the words: This is what I look like when I miss you.
She sat there for a long time.Then she placed the photograph inside the drawer beside her bed. and the letters continued. Michael never sent them all together. He understood that too much of anything could become ordinary.One would arrive after several days. then nothing, then another. sometimes there were only a few paragraphs, sometimes there were pages. One evening she found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her bed with 9 of them spread before her.
The first had been soft and careful.
The second had been hopeful.
The third was unmistakably Michael and the rest repeated again...
You don't have to answer me.
She read further.
I'd rather know what you truly think than have you say something because you feel sorry for me.
That line should have made her angry. Instead, it made her chest ache. Because she could hear his voice in it. She could picture the expression he'd wear while writing. His head bowed, His curls falling forward, His mouth moving slightly as he searched for the right words.. another sentence followed.
I don't want to make trouble between you and Jackie.
She stopped. For one brief moment, she thought perhaps he understood.Then she read the next line.
But I can't pretend I don't want you simply because wanting you is inconvenient.
She closed her eyes. "Michael." His name escaped her like a reprimand.There was nobody there to hear it. She folded the pages carefully. Every letter went into the same drawer. She never told herself why she kept them. She didn't need to. Michael became more confident once he realized she wasn't destroying them. He had never asked whether she read every word. He didn't have to.There were things a person could learn from silence. the fact that the letters disappeared from the mailbox without being returned. the fact that the flowers remained in her apartment. the fact that she never once complained to Jackie. the fact that, whenever Michael caught her looking at him across a room, she looked away with an expression that was not quite anger.
It was enough to keep him hopeful. Perhaps too hopeful. He began waiting for moments when Jackie wasn't nearby. Nothing improper at first.
A conversation in the garden. A few minutes in the kitchen. A walk down the driveway after a family gathering.
He would ask about her work. Her plans. The things she wanted from life. He listened carefully. That was part of his charm. Michael could make listening feel intimate. He remembered details people assumed he had forgotten. He would bring something up weeks later and watch the surprise cross their faces. With her, he remembered everything;
The actress she admired.The record she couldn't stop playing.The dress she had mentioned wanting.The way she disliked carnations.The way she always drank her coffee.
He collected little pieces of her without ever admitting he was collecting them. And every time she tried to put distance between them, he found another harmless reason to be near her. It would have been easier if he'd behaved badly. It would have been easier if he had been crude. instead, he was gentle.That was what made him dangerous. One evening, she found him alone upstairs.
Jackie had gone out. The house had settled into the quiet that came after everybody else had disappeared into their own lives, and she had only gone upstairs because she needed to return something she'd borrowed. Michael was in his room. He was sitting near the edge of the bed, a record playing softly somewhere behind him. He looked up when she entered. For a second, neither moved. Then his expression changed. Michael rarely needed drama when a look would do. His attention settled entirely upon her.
She placed the item on the dresser. "I came to return this." His eyes followed her. "..you could have left it downstairs."
"I could have." There was a pause. She turned toward the door. "don't go yet." The words stopped her. She looked back. Michael had risen from the bed.
There was something unusually serious about him. she knew that expression. It meant he had decided to say something and had already convinced himself he was entitled to be heard. She folded her arms. "This needs to end." Michael came a little closer. She could see the faint confusion in his face, though she suspected he understood perfectly well. "The letters," she continued. "The flowers. Waiting for me whenever Jackie isn't around. All of it."
he studied her quietly.Then he said, "If you truly wanted them gone, you would have sent them back." Her jaw tightened. "You don't know what I want." His gaze didn't leave hers. "Then tell me, girl."
"I don't want you." The words were firm. The silence afterward wasn't. Michael took another step. She didn't move.The space between them diminished until she could feel his warmth against the air between their bodies. His voice lowered. "Look at me and say it again." She did. "I don't fucking want you. michael." He moved a little closer. She remained where she was. "You need to listen to me, Michael. i'm serious."
"I am listening, girl."
"Then listen carefully again." His expression softened, but he didn't look away. She took a breath. "I don't want you." The words landed between them again. Michael didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied her face with an attentiveness that made her suddenly conscious of every inch of distance separating them. then he said quietly, "If that's truly what you want me to believe, then show me." Her brows drew together. "What?"
"Show me, girl." He took another step. "Look at me and tell me there isn't anything here. again." She stared at him. "You're Jackie's brother."
"I know who I am."
"Then you know why this is wrong."
"I know why you're afraid."
"I'm not afraid." His expression changed. Not quite a smile. Something more knowing. "Then don't look away." She hated him for saying it. She hated herself for obeying.
