Synopsis: Grammys '84. You're attending with your boyfriend (reluctantly) and unfortunately, you have to throw hands about your man.
Pairing: Thriller ear!Michael Jackson x black fem!reader
Drea's Note: I saw two posts asking for a fic where reader beats tf outta Diana and I came to deliver. PLUS, I'm in a petty mood after constantly seeing ppl leave the fandom bc of the #that documentary.
Word count: 2.2k
Award shows. Oh, how you hated them. The pretence, the press and especially being around so many coked-up celebrities never felt right to you. Of course, they’d never admit to being drug-addicted losers, but you knew better. What kind of normal person sniffles and fiddles with their nose without actually needing to blow it? Right right. You hated it. As simple as that. You hated it all, loathed it even. But your boyfriend wanted you to be there for him. It’s the Grammys after all, and his latest album is nominated in pretty much every major category. He’s going to win it all. That’s a given. He’s going to sweep up every award, and you’ll be there to kiss him in front of the cameras every single time he gets up to collect another golden gramophone.
Maybe, just maybe, you like that, but that’s a big maybe. Showing off who you are to the rising star. You don’t want to admit it, but your ego inflates every time someone reminds you that you’re dating Michael Jackson. Of course, there's no guarantee that he’ll marry you—he’s yet to bring that conversation up—but who gives a shit? Michael Jackson is yourboyfriend. Yours. And that’s all that matters.
The car ride to Shrine Auditorium and Expo Hall is tedious and silent. You’re stewing in your own self-pity. The idea of simply jumping out of the car crosses your mind. Michael notices.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.” He mutters, plucking at your Afro to fluff it up at the back.
“Shut up, Mike. I don’t want to do this.” There’s no venom in your words. Michael knows that. He merely scoffs and lifts your knuckles to his lips.
“You gonna be in a mood all night? The cameras are gonna catch every scowl.” He pecks each knuckle on your hand.
Instead of responding with sarcasm, you turn to him and smile obnoxiously in a silent “I’ll pretend’ manner. Michael snickers. His lips are still lazily grazing your hand as he stares at you. God, you’re so annoyingly sassy, but he loves it. He loves how blunt you are—maybe because he’s had to be sweet and gentle all his life. You’re unmoving, like a mountain withstanding a lightning storm. So sexy. So infuriating. The car drives over a speed bump, breaking the slight sexual tension that had been building between you both. When it turns the corner into the Expo hall parking lot, you swiftly remove your hand from his delicate grip.
Cameras flash in a staccato motion. It’s overwhelming. Nauseating. Michael steps out of the car first, aviators hiding his gorgeous eyes. The cameras flash faster than before, journalists asking senseless questions all at once. Michael pays them little mind, flashing his oh-so-charming smile at them, giving them little satisfaction. He rushes to your side of the car before opening the door for you. He whispers a quick “smile, woman,” into your ear and you oblige. Photographs of you both entering the Hall are taken. Every move you make, every breath and every micro expression is documented. You’re already over it.
The ceremony—to you at least—is lacklustre. A few performances here, award winners there and unnecessary speeches flow through the Hall at a painfully laggard pace. You’re nearing the brink of sleep, but you fight it off. Can you imagine what the press would say if they caught you slumped in a theatre chair at the Grammys? Not only would that embarrass you, but your loving partner. You blink a few times, and finally, finally, Michael’s name is said.
“Male Pop Vocal Performance goes to Michael Jackson!”
And then another.
“The Grammy for Record of the Year goes to…Michael Jackson!”
And another, and another, and another until your lip gloss has finally gone dry from pressing chaste kisses on Michael’s perfectly sculpted face.
Your eyes stay fixed on him, blue-black and gold military-esque jacket glistening under expensive lights. He looks ethereal. Otherworldly. You have to admit you’re enjoying yourself now. Watching your man win 8 awards in one night gives you an indescribable high, a high he seems to notice because when he wins Album of the Year, he dedicates it to you. You kiss the bottom of his chin, a light red lipstick stain glistening on his as he accepts the award onstage. His speech is short but cutting, telling the crowd—and those watching at home—how much you inspired him throughout the album’s creation.
And soon after, the show ends, and the cameras stop broadcasting. You just have to suffer the post-award show interviews, and then you’ll be free from this glitz and glam-covered purgatory. Right?
Wrong.
“We’re going to the after-party,” Michael bounces. he hops smoothly, as if his bones are made of springs.
You want to melt there and then. Michael practically skips to your shared limousine, holding the door open for you to enter. He jumps in after you.
“I’m not going. No way.” You murmur. Michael shakes his head, holding your hand as he did on the way here.
“It’ll be fun! Drinks, food, music and dancing,” he practically sings, words dancing in the air like magic dust, “Please?”
“You’re way too jolly for my liking,” You scoff. He’s used to this, you getting all irritated by his famous lifestyle. He understands. He really does, but tonight is different. He won 8 Grammys for god’s sake; first person to do that, ever. Let alone being a black man to set that record. He’s elated, buzzing with justified pride. You can literally feel him vibrating beside you. “But fine. We’ll go to the damn after-party.”
Celebrities dance and sing alone to their own song in the warmly lit club. Alcohol flows through the room in waves and bodies sway in their elegant outfits. Some stars have changed into completely different attire. Show-offs.
You mingle as much as you can. Michael stays beside you for the most part until he’s swept away by David Bowie. He says something about “wanting to introduce Michael” to a few friends. Your arm reluctantly unhooks itself from Michael as you dolefully watch him vanish into the crowd. With a frustrated smile, you find an empty seat near the back booth in the club. A few stars greet you. Some stable nearby chairs and make small talk with you while others remain standing. You notice a few snorting coke by the bar, sipping on something strong right after.
“Good lord, get me outta here.” You mumble inwardly, pinching the bridge of your nose, disconsolation evident in your mannerism. You can hear your boyfriend's heavenly laugh in the distance. Too heavenly for your liking. A piercing pang drops in your gut and, without further thinking, you get up and stride confidently towards the sound of Michael laughing again. When you make it to him, you see her.
Diana fucking Ross.
“Oh hi!” She gleams mockingly at you, waving her hand in your direction while her other hand caresses Michael’s shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d be here, y/n.”
“Hi,” you mimic her tone, although less enthusiastically. Michael stiffens when he glances in your direction. Your jaw is clenched, and your hands are balled up in tight fists. “Didn’t think you’d be up at this hour either.” You smile wickedly.
Diana laughs it off, her lanky fingers still raking sensually over Michael’s shoulder. Michael doesn’t even move. He remains still, an awkward grin plastered on his even more awkward face. You’re not surprised he’s not moving. Michael has never been good with situations like this, and you’re well aware of the history between him and Diana. Fucking weird either way. There isn’t any situation where a woman should be all ‘touchy feely’ with a man 14 years older than him.
“What’s got you laughing so much, babe?” You question his loud chuckles from a minute earlier. Diana responds for him.
“A little inside joke between us from years ago!” She keeps up the pretence, You wouldn’t understand, sweethearts!”
Sweetheart? Who is she calling sweetheart?
“I have time.” You pry.
“Ah, it's nothing serious.” She grins.
“Seems serious enough to have you eye-fucking my boyfriend.” You quip.
Michael’s eyes widen behind his aviators. The three of you stand in thick, unbreaking pressure unnoticed by the rest of the party. Rage envelopes you in a fuzzy hug. Diana’s hand continues its journey around your man’s shoulder. Her thumb and index finger circle his chin, and without warning, she puckers her lips and kisses Michael right above his chin, leaving a purple lipstick stain on his lower's lip in its wake.
The damn within you cracks. Anger as thick and hot as molten lava seeps from every orifice and pore.
“You fucking bitch! I’m gonna fuck you up—” You lunge forward, your hands grabbing Diana’s hair as you drag her to the ground. The music keeps playing, muffling Diana’s pained and shocked screams. She’s completely taken off guard. Never in her life has anyone of Michael’s dates or girlfriends stood up to her like this. In fact, none of them stuck around long enough to have to deal with bullshit like this.
You straddle her on the floor, fists bashing at every inch of her face and chest. Each blow to her face is met with a curse and wince from her. Diana’s eyes water in agony. She cries for help, but her wails are nullified by the beating rhythm of music. Ironically, Michael’s ‘Beat It’ bounces out of large speakers, loud and deafening. Michael freezes completely. The only thing he manages to move is his hand as he disgustedly wipes Diana’s lipstick stain off his lip. He watches the scene unfold before him, eyes glistening—not with sorrow but with endearment too shameful to admit. You’re going batshit crazy on Diana right now, and he…likes it?
“Heavenly Father…” He mutters in absolute awe for you, “What a woman.”
One loud piteous cry from Diana eventually draws people’s attention, specifically David—who had been the one to take Mike away from your hold hours again. He hooks his arms under yours and drags you off of Diana. You don’t go out without a fight, kicking at her mindlessly as David drags you away. One kick in particular hits her ribs, drawing out a sharp cry from her.
All eyes are on you now. The music has stopped, and murmurs about the debacle travel to and fro. Michael eventually snaps out of his daze. His body shakes off the last remnants of sudden paralysis as he crouches down in front of Diana—not to check on her but to inspect your violent artistry. His large sunglasses hide the glint in his eyes. Diana shields her face in both hands, embarrassment evident in how she curls into herself on the floor.
Behind Michael, David still holds you back. He repeats “calm down” in your ear whenever you try to pounce. Your chest heaves energetically, hands grabbing at David’s arms when you finally try to get yourself together. He doesn’t mind. He’s seen shit like this before. If he was honest, what you did is nothing compared to what he’s witnessed on past occasions.
Soon enough, Michael is at your side, replacing David’s hold on you in a subtle manner. Instead of holding you in an undertook like Bowie had, he lovingly places his warm hands on your waist and hugs you from behind.
“Woman, you’ve done it this time,” Michael whispers. Someone rushes to Diana’s aid while another calls for medical attention. He rubs gentle circles over your hip bone with his thumbs and sighs, looking around the room. Cops could be on their way, though the chance of that is unlikely. Having police in a drug-ridden club would look bad for the Academy and the club itself.
“Who’s she feeling like? Kissing on my man? In front of me!” You lunge forward, but Michael holds you back.
“Enough, pretty thing.” Mike’s tone is stern now. As much as he’d like to entertain this further, he’s aware of how damaging this could be for you both. “Let’s go. She’s not going to press charges.”
“And you know this how?” You scoff and reluctantly ease up in his hold.
“Trust me.” He doesn’t explain further. You know what he means, and you hate it. As much as their…relationship irks you, you know Diana’s got a soft spot for him. If need be, he’ll toy with her heartstrings to get you off the hook.
The limousine ride to your hotel room is quiet. Michael massages your bruised knuckles and chuckles to himself.
“Ain’t shit funny,” you mutter, a faint smile splayed across your makeup-shone face, “I could go to jail.”
“Shoulda thought of that before you went all ‘Muhammad Ali’ on her.” He huffs, spreading his legs and shifting in his seat. He clears his throat when you notice it.
“Really, Mike? You’re sick.” You giggle.
“Might need you to beat up on me too.” Michael jokes bashfully, leaning in to kiss you.
“Boy, wash your face first…and scrub them lips extra hard.” You push him away. He pouts in mock offence but understandably nods and snickers, leaning back in his seat as the car rolls forward through the late night.
inexperienced bsf!michael who has a massive crush on you, and after taking an experimental hit from your joint, he begs you to show him how to make you feel good….
notes fake dating (this trope was requested <33), he falls first AND harder, yearning neteyam, reader is the sweetest girl in the world, smut (p in v), oral (f&m receiving)
synopsis neteyam offered a proposition to the most quiet girl in the clan: pretend to be his intended to make another girl jealous... but a short time into it and the lines had blurred for him. not for you, though! you’re serious about the mission, much to his frustration.
word count 14.4k
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“The moons are ripening,” Elder Peyka remarked. “The courting season will be upon us before the next great hunt. The young warriors are already preening like forest ikrans... Oh, how nice to see.”
“And the girls are no better,” another elder chuckled, tightening a string of seed beads. She turned her clouded but sharp eyes toward you. You were sitting a few paces away, your fingers flying across a loom. “Child. Look at me.”
You paused, your heart giving a small, nervous flutter as you looked up. “Yes, elder?”
“You are of age now, are you not?”
“I am,” you replied softly, your voice barely rising above the rustle of the loom.
Peyka sighed, shaking her head. “If only you would go out there and be seen, child! You have the grace of the willow, but you hide like a yerik. You are too shy for your own good. If you do not lift your head, the season will pass you by and you might actually become a spinster, weaving alone while the rest of the clan sings of mates!”
A chorus of gentle, teasing laughter erupted from the circle. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, and you quickly ducked your head back down, focusing intensely on a loose thread. You let out a small, embarrassed chuckle of your own, a soft sound that barely escaped your lips.
You are painfully aware of that but you don’t know where to start. You have friends, yes, but they are not friends you hang out with outside of the weaving looms. You are almost always alone, and while other girls had found their places among the hunters, practicing their war cries or vying for the attention of the said men, you found yourself hidden in the looms to enjoy the repetitive routine of weaving.
It’s not like you were the best weaver, too. You are not the best, not the worst either, just a girl whose hands were often stained with berry dyes and whose eyes were usually cast downward. It was safer that way. When you didn't look up, you didn't have to see the way the world seemed to orbit around people who weren't you.
A few feet away, leaning against a sturdy root, Neteyam sat silently. An elder weaver was currently binding a new leather guard to his forearm, and while he appeared to be focused on it, his ears were swiveled toward the elders' conversation.
He watched you.
Neteyam knew everyone in the clan. It was his duty as the future Olo'eyktan, but as he looked at you now, he realized he has never even heard you speak. He knew your name, he knew your family, but he couldn't recall the sound of your voice until that very moment. Your shy, quiet laughter brought a warm feeling to his chest for some reason, making him take a deep breath.
His mind drifted to Ka’ani. She was the finest huntress among their peers, just like him. And he’s always thought of a partnership much like the one his parents have. His father is a great warrior and so is his mother. To be a great leader is to stand beside a fearsome woman as well... And he thinks it’s Ka’ani.
But right now, she was becoming a challenge. She’s making him look like a fool, flitting from warrior to warrior to test his patience. She wanted him to chase her until he was exhausted, and Neteyam, the proud, capable, and unaccustomed to losing firstborn of the clan’s pillars, was reaching his breaking point. He was never fond of playing, but some games need strategy, too.
Neteyam’s gaze lingered on you. You were still working, your movements steady and humble, completely unaware of the weight of his stare. A slow, calculated thought began to take root in his mind.
“Finished, Neteyam,” the weaver said, patting his arm.
“Thank you,” Neteyam murmured. He stood up, taller and broader than most men.
Instead of heading back to where the warriors were gathering, he turned his steps toward the shadows. He walked with deliberate strides stopping right in front of your loom until his shadow blocked your light. “You’re doing that wrong.”
The voice startled you so badly that the bone needle slipped. “I—what?” you stammered, finally looking up.
Neteyam was standing over you. In the flickering firelight, his bioluminescent freckles were glowing like stars. “The weave,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the basket in your lap. “It’s too tight. It will snap when it dries.”
“The ones I did last moon were fine,” you murmured. You tried to look back down, to disappear into your work as you always did. “Is there something you need?”
Instead of answering, he sat. The movement was fluid, but there was a heaviness to it, sitting so close to you that his knee brushed against yours.
“I have a proposition for you, Y/N,” he said. His voice was low, dropping into a register that felt dangerously intimate. He knows your name?
You blinked, your insecurity rising up like a shield. “A proposition? Do you need help with the weaving?”
“No, no, I don’t,” he answered. “The elders speak the truth, you know,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone. “It would be a shame for you to be hidden in the dark.”
You finally looked up, your eyes wide. Neteyam wasn't looking at the fire, he was looking directly at you, and for the first time in your life, the Golden Son was smiling as if you were the only person in the clearing.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you breathed, your voice trembling.
He leaned in just an inch closer, his amber eyes sparking with a hidden intent. “Hear my proposition... It might just solve both our problems with the coming season.”
You swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You were a weaver of threads, but sitting before you was practically the weaver of destinies in this clan. You know he could alter your life and he was looking at you with a terrifying amount of focus.
“Our... problems?“ you whispered, your fingers curling tightly around the bone needle. “I don’t have problems. And I don’t think someone like you have problems, Neteyam.”
He let out a short, huffed breath that might have been a laugh if his eyes weren't so sharp. “Everyone has a role to play. Sometimes, that role becomes... suffocating. My mother is already looking at the daughters of the council. She expects a match that strengthens the line. I’m thinking of Ka’ani. She’s the finest huntress my age.”
At the mention of her name, his jaw tightened. You remembered the last time you saw the girl. She was draped over the arm of a young warrior, her laughter loud and pointed, as if it was a performance, designed to reach the ears of a certain warrior. You remembered Neteyam standing in the training grounds then and everything clicked in your head.
“She wants a chase,” Neteyam continued, silencing your thoughts. “But I do not have the time for nonsensical games. And you... The elders say you are a shadow. That you will be left behind.”
“I am fine being a shadow,” you countered, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s not complicated. I will have what comes and accept what doesn’t.”
“Shadows are lonely,” he said softly. “Be my partner. Not just for the ceremonies, but the communal meals as well. I will be with you. Let the clan see us, let them see you.”
Your heart gave a violent thud. You weren't a fool. You knew what this was. You were the girl no one would suspect he will actually notice, which made you the perfect weapon to make Ka’ani lose her mind with jealousy.
“You want me to be a decoy,” you said. “You want her to see you with me so she’ll get jealous. You want her to stop playing around.”
Neteyam didn't flinch at your bluntness. Instead, he reached out, his large hand covering yours where it rested on the loom. His skin was warm, his touch steady. “Correct. And in return, you will no longer be the girl the elders pity. You will be the woman everyone sees. When the season ends and the act is over, every hunter in this clan will finally know your name. You won't be a spinster, Y/N. I’ll make sure of that. You’ll have your pick of any man here.”
It was a cold, calculated trade. He will get the girl and you get a reputation and a way out of the shadows. He looked so sincere. You knew you should say no, you wouldn’t know how to act around him. But the thought of being someone for once, of walking through the village and not having people look through you, was a siren song you couldn't resist.