Michael moved closer again. Another step. Until there was almost nothing left between them. She could feel his breath against her face. His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth.Then returned to hers. Her heart began beating too quickly. he lifted his hand, hesitated, and finally brushed a curl away from her cheek. She should have stopped him. She didn't. His fingers remained near her temple.Their foreheads nearly touched.The room had become unbearably quiet. Neither of them seemed willing to breathe too deeply. Michael leaned forward until the distance between their mouths was reduced to almost nothing, close enough that every breath passed between them, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his lips without actually feeling them.
She closed her eyes. For one terrible second, she thought he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to. That was the part she couldn't forgive herself for. Her eyes opened again. "No." Michael stopped. He didn't retreat immediately.He remained there, his face inches from hers, his breathing unsteady.Then, slowly, he stepped back.The disappointment in his expression lasted only a moment before he covered it. She looked toward the door. "I can't do this."
Michael's voice followed her. "You always say that after you get close enough to make me believe otherwise." She turned. "You make me believe whatever you want."
"Nah." His gaze held hers. "You do that yourself." She stared at him. Michael's expression softened. "I've never had to make you keep the letters." She had no answer. He knew it.
The next letter arrived the following morning. She recognized the handwriting before she opened it.There was no greeting. No explanation. Only a page filled almost entirely with one thought.
you came into my room to tell me you don't want me.
She continued and sat down.
you stood close enough for me to hear your breathing.
Another line.
You looked at my mouth.
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
I don't think I'm imagining everything.
Then, beneath it: you can tell me no as many times as you like.
then more: I'll still know what I saw.
She read the final paragraph slowly.
If you truly don't want me, I will respect that. But don't expect me to pretend I don't see what happens when you are near me.
Her cheeks burned, she folded the letter.This time, she nearly tore it. Nearly. Instead, she put it away. Beside the others. Then Michael disappeared from her life for several days.
No flowers. No letters. No waiting outside. No unexpected conversations. Nothing.
At first, she was relieved.Then she began noticing the absence.That was humiliating. She found herself glancing toward the mailbox. Listening for footsteps outside. Wondering whether Jackie had spoken to him. She hated that she missed something she had spent months insisting she didn't want. When the next letter finally came, there was no romantic confession inside.
Only a photograph.
Michael standing beside her best friend, monica. She stared at it.The two of them weren't touching. nothing about the photograph itself was incriminating. But there was something about Michael's expression. Something deliberate. She turned it over. No message.
Nothing.
She slipped it into the drawer. She told herself it meant nothing. A few days later, she went to Hayvenhurst. Jackie wasn't home. She hadn't expected Michael to be there.The house was unusually quiet, and she was already halfway down the hallway when she heard laughter from upstairs.
a woman's voice... very familiar. Her steps slowed.
she knew that voice..her best friend.. monica She stopped outside the bedroom. For a moment, she couldn't bring herself to look.Then she did. Michael was kissing her, definitely not a mistake, not an accident. not something that could be explained away by an awkward moment at a party. His hands were around her waist. Monica's fingers were resting against his shoulders. Michael's eyes were closed.The sight was so intimate that it seemed to erase everything else around it.
The letters.The roses.The photograph.The nights she'd spent staring at words he had written for her.The way he'd stood inches from her and asked her to tell him she felt nothing.The way he'd looked at her as though he knew. She stood completely still. Michael didn't see her. Neither did monica, her bestfriend friend. And perhaps that was the only mercy left in the room. Because she didn't have to hear an explanation. she didn't have to hear him plead. She didn't have to give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd finally managed to make her jealous. She simply stepped backward.
Once.. then again.
the hallway seemed impossibly long. She walked toward the stairs without making a sound. Behind her, Michael remained unaware. For months, he had written to her as though persistence could eventually turn a refusal into permission. He had believed her silence meant there was something underneath it. He had been right.That was what made the moment unbearable. Because she had wanted him, secretly... quietly. Enough to keep every letter. Enough to preserve every flower. Enough to stand inches from his mouth and forget, for one terrible second, whose brother he was. And Michael had finally found the proof he'd wanted.
Only he had found it too late. By the time she reached the front door, the hurt had hardened into something far less forgiving. She stepped outside.The California evening was warm, the sky washed pale above the trees. She didn't cry.
She simply stood there with her hands trembling at her sides, realizing that the person she had spent months trying not to love had managed to hurt her without ever once being hers. And upstairs, Michael still had no idea that the game he'd been so certain he could control had finally become something neither of them knew how to survive.
⋮ ✶┆what was supposed to be a sweet movie night between friends turns into… something else entirely.
⋮ ✶┆ 𝒻. black reader x best friend!michael j. | smut mdni. aphrodisiac. loss of control. marathon sex. he’s technically drugged : everyone is consenting. marking. softdom!mike?. dry humping but it’s not dry at all. pining. unprotected sex. p in v. thigh fixation. pussy drunk. just lost in it really. dirty talk. lot of cum. lots of nicknames incl mama cuz I love it. circa 1979. valentines came early. purity police might execute me for this one. wc. 6K
𝓂asterlist
One thing Michael knew to be wary of was taking things from fans. It had been drilled into his brain since he’d been alive to not take things from strangers generally, but since he and his brothers started garnering more attention, the rule became infinitely more important. A matter of his safety at times.
He adored his fans of course, he’d give them any and everything if he could, but he knew the nature of some of them— that they had the capability to be a little dangerous. Just as anyone in the world could be.
And of course he wanted to give everyone a piece of himself, to make each and every person who supported him feel seen and special. Especially if they were pretty.
It wasn’t uncommon for fans to want to gift Michael things to express their adoration. They loved what he did, so when a young woman came backstage to meet the brothers after a concert, a little intricately decorated white box in hand, it wasn’t all that suspicious.
Michael took the box happily, thanking them with that warm and overly bright smile he gave only to women, along with a hug that lasted far longer than just friendly.
You’d noticed the exchange from where you were perched across the room and watched the two interact. The flirting was obvious to anyone with eyes. And she was gorgeous, a fact you were sure hadn’t slipped his mind. Just his type.
The whole exchange made something in the corner of your eye twitch and as if he could feel you staring, Michael’s gaze snapped to yours curiously. You tried to school your features into something unbothered and he raised a brow at you, asking a silent question.
You okay?
You two did that often, spoke to each other without words from across the room.
You ignored him this time, turning your gaze away to look elsewhere, but from the corner of your eye, you noticed him lean in and whisper something to the girl. It was probably due to the sudden noise spike in the room but you’d guessed that probably wasn’t all.
A moment later he excused himself, gathering the box in his hands and trudging through the small crowd of fans, press, and security gathered backstage. A few tried to stop him, grabbing at the sleeves of his outfit for his attention but he eventually made it to you, a sly and overly sweet smile on his face.
He was still all sweaty from the show, curls sticking to his forehead, the sweat and hair product mixed and dripping from his neck.
“What’s that?” you asked, unable to hide your nosyness as he sidled up next to you, placing the box down gingerly. It really was beautiful. You’d never have suspected what was inside.
“It was supposed to be a Valentine’s gift.” he pulled at the ribbon holding the top in place and peered inside. “Why, you jealous?”
Your response was quick. “Not even a little.”
Nestled neatly in the box was a dozen individually wrapped roses, arranged in a small bouquet. It even had little dried flowers and other greenery tucked between each rose, making it look all the more real.
You would have thought they were real if not for the little card inside. You plucked it out holding it up in front of Michael.
“Enticing Eternity Chocolate.” you read aloud flipping it over. You didn’t recognize the name printed— it being some Belgian chocolate brand.
“It’s pretty.” Michael remarked, taking one out, lifting it to his nose to smell it.
“Michael Jackson I know you aren’t about to eat that.” you looked at him like he was crazy, eyes squinted, a disappointed frown marring your features. He could be so careless.
He scoffed, not meeting your eyes before placing the chocolate back down. “No, ‘course not.”
“Liar, you know better than to eat that. God knows what’s in it.” you wrinkled your nose in a way Michael found cute.
“If I were to guess… I’d say milk chocolate, white chocolate, dark chocolate and caramel.” he listed, voice light and playful. He was trying to get that reaction from you that he loved so much. And you took the bait.
You pinched his hip and he jumped a little. “Smartass. Y’know what I mean.”
He leaned over the table, placing a hand right by your hip, eyes looking into yours enticingly. “C’mon try some, they even got your favorite, raspberry crème.” He held the bloom to your lips.
“Nu uh, I’m not eatin’ that Mike.” you crossed your arms, trying to ignore his sudden closeness. He always got close like this, not having a gauge for most peoples personal boundaries. Not that you two really had any.
“What if I fed it to ya’?” he pressed a little closer, his usually bright eyes turning a different shade, still blown wide with the adrenaline of performing. He loved to tease and you knew that. Still didn’t stop the thought of Michael’s fingers in your mouth, melted chocolate dripping off and onto your tongue while he fed it to you.
He seemed to see the moment your mind wandered off because his jaw clenched slightly like he was holding something back.
“Michael! Get back ova here boy, you not done.” the spell was immediately broken by his father’s voice. You both tore your eyes from each others looking back towards Joseph standing a few feet away, patience clearly wearing thin.
“Yes I’m comin’.” Michael spoke respectfully before rolling his gaze back around to you, looking at you as if you could do something to save him from his dad. You wished.
“Lord give me strength.”