“What if I'm not a good actress?” you asked, your voice a mere breath.
Neteyam’s smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was the smile of a strategist who had just moved his final piece into place.
“Just sit by my side. I’ll do the rest.” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles.
You took a shaky breath and nodded. “Okay. I'll do it.”
Neteyam squeezed your hand once, a seal of the contract, before standing up. He offered his hand to help you up, and when you took it, the world felt like it shifted on its axis. You were stepping out of the dark, and into a fire that you knew, eventually, would burn you to ash.
Neteyam is a meticulous director and it was very hard for you as an easily embarrassed person. Being seen isn’t even enough for him, the act had to be over the top! He wanted it to be undeniable.
“Chin up,” he whispered one afternoon. You were walking to the central clearing for the communal meal, his hand hovering over your waist. “You look like you’re walking to a funeral. Look at me. Smile.”
“It’s hard to smile when I feel like a piece of bait,” you murmured, keeping your eyes down, feeling at least a hundred eyes on you.
Neteyam let out a sharp breath. He stopped walking, maneuvering you to turn and face him. To anyone watching from a distance, it looked like a tender, private moment between lovers. Up close, his eyes were scanning the crowd, pinpointing exactly where Ka’ani was sitting with her friends.
“You agreed to this,” he reminded you, his voice low and firm. He reached out, his fingers tilting your chin upward. His touch was warm, but it lacked the softness you’d imagined his touch would have. It was the grip of a hunter holding a prized bow. “If you don't look happy, she’ll know it’s a ruse. Do you want the elders to go back to pitying you by tomorrow sun-up?”
The reminder of your own invisibility stung. You forced your lips to curve, a small, shaky smile that felt brittle. “Is this better?”
He studied your face for a beat too long, his thumb grazing your jawline. For a split second, his focus shifted from the crowd to the way your eyes searched his, but he shook it off quickly. “Better. Keep it there, hm?“
He led you toward the long tables. This was the stage. He made a show of picking out the best cuts of roasted meat for you, leaning in so close that his braids brushed against your shoulder. He was performative, ensuring the warriors nearby heard him.
“And since you’re starting a new tapestry,” he said, loud enough for Ka'ani to hear from across your table. He draped an arm over the back of your seating mat, effectively fencing you in. “I’d fly to the borders to get you fibers for it.”
You pursed your lips, lowering your head down to chuckle. “Your voice is too loud, Neteyam...“ you mumbled. “I’ll end up with busted ear drums by the time this is over.“
His own head lowered and angled toward you to catch what you’re saying, but it threw back as he let out a bark of genuine and deep laughter. You startled, your hand flying to his chest unconsciously, your head swiveling to the crowd of people who are now looking at you. You caught a glimpse of Ka’ani’s sharp eyes narrowing to slits.
The mission is working. You know it is working, you’ve seen Ka’ani’s candid reactions in the past days and it was almost comical. You don’t understand how she can let other men touch her when it was Neteyam she truly wants. It’s confusing, especially because you can see how she jealous she looks.
“You can relax, Neteyam,” you whispered, leaning toward him. “She’s gone. She stomped away five minutes ago.”
Neteyam’s posture didn't soften. He didn't pull his arm back. He took a slow sip of water, his expression unreadable. “The act doesn't stop just because the primary audience leaves, Y/N. There are other eyes. Word must travel. That is how a reputation is built.” He looked at you then, and for a moment, the strategic coldness was all there was. “Eat your food. We have a walk through the groves. People need to see us.”
The following days, and weeks, was a blur of choreographed intimacy. Neteyam was serious with his acts, he was everywhere you were. If you were gathering fibers, he was there, scouting the perimeter but always staying within your line of sight. During communal meals, he always ate with you, listening to you ramble and chuckling at everything you say.
Now that he has brought you out to light, more and more men were trying to talk to you, asking you random stuff they wouldn't even bother asking before. For them, you were almost unreachable in the past. You are too shy, too aloof, to be in the selection of girls they dare to play with.
But as the days pressed on, the meticulous director started losing his grip on the script.
The script had been clear: Neteyam would bring you into the light, and the hunters of the clan would finally notice you. It was exactly what he had promised. But as he stood on a ridge overlooking the path back to Hometree, watching you walk beside a hunter who was carrying your bundle of fibers under his arm, the air in his lungs seemed to turn to ice.
The hunter was Ki’ong, a young man known for his easy smiles and a way of speaking that reminded him of the way you speak. If he saw this moons ago, the match would have made so much sense. The gentle hunter matches your gentleness. But today, he felt only bitterness. You were laughing, the sound he wanted to bottle and bring with him on patrol to help him calm down.
Now, Ki’ong is easily basking in it, his tail twitching with a rhythmic interest that Neteyam recognized all too well for he was a man, too. His hand tightened around the grip of the bow until the wood groaned. His jaw locked. This was the trade, wasn't it? He had told you that by the time the season ended, you would have your pick of any man in the clan. So why did he feel like he wanted to shoot an arrow through the dirt at Ki’ong’s feet as a warning?
His feet moved, and by the time you reached the shadow of the massive fern near the entrance, Neteyam was already there, blocking the path, calling your name in a sharp and dangerous tone that made Ki’ong stop in his tracks.
“Neteyam!“ you said, surprised. “I thought you weren’t back from the scout yet.”
Neteyam ignored you, his amber eyes fixed entirely on the other hunter. He stepped forward, entering your personal space with a possessiveness that felt far too real to be an act. You looked around. There was no crowd and no Ka’ani at all, and this confuses you. What more, Neteyam wasn’t even looking around for the audience. He was looking only at Ki’ong’s hand, which was hovering just a bit too close to your elbow.
Ki'ong blinked, his easy smile faltering under the sheer weight of Neteyam's stare. “I saw her in the forest, Neteyam, uh... What she was carrying was heavy—”
“Thank you for that, but I’ll take it from here,” Neteyam cut him off, his voice dropping into a warning growl. He reached out, not gently, and pulled your fiber basket from the hunter.
“I'll... see you later then... Y/N,” Ki’ong said before walking away.
Neteyam’s head snapped back to Ki’ong’s retreating form, his entire body coiled like a viperwolf ready to strike at the mere mention of a later. You watched him, your confusion slowly melting into a mischievous realization. You looked around one more time, and there’s still nothing but a stray woodsprite. No Ka’ani. No prying hunters. Just a very, very grumpy warrior holding a basket of fibers as if it were a thermal detonator.
A bubble of laughter escaped you, and you poked his rigid bicep.
“Wow,” you giggled, leaning in close to peer up at his stormy face. “Neteyam, that was... incredible. The growl? The death stare? You’re getting really good at this. If I didn't know better, I’d think you were actually trying to pick a fight over my honor.”
Neteyam didn't relax. His jaw remained a hard line. “He was overstepping. He was touching you.”
“He was just helping me,” you countered, your eyes dancing with amusement. You started walking, motioning for him to follow with your basket. “But honestly, I’m impressed. You’re such a perfectionist. Even with no audience, you’re still acting the territorial suitor.”
He fell into step behind you, his tail still lashing even though he’s not speaking.
“Oh, come on,” you teased, walking backward for a few steps so you could admire his scowl. “Let’s just hope Ki’ong tells everyone about your reaction. If word gets back to Ka’ani that the great Neteyam almost bared his teeth at a hunter just for carrying my basket... well, our mission is as good as won. It’s going to make it sound so real!” You turned back around, a satisfied hum leaving your throat. “But I don’t think Ki’ong is the type to talk about stuff like that. He seemed too nice to gossip.”
“How would you know? You don’t know him,” Neteyam cut you off, his voice sharp.
You laughed again, the sound light and airy. “Maybe I just know. I can sense if people have good hearts,” you said, reaching back to give his chest a playful, comforting pat. “Come on,” you smiled, oblivious to the way his hand tightened on the basket handle until his knuckles turned pale. “Let’s bring that to the looms. You can put all that 'warrior energy' into helping me sort the threads.”
You turned on your heels and skipped ahead, feeling lighter than you had in days. Behind you, Neteyam stood for a beat longer, his eyes locked on the sway of your braids.
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You two were swimming in the river, not alone anyway, because it’s just one of your many stages. His fellow hunters and warriors were swimming in the river several paces away from the two of you, but he has since swam to a secluded bend away from their prying eyes. You don’t always swim in the river. Mostly because you don’t want to swim alone, so now, you’re enjoying everything, even the reflection of the shimmering canopy above. You kept diving for as long as you could, the act momentarily paused because he had stirred you two away from the audience. You shrieked when you felt something tiny dart on your ankle. You dove your head, swimming after the tiny fish, your hand shotting forward to catch it and you bubbled a laugh underwater when you actually caught it.
You swam to the surface, holding up the fish as you laughed, the sound of your mirth echoing off the rock walls like bells. Neteyam stared at you from where he is, leaning against a mossy boulder, his chest heaving slightly, though he had been idle the entire time. You waded toward him, bringing him the fish, but he looked so serious that your lips pushed forward instead. Neteyam gritted his teeth at the sight of your smile fading.
“You looked like the sky had fallen on you. What is it?” you asked, putting the fish back in the water and watching it dart away from you with a small smile.
“Our scout yesterday everning” he said suddenly, his voice low.
You nodded. He was late to the dinner last night... You figured there was something wrong, but you heard no news about it.
“There was a near skirmish with a violent clan. They were one of those clans whose lands were spoiled by the sky people's actions. Apparently, they’ve been looking for a place to settle in, but they are also harming non-combatant clans.”
You stopped splashing, the water settling around you. You hadn't heard about this. The elders usually kept such news quiet to avoid panic, but to know this now, and to see how burdened Neteyam was by it, you couldn't help but be bothered.
“The council expects me to be like him,” he said, staring at his reflection in the water. He didn't specify who him was and he didn’t have to. You know who he was talking about. As the firstborn of Toruk Makto, Neteyam has always lived in the shadow of a legend. “Every battle, every hunt, every word I speak... it's measured against a standard I will never reach.”
You stopped creating ripples in the waters, looking up at him. “You don’t need to be your father, Neteyam,” you said softly. “Have they considered a dialogue between the people of that clan? Perhaps... The chieftains of our neighboring clans could convene in a large council and speak with their representatives. I don’t think it needs to lead to people getting hurt when speaking would reach a much better conclusion.”
Neteyam went still, his gaze snapping from the water’s surface to your face. He watched you with an intensity he had directed to no one, but you wouldn’t know that. For a moment, the weight in his shoulders seemed to flicker, unsettled by the peaceful logic of your words.
“A dialogue,” he repeated. He had been so focused on formations, weapon readiness, and the cold calculations of a warrior that the idea of a diplomatic council felt like a sudden breath of fresh air. “Why do you think I am a warrior?” he asked, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “I am taught to protect. To fight.”
“You are taught to lead,” you corrected gently, lightly splashing a bit of water toward his chest. “And a leader’s first duty isn’t to fight, but to ensure peace. Your warriors will think of war, you will think of how to protect the people and the forest. The people of that clan is desperate, for sure... They lost their home, they are living like beggars. There is a reason they steal and harm the people who stop them. Have the clans thought of helping them?”
He blinked, his amber eyes searching yours as if he could find all the answers there now.
You smiled lopsidedly, “You can think of all that later though,” you said softly, reaching into the crevice of the rock wall and plucking a small, ripe fruit that hung low. His eyes watched you peel it with nimble fingers. “But right now? The water is cool, the fish are annoying, and you can rest your mind. Try being here for five minutes.”
You gave him the fruit and when he took it, his fingers brushed against yours, lingering in a way that wasn't for show. He ate it slowly, watching you as if you were a piece of the puzzle he found after a long search. The silence was warm, humming with a new, dangerous kind of energy.
“You think it could be that simple?” he asked, his voice a low vibration.
“I think you make it too hard,” you laughed, feeling a sudden surge of playfulness. You stepped back, the water splashing around your chest. “I’ll bet a week’s worth of weaving that I can reach the falls before you!”
Before he could answer, you dove, your body disappearing into the water.
Neteyam stood there for a heartbeat, stunned. He didn't check the treeline. He didn't look back toward the other hunters. He didn't think about his father's expectations or the violent clan at the border. He simply dove in after you.
He caught up to you just as you reached the white water of the falls. You surfaced, gasping for air and laughing, only to find him right there, his eyes bright with a genuine, carefree light you had never seen before. You panicked at the sight of him, though, shrieking and kicking the hand that held your ankle. He barked a laugh, deep and resonant, that even he knows he hasn't laughed that way before. He reached out again, his hand finding yours under the water, squeezing it before pulling you to him. For the first time, he wasn't holding you so people would notice. He was holding you so you wouldn't drift away.
That night, as you both walked back to the village, Neteyam’s hand stayed on your waist even after you had passed the last group of onlookers. When you saw Ka’ani appeared near the communal fire, looking particularly striking in her new top and loincloth that seemed to match the feathers in her hair, Neteyam didn't even turn his head even after you pointed it out. He was too busy listening to you describe the specific shade of teal the river turns into when the moons are at a particular shade. There's lightness in his chest that made him feel like he was flying.
Several nights later, Neteyam moved through the crowd with a lightness in his step that hadn't been there days prior. The communal dinner was buzzing with different conversations, but for him, it was merely a background, his eyes locked on your form, looking like a man who had finally found the trail home.
Earlier that afternoon, the Council had been tense. Jake and the elders focused on battle plans, on dispatching warriors to fight when necessary. Neteyam saw how the council, including him, lack the sight you have to see things differently. He didn't know where it was coming from, but his chest was puffing with full confidence on the idea you had given him, that when he spoke of dialogue, of the displaced clan’s desperation, and of communal aid rather than battles that would only end in loss, his voice was laced with certainty.
Jake had looked at his son with a mixture of surprise and pride. “That is a path well thought of, Neteyam,” he said.
“You think like a true leader of the people now, son,” Neytiri had added, her hand resting on his shoulder. “You have grown.”
Neteyam had offered them a small, humble smile. “I cannot take the credit, Mother. It was a good friend who gave me the perspective I needed,” he said.
Neytiri tilted her head. “Oh? Who is this friend?” she asked.
Neteyam had looked at his mother. It was the easiest question he’d been asked, but it strike him quite deeply that he didn’t know what to say. “Someone I... trust deeply.”
Now, standing in the glow of the fire, Neteyam didn't even pause to greet the other hunters who called out to him. He made a beeline for the corner where you sat, tucked away with your latest weaving. When you looked up, your eyes widened at the sight of the massive, genuine grin splitting his face.
“They accepted it,“ he said, dropping down beside you, his presence instantly making your corner feel warmer. “The envoys will be sent at first light. My father and the elders... actually listened. We’re calling a council of all the neighboring clans to help the displaced.”
You felt a swell of pride in your chest, your grin matching his. “See? Sometimes, you need to rest your mind and your soul, clear it until it is still water,“ you gestured in the air and be watched you with a lazy smile. “Only then can you see the path clearly.“
Neteyam’s gaze was soft, lingering on your face in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was no longer the calculated look of someone directing a performance, it was the look of someone truly seeing you. You tear your gaze away, picking at the nuts on your leaf plate.
“I have something for you,” he murmured, reaching into the small pouch at his waist. He held out his hand, palm up, revealing a mountain of perfectly ripe berries, the kind that only grow on the highest, most dangerous ledges.
You gasped, your fingers trembling slightly as you reached out for one. “Neteyam, these are rare. How did you—”
“I was scouting the upper ridges,” he lied effortlessly, though his eyes twinkled with the truth of the effort he’d put into finding them just for you. “They’re all yours. Take them.”
You popped one into your mouth, the burst of sweetness making you hum. Neteyam let out a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he watched you enjoy the small gift. He didn't even notice the silence that had fallen over the nearby tables as they all watched him dote on the girl whose voice they rarely heard.
From across the fire, Ka’ani felt the roasted meat in her mouth turn to ash. She couldn't even swallow. She had been so sure of what Neteyam wanted, sure that it was her in her strength and vitality. She was merely trying to break at his carefully cold facade, but he never did give her the satisfaction of seeing it.
But as she watched him now, she saw the way he leaned toward you, his body instinctively closing off the rest of the world to keep you in his private circle. She saw the way he laughed, unguarded, soft, and intimate. She had never seen that light in his eyes directed at her. She had never seen him look at anyone with such... peace.
Her fingers dug into the bark of her seating mat. This wasn't a game anymore. The challenge she thought she was winning had been forfeited by the man she wanted most, and the realization made her blood boil with a jealousy that was no longer a performance. As fot Neteyam, he has long forgotten to look if Ka’ani even had her eyes on them, and tonight, he had forgotten she was even there.
Days later, you were at the washing stream, submerging your fibers in the cool water. You were thinking too much of Neteyam and the ride you had on his ikran last night when he brought you to the Hallelujah Mountains, but your peace was disrupted with the presence of another. You stopped and turned around, your breath hitching when you saw Ka’ani step out from behind a massive fern.
“Ka’ani,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt. You adjusted the empty leaf plate in your hands, refusing to cower.
“How does it feel?” she sneered, pacing a slow circle around you, her tail lashing behind her. “To be the little pet? To be the girl Neteyam uses to get a reaction from me? You think those smiles of his mean anything? You think that look in his eyes is real?” She let out a mocking laugh. “He’s a warrior. The future Olo’eyktan. Do you think think I don’t know what he’s doing? He wants me, and he’s using a quiet mouse like you to punish me for playing hard to get.”
You pursed your lips to stop yourself from chuckling. This is comedy to you, but you also feel guilty that she seems to be really upset. If only she weren’t being mean, you’d have advised her to go to Neteyam and talk to him properly, so that they can fix things between them.
“If you are so certain of that, Ka’ani,” you said, your voice dropping to a calm, melodic register that seemed to grate on her nerves, “then why are you talking to me?”
Ka’ani froze, her lips pulling back in a snarl.
“If you're so sure he’s yours, go to him,” you continued, stepping closer into her space, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Whine to him. Demand his attention. Tell him to come back to you. Perhaps it will do you better.”
You didn't wait for her to respond, you walked past her, maintaining your composure until you were well out of her sight. You stopped when you’re well away from her, pursing your lips. “Wah... That was a good one from me. That’s literally method acting,” you chuckled to yourself.
At the same time, Neteyam was on patrol through the high canopies of the Omatikaya lands’ borders. Patrols are usually a time of hyper-vigilance for him, he was trained to scan for the unnatural glint of obsidian or the misplaced shadow of a predator. But today, his eyes kept snagging on a bright plant. He spotted a cluster of a familiar stalk, their ribbed skin a good shade of cerulean.
Moons ago, he would have seen them as a slippery obstacle on a landing branch. Now, he found himself hovering his ikran near the cliff edge, reaching out to pluck a single stem. He rubbed the surface, watching the pigment stain his thumb.
This, he thought, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, this is the blue she said looked like the deep water in the eastern seas. He found himself wondering about every plant he passed, not for its toxicity or its strength which he is wont to do as a vigilant hunter, but for how beautiful its hidden colors would be in the eyes of a weaver he keeps thinking about. He didn’t even have names for the shades he collected, but he knew you would find them beautiful.
When he finally returned to hometree, he didn’t head for the warriors' lodge to report in. He went straight to the weaving looms. His heart doing a strange, light hop when he saw your form hunched over a weaving loom. He silently crept up behind you and leaned down to tickle the curve of your ear with the cool tip of the blue plant.
You shrieked, your shoulders jumping as you nearly dropped your bone needle. You whirled around, your eyes wide but when you saw Neteyam, standing there with that lazy, genuine grin, you glared but still laughed.
“My work will be ruined because of you,” you breathed, clutching your chest.
“I thought a weaver's hands were supposed to be steady,” he teased, his voice low, handing you the blue stalk. “I saw this on the ridge. Is it the one that turns to ink when you boil it?”
You took the plant, your fingers brushing his. “It is. I.. I'm surprised you remembered.”
“I remember everything you say,” he said, and for a second, the air between you felt thick and heavy with a truth that had nothing to do with your deal. He tore his gaze away when his cheeks burned at the realization of what he said.
Before he could lose his footing, an elder weaver called out from the circle, asking you to venture into the lower groves to find specific climbing fibers for the council’s new tapestry.
“I'll accompany you,” Neteyam said before you could even reach for your basket.
As you walked into the dappled light of the forest, your fear of the ruse ending began to fade, replaced by the sheer comfort of his presence. You started to ramble, and Neteyam, as you have discovered in the past weeks, was a good listener. He didn't interrupt, or patronize. He simply watched you with a curious, steady gaze that made you feel... heard.
“You see that?” you said one afternoon, pointing to a cluster of deep crimson berries clinging to a damp log. “Most people think they’re just for eating, but if you crush them with a bit of limestone and the sap from a yellow stalk, you get a purple that looks like the sky before the sun sets. It’s the only color that stays after the fiber is boiled.”
Neteyam leaned in, peering at the berries as if they were a new species of prey.
“And those,” you continued, stumbling over your words in your haste to explain. “If you harvest them when they’re still young, they give a gold that practically glows in the dark. I used it for the elders' ceremonial sashes last year. Everyone thought I’d traded with the reef clans for it, but it was just right here, under our feet, being stepped on.”
You laughed, a bright sound that echoed through the trees, but when you realized you were rambling, you quickly shut your mouth, touching your lips.
“Sorry. I’m talking too much,“ you gripped the basket hard.
Neteyam stopped walking. He turned to you with a genuine frown on his face. “You can talk my ears off. I’ve spent my whole life looking at the forest for threats or targets. I never realized how much I’m missing what was right in front of me.” He chuckled, a low vibration in his chest. “I found myself looking at different plants lately, wondering if it was the right kind of hue for your weaving.”
The admission was bold and he didn’t even feel shame even though he did feel his cheeks burn. He was thinking of you when you weren't together. The deal was working, but the lines were blurring so fast he doesn’t even care about the reason it began.
Weeks later, the success of the sturmbeest hunt was the reason for the thrumming of drums and chanting of the Omatikaya warriors dancing in the hometree’s communal clearing. High on the central dais, the Olo’eyktan’s voice carried over the throng as he announced the success of the council’s efforts to begin a dialogue with the displaced clan that has been disrupting the way of lives not only of the people, but that of the neighboring clans as well.
The chieftains of the other forest clans had apparently agreed to convene in a Great Council with the envoys returning with messages of unity. Neteyam stood beside you in the crowd, his shoulder brushing your arm. The rigid, perfect posture of a mighty warrior was gone, replaced by a relaxed stance he only seemed to find when he was within your orbit.
“You did it,” you whispered, grinning up at him.
Neteyam looked down at you, the firelight reflecting in his eyes. “We did it,” he corrected softly. “I was ready to lead a war party until you handed me that fruit and told me to breathe. I would have missed the obvious path if you hadn't been standing there to point it out.”
You shrugged, picking a berry out of the leaf bowl he gave you. “So, what happens now?” you asked. “Now that the chieftains have agreed?”
“The next step may be the hardest,” Neteyam said, his expression turning thoughtful. “We have to send someone to the displaced clan. Not to fight, but to invite their Olo’eyktan. Someone has to show them we aren't their enemies and that we’ll help them settle and get back to their own feet.”
You looked at him, admiring the way the light caught the beads you’d given him which he had immediately put in his braids. “You should go, Neteyam.”
He blinked, looking surprised. “Me? My father will likely send an experienced diplomat, or perhaps a senior warrior.”
“No,” you insisted, stepping closer. “You’re the one who suggested it to the council. It’s a great opportunity for you to hone your diplomatic skills. You’re going to lead this people one day, and this might not be the last time a clan is desperate or angry. If you go, you’ll learn a lot.”
Neteyam went quiet, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. He listened to you as if every word you spoke was important. “You really think I can do it?”
“I know you can,” you said firmly. “You have the heart for it.” You looked at your berries again, eating more of it.
The wind shifted then, kicking up a swirl of fine wood-dust from the dancefloor. You winced, your hand flying to your eye as you felt a sharp things.
“Ow—wait, something’s in my eye.”
“Don’t rub it,” Neteyam said immediately. His hands were suddenly on your face, his touch firm but incredibly gentle as he cupped your jaw. “Look at me. Keep it open.”
You looked up at him, your vision watering and blurred. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He leaned down, his face mere inches from yours, and blew a soft, steady breath across your eye to clear the dust.
“Is that better?” he whispered, blowing another.
You chuckled as you blinked several times, your heart doing a frantic dance in your chest. “It’s just a bit of dust, Neteyam, you look so serious,” you said, smiling.
He stared at you, still not pulling away and when you didn’t move your head, he tilted his and pressed his lips to yours. It was deep, soft, and carried the weight of his yearning in the past moons. He didn’t know how long he had wanted to do that, but the softness of your lips is making him melt like candle wax.
In your belly, it felt like a hundred forest ikrans had suddenly taken flight. You felt giddy, almost lightheaded, but the thought of the deal flickered in your mind. When he pulled back just a fraction to let you breathe, your eyes pierced through him and spotted Ka’ani across the fire, her face fuming as she watched Neteyam’s back, specifically how he was bent at the waist just so he could kiss you.
“She’s looking...” you murmured against his lips, your voice a shaky mess.
Neteyam’s mind was hazy, drugged by the taste of your lips. His brows furrowed. “Who?” he asked, his voice a gravelly rumble as he kissed the corner of your mouth, his hands tightening on your jaw.
You closed your eyes, feeling the spark of his skin against yours. “Ka’ani...”
“And?” he responded, his nose nuzzling yours before he angled his head to kiss you more firmly. “Open up...”
“Uhm, about what? I mean, she talked to—”
Neteyam let out a low, vibrant chuckle that vibrated through your lips. “Your mouth, space cadet.”
Before you could even process what he meant, he darted his tongue out and licked at the seam of your lips. Your head reared back in genuine shock though, your eyes popping wide open.
“That was...” you sputtered, your face turning a deep, embarrassed crimson. “Why did you lick me? Neteyam!”
He barked a deep, resonant laugh, a real, belly-deep sound that made his whole frame shake. The sight of your shocked expression was too much for him. You tried to maintain your dignity, but his joy was too infectious.
“It’s a sweet gesture!” he laughed, reaching out to pull you back toward him.
“What? Like a fwampop?” you asked, but you were already giggling, the two of you leaning against each other and laughing so hard you forgot the rest of the clan was even there.
The festival fire continued to crackle, but for the rest of the night, Neteyam didn't leave your side. He followed you to the communal food pits when you offered to help the cooks, not letting you carry the heavy food trays so you just rambled about anything you could think of. Every time your hand brushed his, or you leaned in to tell him a secret about one of the dancers, he looked at you with a gaze so heavy and warm.
The next morning, the festival fog had settled over the village, but Neteyam was already awake and waiting by the weaving looms. He was standing there with a slightly large, intricately carved wooden bobbin. Something he spent days working on, but he won’t tell you that.
“Bobbin?” you asked with a huge smile when he gently handed it to you.
He shrugged nonchalantly, as if coming here early in the morning before his patrol to bring you something he had worked on for days meant nothing. “I saw you struggling with the one that kept snagging your thread,” he said. His fingers lingered on yours as you accepted it, his thumb tracing the back of your hand in a slow caress.
“Wow... This is perfect, Neteyam,” you said, beaming up at him as marveled at the craftsmanship.
He stared at you, fighting the urge to punch the air or beat up his chest as if he won a huge prize.
“You really didn't have to. Do you not have patrol?” you asked.
“I have,” he said. But he wanted to see you. Talk to you about last night, to clarify that the kiss had nothing to do with your deal.
“Alright, then. I’ll see you at lunch,” you said, your attention already focused on your new bobbin. He stood there for a few more seconds, just watching you, his ears twitching at the sound of your voice.
Later that afternoon, though, the rain began to pour while you were in the forest, the raindrops caching you near the lower groves. You tried to shield your basket of dyed fibers with your own body but just as heavy drops soaked your braids, you saw a familiar figure coming, holding a massive, broad leaf.
“Neteyam?” you uttered in surprise.
He had a boyish grin on as he held the leaf over your head. He was getting soaked, the rain slicking down his blue skin and making his muscles gleam, but he didn't seem to care. He stepped so close that his chest was almost touching your shoulder, the heat from his body acting as a shield against the chill.
“How did you even know I was here?” you asked, chuckling and pulling him close so he won’t get wet.
“I think I already know your routines,” he said, smirking playfully, though his voice was thick with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. He reached out and tucked a wet strand of braid behind your ear, his touch far more lingering than it needed to be. His eyes dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to yours, as though searching for something.
You tear you gaze away. “I swear, you’re going to catch a cold! And you’re all muddy. What if Ka’ani sees you? You always have to be in character, you know?” you exclaimed, trying to push the leaf more toward his side.
Neteyam’s smile faltered for a second, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he masked it with a soft chuckle. “Right. The act.”
He guided you back toward the shelter of the Hometree, his hand resting firmly on the small of your back. As you walked, he intentionally slowed his pace, pulling you closer to avoid a puddle. When you reached the dry roots of the tree, he didn't immediately let go. He leaned down, his face close to yours.
“Do you really think I'm doing all this for the audience?” he asked, his golden eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like a plea.
Your brows furrowed, panic rising in you before laughing nervously, patting his arm and moving away into the shelter of the hometree’s canopy. “Well, you're a very dedicated actor, ‘Teyam. I have to hand it to you. Everybody believes us,” you said with a huge smile.
Neteyam went still. He stared at you, his hand still in the air, his mouth slightly open as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he let out a long, slow sigh, his shoulders dropping just an inch. “I suppose I am dedicated,” he said quietly, a sad, lopsided smile touching his lips.
“I’m just glad I can help you with this. I’ve never had an actual friend, you know?” you said brightly, grabbing your basket from him. “See you at dinner? I heard they’re serving the smoked fish you like.”
Neteyam watched you walk away, your silhouette disappearing into the winding ramp. He looked down at the hand that had held the leaf, his fingers still tingling from the brief contact with your skin. “Damn it...” he whispered to the empty air. This isn’t an act anymore and he doesn’t know how to cross the threshold between the stage and the reality.
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“No way! You can't move there, that's against the rules!” Lo’ak barked, leaning over the board.
“You’re not one to talk about rules!” Spider countered, reaching for your game piece to help you. “Go on, girl, take his territory. Do it!”
You laughed, your face flushed with the kind of rowdy joy you usually only heard from a distance before. You slammed your piece down, successfully “capturing” Lo’ak’s base. You turned to Spider and Lo’ak, throwing up a hand for a high-four. “Did you see that?“
Spider barked a laughter. “Tell him, ‘suck it!’”
“Suck it?” you repeated with a confused smile.
The word had barely left your lips when the air in the room seemed to shift. Neteyam, who had been leaning against a nearby pillar watching you with a soft, protective smile as he sharpen his bows suddenly went rigid. He looked at Lo’ak and Spider, who were both chuckling, explaining to you what it meant.
“Hey, don't look at us,” Lo’ak muttered, though his tail was twitching with mischief. “She’s just part of the crew now, brother. One of the guys.”
Neteyam pushed off the pillar, stepping into the circle. He ignored the snickering from Lo’ak and Kiri’s knowing smirk. “She is not one of the guys,” Neteyam hissed under his breath.
You turned to him, still grinning from your victory. “Neteyam,” you called and his ears twitched at your soft voice. “Are you angry?”
He blinked, shaking his head right away. “No, no, of course not,” he told you, his eyes softening but a flitter of reprimanding gaze to Lo’ak and Spider promised later. He had just introduced you to them more than a week ago, for Eywa’s sake, and now, they are already teaching you the wrong things!
“You're teaching her the wrong things,” Neteyam told the two later that night when you left the small kelku they created for their games.
“Brother, I think she’s enjoying just fine. I’ve seen her before, she’s usually alone. I’m sure Lo’ak and Spider are just who she needs,” Kiri said,
“Right! She’s really fun. Just yesterday, we played with squid fruit by the river and she threw a mashed handful on my face. Look, I still have stains all over!“ Spider said, pointing at his pink-stained face.
“What?” Neteyam replied, horrified, remembering the stain on your temple that he saw last night. “Just what are you two—”
Lo’ak snicked. “Bro,“ he put a hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. “Don’t be too grumpy. You said you want her to have more friends and we are her friends now,“ he grinned.
Neteyam let out a huff, rolling his eyes. He understands this. You’d told him you have never had an actual friend and he thought he could remedy that. He’d give you everything, if he could.
A few days later, he insisted on coming with you to the forest and you agreeed, knowing you will have to pass by the training grounds where Ka’ani could be and she was indeed around, her eyes following Neteyam as if she’s waiting for him to spare her a glance but he was focused on the path ahead, oblivious or uncaring to her longing stares.
“Ka’ani was looking at you,“ you grinned up at him, nudging his side with your elbow.
You saw his brows furrowed for a moment and then his face hardened. You pushed your lips forward. You assumed it was because Ka’ani still didn’t go and talk to him. The woman is fierce warrior, she was probably too proud to see that as an option. She wants Neteyam to come to her. To her credit, you had not seen her in the company of man in the past weeks... You wondered if Neteyam has realized that.
“You know... I noticed Ka’ani has not been hanging out with guys lately? Have you noticed that?“ you asked, angling your head to look up at him as you rambled, “What if she’s just waiting for you to go and talk to her? I think that’s what she wants. She talked to me, you know? She was mad, so I think she was jealous, isn’t that great—”
“She talked to you? And she was mad?” he turned to you, his face etched with both anger and worry.
You grinned. “Yes. I can tell she was jealous—”
“Did she hurt you?”
“No, she didn’t...” you said. “She was just angry, because the act is working—”
You saw the bone in his jaw tick as if he was clenching his teeth. “Let’s not talk about her.”
Your lips pushed forward and you shrugged, listening instead to the soft crunch of dried leaves breaking beneath your feet. Neteyam fell quiet then, his tail twitching with a restlessness that told you something was weighing on him. You walked faster to match his face, pressing a palm on his chest which made him stop walking... and breathing, too.
“What’s bothering you?” you asked, standing in front of him and feeling his chest slowly deflate.
This is crazy. He has never noticed girls’ voices before, but now, they could probably use yours to cool him off. Your voice caresses him and your laugh sounds like bells in his ear. He wouldn’t have said a word if a different person had asked him, but you always have a way to make him open his mouth and just talk.
“The council... they are advising against it,” he said, his voice heavy. “They think sending me to the displaced clan as an envoy is too much risk, because they see me as a target, not a diplomat.”
Your eyes searched his face and he felt warm inside. “And what does your father say?”
He let out a frustrated sigh and your hand caressed his chest. His hand rose to catch your hand, pressing it against his lips. “He doesn’t say anything. Not yet. He just listens and only then he’ll decide. I’m worried he’ll take their advice,“ he looked at you.
You huffed a breath, patting his chest, and giving him a supportive smile. “Then remind them, Neteyam, that you are no longer a child to be shielded. At your age, your father was already Olo’eyktan. You have to learn diplomacy just as much as any other leader. It wouldn't do you any good to be a leader who is ill-equipped in the discussions of peace.”
Neteyam’s gaze softened, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he looked at you. You removed your hand but he caught it again. “Thank you... for always sharing my burden. I don't think I could have faced them today without hearing that.”
You chuckled, swinging your joined hands lightly. “Bro, it’s nothing! That’s what friends are for, as Spider says,” you beamed at him before turning back to the path ahead, missing the way his face completely dropped.
His smile faltered, and then it deadpanned. It was a total double-kill. Bro and friends in a single breath. You might as well have just shot him in the head and he would have taken it lighter. He huffed, his tail lashing once in irritation as he followed after you.
“I’m not your 'bro,'” he said, suddenly reaching forward to grab your basket from your arm.
Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you laughed at his sudden grumpiness. “Silly! We’re all brothers and sisters in the eyes of the Great Mother,” you said, lightheartedly twirling as you walked, enjoying the dappled sunlight. You didn't even notice how his eyes narrowed as he watched you move through the forest with no care in the world, seemingly oblivious to how much Lo’ak and Spider were ruining his life with their vocabulary lessons.
He had reached his limit.