You pressed a hand against Michael’s shoulder in a comforting gesture, offering a reassuring smile. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
The smile Michael returned back was much more strained but you appreciated the effort. “See you later? Y’ still comin’ over tonight right?”
“And risk missing movie night? Never.” Michael grinned and turned, offering you a wink before disappearing back into the crowded meet and greet.
What you didn’t know was that tonight for Michael wasn’t supposed to be just an ordinary scheduled movie night. He had a plan.
Tonight was the night he’d confess his feelings for you, and hopefully, ask you to be his girlfriend. You’d been friends since you were babies, with you knowing him since before he was Michael Jackson of the Jackson 5 turned Jackson’s.
You knew that little boy from Gary, who wasn’t often allowed to play outside and who came to school sad about what was going on at home. You’ve been a person, aside from his mom, who he’d come to for comfort for a long time. And that bond you shared only grew with you both.
He didn’t really start noticing the turn his feelings had taken from friendly until his adolescent years. Suddenly things were changing. He was changing, you were changing. Becoming your own beautiful person, and his admiration for you only grew.
He started noticing how much he liked being around you, how much he liked when you touched him, or drew him into a hug.
And if he noticed, it wasn’t long before other boys started noticing too, but thankfully, you didn’t pay them any mind. Didn’t stop Michael from being agitated when you’d smile in some guys face or hang out with other boys.
And that feeling never left as you both creeped into your adult years. He still felt the same about you. Loved what his heart did when he thought about or was near you, which was a lot.
He didn’t have a single clue if you felt the same. He knew you probably better than anyone but you didn’t wear your heart on your sleeve like he did. If you liked someone, it was impossible to tell unless you outright said it. You were honest and blunt like that. And you’d given no indication that you felt anything but friendly.
So this would be a leap for Michael but he figured he waited long enough. And if things didn’t go well… well he didn’t want to think about that.
Today was the perfect day to confess. Mostly because he wouldn’t have anyone in his ear, or yellin’ halfway across the hall. All his brothers and sisters would be out, per his request, and his parents would also be out tonight— a carefully planned date he’d convinced them that they needed. It was almost a dream come true how empty the house was.
He had the snacks already set out on the coffee table, and the disgustingly buttered popcorn you loved so much already made the way you liked.
Last thing he was missing was the ice cream. When he bent to look in the fridge though, the white and gold box shoved to the back caught his eyes. He of course didn’t listen to you when you said to toss it. They were so pretty and someone had given them to him as a gift.
Plus, he was getting the munchies and way too curious. Just one bite wouldn’t hurt and after all, who was Michael to turn down chocolate. He decided to pick the one you probably would’ve liked most.
Dark chocolate with raspberry crème filling. He unwrapped it slowly and brought it to his lips. The first bite he took was, honestly, a little underwhelming. It tasted bitter, like he’d shoved an entire spoon of cocoa powder in his mouth. But for some reason, he kept eating, like it would get better.
The second bite was near addictive. The strong cocoa taste dissipated into something dark, smooth and rich. And when the sharp, vibrant, raspberry flavor mixed in. It was over. He finished the whole thing in seconds. Even went so far as to have another. And another.
He didn’t even care for dark chocolate normally but something about the thing had him licking at his fingers for every last bit of it.
He was about four in and about to have another when the sound of the door opening met his ears and you padded into the kitchen, letting yourself in like you often did.
Your eyes landed on Michael, hunched over the counter, the dim lights of the kitchen shadowing him.
“I swear I told you not to eat those.” you eyed him warily. The way his lips were wrapped firmly around his pointer. He let it go with a pop, like a kid who’d been caught.
“They’re actually really good.”
“Michael my point was you don’t know what’s in that. It could be poisonous or something.” you were exasperated, pinching your nose bridge. Sometimes he reminded you of a bad ass little kid.
“Well, I’ve been eatin’ it and I’m fine. Plus they were wrapped up.” he shrugged and placed the lid back on the box before shoving it back in the fridge.
“How many have you eaten?”
“I don’t know like— three, four ish.”
“Michael!” you threw your hands up.
He moved around the counter and in your direction, hands pressing into your shoulders. “Relax, I’m fine. And if I’m not later, then I got you here with me.”
Despite his words you couldn’t help the knot of worry building in your stomach. Truthfully you wanted to call him a damn fool but you didn’t. Instead you nodded and let him lead you over to the tv, already paused on The Sound of Music. Something you both almost never tired of watching.
You settled on the couch, already falling into your usual routine, passing around snacks, fighting over blankets before you both just decided to share it. You watched Michael and giggled as he playfully sung the melody to My Favorite Things with Julia Andrews. He could never help himself and it was something you always looked forward to.
You didn’t notice anything off with Michael until a few moments later.