Before you could twirl again, Neteyam stepped toward you. He reached out, gently but firmly grabbing your arm. Your eyes widened in surprise as he guided you backward, gently pushing you against the trunk of a nearby tree. You looked up at him, your breath catching. His face was inches away from yours, his golden eyes burning with a sudden, fierce intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
“Neteyam?” you whispered, your eyes dropping to his lips before you stupidly, unconsciously licked yours.
He leaned down, and when you didn't pull away, he pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that was deeper and more demanding than the one at the festival. He licked your lips again and you chuckled against his mouth but when his tongue darted inside yours, you made a sound that sounded so womanly it surprised even you. His tongue tangled with yours as his lips devoured yours.
Everything made you feel hot, and weirdly, tingly between your legs that you had to close your thighs together.
When he finally pulled back, his hands moved to cup your face with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he said, his voice low and trembling.
You blinked. “Now?”
“There are things that needs to be dealt with first,“ he said, caressing your jaw. You nodded.
The thing that needed dealing was Ka’ani. He didn’t know the extent of the conversation you had with the huntress, but he knew how Ka’ani talks, and the fact tha you said she was mad solidified what he knew. You two walked back to Hometree, with him carrying your basket for you. The elders giggled at the sight of him following you around like a loyal pet, and when he left with a lingering brush of his thumb against your cheek, they nosed around and asked if the warrior was truly courting you like they kept hearing from the youth.
“No, he’s not... He’s a friend,” you said, noticing the arm band on your basket. You took it and thought perhaps Neteyam had left it there.
You followed after him, thinking he hasn’t gone far yet, but when as stood in the Hometree’s shadowed entrance, you saw him approach Ka’ani near the training grounds, your breath hitching. Ka’ani tilted her head and smirked at him, turning on her heels into the privacy of the deeper woods. You saw Neteyam follow and you tucked yourself behind a massive fern, your pulse thrumming in your ears.
In the dimmed bioluminescence of the forest, Neteyam stood in front of the huntress, seeing that Ka’ani was already smiling, a triumphant, sharp look. “No need to say sorry, Neteyam, if that’s how you’ll start your piece. Because I know,” she said. “I know exactly what you’ve been doing. You’ve used that weaver girl to make me jealous, to straighten me up. I get it, so you can drop the act now. I’ve learned my lesson. I know it’s me you want—”
“I do not want you, Ka’ani,” Neteyam’s voice cut through her arrogance like a blade. “I never even thought I wanted you. Yes, you are a strong and fierce warrior, and I once thought that was what I needed by my side for when I lead one day... but I didn’t realize just how much I needed to see and be seen.“
“And have I not seen you?” Ka’ani snarled, her tail lashing. “We trained together, Neteyam! We fought, we hunted! I was always here! You just spared that girl a glance literally like yesterday and you think she’s perfect for you—”
“You don’t know me in the ways that matter, Ka’ani,” he countered. “I’ve had more connection with a rock, and I don't know why I ever entertained the thought that I needed someone strong by my side when strength is not the only thing this clan needs.”
Ka’ani’s face contorted, her pride wounded in front of the man she wanted so much and thought wanted her, too. “We can get to know each other! I regret it, alright? I regret playing around. I’ll focus—”
“Don’t regret what you did,” Neteyam said. “I’m glad you did it, because not only did it prevent me from making a huge mistake, it also brought me to her. And now, I have the rest of my life in front of me, bright and clear as day.” He stepped closer to her, his voice dropping to a warning growl. “Have a good life, Ka’ani. And do not ever approach my woman to tell her nonsense again.”
He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Ka’ani watching him in deep contempt. All those last words he said not to do? She will do it. Back at Hometree, you sat by your loom, your fingers trembling as you picked up a strand of gold thread. You forced a smile onto your face, practicing the words of congratulations you would give him, even as you felt like the sky was turning a purple far deeper and darker than any storm. That was probably what he was going to talk about with you...
Outside, Neteyam walked back to Hometree with a sense of purpose he’d never felt before. He headed straight for the weaving looms. Tonight, you will be his. He’d tell you the act ends here and you two will start something real. No act from here on end. No games. Just the two of you.
But he never made it to the looms.
A hunter intercepted him midway, out of breath and frantic. “Neteyam! The night patrol was ambushed by the violent clan. Two are wounded. Your father is calling for the council.”
The shift in his demeanor was instantaneous. The soft, yearning man disappeared, replaced by the disciplined warrior. He hurried to the council, standing before Jake with a firm resolve. “I’ll go,” Neteyam insisted. “Fighting would be the last thing I’ll do. I’ll talk to them, Dad. You call for the chieftains to convene and I’ll convince them to come.”
He left within the hour, riding on his ikran, but his heart was back at Hometree, in the weaving looms... He thought he’d be back by light, but he didn’t know he’d be gone for days.
You had been crying. You learned that Neteyam left for a mission regarding the displaced clan, so even though you were heartbroken, you went to the Tree of Souls to pray for his journey. Your vulnerability was too obvious as you walk back to Hometee, and in it, Ka’ani found her opening. You were so close to Hometree when she stepped out from the shadows, a satisfied smirk on her face.
“Hi,” she greeted. “I’m pretty sure you’d heard of Neteyam going to battle... Did he say good bye to you?”
You lowered your gaze and shook your head.
“Where do you think he was last night before he went to battle?” she asked, her voice dripping with mock pity. “He was with me... getting his strength from me.” She stepped closer to you to tilt your head up. “He apologized to me, weaver. For losing sight of what’s truly for him... which is me. He loves me, which I’m sure you know... And he did make me feel loved... see?”
She tilted her head back, exposing the dark hickeys on the side of her neck. To your untrained eyes, it simply looked like bruises, but you knew what you were talking about. Pain bloomed in your chest and you felt ashamed for feeling it. You’re not supposed to feel it. You knew where this is leading to, you knew it was all an act. This woman in front of you was the only reason he approached you.
Ka’ani giggled. “Neteyam was insatiable. He missed me, as you can see... and now, I’m still sore, honestly,” she sighed, looking at you with that mock pity again. “Do you get it? He’s back with me... After he strayed. I hope you can respect that?”
You blinked, your lungs feeling as though they had turned to stone. You didn't realize you were holding your breath until she turned and walked away, and you felt like you might collapse, but the sound of Spider’s familiar voice cut through the silence. He came running toward you, laughing, with Tuk trailing just behind him.
“Was that Ka’ani?” Spider asked, his smile faltering. “What did you two talk about?”
You forced yourself to blink, the world slowly coming back into focus. “Uh... nothing. What are you two doing?”
“Playing tag!” Tuk squealed, slamming into your waist and hugging you tight. You automatically reached down to ruffle her braids. “Tag! You’re it!” she shouted, tapping your belly with a giggle before darting away.
Your soul wanted nothing more than to crawl into a dark corner and let the tears fall, but looking at Tuk’s bright face and Spider’s expectant grin, you couldn't bear to be the killjoy.
“Oh, you’re going to get it now!” you called out, forcing a smile as you chase after them.
₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚
Neteyam had done the impossible. He had returned not just with his warriors intact, but with the promise of a unified forest. The first pace of the Great Council’s efforts to help the displaced clan find a dwelling land, he had secured a future for the displaced and for that, he was their hero.
The clan had a small celebration for it, but as the smell of roasted meat filled the air, Neteyam’s eyes were only on the winding path toward your family’s hut. He hadn't seen you in the crowd. He hadn't seen you at the landing where he expected you would be. Waiting for him. Kiri did tell him you were sick, though, which had sent a cold spike of dread that halted his celebratory high.
He didn't wait for his father’s final toast before slipping away, feeling a worry he didn't even feel during his mission. He arrived at your family’s hut, breathless, practically vibrating with the need to pull you into his arms and tell you that he had thought of nothing but your face as he sat among the displaced.
When you emerged from the flap, he froze. You were pale and your eyes were swollen and bloodshot, the telltale signs of the days you spent in quiet agony. His brows furrowed, his feet moving before he could even think. He stopped when he saw you step back though.
“I... I’m sick,” you said when you saw the question in his eyes. You didn't look at him with the warmth he’d been dreaming of. You looked at him as if he were a threat.
He stepped toward the platform, his hand reaching out instinctively. “I know. Kiri told me. But what made you sick? Why are you crying?" His voice was thick with a worry so raw it made your chest ache. “I haven't even been gone for a week, and this is what I return to?”
You stepped back into the shadows of the hut, a sharp scowl flickering across your face. “I... I don't know why I got sick. But I do know I want to lay down and rest. So if there's nothing else, I’ll go do it.”
Before he could utter another word, you grabbed the woven flap and slammed it shut. Neteyam stood there in the silence, staring at the closed entrance. His brows furrowed, his head tilting in genuine, painful confusion. He had expected a hug, a laugh, perhaps even a repeat of that soul-searing kiss in the forest. Instead, he had been shut out like a stranger. The victory he had carried on his shoulders suddenly felt hollow. For this, he didn't return to the celebration at all. He walked back to the his family’s hut in a daze, laying awake for hours wondering what could have poisoned the air in his absence.
The next day was filled with council meetings. He sat through hours of strategy and relocation discussions, but his mind was in the looms which he would check every time there's a chance, ready to scold you for working while ill, but your spot was empty. It wasn't until the following morning that he found you. You were sitting at your spot, your movements stiff and mechanical. And it seemed like you were waiting, too, because you looked at him the moment he stepped into the looms.
“Let’s talk,” he said, his voice firm, trying to reclaim some shred of authority to hide how much his heart was racing.
You stood up, your face impassive. “We do need to talk.” you said, your voice cold and sharp.
He stopped in his tracks, staring at you for more than a minute. For the first time in his life, after facing predators, raids, and the weight of a legacy, Neteyam felt a genuine, cold prickle of fear. But as he looked at the fire in your eyes, a small, reckless part of him couldn't help but admire it. He feels crazy. You are so hot when you’re mad.
You walked into the forest, feeling even more slighted when you remembered him going in this same route with Ka’ani. You felt his hand on your elbow though, steering you toward a different path instead. You glared at him. “Where are we going?”
The sight of direhorses answered your question though. You saw some warriors riding their mounts and Neteyam whistled for his. You saw Ka’ani among the warriors nearby and saw how her eyes narrowed at the sight of you and Neteyam. Shame rose in you and you tried to wriggle away from Neteyam’s hold, especially when a warrior came jogging toward you.
“Brother, will you not watch the young tame their mounts?“ The warrior asked. “They’ll be here in five minutes.”
The warrior glanced at you and you took your elbow from Neteyam again, but you weren’t able to get away though, because his hand found your waist and pulled you to him.
“No. I got something more important to do,“ Neteyam said. “I’m sure they’ll do well.”
The warrior snickered, “Enjoy then,” he glanced at you meaningfully before nodding to Neteyam, and turning away.
Neteyam’s hand spanned your waist and lifted you up on his direhorse in under ten seconds, making you slightly shriek. He mounted the beast behind you, making tsaheylu with it before wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. You tried to move away, but the direhorse had started moving, and in a second, it was running.
The wind roared past your ears as the direhorse ate up the miles, forcing you to lean back against Neteyam’s chest just to stay balanced. You enjoyed the sight during the ride, fighting the urge to move your head away when you felt him pressung a kiss to the crown of your head. You felt sad when he pulled on the reins, already missing the exhilaration of riding and the good view.
Neteyam slid off the mount first before reaching up to lift you down, his movements fluid and sure. He didn't let go immediately, his hands lingered on your waist as he looked around the clearing. He felt a surge of triumph that you hadn't jumped off and bolted, though he felt a twinge of guilt, too, because he’d brought you this far specifically so you couldn't run away.
The glade was breathtaking and it immediately snagged your attention. Under any other circumstances, you would have danced through the high grass, but the weight in your chest kept your feet heavy.
Neteyam turned to you, the light dabbing across his face. “Alright," he whispered, his jaw tightening. “Tell me. What has changed since I left?”
You scowled, the image of Ka’ani’s smug face flashing in your mind. “Are you sure things didn’t change before you left? I’m pretty sure you made up with Ka’ani, and did more than just talking.”
The accusation hit him like a physical blow that his eyes widened, his head snapping back in shock. “I did not ‘make up’ with Ka’ani. Yes, I talked to her, but I simply told her to back off. I told her never to approach you again. Did she talk of nonsense to you again?” He was practically vibrating, his tail lashing behind him.
“Yes, she did! We talked,” you threw back at him. “She showed me the hickeys on her neck, Neteyam! She said she was so sore... because you were insatiable! Because you missed her so much that you had to get your 'strength' from her before you left!”
“What?” The word was a rasp of horror. A visceral disgust washed over his features, his body shivering at the image your words painted. “I did not lay with her. I never did and I never would. Oh, Great Mother... that woman is a huge liar!”
You searched his face. You looked for a flicker of guilt or lie, a shift in his eyes, but all you saw was a man who looked genuinely nauseated by the very idea. You believe him, despite yourself and without your consent, the suffocating clouds over your head began to lighten. He stepped toward you, his hands reaching for your arms, but you crossed them over your chest, refusing to let him in just yet.
“Believe me, please,” he pleaded, his words beginning to tumble over each other in a frantic rush. “That night after we were in the forest, all I did was find her and shut down her delusions. I was so mad that she dared to talk to you, dared to get mad at you, so I told her to back off and never approach you again. I was coming back to you, baby. I was going to tell you our ruse ends there and then. I was going to beg you for a chance to make it real.”
He palmed his face , sounding completely undone.
“But then the incident with our warriors happened and I had to go... Jesus. I was so stupid. I should have gone to you before I left, but I was thinking... I was thinking I probably wouldn't be able to leave at all if you told me you’d give me a chance.”
His heart was beating too fast and to hard against his chest, watching the fire in your eyes finally die out, replaced by a soft heat. You believed him. It wasn't in your nature to stay angry when the truth felt so solid, and you knew Neteyam well enough now to know he would never play around. The fact that Ka’ani had looked so bitter earlier suddenly made sense. She hadn't won anything, she had just tried to burn down your bridge.
You bit your lip, your shoulders finally dropping. “Alright...” you whispered.
Neteyam didn't hesitate. He stepped into your space, gently wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into the solid warmth of his chest. “That’s it? ‘Alright’?” he asked, his voice soft and breathless, his face so close yours.
You pushed your lips forward in a small pout, though you didn't pull away. “I guess I believe you... I don’t think it’s in your character to lie like that.”
A wave of shame washed over you as you realized how quickly you had let Ka’ani’s poison work. You had given him so little confidence, believing a lie over the man you know to be so genuine and kind. But then, you had been protecting yourself; you were in an act, and the lines had been so blurred you didn't know where it all ended.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured “I just... I thought it was still an act. That we were still acting to get her back...”
Neteyam tightened his grip, lowering his head to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ve long forgotten about the deal. I think I stopped truly caring about it just a week after I started spending my days with you. I just didn't know what it was I was feeling until the thought of it ending and not being with you anymore felt more terrifying than any battle.” He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb caressing your cheek. “This is why you’ve been crying...”
You pushed your lips forward. You wanted to forget that part! “Let’s just forget it...”
“No, we won’t. You don’t know how much it broke me to see you cry, to see you so gray, and not know why. She hurt you, she meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice hard and his jaw tightening. “And I played a part in it. I should have talked to you, clear everything for us so you would have confidence in me. So you won’t believe her.”
You looked up at him, your hand pressing against his chest to calm him down. “It’s over and done with, Neteyam... What’s important is that we’te okay now. Right?”
He looked down at you, his head tilting. Ka’ani was lucky that you are so kind, but she wasn’t that lucky because he’s not. He leaned down to kiss you, “Right. There will be no more acts and games... Just us.”
You looked up at him, the weight finally gone, and for the first time in days, the light returned to your golden eyes. “Just us.” you beamed at him.
He sucked in a breath, pulling you and tilting your head to kiss you hard. He was a man starved and you could tell with how he's holding and kissing you. He moaned when your tongue licked his lower lip, making him pull his head back to look at you.
“It’s you I missed so much...” he mumbled, kissing you softly. “It’s you I’d be insatiable for... And you I’ll make so sore—”
“Neteyam!” your hand lifted up to clamp around his mouth and he laughed. You shrieked when you felt his warm and wet tongue lick at your palm.
“I know... I’ll court you... Then you'll accept me as your mate... And then you’re in big trouble wth me—”
You groaned, your cheeks burning purple. He kissed your cheek before angling his head to kiss you for real.
The next afternoon, the Sully siblings were in on the plan—though only Kiri truly understood the gravity of it. They had dragged you down to the river, telling you they’ll teach you how to properly splash a person without getting soaked yourself.
“Focus! You have to cup your hand like this,” Spider shouted, sending a wall of water toward a ducking Lo’ak.
You laughed, the sound genuine and bright, completely unaware that Neteyam had quietly slipped away. He had seen Ka’ani heading toward the upper trails, and he wasn't about to let another sun set without finishing this. He intercepted her near the high roots, his silhouette blocking her path. Ka’ani stopped, her smirk faltering when she saw the look on his face. He didn’t look friendly at all, not that he had look friendly the last time they talked, but the hard storm masking his face right now was the look of a man who had seen a threatening the peace.
“Neteyam,” she started, trying to reclaim her cool composure. “I thought you'd be busy with your little weaver.“
“I am busy,” Neteyam said. “I am busy realizing how wrong I was about you. I thought you were a warrior of honor, Ka’ani. I thought that even if you were proud, you were noble. But to purposely hurt a woman who did you nothing wrong? To lie about the most disgusting things just to see her cry—”
Ka’ani’s eyes narrowed, her tail lashing. “I know what I’m doing, Neteyam! You were only using her to straighten me up! I just leveled the playing field. I was reclaiming what was mine—”
“I was never yours,” he cut her off, disgust for her delusions crumpling his face. “There was nothing to reclaim, you had nothing. The life you are living is the one you actively chose. Even if we had tried before, I know I would have quickly realized it would never work, what with our lack of connection. The only thing we shared was the training grounds.”
Ka’ani winced as if he’d struck her. “I... I was just blinded, Neteyam. I was jealous! I was envious. I’m sorry, alright? I was just trying to get you back.”
Neteyam let out a sharp huff. “I wasn’t yours to get back, we had nothing to do with each other. And you’re not really sorry. At least not yet, because you didn't think of taking your words back during the days I wasn't home. You knew she was crying. You knew she was hurting from your lies, and you sat back and enjoyed it. You are only sorry now because I am standing here confronting you.”
Ka’ani opened her mouth to argue, her hands trembling, but no words came out. The truth of his gaze was too heavy to deflect.
“I hope you grow,” Neteyam said, turning on his heel.
“Neteyam, wait!” she called out, sounding frantic as he turned to walk away. “I’m sorry! I’ll go to her right now. I’ll apologize to her! Please... can we still be friends? We’ve known each other our whole lives.”
Neteyam stopped, but he didn't turn around. He looked over his shoulder, his profile sharp against the sunlight filtering through the leaves.
“We were never friends, Ka’ani. You don't see me as a friend. You see me as a prize to be won.” He took a breath, thinking of your laugh echoing by the river. “Friends don’t hurt the people you love. And that is exactly what you did to the woman I love. After that, I don’t think your wish can be possible.”
He left her standing there, the weight of her own choices finally settling on her shoulders. When he returned to the river, he saw you. You were dripping wet, laughing as Tuk tried to climb onto your back.You looked up and caught his eye, beaming at him with a warmth that made his heart feel like it was soaring home.
He didn't say a word about Ka’ani. He just waded into the water, pulled you into a lopsided embrace, and whispered into your ear, “I think it’s time I started that courting I mentioned. Properly.”
And just like that, the moons had drifted by like dust in the wind, and Neteyam had kept his word. He courted you openly and even formally asked your parents for your hand, which they initially did not want to grant him. They think your life wouldn’t be as peaceful if you mated Neteyam instead of a simple man in the clan. Honestly, your parents didn’t know what to do with him. Neteyam was so intense in his courtship to you and your family that, most times, your parents were literally hiding from him. By then, he had already brought your family the finest meat and the rarest fruits, but surprise of your parents’ lives probably came when he brought Jake and Neytiri. He wasn’t really planning to bring them along, it was just... Neytiri is apparently getting impatient over the fact that Neteyam isn’t an official suitor yet, and Jake wanted to relieve your parents of their worries over you being Neteyam’s mate.
And today, the celebration for the new village of the displaced clan felt like the culmination of everything you and Neteyam had built. It seemed so long ago when you two discussed the matter when you were swimming in the river, and now, the clan found a home by the river. The Olo’eyktan of the displaced clan stood before the grand fire. You’d met him only today, but you could already tell the respect he has for Neteyam.
“For too long, we were ghosts in this forest,” the Olo’eyktan started. “We lived like beggars, raiding for sustenance, hurting our brothers and sisters among your clans, and also fearing their spears, but a path was cleared where we saw only hopelessness. Our homes are standing here today because of Neteyam te Suli, our brother of the Omatikaya. Because of him, we have peace. Our children will know only the beauty of the forest and never the tragedy that forced us out of our lands.”
You grinned as the crowd erupted, but Neteyam tried to sink into his seat, his ears pressing back in embarrassment as his arm pulled you to him. He hated the attention, but the chieftains wouldn't have it. They pushed him to the center, where he was forced to give a piece of his mind.
He cleared his throat, his golden eyes immediately finding yours in the crowd as if to ground himself. “The peace you see today was not born in my mind,” he began, his voice steadying as he looked at you. “I am a warrior, I was ready to lead with my bow. But it was my woman who showed me the wisdom in a hand offered instead of an arrow. She gave me the strength to listen when I wanted to fight. If this land is a home today, it is because her heart guided my way.”
Neytiri turned to you and smiled as the men in the crowd roared to tease the warrior they’ve been acquainted with in the past moons. As he strode back to you, pulling you into a deep kiss of victory, a warrior from a different clan hooted from the side. “Careful, Neteyam! Keep your wits about you and don’t let her hit her head, or she might wake up and realize she could leave your ass behind!”
Neteyam let out a deep, resonant laugh, pulling you flush against his side. “I have no intention of ever letting her get far enough to find out!”
As the party reached its high, Neteyam’s eyes found yours, looking at you meaningfully, in a way that made your skin tingle. You raised a brow and he jerked his head toward the dark woods. You pushed your lips forward in a playful pout but tugged his hand anyway, leading him away from the noise and into the glowing embrace of the forest.
You skipped hand in hand, admiring the bioluminescent flora lighting your path and when you reached the secluded bend of the river, the sounds of the festival was nothing but a hum. You turned to him with a grin and, without a word, untied the ties of your beaded top. His hungry eyes followed the movement, his breath hitching as if he has not seen them for a hundred times already. You untied your loincloth next, letting it pool on the floor.
He watched you with an intensity that excited you, and when his own loincloth fell, you bit your lip, seeing of the hard-on you had become quite well-acquainted with over the past moons. The glow of the river and the forest illuminated his handsome face so perfectly your heart hammered against your chest. He is so handsome.
“Hi,” he whispered, his large arms on your waist pulling you close.
Your smile grew to a grin. “You’re silly,” you chuckled, pressing a palm against his muscled chest to gently push him back. “I’m going to swim... why are you holding me?”
Neteyam’s eyes narrowed playfully, a boyish grin spreading across his face as he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. “Oh, I think there are other things that need swimming, too,” he teased, his voice dropping as his hand caught yours, bringing it down so you could feel his hardened cock. “Your babies want to swim in you.”
“Neteyam!“ you called, almost swiveling your head around in case someone could hear him. You’ve learned, in the past moons, how lewd he can be with his words but your habit of looking around will probably stay for a few years more.
He angled his head to press a hard kiss against your lips. “What? Don’t you want our kids to have fun time?”
You laughed, the sound like bells in his ears. You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. “Am I in big trouble again?” you whispered against his ear.
He groaned. “You’re always going to be in big trouble with me if I had my way.”
You smirked, tilting your head. “I want to take care of you tonight...” you mumbled, your hand on his chest caressing his skin and pushing him back.
He raised a brow, always surprised still whenever you show him fire. You pulled him down to kiss him, your lips crashing into his with a hunger that made him vibrate in excitement. He let you push him back against the trunk of a towering tree, letting out a gravelly groan when his head thumped back against the bark.
His hands gripped your waist, pulling you so flush against him that the ridge of his hard-on felt like it was imprinting itself on your belly. With practiced ease, he reached behind himself to bring his queue forward, while his other hand found yours behind you, making you break the kiss for just a second, watching through hooded eyes as the pink tendrils of your kurus began to reach and weave together.
The familiar psychic jolt of his intense love, raw devotion and desire for you flooded your mind, feeling his heart hammering against your ears, echoing the rhythm of your own. His fingers cupped your jaw to kiss you again, ad you smiled against his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth before trailing your lips down. You licked and kiss his neck, your palms staying flat on his chest, feeling the heavy thud of his heart as you kissed your way down over the hard ridges of his stomach.
“My warrior...” you murmured, kissing his lower abdomen.
You peered up at him, seeing his head pressed against the tree, but his eyes were looking down at you. You kissed sharp V-line of his hips before your hand reached out, fisting his girth. Neteyam’s breath hitched, a strangled sound escaping his throat as your hand began to move. The bond between your queues flared, sending waves of his pleasure crashing through the both of you.
“You are celebrated tonight,” you whispered, looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes that contrasted the sinful movement of your hands on him. “I think you deserve a reward, don't you?”
“Baby...” he rasped, his hands fisting as he tried to ground himself.
You didn't give him a chance to respond. You lowered your head, taking him into your mouth with a heat that made his entire body shudder. Through the bond, you felt the exact moment he weakened. His hands flew to your long braids as your mouth started sucking around his girth, your tongue playing with its underside, getting another sharp intake of his breath. You drew back slightly, then plunged deeper, taking more of him down your throat. You worked your mouth, your lips sealing around him that made him tremble. His fingers tightened in your braids in a gentle tug, guiding your movements, urging you faster.
Your tongue swirled, licked, teased, tracing the veins along his length. You felt him grow even harder in your mouth. You pulled back, then swallowed him again, your breath hitching as you felt the wide head deep inside your throat. His hips began to thrust, his hand on your jaw, meeting your eager mouth until you tasted him, the musky scent of his arousal filling your nostrils. Your throat ached, but the pleasure in his groans kept you moving.
“Oh, baby,” he gasped, his body trembling.
His hips bucked, a deep growl rumbling from his chest. You felt the first warm gush of him erupt into your mouth, hot and thick, and you swallowed as his body convulsed, still pouring into you. He groaned deeply, a powerful sound that made you shiver, his fingers digging into your hair as he emptied himself.
He slumped, his breathing ragged. “Enough, my love,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, trying to pull your head up.
But you weren’t finished. You wanted to clean him, to savor every last drop. You ignored his pleas, your tongue flicking out, licking away the remnants of his pleasure, tracing the underside of his shaft. You heard his sharp intake of breath, his abdominal muscles tensing again. He was literally fighting to hold onto his strength, and you felt his cock twitch, hardening slightly at your continued ministrations. You ran your tongue along the tip, then sucked gently, drawing out the last of his cum.
“Fuck. I regret teaching you, you know?” he said weakly, his knees buckling.
You glared at him before reluctantly releasing him, your lips glistening. He reached down, pulling you up with a sudden, fierce strength that lifted until your bodies collided. His mouth found yours in a hard, demanding kiss, his tongue plunged into your mouth, mirroring the thrusts of his shaft earlier, tangling with yours. You met him with equal fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer still, your hips instinctively grinding against his.
He broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw and your throat in a fiery path. He lifted you, cradling you in his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist before he lowered you gently against the soft moss. He knelt above you, his golden eyes devouring your body like a man starved. His hand traced the curve of your waist, then upward, toward your breasts. His fingers brushed against your nipple and you arched your back, a soft moan escaping your lips. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one of the pebbled tips, sucking hard. You gasped and shivered, your fingers tangling in his braids, pressing him closer. His tongue swirled around your breast, while his other hand kneaded the other, his thumb circling the aroused tip.
“What a great reward,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your flesh. He suckled hard that it made you arch your back both in ache and pleasure. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same intense attention until you cried out, your body writhing for more.
He pulled away, his eyes hot with a familiar predatory hunger in them. He shifted, kneeling between your legs, which had instinctively parted for him. He leaned down, his mouth moving lower. You moaned, knowing what was coming, your hips lifting in anticipation. His tongue flicked out, tracing the velvety folds of your pussy, already wet with anticipation,
He spread your lips, his tongue plunging directly into your clit, making you arch your back, your fingers scratching at his back. He licked, sucked, and torment, his mouth relentlessly sucking and his tongue playing more than it licks. He used his fingers, too, parting your lips to allowing his tongue full access on you. He tasted you, the salty-sweet essence, a taste that always drove him wild.
“So sweet,” he murmured against your folds his voice a low growl, his tongue flicking faster, harder.
Your breath came in ragged gasps, your legs trembling, wrapping around his head, pressing him deeper into your pussy. You felt the suction of his mouth and the relentless assault of his tongue on your clit, and your orgasm coiled in your belly. You whimpered, unable to form words, only sounds of pure pleasure, your hips bucking as your body shivered with release, leaving you gasping. You felt the soft shudders of your pussy, contracting around his tongue.
He pulled away, moving above you, his hard cock pressing against your folds. You whimpered, still quivering from your orgasm that your pussy was still throbbing and incredibly sensitive. He still pushed though, the head of his cock sliding inside. You moaned and he pushed deeper, stretching you, and filling you completely.
You wrapped your arms around his body that hovered above yours, his eyes locked with yours. He began to move, a slow thrust, then another, pulling almost completely out before plunging back in deep and hard. The sounds of him sliding in and out of your wetness filled the air, mingling with your gasps and his grunts. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, urging him deeper and faster.
He gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, lifting you slightly to control the angle, to thrust even deeper. “Harder,” you pleaded, your voice hoarse, your hips bucking to meet his.
He responded instantly, his thrusts becoming a furious assault. He pounded into you, deep and relentless, filling you with every thrust. You felt yourself tightening around him, your muscles clenching. Your breath hitched, your vision blurring. You cried out his name, again and again, as your body convulsed, leaving you gasping, clinging to him.
He groaned, his body trembling above you as he thrusted a few more times, deep, desperate strokes. His body tensed, his seed erupting inside you, hot and thick, filling your womb with your babies that needed swimming. He collapsed onto you, heaving, his breath ragged against your neck. You lay there, your entwined bodies both slick with sweat and release.
He let out a long, shaky exhale, his tail giving one final, exhausted twitch against your leg. With a groan that sounded sated and delirious, he pulled out of you, watching the gush of his heavy and thick cum dripping out of you. “You emptied me,” he mumbled, his voice thick.
You chuckled, breathless. “Complaining, are we? You’re the one who started talking about ‘swimmers’ in the middle of our conversation,” you smirked.
Neteyam let out a dry, boyish laugh, propping himself up on one elbow. He looked down at your stomach, then back at your face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I believe in my warriors. They’re fast.”
You groaned, reaching up to swat his chest, but he caught your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your knuckles. “Neteyam, if my mother sees me walking back looking like this, I’m going to receive a scolding.”
“Tell her you are a mated woman,” he suggested shamelessly, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest.
“Neteyam... They don’t know that yet. We are following the traditions!” you whisper-shouted playfully. “Beside, what happened to being modest for my parents?” you narrowed your eyes at him.
He laughed, a genuine, chest-shaking sound that made you feel warm all over again. He rolled to his side, his hand grabbing your waist with a renewed look of heat in his eyes that made you groan. You sat up and his head angled to catch the pebbled tip of your breast into his mouth.
“‘Teyam...” your hand clutched at his shoulder.
“Just one more...” he said, his words muffled because he had your flesh in his mouth.
You bit you lip and laid back on the soft moss, spreading your thighs as your hand caressed the soft skin on his back. You watched his large, formidable form hover over you, his thick and long cock already pointing at your pussy as if it knows its target. You shivered at the sight of it, your excitement vibrating in your body. His hand clasped under your knee and pushed your leg back, stretching you before his cock nudged your entrance.
His other hand moved over your pussy, his thumb rubbing your sensitive nub as his length disappeared in you. You moaned a long one, arching your back, offering your rounded breasts to him and he lowered his head to take one into his mouth, his tongue immediately swirling on your nipple. In a sudden, hard movement, his hand on your hips pulled you to him, burying himself to the hilt inside you.
“Ah!” you moaned, your thighs quivering to close around him but he kept them open, restraining both of them tightly befote delivering a series of hard and intense pounding.
You held onto him, your eyes flying open and meeting his. You probably looked so aroused and fucked, because his pupils blew even wider, almost swallowing the gold. Your mouth remained perpetually gaped, releasing jagged breaths and moans as he continued pumping into you. Your hand pressed against his lower abdomen and his thrusts quickened and hardened even more.
He lowered his head to kiss you, his tongue immediately plunging into your open mouth. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his hard muscles contrasting his soft skin until all the sensations he’s giving you pushed you to the edge. He came first, shuddering above you despite his efforts to hold out longer. You hugged him tighter when you felt yourself erupt.
He kissed your neck softly, feeling your body shudder against him, you legs literally quivering as your walls clenched around him to milk him dry. He chuckled, pressing a hard kiss against your jaw. “I told you. Big trouble.”
You let your head fall on the mossy ground, feeling him lick the skin on your exposed neck. “I think I can handle the trouble,” you murmured. “As long as it’s yours.”
He squeezed your hip, giving you a lingering kiss. “I love you so much, space cadet,” he mumbled. “Now, let’s put on act that we just swam in the river and are too tired to return to the festival.”
syn: this mini-series follows the relationship between you (the little sister to the lead singer of disco band axis 79, trying to make a name for yourself) and michael jackson (the rising king of pop).
pleaseread: this is a series heavily outside my comfort zone. i don’t usually write about real life celebrities but i fear michaelmania has taken over me. that being said, this series might have some suggestive moments but will not have smut (out of respect for him), because it’s uncomfortable for me to write that about real people dead or alive. thank you.
warnings: i do not know the entire ins and outs of michael’s life, that being said… a lot of creative liberties have been taken. just a reminder, this is a work of fiction, all references to real life people are entirely coincidental.
episode 00; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: the first time michael met you was when he was invited to an exclusive celebrity afterparty, where the best singers of the time gathered. while he was honored to get an invite, he found himself more enthralled with the little sister of one of his favorite bands – axis 79.
episode 01; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: impressed by your makeup skills, michael invites you to work as a makeup artist while he shoots his short film — thriller.
episode 02; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: after successful filming, michael invites you to a lunch date.
episode 03; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: you accompany your brother to the 26th annual grammy awards. and though you expected michael there, you were surprised to see the woman he brought along — brooke shields. you managed to hide your disappointment from the cameras, but being the little sister of julian meant that you had three more attentive ‘brothers.’
episode 04; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: michael is invited to your brother’s studio for help on a song. chaos, and lovely moments, follow afterwards…
SYN — there’s not a lot of people who can tell michael no. the last person he expects it to be is his new choreographer.
CONTENT — choreographer!reader x bad!michael, not proofread, nothing else rly happens icl
EXTRA EXTRA READ ALL ABOUT IT — i havent written for someone nonfictional in a very long time and this is very poopy butt but i hope u like it
1987
The letter came in on a Monday.
The morning had gone as normally as it could have, and the last thing you expected was to hear from your former mentor again.
You shuffled through the stack of mail at the kitchen table while your tea slowly went cold beside you. There were bills to be paid and a letter from home amongst other junk you almost tossed without reading.
Then you saw the name. You hadn’t seen it in nearly a decade and read over it twice before dropping the remaining letters in your hand onto the counter.
The envelope was thin, your name written across the front in the same sharp handwriting you remembered from rehearsal notes scribbled angrily across studio mirrors and sheet music. Even after all these years, you recognized it instantly.
For a second, you just stared at it.
The last time you’d spoken to him, you’d left your hometown furious, hardly an adult and stubborn enough to believe talent alone could survive without connections. You hadn’t expected him to ever reach out again.
Yet there his letter sat in your hands.
Inside was only a single page.
His position as lead choreographer for Michael Jackson’s upcoming tour had been cut unexpectedly short due to health complications. Rehearsals were already underway in Los Angeles. The production needed someone immediately.
By the end of the afternoon, your entire life had been flipped upside down. A rushed phone call later, and a car service had been arranged in Los Angeles before you’d even had time to process what was happening.