He wouldn’t stop adjusting. Every two seconds you’d see from the corner of your eye, he'd raise up and shift, the couch cushions repositioning under his weight.
“You okay?” you turned your head that was pressed into his shoulder, peering up at him. You’d ended up in your normal position after the snacks were gone, tucked into his side with his arm around you.
“Yeah m’good,” he cleared his throat. “It’s just a little warm.” he sounded a little winded. You sat up to press a hand to his forehead feeling for a fever of some type. He did feel warm.
“Maybe take the blanket off of you?” you suggested. He kicked the blanket off but grabbed one of the nearby pillows, sitting it firmly in his lap and holding it. You took the blanket off too even though the house was a little chilly, you tended to run colder.
You thought that would fix it but as the minutes ticked by he just got more antsy and a whole lot warmer. You could feel him practically radiating heat onto your side.
“I think I need to lie down.” he spoke suddenly, voice hoarse.
“Alright, go ahead.” you sat upright clearing space for him. You’d assumed he would lay his head on your lap, like he sometimes did when you watched movies together. But the way he was looking at you, he looked hesitant.
Michael didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him.
It’d started about fifteen minutes into the movie. But it was easy enough to ignore. It felt no more than a stomach ache.
But twenty five more minutes and that dull feeling persisted and grew into a deep and relentless feeling. And then he started to get hard in his sweats. He didn’t even know what the hell to do about it. And you suggesting to remove the blanket had him panicking.
He started noticing more things too. After a certain point he’d locked completely out of the movie, his full attention falling on you. The feeling of your body pressed into his was maddening. More so than usual. Just the feeling of your skin touching his had his whole body on fire.
He felt every breath you took like it was breathed directly into his lungs, his senses honed into whatever reactions you had. And when you took the blanket off, he’d honed in on your newly exposed skin. The way your shorts sat high on your hips, the invitingly plush skin of your thighs. It was all he could think about.
And you seemed none the wiser.
Because if you knew the thoughts circulating in his head, you probably wouldn’t let him near you, let alone lay on you.
You looked so soft. And it wasn’t like it was the first time. And you were offering yourself up. Or that’s what it felt like. Michael knew his body was gonna make the decision before his rational brain could.
He stretched out onto the couch, resting his head on your legs, making an attempt to get comfortable. He thought he was doing a good job at pretending everything was okay.
He was tracing small shapes and patterns on your legs, the movie becoming his personal background noise. His mind drifted to a much dirtier place. A place where he ran his hands up your thighs. Or dipped his hand between your legs. All the way up to your—
He felt your fingers caress up his back and into his hair and it sent a jolt through him. You gently rubbed his scalp through his curls, and he melted into your touch instantly, turning his face deeper into the crease of your thighs, inhaling softly.
“Does that feel good?” your voice was a quiet whisper.
Michael just nodded because he was one slip up from whimpering like a dog into your leg. The same ones that were squeezing together slightly the farther he pressed his face in. This wasn’t a part of your usual routine.
Something about this was nearly euphoric for Michael. Having your skin on his, his face pressed between your legs and your hand in his hair. Your smell was surrounding him and he was in heaven. So much so that he couldn’t control the way his hips started to inconspicuously ground into the couch.
You were starting to get a little worried. You weren’t completely oblivious. It was impossible to not notice his strange behavior. Not to notice the way his nose burrowed into you. His deep inhales. He was so close and you couldn’t help but rub your thighs together against the tension building.
You felt like a pervert for where your head was at. He was just trying to get comfort and here you were thinking less than pure thoughts. Thoughts of his head between your legs in an entirely different way.
Above all else though, you were worried. He was growing hotter by the second.
“Michael?” the sound that left him was completely wrecked. A low whine piercing the air.
“What’s going on with you? You’re so hot.” your voice held a mix of worry and confusion but all he’d heard was ‘you’re so hot’.
You dipped your hand into the back of his t shirt to feel the rest of his skin. He nearly melted at the feeling of your palm on his back. It felt so good to have your hands on him.
“Hn— please—“ he was clutching at the fabric of your shirt, nestling deeper between your thighs which he’d managed to part slightly. He was practically nuzzling his nose right into the apex of your thighs, breathing you in.
“Michael!” your voice seemed to knock him out of it and he shot up quickly kneeling against the couch and panting. He looked like he did after a performance, eyes dilated, hair a mess, and damp with sweat. His breath was coming out in uneven spurts through his nose, eyes flitting around anxiously, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth nervously.
He couldn’t even look at you. He was so fucking hard, it almost hurt and somthing about you was making his control slip faster and faster. He needed you gone before he started grinding up against you like a needy puppy. Or something else he might not regret.