The next thing you knew, you were stepping into a blazing-hot rehearsal studio in LA, a duffel bag still slung over your shoulder and your suitcase being rolled in your hand, staring at the most famous man in the world.
His manager motioned for you to introduce yourself.
Every pair of eyes in the studio turned toward you at once.
Dancers lingered near the mirrors with towels slung around their necks, production crew scattered around the room, pretending to be busy.
“Hi,” you managed, offering a small wave despite the sudden dryness in your throat. You gave your name quickly afterward. “I’m the new choreographer. It’s really nice to meet you.”
A few polite murmurs echoed back.
Then your eyes landed on Michael Jackson.
He stood near the center of the room, one hand resting against his hip, dark curls falling over his forehead.
He looked you over once, a polite smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
You fidgeted with the hem of your shirt, your hand slipping off of the handle of your suitcase.
The manager beside him began talking again, filling the silence with rushed explanations about scheduling conflicts and transitions, but you barely heard him. Michael hadn’t taken his eyes off you once.
“Yeah, uh…” you started, clearing your throat as you finally tore your gaze from his. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
A ripple moved through the room immediately — dancers straightening, crew members exchanging glances, someone muttering finally under their breath.
You turned toward the cassette player near the mirrors just as one of the assistants slid a tape into place with a sharp click.
“From the top, coach?” he asked, hand hovering over the controls.
“Yeah,” you answered automatically.
Before you could reach down again, someone stepped forward and gently took your bags from your hands, pulling them off to the side of the studio. You barely noticed.
Your attention had already shifted back to Michael.
He moved toward center floor without another word, rolling his shoulders loose as the opening beat played out through the speakers.
The entire atmosphere in the studio changed instantly.
And then the music started.
The first thing you noticed was that he was brilliant.
The second was that he knew it.
You walked across the room, cutting through the dancers getting into formation, and positioning yourself quietly near the mirrors, arms folded loosely across your chest as the routine unfolded in front of you.
At first, all you did was watch.
And it was impossible not to recognize your old mentor’s work buried inside the choreography, stitched neatly beneath Michael’s own instincts and improvisations.
But Michael transformed it into something else entirely.
His signature movements melted into the rhythm effortlessly, every turn and snap landing like second nature instead of choreography. He seemed to exist inside the music, body moving a half-second ahead of every beat.
You understood immediately why nobody challenged him.
Watching him was overwhelming.
The dancers behind him mirrored the routine as best they could, but your eyes kept catching tiny inconsistencies. A shoulder hitting late. A turn rushed too early. Someone in the back line counting instead of listening.
By the time the chorus hit, the issue became obvious.
Everyone was dancing on slightly different timing.
Not enough for an audience to catch immediately. But enough for the performance to feel messy underneath the surface.
Your expression tightened.
Michael spun cleanly through the center formation while the dancers around him lagged behind by fractions of a beat, ruining the impact of the chorus entirely.
You lifted a hand sharply.
“Stop.”
The music cut off mid-count.
The room froze.
A few dancers exchanged nervous looks, breathing hard as silence settled across the studio. Someone near the sound system glanced uncertainly toward Michael before lowering his hand from the controls.
Michael straightened slowly at center floor, chest rising with controlled breaths.
Then he looked at you expectantly.
You stepped forward onto the rehearsal floor.
“The timing’s off,” you said plainly.
One of the dancers frowned immediately. “Whose?”
“All of yours.”
A murmur passed through the dancers at your comment, a few shifting awkwardly under the sudden scrutiny.
You didn’t react to it. Your attention stayed fixed on the formation lines taped across the floor.
“Run it again,” you said. “Just the chorus.”
Nobody moved at first.
Then Michael lifted a hand slightly. “Again from the chorus,” he repeated calmly.
The tension broke instantly.
Dancers hurried back into position while the cassette rewound with a harsh mechanical whir. Michael stepped off center this time instead of taking his place in formation, wiping sweat from the back of his neck before drifting toward you.
You could feel half the room watching the two of you now.
“You saw all that from one run-through?” he asked quietly once he reached your side.
You kept your eyes on the floor marks. “I heard it before I saw it.”
That seemed to interest him.
The music started again.
This time you counted softly under your breath, eyes tracking each dancer carefully.
“Five, six, seven, eight…”
Beside you, Michael hummed the rhythm low enough that only you could hear it, fingers tapping absentmindedly against his thigh in perfect sync with the beat. It should’ve been distracting. Somehow, it wasn’t.
You caught it again immediately.
The chorus hit.
Everybody rushed the transition.
“Stop, stop,” you called, lifting your hand again. “I’ve got it.”
The music cut.
Michael looked over at you before glancing back toward the formation. “What is it?”
You pointed toward him. “Show me that move again. The turn before the chorus.”
Without hesitation, he stepped forward and did it. A sharp pivot, shoulder snap, clean footwork, body hitting the beat with impossible precision.
You watched carefully.
Then it clicked.
“They’re following you too fast,” you said, marking the movement. “They’re anticipating your timing instead of letting the movement land.”
Each word was followed by a movement, the slow repetition of what Michael had just done.
A few backup dancers exchanged confused looks.
You stepped onto the floor, demonstrating more quickly. “Hold for two counts before the transition. Then hit everything sharper. Hard stops. Don’t smooth it out.”
You mimicked the movement again, exaggerating the pause before snapping into the turn.
The visual difference was immediate.
“That way, they compliment what you’re doing.”
You look over at Michael.
A couple dancers nodded instinctively.
Michael tilted his head slightly. “I don’t know,” he said politely. “The pause might slow the energy down.”
And immediately, every dancer in the room went still.
You looked at him evenly.
“Trust me.”
Michael glanced back toward the formation before looking at you again, one eyebrow lifting slightly. “If we stop for two counts, the audience is gonna think somebody missed their cue.”
“They won’t if you hit the move hard enough.”
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You sound very confident for someone who got here an hour ago.”
“And you sound very stubborn for someone who hired me.”
A couple dancers choked trying not to laugh.
Michael looked genuinely caught off guard for half a second before letting out a soft breath through his nose. It’s not quite a laugh, but close.
“I didn’t hire you,” he corrected.
“Why am I here then?”
That got an actual laugh out of him this time, quiet and brief as he looked down, shaking his head.
You stepped forward again, gesturing toward the dancers. “Look, right now everybody’s trying to keep up with you instead of matching you. They’re rushing because you move fast naturally.” You pointed toward the chorus formation. “But if they hold for two counts, the audience gets a second to see you before they follow.”
Michael considered that silently.
You softened your tone slightly. “It’ll make everything look bigger.”
He narrowed his eyes a little at that, suspicious now. “You’re manipulating me.”
“A little.”
Another quiet laugh escapes his lips.
The dancers were openly smiling now, shocked enough by the exchange that several had completely forgotten to hide it.
Michael looked back toward the floor again, mentally running through the choreography. You could practically see him testing the counts in his head.
Finally, he sighed dramatically, hand resting against his chest. “Fine.”
You blinked. “Fine?”
“I’m trusting you,” he said, pointing at you accusingly. “But if it looks terrible, we’re going back to the original timing.”
“Fair.”
He shook his head again, still faintly amused, before turning back toward the dancers and clapping his hands once.
“Alright,” he called out. “Let’s take it from the top.”
Michael made his way back to his position, lowering his head when the music started.
The routine rolled forward smoothly, the dancers noticeably more conscious of their timing now.
Then the chorus hit.
And the difference was immediate.
The two-count hold created a sudden tension in the room, the formation freezing just long enough for anticipation to build before the dancers snapped into the transition all at once.
They were in sync.
You glanced sideways instinctively.
Michael’s eyes followed the formation carefully as he slowed down, pausing with his head turned to the mirror, expression unreadable at first. Then, almost unconsciously, he nodded once.
By the time the music cut off, several dancers were already grinning at each other.
“That’s it,” one of them muttered breathlessly.
Michael stayed quiet for another second before finally looking over at you.
You were almost sure he smiled.
The rest of rehearsal went by unmemorably— changing up the last couple counts of eight, switching up formations, and running through the number maybe a couple hundred times.
By the time the final run-through ended, the studio windows had long since turned black with night.
Four hours gone in what felt like twenty minutes.
People filtered out slowly afterward, exhausted, calling tired goodnights over their shoulders while crew members began shutting equipment down for the evening.
Your entire body ached.
Outside, the Los Angeles air hit warmer than expected. You exhaled slowly, digging through your bag for your cigarettes before lighting one between your lips.
The first inhale burned nicely.
You stood there in the glow of the streetlights, suitcase propped beside your leg, waiting for a cab to eventually crawl by.
Then the studio door opened behind you.
You heard the soft click of dress shoes against concrete before his voice drifted over your shoulder.
“You smoke after rehearsal?”
You turned, looking back, being met with Michael’s dark eyes.
“Sometimes.”
We Smoke curled lazily past your face as you lifted the cigarette slightly toward him in offering.
Michael glanced at it before shaking his head gently. “No, thank you.”
His voice was soft enough that it almost disappeared beneath the distant sound of traffic.
You hummed lightly, bringing it back to your lips instead. “Smart man.”
“I try to be.”
Michael shifted his weight slightly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “You were good today.”
You exhaled smoke toward the empty street. “You don’t have to flatter me.”
His head dipped slightly as he smiled. “Nobody talks to me like that during rehearsals.”
“Maybe somebody should.”
That made him glance at you again.
A cab rolled past without slowing.
You muttered a quiet curse under your breath, watching it disappear down the street.
Michael followed your gaze. “You’re waiting for a taxi?”
“Well, I don’t exactly know Los Angeles well enough to walk.”
“You haven’t checked into your hotel yet?”
You paused. “…No.”
His expression changed instantly. “They brought you straight from the airport to rehearsal?”
You nodded once, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous about it now that someone had said it out loud.
Michael blinked. “That’s terrible.”
Before you could say anything else, he turned back toward the studio entrance. “Bill!” he called.
A man near the doorway looked up immediately. “Can you call a car for her, please? Make sure she gets to the hotel.”
Bill nodded without hesitation, already heading back inside.
You opened your mouth to protest automatically. “You really don’t have t—”
“I know,” Michael interrupted gently. “I want to.”About ten minutes later, a black town car pulled up beside the curb. Before you could reach for your suitcase, Michael had already grabbed the handle himself, lifting it easily into the trunk while Bill gave the driver directions.
“You know,” you said dryly, watching him close the trunk, “most famous people usually make somebody else do that.”
Michael glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe I’m trying to impress you.”
You snorted before you could stop yourself.
He smiled a little at that.
“I’m joking,” he says, turning his head away from you. “It’s no bother.”
The driver opened the back door for you, and you slid inside, exhaustion finally beginning to settle heavily into your bones. Michael lingered outside the window for a moment as the driver started the engine.
Then he leaned down slightly.
“I’m Michael, by the way.”
You stared at him.
“…I know?”
For a second, he just looked at you with the most unreadable expression imaginable, somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
Then you decided to play along/
“Oh,” you said quickly. You told him your name properly this time.
That seemed to satisfy him.
Michael extended his hand through the open window.
You took it automatically.
His grip was gentle, and you could feel the tape on his fingers against your skin.
“I look forward to working with you,” he said softly.
And despite the exhaustion pulling at every inch of your body, you found yourself smiling a little as the car finally pulled away from the curb.
hello :))) i love your blog but i am so embarrassed to request since I’ve never done one before. please just ignore if this is cringe, but what do you think about michael and build a bears?? do you think he’d take you guys to make one of each other with like a voice message inside for one another? or do you think maybe if he’s away on tour he’d surprise you with one at your door that has a cute voice message in it? just the thought of him picking out an outfit for a bear 😭
Something for When I’m Gone
ok so basically this is the cutest idea in the world and tysm for requesting this, i had so much fun writing this,
(2.5k words - got kinda carried away lol)
---------------------------------------------------
The night before Michael leaves for tour feels too quiet. The tour announcement had been everywhere for weeks, flashing on screens, radio mentions, headlines you tried not to read too closely because you hated it, it meant he was leaving again.
He’s finishing up packing his carry on, socks disappearing into an open bag, handwritten notes folded between clothes and toiletries chucked messily inside. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed pretending to scroll through nothing on your phone, but really just watching him move around the room taking him all in before he has to leave again.
“You’re doing that thing,” he says softly without turning around, zipping up one of his smaller bags.
“What thing?”
“The sad eyes thing.”
You huff a laugh, but it doesn’t really land. “I’m fine.”
He finally looks at you properly, and his expression shifts immediately like he’s caught everything you’re not fully saying. His eyes soften, but there’s still that familiar seriousness underneath it and for a moment, neither of you speaks.
Then he exhales and walks over, sitting down beside you on the edge of the bed. Close enough that his shoulder presses gently into yours, warm and steady. “I don’t like leaving you like this,” he says quietly.
You glance down for a second, then back at him. “I know. I don’t like it either, but I get it, you have to go, and I’m proud of you for it. I just… I’m going to miss you. A lot.”
That makes his expression soften even more “I told you to come with me,” he says, almost immediately, like it’s obvious.
You let out a small breath. “And I told you I have work, responsibilities. I can't just leave it all to go around the world with you” he tilts his head at you like that answer personally offends him. “That sounds like an excuse.”
“It’s called being an adult,” you reply, trying not to smile. He hums. “I don’t think I like adulthood.”
“You’re the one with a whole world tour,” you point out “that’s different,” he says quickly.
“How?”
“Because I said so.”
That actually makes you laugh, quiet and real, and he looks satisfied like that was the goal all along. He shifts a little closer. “You know, you could just come. Problem solved.”
“And do what?” you ask. “Watch you rehearse all day?” You raise an eyebrow at him. He gasps slightly. “Yes. That’s quality entertainment.” You shake your head, still smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re overworking yourself when you could be with me,” he says, like it’s the most logical conclusion in the world.
You look at him. “I work because I have to.”
He leans back slightly, studying you. “Can’t you quit your job and work for me instead?” he pouts. You raise an eyebrow immediately. “And do what exactly?”
He doesn’t even hesitate.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, counting on his fingers like he’s building a very serious proposal. “Personal cuddler. Professional kisser. Full time supporter of Michael Jackson.”
You laugh under your breath. “That sounds made up.”
“It’s not made up,” he insists, leaning closer again. “It’s a very important position.”
“Uh-huh.”
He narrows his eyes at you like you’re the one being unreasonable. “And massage therapist.”
“You already have actual massage therapists.”
“They don’t have an emotional connection with me though,” he says very seriously. That makes you laugh properly, and he immediately looks pleased. “See,” he says quickly, like he’s winning the argument. “You’re already laughing. You’re clearly qualified.”
You shake your head. “This is not a real job description.”
He ignores that completely and keeps going, ticking things off like it’s official. “Also, I need someone to talk to on tour. Someone to remind me to sleep. Someone to tell me when I’m being too much.”
You open your mouth to argue but before you can say anything else, he leans in and kisses your cheek.
Then again.
And again, just slightly closer to the corner of your mouth each time, like he’s spacing them out on purpose. “You’re distracting me,” you say, though your voice has gone softer. “That’s part of the job,” he replies immediately, kissing your temple this time.
“You’re just listing things you want.”
“Yes,” he says proudly. “That’s what a job is.” You laugh again, and he lights up like he’s done something right. He shifts closer, resting his shoulder into yours again. “So?”
“So what?” you ask.
“So are you going to apply or not?” he says, completely serious, you roll your eyes. “What’s the salary?”
He thinks for a second. “Unlimited kisses.” You narrow your eyes at him. “That sounds like a scam.” He leans in, softer now, and kisses your nose. “It’s a very generous package.” Another kiss to your cheek.
Then he pauses just enough to look at you properly again, smiling a little. “Plus,” he adds quietly, “I’d miss you too much if you didn’t apply.”
That one lands softer.
You bump your shoulder lightly into his. “You already miss me too much.”
“Exactly,” he says instantly, like that proves his case. And then, because he can’t help himself, he kisses your forehead again, slower this time, like he’s trying to save it.
You smile, shaking your head a little. “You’re impossible.”
He doesn’t respond right away this time. His hand stays wrapped around yours, thumb moving slowly over your knuckles like he’s trying to remember how it feels.
“I hate this part,” he says quietly. You nod, your voice softer now. “Me too.”
A pause sits between you both, heavier than the joking from before. He leans his head slightly closer to yours, shoulder pressing into yours like he’s trying to close the distance in advance.
“I keep thinking about it while I’m gone,” he admits. “How quiet everything gets.” Your chest tightens a little. “It’s not that bad.” He gives you a look like he doesn’t believe that for a second. “It is when I'm used to you,” he says simply.
That makes you go quiet and he notices immediately. The smile he’d been wearing fades a little, replaced by something softer.
“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching for your hand. His thumb brushes slowly over your knuckles. “What’s going on in that head?” You stare down at your intertwined fingers for a moment.
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
You let out a small laugh that isn’t really a laugh. “It’s just…” You swallow. “Every time you leave, I tell myself it’ll be easier because I’ve done it before.”
His eyes don’t leave your face, “and then?”
“And then it isn’t.”
The words come out quieter than you mean them to and for a second, he just looks at you. “I know.”
You close your eyes briefly. “I hate how empty everything feels when you’re gone,” you admit. “I hate that I get used to having you here and then suddenly you’re not.”
“I know,” he says again.
You laugh weakly. “That’s not a very helpful answer.” “No,” he agrees quietly. “But it’s true.” His forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment. “I wish I could tell you some magic thing that’d make it easier.”
You finally look at him.
“But I can’t.”
You lean into him slightly, your voice quieter. “What am I supposed to do when you leave?”
He pauses at that. Then, softly, like it’s something he’s already been thinking about, “I thought about that.”
You look at him.
And suddenly, there’s a faint shift in his expression again, something almost shy and embarrassed under all the seriousness.
“I might’ve… gotten you something,” he admits. You blink. “Something?”
He nods once, his face turning slightly red, like he’s already committed to it. “It’s stupid. Maybe. But I thought it might help.” You tilt your head. “What is it?”
He hesitates for a second, then suddenly stands up.
You blink as he disappears across the room toward his wardrobe.
“What are you doing?”
“Wait,” he says quickly.
You can hear drawers opening and closing, the occasional thump of something being moved around. A few muttered words under his breath. Then finally: “Found it.”
When he turns back around, he’s carrying a box, immediately, your curiosity grows, “Michael…” He walks back over and sits beside you again, the box balanced carefully on his lap. His ears are slightly pink now which is never a good sign.
“What is that?” you ask, already smiling. He shrugs, suddenly very interested in a random spot on the wall.
“Just open it.” he says quietly and quickly shoving the box in your lap, your smile grows “why are you acting nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
He points at the box “open it before I regret everything.” Laughing quietly, you lift the lid, at first all you see is soft tissue paper, you pull it back and immediately freeze.
Nestled inside is a teddy bear, but not just any teddy bear. A teddy bear that looks suspiciously familiar, you slowly lift it out of the box.
The bear is dressed in a tiny glittering jacket that catches the light when you move it. Tiny black loafers. Little white socks peeking out above them. And sitting tilted slightly to one side on its head is a miniature fedora.
He watches your face carefully, like he’s waiting for embarrassment or rejection, but it never comes.
You stare.
Then stare some more.
“Oh my God.”
Michael immediately hides his face behind his hands “I knew you’d laugh.”
“No.”
You turn the bear around in your hands because somehow it gets worse.
Or better.
On one paw is a miniature rhinestone-covered glove, not just any glove, his glove.Tiny sparkling crystals catch the light as you move it.
You look from the bear to Michael then back to the bear. Then back to Michael “it literally looks like you.”
“It does not.”
“It has your entire wardrobe on.”
“It does not.”
“It has the glove.”
“Lots of people wear gloves.”
You stare at him, he cracks first and a small smile appears, “okay fine, I picked the outfit, so if it’s ugly don’t tell me.” You can’t stop laughing now, the more you look at it, the funnier and sweeter it becomes.
The little fedora. The glitter jacket. The tiny loafers. The damn glove
The fact that he had apparently spent actual time planning this made your chest feel strangely warm. “You made this?”
His shoulders lift in a small shrug, “I picked the outfit” the answer is quiet, almost shy. Like he’s embarrassed by how much thought he put into it and somehow that makes it even sweeter. Your eyes are full of adoration and a smile so wide your cheeks look like they’ll burst.
He notices immediately, and his shoulders drop a little in relief.
You run your fingers over the tiny jacket and then notice something inside the bear’s paw, a sound button. Your eyes immediately lift to him.
Michael suddenly becomes fascinated by the carpet, avoiding any eye contact whatsoever. “…Maybe press it, if you want.”
You look at him for a moment then press the button.
The button clicks and you hear a little rustle before his voice comes through, closer and slightly uncertain at first.
“Is it recording…? Okay. I think it is.”
A tiny pause.
“Hi.”
You glance at him. He’s still very focused on absolutely anything except you. The bear feels even more ridiculous and sweet in your lap now.
His voice rambles, warmer. “I don’t really know how to do this without seeing your face, it’s a bit awkward talking to this bear but um.”
A small nervous laugh under his breath.
“If you’re listening to this, I miss you already. Which is annoying, because I haven’t even left yet.”
That makes you smile despite yourself, he shifts beside you in real life, clearly seeing your reaction from the corner of his eye.
“So… hi again,” he says on the recording, softer now. “Just press this when you want to hear me, okay? Or when you’re pretending you’re fine and you’re not actually fine.”
A pause.
“And eat properly. I’m serious.”
Another tiny beat.
“And don’t work too much. I know you will. But don’t.”
A pause
“Okay, I’m running out of smart things to say.”
That makes you let out a small, breathy laugh which he notices immediately, stealing a quick glance at you, unable to hide his own smile.
“…I miss you. That’s the main point but I’ll be back before you know it. And I’m going to hug you and kiss you so much you’ll get tired of me.”
Then, softer, almost shy:
“And I love you, so so so much. So… don’t forget that while I’m gone, bye love yo-” click.
The audio cuts off, signaling the time run out, silence fills the room again, but it’s different now, lighter.
You sit there for a moment, fingers still resting on the bear’s tiny glitter jacket, your thumb brushing over it slowly then you look at him, he’s still pretending he’s fine, still very interested in absolutely nothing.
But his ears are pink again, you don’t say anything at first, just hold the bear a little closer.
And then, quietly, “You’re ridiculous.” He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time.
“Yeah,” he says softly, a pause then, almost embarrassed, “But… did it help?”
You don’t even hesitate, you just reach for his hand and squeeze it. Hard and he immediately leans into you, forehead dropping against your shoulder.
“Help?” you repeat softly. He hums a quiet yes against you. You smile a little, voice turning warmer, more certain. “Michael… this is actually the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
He goes still for a second.
You gently bump his knee with yours. “Like, I don’t even think you understand what you just did.”
He lets out a small breath. “I think I might’ve overdone it.”
That makes you laugh softly under your breath. “No,” you say immediately. “You’re not allowed to downplay it.” He tilts his head slightly against your shoulder so he can look up at you a little. You soften even more.
“I’m serious,” you continue, quieter now. “I’m really, really grateful and really really in love.”
His ears go even pinker at that.
You glance down at him, fingers still wrapped around his, "It's not even a question,” you say softly. Your voice goes gentler, more certain. “I love it. I love you.”
A small breath leaves you, like you’re still processing it yourself, his grip on your hand tightens slightly at that. You look down at him properly, your thumb brushing over his knuckles the same way he does to you. He doesn’t say anything for a second, just stays there against you.
Then he lets out a small, shaky laugh, and squeezes your hand back. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Good.” A pause.
Then, even softer, “Because I was kind of freaking out that you’d think it was silly.” You shake your head immediately, pulling him just a little closer. “It’s perfect,” you whisper.
And he just stays there with you, forehead still against your shoulder, holding your hand.
---------------------------------------------------
tysm for reading hope you liked it 🫶🏼
warnings/contents: michael jackson x secretary/personal assistant!fem reader, obsession, kind of toxic, stalking, jealousy, michael making you and your boyfriend break up, age gap (reader is in her late 20s to early thirties) cocky michael, softdom!michael, pet names, smut, p in v, fingering, reader is a squirter, overstimulation, dacryphilia, breeding kink (if you squint), mirror sex, not proofread, ect ect
word count: 2.5k+ (i think)
w/a: this was requested by @fleurjasminsblog a couple days ago, now i’m writing it teehee, i hope you guys enjoy with one,
working for michael was exhausting. not because of the workload or the endless phone calls, the schedules, the interviews, the rearsals, or the chaos that naturally came with being the personal secretary to the most famous man on earth. it was exhausting because michael was obsessed with you, deeply obsessed. you weren’t entirely sure he even realized how obvious he was being anymore.
“can you come upstairs for a second?” you looked up from your desk with a sigh, gripping the office phone between your shoulder and cheek. “michael, i was just up there five minutes ago.” “i know.” “then what do you need now?” nothing was said in the other line for a long time, michael choosing his choice of words carefully. “i forgot.” you blinked slowly. “michael.” “just come up here real quick.” “you are a grown man.” “and yet I still need you.” your face warmed instantly, almost forgetting he was your boss. “that was smooth,” you muttered. he chuckled, you can hear the smirk in his voice. you hung up, getting ready for michael to make up some bullshit excuse about why he called you up to his quarters.
the hallways of neverland were quiet tonight, soft golden lampost glowing against the windows as you made your way toward wherever he was upstairs. you already knew this was going to be something ridiculous, it always was. the second you walked into his room, michael looked up from the couch, instantly smiling. he looked at you like you were the best part of his day, giving you instant butterflies.“ you called me up here for what exactly?” you asked, crossing your arms. michael glanced around dramatically before pointing toward the tv remote sitting beside him. “are you serious?” “it fell.” “it’s literally next to your leg.” “i didn’t wanna get it.” you stared at him annoyingly.“you’re so unbelievable.” “but you came anyway.” his grin was devastating. at forty-something years old, michael flirted like a teenager with his first crush with constant compliments, lingering touches, excuses to keep you near him for hours longer than necessary, and sometimes he’d even ask you to sit beside him while he worked because, according to him, “the room feels weird when you’re not in it.” and the staring, dear god, the staring. you’d catch him watching you constantly. at meetings, in the studio and during dinner breaks. his dark eyes would follow you around the room so intensely it made your stomach twist. not in a creepy way exactly, just so overwhelming. like he adored you too much.
“you busy tonight?” michael asked casually. “yeah,” you answered, grabbing the remote and tossing it into his lap. “i’m having dinner with my boyfriend.” the shift in his expression was immediate, his smile faltering for less than a second. “oh,” he said quietly. “you okay?” “mhm.” but he looked away too quickly. michael hated your boyfriend. his hatred pooling inside burner accounts and fake usernames at two in the morning. because michael stalked your social media, almost religiously. he hid behind a harmless looking fan account with blurry concert photos and moon emojis. you followed it back months ago because the comments were always sweet. what you didn’t know was that michael himself spent hours scrolling through your posts under that account, reading every caption, watching every story you posted, zooming into your smile in photos and saving pictures and liked. pathetic behavior for a global superstar, but he couldn’t help himself. he wanted every piece of you he could get.
then he saw him, your boyfriend. the picture nearly made michael sick. your boyfriend stood behind you in the photo, arms wrapped around your waist while you smiled brightly at the camera.
“mine 🤍”
that caption alone ruined michaels entire night. he stared at the image until jealousy twisted sharp and ugly inside his chest. and suddenly, every time you mentioned your boyfriend at work, it felt unbearable. michael wanted to rip the word boyfriend out of your vocabulary entirely. “you deserve better,” he muttered one afternoon while you organized his paperwork. you glanced up. “better than what?” “him.” you laughed softly. “you don’t even know him.” “i know enough.” “you’re being dramatic.”michael leaned back in his chair, watching you carefully. “am I?” the way he said it seemed like he knew that you already knew the answer, it made heat creep up your neck. your boyfriend was a dick a times, always missing dates, staying out late, and overall just being a bad boyfriend. michael knew he needed to get rid of him, and fast.
the breakup didn’t happen immediately, michael planned it carefully. first came the anonymous messages. fake screenshots sent to your boyfriend suggesting you were getting too close to michael. then pictures of you and michael leaving the studio together late at night and anonymous emails implying michael had feelings for you. your boyfriend grew insecure quickly. “you spend more time with him than me,” he snapped one evening over the phone. “he’s my boss,” you argued. “he wants you.” you laughed nervously. “michael flirts with everybody.” but even as you said it, you realized that wasn’t entirely true. michael treated you differently and everyone noticed it. your boyfriend had become increasingly irritated about it. especially after michael started calling you at ridiculous hours for unnecessary reasons. “can you help me pick between these jackets?” “at midnight?” “they both look nice and i need your opinion.” “michael…” “please?” you went every time.
the actual breakup happened on a rainy thursday night. you were halfway through dinner with your boyfriend when his expression suddenly hardened. “what?” you asked anxiously. he tossed his phone onto the table. your stomach dropped, itwas another anonymous message. this time worse. a blurry photo of michael holding your hand while leading you through an airport. “i’m done.” your boyfriend exclaimed. “what?!” “you’re emotionally involved with him and you don’t even realize it.” “that’s not true!” “really?” he snapped. “because everyone can vouch for me and you know it.” your chest tightened. “he’s my friend.” “he’s obsessed with you.” the words hit harder than they should’ve. “he’s manipulative,” your boyfriend continued bitterly. “and to be frank, i think you like the attention.” tears climbed into your eyes immediately. “that’s unfair.” “no,” he said quietly. “what’s unfair is feeling like I’ve been competing with michael for months.” he got up and walked out of the restaurant, leaving you there alone. and just like that it ended.
you cried the entire drive to neverland, of course you went to michael, who else would you go to? he answered the door himself wearing gray sweatpants and a loose black shirt, with his hair down and reading glasses. the second he saw your tear streaked face, his expression dropped. “oh baby…” his voice softened instantly. that was your breaking point. you burst into tears. michael pulled you into his arms immediately without hesitation, holding you tightly against his chest while you cried. “hey, hey…” he murmured gently, rubbing your back. “what happened?” “he broke up with me,” you whispered in broken gasp. michaels jaw tightened slightly, but his voice remaining soft.“come inside.” he guided you carefully to the couch, wrapping a blanket around your shoulders before disappearing briefly into the kitchen. when he returned, he handed you tea exactly the way you liked it
you stared at the cup, “how did you know?” “you mention things,” he said quietly. but really, he knew because he paid attention to everything about you. you sat there trembling while Michael stayed close beside you, his hand resting gently against your knee. “he said you were obsessed with me,” you admitted weakly. michael went very still. “and what did you say?” “that he was wrong.” a strange look crossed michaels face, something between guilt and longing. “he wasn’t completely wrong,” michael stated. your breath caught. “what?” his thumb brushed lightly over your knee. “i care about you too much,” he said quietly. “probably more than i should.” the room suddenly felt smaller. your heart pounded as you looked at him, michaels eyes were already on you.
“you’re the first person I wanna see every morning,” he confessed. “i look for excuses to keep you around because i hate when you leave.” your pulse quickened. “michael…” “i know it’s crazy.” his voice dropped softer. “but I think about you all the time.” the honesty in his expression made your chest ache. you’d never seen him look so nervous before. “you make me happy,” he whispered. “and I know this is probably the worst possible time to admit that.” you should’ve stopped him, should’ve stood up and walked away. but instead you whispered, “i think about you too.” michael inhaled sharply. his eyes flickered down to your lips instantly. the tension between you snapped tight. “tell me to stop,” he murmured. but he was already leaning closer , giving you time to pull away. you didn’t.
his hand rose gently to your cheek, warm and trembling slightly against your skin. then finally michael kissed you. the second your lips moved against his, he made the quietest sound in the back of his throat, something relieved and aching all at once. after a few seconds, the kiss deepened. years of hidden affection pouring out all at once. his hand slid into your hair carefully while the other stayed against your waist, holding you like something precious, you melted against him instantly. he’d imagined this moment a thousand times before it actually happened. when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. his forehead rested lightly against your, glasses slightly falling foward. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” he whispered. “michael, i.. i need you.” you blurted out, not aware of what your actually telling michael. his eyes widened, never thinking you would be that bold. “are you sure?” he asked, making sure you know what your getting into. “yes, please michael.” he smirked, getting up from the couch and suddenly carrying you bridal style, making your pussy clench around nothing.
your panties, bottoms and top are discarded somewhere across his bedroom floor. you don’t recall exactly how you got here, just michael working you like nothing you’ve ever felt before. michael is on top of you, playing with your cunt like it’s a work of art. he slides his index and middle finger in and out, slightly curling his fingers against your sweet spot. his fingers feel exquisite, stretching you out perfectly. “fuck michael…” you moan out, back arching off the bed. “you’re so tight, i wonder how my dick will feel inside you, hmm?” he nibbles on your ear. he looks so hot under the dim lighting, making you so close to climax. “michael… im so close..” you admit, feeling the familiar warm sensation in your stomach. he pulls out his fingers, and you whine at the lost of contact. “i’m sorry baby, i want you to cum around my cock.. okay?” despite him ruining your orgasm, you nod silently. “i want you to do something for me sweet girl, come at the end of the bed and flip over,” he orders, and you follow exactly that. now you’re laying on your stomach, awaiting what he has planned.
“prop your ass up for me baby,” heeding his command, now your ass is against his crotch. he groans at the sensation of your leaking pussy against his boxers. he pulls down his underwear, his rock hard cock flinging out. “see what you do to me? i’ve been thinking about this since ive first met you. you can’t imagine how bad the pain was, me knowing that your disgusting ex boyfriend got this every night drove me crazy.” he says, now stroking his cock, biting his lip at the sight of your aching pussy. “michael, please..” “please what baby?” “please fuck me..” you beg, you can’t take this prolonged teasing anymore. “okay baby, but look up for me.” you look up, now that you are not shying away, you spot the large mirror on the wall infront of you. “you have to look at this mirror the entire time, if you don’t i just might just have to stop, do you want me to stop?” “no! no michael please i’ll look at the mirror just put it in.” he chuckles at how desperate you are for him. he pumps his cock one last time before pushing his tip in. “ouhhh fucuckkkk…” you roll your eyes back, the initial stretch is painful, tears start swelling up in your eyes again.
“i-i know baby i know, it’s gonna feel good soon okay? i promise.” he pushes inside you by a couple inches, still not all the way inside. fuck how big was he? “m-michael i don’t know if i can take it,” you cry out, it’s painful, but it also feels so good. “you can take it my love, you can do anything.” then he slides all the way in. your walls grip him like an intruder, but also welcoming him in at the same time. seeing the tears streaming from your glassy eyes makes him moan quietly, he never would’ve thought you would be crying all up on his cock like this. you stare in the mirror, you feel so dirty, this is still your boss after all. yes you and your boyfriend had sex, but it never felt like this, you probably look like a dumb fucked out virgin to michael. “you feel so good, shit…” he gropes your ass gently with one hand and holds your hips with the other. “can i move now sweetheart?” “y-yes…” you struggle to get the word out of your throat.
he starts to thrust inside you, dragging up and down your walls. the sound of skin on skin contact fills the room. you whimper and moan subconsciously, stuck in your own world. one particular thrust hits your cervix perfectly, making your climax sneak up on you out of nowhere. “OUHHHGG, michael!!” you squirt all over the bed sheets. “oh shit baby, i didn’t know you could do that, fuckk” he groans out, now plowing into you. you take a peep into the mirror again, seeing how he’s absolutely ruining you right now. how could your soft spoken, never raised his voice, kind and sweet boss make such a mess out of you? with him still pumping his cock deep inside of you after came, you start to feel overstimulated. you grip the bed sheets around you, looking for anything to draw your attention to elsewhere. michael notices this and brings both of your hands behind your back. “you want me to cum inside you? huh baby?” he ask condescendingly, “YES, yes michael, fill me up with your babies please, dear god. i think i’m gonna-” you squirt all over again, drenching the sheets even more then you did the first time. he follows suit, taking one last deep thrust before he releases inside of you. “ohhh… god..” he exhales out falling on top of you. you both are trying to catch your breath, still trying to come down from your highs. he takes a hand and cups your jaw, directing you to the mirror once again, “you see how good we make each other feel, i think we’re meant to be? tell me if i’m wrong.” “no no michael, i’m yours, fuck… i’m all yours, we’re meant to be.”
w/a: omg this was so hot thank you anon for the request, this weekend i have days off so yk what that means…
obsessed with how u write sub!michael especially bc it’s mature michael ugh seeing a grown man so desperate and needy is just so delicious. could u possibly write a fic where you’re upset with him for whatever reason and the entire day he’s so desperate for you he’s rock hard all day following you around begging for your attention but he’s lowkey turned on by the fact that you’re being sassy and ignoring him. and then u finally give him what he wants but you make him begggggg for it OKGKFDIEOEKDKD
Ouuuu the way you think! 😉
𝐌𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞| 𝐌.𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧
Summary: During a charity event you attended with your husband, an old fling from years ago just so happens to be at this event after Michael has made it known he’s attending. You become furious watching the two of them communicate from the distance. Now your husband, desperate and willing to do anything to get back in your graces
Warnings: 18+, smut, sub!michael, power play intimacy, jealousy, desperation, oral pleasures, penetration, etc.