“I— I’m just not feeling too well. I think we need to call it a night.” he tried to keep his voice measured, inching away from you slightly. It almost hurt to do so.
“Hey, I’m not leaving. Especially not if you’re sick. C’mere.” you don’t wait for him to come to you. You just grabbed him and started inspecting his body curiously.
You didn’t see anything visibly worrying and a thought suddenly crossed your mind, “Wait right here.” you got up off the couch and headed for the kitchen and Michael fought the whine crawling up his throat at the loss of contact.
You took the box of roses out the fridge, before removing the lid. You looked around in the box when you noticed another small card tucked away, revealed by the roses Michael had eaten.
You fished it out, eyes scanning over the words.
Aphrodisiac Chocolate. Intended for the one you love. No more than one per person. And a whole list of other side effects.
“What? What’s it say?” Michael asked frantically, already coming into the kitchen fighting the feeling forming in his gut.
“It says uhm…” you trailed off still inspecting the card as if you could will the words to rearrange themselves into something you could comprehend.
He plucked the card from your hands, eyes going wider as they dragged across the words.
“Oh god and I had four.” he sounded absolutely freaked out.
You sighed out exasperated and a little fed up, crossing your arms over your chest. “This is why I told you to listen to me. You can’t just go around eating things that random fan girls give you. It’s not safe and you’re way too trusting. I mean I swear it’s like you don’t even—“
Michael wasn’t even listening to a word of your rambling. It was like his brain kicked completely off and stalled. The only thing he could focus on was the curve of your mouth forming around the words. The plushness of your lips and the high shine gloss coating them, drawing him in.
You snapped in front of his face. “Michael, are you listening?”
He didn’t answer. He barely even heard you over the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears.
He didn’t even have a moment to stop himself before he grabbed at you, shoving you up against the fridge door, crowding your space. He pressed his nose into your neck, taking a deep inhale of your perfume, his hands gripping at your hips.
You couldn’t ignore the elephant in the room anymore. Not when it was pressed against your thigh where he was grinding his hips.
“Please, I need you to help me…it hurts and— my body is so hot.” he was panting in your ear voice strained and barely audible.
Your eyes widened, a mixture of arousal and surprise causing your breath to catch. He was trembling in your arms, barely holding himself up. Clearly the thing had him acting erratic. But he was your best friend. You couldn’t leave him like this.
You swallowed nervously before speaking. “What— what do you need me to do?”
“M’ burning up. Please touch me. Need t’ feel you.” he pleaded, pressing open mouthed kisses over the column of your throat and pressing his face in. The contact had heat pooling between your thighs, even more so when his hand dipped underneath the back of your shirt, dragging over your ribcage.
“Michael— you don’t even know what you’re asking.” you swallowed hard. “You’d only regret it in the end.”
Michael pulled his head from your neck, his lust filled eyes meeting yours and flitting between them. He brought a large palm to cradle the side of your cheek, his thumb smoothing over the spot. The desire welling in his gut still persisted. But he needed you to know.
“I promise you I wouldn’t. I don’t want anyone else but you… but if you don’t want that then I need you to leave. Now.” he inched back away from you, giving you enough room to move away and leave if you wanted.
But you didn’t move.
You stayed firmly planted where he had you in his arms. He didn’t waste another moment, surging forward to claim your lips. It was like he melted into you, pulling you in as if to tuck you into a little corner of his body. His head was still fuzzy but one thing was incredibly clear to him.
He needed to get you upstairs and in his bed now before he tore all your clothes off right in the kitchen.
He detached his lips from yours with great effort, backing up to look into your eyes again. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, yes I’m sure. And very willing please just—“ you let out a surprised yelp when he dipped forward suddenly, picking you up and carrying you over his shoulder. Now Michael wasn’t the biggest man in the world, but his quiet strength shocked you sometimes. He was almost sprinting up the stairs, until he reached his door which he shut before placing you on the bed.
He was on you again. His kiss this time was less frantic, more gentle and soft but still deep and hungry. And the more he kissed you, the more you wanted from him.
You licked at his bottom lip, taking it into your mouth before opening back up. He makes a pleasured sound low in his throat and you start feeling heat coil in your gut.
You angle your body before wrapping your leg around his hip and dragging him down onto you. He immediately starts grinding his hips against yours in slow circles, seeking pleasure, and you moan into his mouth.
You can feel him, hard and insistent rubbing against your cunt through your shorts. And the more you touched him, the warmer your body got. The more arousal started to pool between your legs before it became uncomfortable.
“Michael— please take these off. You’re teasing.” he pulled up, looking down at you sprawled out on his bed. It was like something from a dream.
“Okay, okay y’ want me to take these off honey?” he hummed already reaching for the waistband to your shorts. He slipped them down your legs before tossing them away somewhere.
The sight that met him had his lust clouded brain frazzled. The entire crotch of your panties was soaked through, making the outline of your pussy practically visible through the fabric. And if he looked closely enough, he could see the little twitch of your clit peeking through.
“Fuck—“ he could feel the burn worsening. The need to bury himself inside you and fuck you taking over his thoughts like a parasite. But a fixation had him halting a moment, bringing his thumb to draw circles over your clit through the fabric. And he was so pleased when you writhed on the bed, gripping at his wrist, your legs falling shut slightly.
He got up off the bed and quickly shoved his pants off, his boxers following.
He was hard and long but not overly thick, flushed a deep red color from increased blood flow and arousal.
You and Michael were close, but you’d never been this exposed to each other before. You’d both expected to feel self conscious, but were surprised at the absence of shyness or discomfort.
There was really only one thing going through Michael’s head. He gave himself a few experimental strokes and hissed at the sensitivity, small moans slipping past his lips.
Then he brought himself down, kneeling between your legs, before running his tip over the fabric of your panties. He nearly comes from the feeling of your slick soaked panties alone. You’re both moaning every time he nudges against your clit, keeping himself pressed firmly between your legs while he thrusts against you.
“Hah— I — hmm ‘m jus’ gonna do this kay? Not gonna put it in.” but god he wanted to. He was doing this for your benefit. You’d only offered to help him get off. That didn’t require penetrative sex. And maybe it would be enough. Despite the fact that his brain was screaming at him that it wouldn’t. Screaming at him to just slip your panties off and fuck you properly.
“Ohmygod— Mike please!” your cries were desperate as you rut your hips up against his, trying to catch that perfect angle that made your toes curl and your legs tense. It was almost torturous what he was doing.
“Just a little bit more pretty girl okay?” he whined out, mouth coming over yours. He tried to kiss you but just ended up pressing your mouths together while you both panted.
The sounds of frantic breaths, skin meeting and the bedframe creaking were all that could be heard while you both slide against each other, chasing release.
Your shirt was still on and he shucked it up over your breast with the hand that wasn’t holding his dick. As soon as your tits are presented to him, he’s palming them, surging forward to suck a nipple into his mouth.
“Nnn shit— please don’t stop, baby.” your hands were holding the back of his neck, fingers threading into his curls. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against you when he pressed closer.
“Fuck— you’re so sweet like this y’know. Lettin’ me rub up against you. My sweet girl, always helpin’ me out.” he tilted his head up, dark brown eyes peering at you from your chest and you keened at the praise. He felt the spasms from your cunt reacting— wanting so bad to be filled up by him.
“Michael please, need more.” your eyes were wide and glassy looking down at him, begging for more contact, more friction.
“M’sorry mama I don’t wan’ you t’ hate me but… I have an idea.” he pulled back looking down at the mess he’d made on your panties. His white milky precum mixing in with your slick.
He gingerly peels the middle of your panties up, strings of your arousal snapping against the fabric, and slides his dick under the fabric. The feeling of your warm wet heat sliding against his velvety shaft without the barrier was euphoric. Just skin against skin. And now, every time he slid forward his tip would catch right on your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips.
“Oh this is so much better.” his voice cracked slightly on the words, his sharp thrusts drawing out gasps from your lips. He was grinding his dick along your messy and soaked folds, hips moving in that smooth and controlled way only he could.
The slick friction has Michael’s abs tightening and he cums before he can even think about it. Or stop it. He cums a lot, ropes coating over your already dripping sex and naval.
And even though he just came, that feeling still doesn’t go away. If anything it just made him feel worse.
“Mmmngh— ‘m sorry pretty. Can we do it one more time? Jus’ one more time okay?” he begged and begged, voice desperate, already moving to press against you again.
He was much more enthusiastic this time, chasing after his release with fervor, his cum still between your pelvises making him lose momentum and slip over your pussy. You were a mess at this point, hands gripping anywhere they could and moaning out. You knew this wasn’t going to be enough. For either of you.
“Mikey, need you inside please.” he stalled, coming to a complete halt. He knew he wasn’t gonna need much convincing, but still—
“Are y’sure?” he looked manic but needed to make certain it was something you actually wanted.
“Yes, yes please.”
He didn’t need to be told again. He sat up before roughly flipping you over onto your stomach, pulling you to the edge of the bed. His hands gripped at your hips, lifting them up while a hand smoothed down over your back to press you down, chest flush with the mattress.
He brought his dick to your entrance and pressed inside without preamble. He’d had enough teasing and was met with very little resistance, you being worked up and wet enough.
At the first feel of him inside you, you both let out a simultaneous moan. He was in pure ecstasy. And the angle had him hitting a spot deep inside you every time he pressed his hips to yours. He didn’t know if it was the drugs or just you but he felt like he’d finally gotten some relief. So he chased after that feeling.
It was messy and heated, slick sounds from your combined wetness ringing in his ears and spurring him on. Little groans of your name and whimpers were leaving his lips and every time your pussy spasmed and drew him in was like heaven had fell down and relocated between your legs.
He hardly knew what to do with himself. He just watched that little ring coating around your entrance where he was sliding in and out of you.
“Feel good mama, y’like when I’m deep inside you like this? C’mon, tell me how it feels angel.”
“Ss’so good.” you couldn’t frame together a full sentence, drool spilling from the corner of your lip while he fucked you.
Michael was relentless, hips smacking roughly against yours. At some point you couldn’t hold yourself up anymore and collapsed down onto the mattress. And instead of hauling you up, he just followed you down, plastering himself firmly to your back.
“Nu uh please don’t run mama, mm not done yet. Still need this pussy. Gotta take it.” he huffed out into your ear and tightened his hold on you, dragging you into his thrusts. You were thankful when he dipped his hand around your body, reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. Even if he was fucked out of his mind, he wouldn’t forget your pleasure.
You were wailing out, repeated cries of his name and please all stringing together in an indistinguishable mess.
“Pussy so sweet to me, gonna come for me? Yeah she is— you’re so close aren’t you?” he was babbling so much, all of it bringing you closer and closer to the edge until you came with a barely audible cry.
His hips still didn’t stop, he kept the momentum going, fucking you through your orgasm, and when you finally were ready to come back down he still hadn’t stopped. You were feeling the beginnings of overstimulation setting in, your limbs shaking slightly.
Michael finally pulled off you and flipped you back over. He looked apologetic and in a daze as he wrapped your thighs up in his hands, spreading you open and shoving a leg over his shoulder.
You had a feeling of what he was gonna say next. He kissed your ankle sweetly before speaking. “Jus’ one more time okay sweet girl, I promise jus’ one more. Y’can do that right? Doin’ so good for me.”
One more time actually turned into about five more times, Michael bending you into any position his mind could conjure up in his sex induced haze. You’d lost track of just about everything, but around your last time, when things had finally started to tame, it felt different.
It wasn’t frantic and chasing like it had been. He went slow and pressed deep. It was reverent and loving and had you clawing your nails against the slope of his back. He didn’t say much but the message was there in the way he caressed you after, pressing gentle kisses all over you.
The last thing you remember is him whispering something in your ear before your body took the rest that it needed.
You woke the next morning to a harsh sound directly in your ear. Your body felt like it’d been hit by a truck but you managed to turn to be met with a soundly sleeping Michael, mouth open and arm draped over your hip. He was snoring, you realized with a smile. At least he was actually sleeping for once.
You stretched your limbs out as best you could, head pressed into the pillow. You needed to get up, your brain already running scenarios in your head for what you’d do when he got up. A cold fear crashed into you when you thought of what he’d say.
If he’d regret this whole thing. Because you didn’t. It was unexpected, sure but you didn’t regret it. You knew the feelings you had for Michael before this whole thing even happened. Ones you tried to push down because you thought it was the right thing to do.
You decided that you wanted to be up first and at least have clothes on or got in the shower for this conversation. You pried your limbs from under his body, attempting to not wake him up.
You went to pick your clothes up off the floor when you caught sight of your reflection in a mirror near the wall.
“Holy fuck.” you furrowed your brows moving closer. All marred across your skin were deep marks, ranging in color and size. You’d be hard pressed to find a spot untouched.
Michael stirred on the bed lifting up and wiping sleep from his eye. When he saw you across the room he got a deeply embarrassed look on his face. How could he look so innocent after what happened last night?
“I uh— I’m sorry about that. I may have gotten a little carried away.”
You turned to inspect your back and ass, tilting your head at him. “A little carried away? It looks like I got mauled.” you pointed to a bruise on your thigh glaring at him playfully. Truthfully, you weren’t all that upset at all. You enjoyed last night.
“Sorry I was just havin’ too much fun. It was jus’ the drugs in my system.” he’d said it with a shrug like it was no big deal. Your brows drew down immediately.
“So… all of last night, that was just the drugs?” you held your breath, waiting for an answer, eyes staring into his expectantly. You were already planning your emotionally detached response and escape but he seemed to realize how that sounded quickly.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Oh goodness no no. I didn’t mean— of course not. I wouldn’t do that to you.” he reassured and you let out the breath you’d been holding.
“I promise you it didn’t mean nothin’ to me.” he said, eyes filled with something you couldn’t put a name to yet. But you believed him and his words eased your mind.
“Okay. These bruises are still crazy though. How am I supposed to hide this Michael?”
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