Heavy rain began to pour over the city of Los Angeles, dark clouds quickly engulfed the area and casted a gloom over the moon, but to you it was absolutely beautiful. You found beauty in this weather. As soon as you entered your home the rain started falling heavily giving you not a minute to spare
Your husband had been talking your ear off the entire ride home and even now. It seemed like the more you ignored him the more he wanted to be heard. He struggled carrying in your belongings and trying to keep up with you but managed
“Baby you have to believe me— you just have to”
Still ignoring him you walked into the kitchen leaving him with nothing but the sound of your clicking heels growing softer as you walked off. In the kitchen you grabbed a drinking glass with a pretty stem and your favorite bottle of wine, sitting yourself on top of the piano in the dining room just adjacent from the burning fire place
Michael watched you fix yourself a glass of wine before taking a little longer than usual sip & moaning as you enjoyed the fermented flavors
“Mon Chéri” he called out
You hadn’t heard this nickname in ages, this nickname was given to you on your honeymoon night. Michael read it in one of his favorite books and thought it was so poetic that he gave it to you, it translates into my darling
It was hard fighting the urge to not blush hearing this but you’re too stubborn to ever give into Michael that easily
“I know you’re mad at me but please don’t ignore me…you know how that makes me feel especially coming from you—I hate when you’re upset”
Hearing Michael’s voice beginning to crack made your heart want to shatter into a million pieces. Yes you’re upset but you still loved him beyond words could ever describe. Also knowing that he hated being ignored due to his childhood trauma made you think twice and sympathize with him
“Come here baby” you finally gave a response
He pulled his glasses off and stood in between your legs as he wrapped your body around his and buried his face in the crook of your neck, swallowing a hard lump in his throat
Sensing how upset he was you stroked his back a couple times before pulling away and instructing him to sit on the piano seat in front of you. Pouring yourself another glass of wine before turning your attention back to Michael
“Are you ready to talk now?” You ask uncrossing your legs
Reluctantly he nodded his head
“Why was she there Michael?”
“I don’t know what she was doing there but I didn’t invite her, I swear”
“I just find it awfully strange she showed up to an invite only event and you were the only person she had spoken with”
“Baby..I had nothing to do with her showing up tonight. I haven’t spoken to her in years”
Turning your head to the side you still weren’t satisfied. Looking down at your feet you noticed your heels were still on and that’s when you got the bright idea
“Michael could you be a doll and take my heels off please?”
Nodding his head and untying your heels one at a time before kissing them from your ankle and up to your toes. You bit your lip watching before drinking more wine
Scooting in closer you placed your feet in Michael’s lap, allowing the bottom of your feet to gracefully glide across his hard dick
“Michael….do you remember that time you said security was too close to my backside when we were getting loaded up in the truck?”
He clenched his jaw slightly “Yes”
“Hmmm” you dragged out with a snarky smile
“How come I don’t see him anymore?”
“Baby…” he let out desperately
“Answer the question. How come I don’t see him anymore?”
Your feet were now pressed harder against his crotch, by now he had a full erection. You could feel the head of his dick through his pants
He licked his lips before taking a deep breath, staring down at the marbled floor “Because I fired him”
“Why did you fire him baby?”
“……I was jealous of another man being that close on you. It drove me crazy thinking that he could be having fantasies about you”
Satisfied with your answer you smiled sweetly and spread your legs open allowing him to see you weren’t wearing anything underneath your dress, frustrating him. Propping one leg up on the piano you pulled your dress up and licked your fingers before using them to rub in between your lips and pacing yourself in a slow circular motion
“Mmm shit” you moaned
Michael sat in awe watching you touch yourself. He continuously licked his lips to keep from drooling and embarrassing himself
“I wish I was the one making you moan like this”
Being the stubborn lover you are hearing Michael say this only fueled your desire to make him yearn
“Michael oh my god you feel so good!” Fingering yourself while dropping your head back before turning your gaze towards him
Years of studying your body movements Michael knew when you were on the verge of an orgasm. He watched as your hand began to cramp up and the way your pussy was convulsing that you were cumming
“Can I cum on you baby?”
Michael scooted himself closer , head between your legs and watched intently. Watching your creamy fluids come rushing out of you, he looked up at you for approval before he dove his entire face in between your legs, catching every effect of your orgasm that dared to spill out. He grunted and groaned as he sucked on your clitoris like this was his last time ever doing it. His hands pushed your thighs out of his way giving him further access to his treasure
If you didn’t take control now Michael was going to takeover which would defeat everything. He looked up at you through his reading glasses and pressed his tongue deep into the top of your clitoris forcing you to cry out in pure ecstasy, your eyes rolled back and you could feel yourself slipping away
“Stop Michael” you commanded “Take your pants off right now”
Following your commands he stripped his bottom half and watched you lean forward, your lips only inches apart of his but only allowing him to feel your heavy breathing. Instead of kissing him you slid your tongue in his mouth and just before he could trap you in you pulled away and smirked in his face
Kneeling down you spit multiple times on his dick before using both of your hands to stroke him up and down completely coating him in the natural lubricant. His dick was so hard you could see his blood flow being carried through the veins
“You don’t know how much I love you and this dick you have between your legs” you whined
On your knees you continued your two hand twist while watching Michael completely become disheveled. Loosening his tie and having to constantly push his glasses up
“Baby please don’t stop you’re getting me so close right now”
“Tell me this Michael…how the FUCK am I supposed to feel watching another woman flirt with you hmm? I’m a woman with desires also I know that look in her eyes and it wasn’t just a conversation she wanted outta you”
Michael began stumbling over his words unable to catch his breath or think straight. Also hearing you finally open up about your jealousy made him feen for you harder
“It’s all my fault” he finally answered “I should’ve known better”
“Do you wanna fuck her Michael??”
“No”
You grabbed Michael by his face forcing him to look you in the eyes “Do you wanna fuck her Michael!?”
“No” his voice peaking with frustration and agony “The only woman I want is you…only you can get me like this. I crave you all day until it hurts me, baby..you have to believe me when I tell you I love you”
It felt as if a firework was ignited in you, your heart had completely melted away and fused with his sweet words. So much so that tears fell from your eyes, immediately you began to regret your frustrations and hostility towards Michael
“I love you too baby” you sniffed
“Honey I need you so bad tonight…I wanna cum all over your pretty mouth”
“Michael?”
“Yes baby?”
“I want my babies, I want all of them inside of me…I want my family”
You jerked Michael off faster and tightened up your grip around his girthy dick before kissing his tip and watching his nut shoot out onto your lips and tongue. His body recoiled back to back trying to make sense of all the pleasure he just experienced
He began gasping and gripping onto the sides of the wooden seat. Unable to speak or move he watched you in awe suck his remaining nut out, mouthing over and over again “I love you”
You got back on top of the piano and motioned with your pointing finger “come here”
Michael stood so fast from his seat that he flipped it over causing it to fall. He stood in between your legs and crashed his lips into yours keeping an aggressive hold on your throat as he sucked on your tongue while pressing his face into yours
Grabbing you by your hips Michael forced his way in past your entry point, immediately you could feel him hitting your cervix over and over again. All of his gentleness was out the window for the evening
As the rain poured down so did the loud thunder strikes, it felt like the two of you competed for who could be louder
“Oh my god Michael why are you doing this to me??” You whined
He chuckled harshly “You edged me all this evening and you wonder why I’m fucking you like this? You had the audacity to leave this house with no panties on, risking somebody else seeing what belongs to me and you wanna ask that stupid question baby?? Don’t insult me again”
“I’m sorry” your lip quivered as hot tears started to spill again
Pushing himself deeper into you and digging in your insides while feeding you sloppy passionate strokes “Yeah me too”
Michael grabbed you by your hair and forced you to look in his eyes as you came all over him. He watched as your eyes twitched and your lips parted ways only able to produce loud desperate cries and more hot tears
“I love you so much my baby. You’re my everything—oh fuck!” He moaned
Sliding his dick all the way out then ramming it inside of you as he shot his fluids deep inside of you, continuing to thrust forward until he was empty
Both of you completely exhausted and covered in sweat, panting and dehydrated
Tilting your head back you gave Michael open access and watched him gently spit in your mouth before your tongues danced with each other and sealing it with your lips touching
“Michael I’m sorry for getting jealous tonight” your voice now soft and sweet again
“I forgive you” placing a kiss on your forehead before pressing his into yours “But not as sorry as I’m about to be when we get upstairs”
Your eyes enlarged hearing this, you were completely worn out. Michael took a step back revealing his dick was still hard and leaking out fluids
He grabbed you by your throat pulling you closer to him so he could get a grip on your thighs before carrying you upstairs
“Michael, baby I said I was sorry” fear in your voice
“I know baby it’s okay” he chuckled kissing you “it’s okay because I’m ready to be sorry with you”
Slamming the bedroom door shut after carrying you inside
summary - michael asks you to join him at the studio so you can hear him sing a special song for you (michael x you)
word count - 1.4k
content - mild intimacy / romantic
It’s 8pm, you’re laying in bed reading a magazine when the phone rings.
You smile, hoping it’s that one special person.
“Hello?” Your voice is low and sweet, trying not to sound too eager.
“Beautiful girl.” He responds softly.
It’s Michael.
A grin grows widely on your face, you feel your stomach flutter from the butterflies that he always gives you when you hear his voice.
“Michael, hi, it’s so nice to hear your voice.”
“I’m sorry I’ve been so busy, recording all these demos has really got me tied up.”
“It’s okay, I understand - ”
Before you can continue, he interrupts.
“Would you come to the studio?”
You couldn’t believe he was asking you to join him. Michael wanted to keep his work a secret until it was absolutely ready to be released. It was shocking that he would ask.
“Really? But - I thought you were waiting for everything to be finished to let me listen.”
“I need you there for this one,” he responded, “I want you to hear this one.”
Your heart was pounding, you could barely hear anything over the sound of it in your ears.
“I would love to join you at the studio. I can be there in 15 minutes; the drive isn’t too far.”
He chuckled softly, “My love, don’t be silly. I’ll send a car for you.”
Your cheeks flush bright red, “Okay.”
“Bill will be there soon; he’s already on his way for you. I can’t wait to see you, baby.”
“See you soon, angelface.” You replied
You hang up the phone and quickly jump up from the bed and sprint towards your closet to change.
Your heart is racing and nothing seems to look right. You begin to grow frustrated and then you remember there’s a dress you’ve been saving for a special occasion. You pull it out from the far end of your closet. A long sheer sleeved tight little black dress, it’s perfect.
You throw on a black heel and a coat over the dress and look at yourself in the mirror. The butterflies in your stomach won’t go away. You put on your favorite red lipstick and just as you grab your purse you hear a honk outside.
You hurry down the stairs and out the door. Bill is waiting outside of the car, ready to open the door for you.
“Good evening.” He grinned.
“Hi Bill,” you reach out to him for a hug. “How are you?”
He wrapped an arm around you, “I’m well, thank you. How are you? Ready to go?”
You smile, “I’m great, excited I get to listen to Michael at the studio.”
He opened the door, and chuckled softly, “I think you’ll really enjoy this one.”
The car ride felt like an eternity because of the excitement. When you finally arrived, your heart started to pound in your chest and once again you could hear it in your ears.
Bill opened the car door for you and led you towards the studio entrance.
Once you made it to the door of the studio room, the door flew open.
You giggled, there he was standing right in front of you smiling from ear to ear.
“Hey, how did you know I was here already?” You questioned.
He laughed, “I heard your heels.” He pulled you in for a tight hug. He was so warm, and his hugs felt safe. “I missed you so much.” He whispered softly in your ear.
His voice sent tingles all over your body.
“I missed you too.”
He took your hand and walked you into the studio. You were greeted by Quincy Jones and Bruce Swedien. They smiled.
“Well look who it is!” Quincy exclaimed as he stood up to pull you in for a hug.
You grinned. “Hey Quincy, Hi Bruce, it’s so nice to see you both again.”
“Michael has been basically running around the room waiting for you to get here.” Quincy laughed. “I have a feeling you’re really going to like this song.”
As you went to sit down on the bench behind Quincy and Bruce, Michael shook his head. “No, you’re coming into the booth with me.”
Your eyes widened a little. “Wait what?”
He nodded, “I need you to hear it from there, not here.” He took your hand and led you into the booth. “Do you want to take off your coat? It might be a little cold.”
“I’ll be okay.” You smiled, and turned around as he slowly pulled your coat off to put it on the rack.
You turned back around to face him and his eyes traveled up and down. He bit his lip. “Wow… You look beautiful.”
Your heart fluttered and you could feel your cheeks get hot from blushing. You took a seat in the chair next to Michael. He pulled your chair closer.
He spoke into the microphone, “Q, can you turn the lights down a little bit.”
“You got it, Mike.” He responded.
Michael handed you a pair of headphones, “These are for you, I hope they don’t mess up your hair.”
You smiled shyly, “It’ll be worth it, I’m sure.”
He took a deep breath and gave Quincy a nod to tell him he was ready to start.
Michael closed his eyes and began to sing.
“There’ll be no darkness tonight… Lady, our love will shine. Just put your trust in my heart and meet me in paradise.”
The lyrics were beautiful, Quincy and Bill were right. You definitely loved the song. The butterflies came back and your hands trembled a little every time Michael peeked over at you.
Once Michael reached towards what sounded like nearly the end of the song, he put his hand on your thigh and squeezed a little.
“I need you by my side… Don’t you go nowhere…”
Michael’s back vocals sounded sweet and soft. Your body started to feel hot as Michael started to rub your thigh and then reached for your hand.
“I wanna touch ya, babe.” He sang as he glanced at you and winked.
You bit your lip and squeezed his hand a little.
It felt like you were alone with him. It was as if Bill, Quincy, and Bruce disappeared. There was magic in the booth.
Once the song ended, you both took off the headphones and Michael gave Quincy a nod. Quincy gave him a thumbs up and the 3 turned away from you.
Michael took a breath and ran his hand from your shoulder all the way down your arm. “This was my second time recording this. The first time felt a little off, I was too shy and I couldn’t fully get into it.” He chuckled. “I needed my inspiration to be in the booth with me so that it could feel more real.”
You blushed and looked down to try and hide your red cheeks from him. “Michael…” You whispered.
He lifted your head gently with his hand and looked deeply into your eyes. “It’s true, beautiful. I truly did need you here for this.” He kissed your cheek, “Wait here.”
He got up and walked into the other room, he shook hands with Quincy and Bruce to say their goodbyes. They waved goodbye to you and stepped out. Bill gave Michael a nod and stepped out as well. Michael turned the lights down a little more and walked back into the booth.
“Beautiful girl…” He leaned against the wall and smiled softly. “Come here.” He whispered.
You got up slowly and walked over to him. He pulled you in closely and wrapped his arms around your waist. “This dress… Definitely helped me get into the song a lot more. I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to run my hands all over you. Now that we’re alone… I can do that.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck and looked deeply into his eyes. “Oh, Michael. The song is beautiful.”
“You are beautiful… My angel on earth. I’ve never seen anyone more stunning than you.” He whispered into your ear.
He laid a gentle kiss on your neck. You let out a soft gasp. His lips sent chills all over your body.
“I love you, my beautiful angel.”
Your heart was racing. This was the first time he said those words. You gazed into his eyes.
“What…” You couldn’t believe that the words came out of his mouth.
“I love you. I love you so much.”
“Michael,” You let out a soft breath, “I love you too. So much.”
He smiled softly, put his hand on your cheek and kissed you deeply. This moment was perfect.
There couldn’t have been a more perfect way to hear him say he loved you.
syn: this mini-series follows the relationship between you (the little sister to the lead singer of disco band axis 79, trying to make a name for yourself) and michael jackson (the rising king of pop).
pleaseread: this is a series heavily outside my comfort zone. i don’t usually write about real life celebrities but i fear michaelmania has taken over me. that being said, this series might have some suggestive moments but will not have smut (out of respect for him), because it’s uncomfortable for me to write that about real people dead or alive. thank you.
warnings: i do not know the entire ins and outs of michael’s life, that being said… a lot of creative liberties have been taken. just a reminder, this is a work of fiction, all references to real life people are entirely coincidental.
episode 00; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: the first time michael met you was when he was invited to an exclusive celebrity afterparty, where the best singers of the time gathered. while he was honored to get an invite, he found himself more enthralled with the little sister of one of his favorite bands – axis 79.
episode 01; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: impressed by your makeup skills, michael invites you to work as a makeup artist while he shoots his short film — thriller.
episode 02; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: after successful filming, michael invites you to a lunch date.
episode 03; ˗ˏˋ 🪩 ˎˊ˗
summary: you accompany your brother to the 26th annual grammy awards. and though you expected michael there, you were surprised to see the woman he brought along — brooke shields. you managed to hide your disappointment from the cameras, but being the little sister of julian meant that you had three more attentive ‘brothers.’
summary: the first time michael met you was when he was invited to an exclusive celebrity afterparty, where the best singers of the time gathered. while he was honored to get an invite, he found himself more enthralled with the little sister of one of his favorite bands – axis 79.
warnings: i do not know the entire ins and outs of michael’s life, that being said… a lot of creative liberties have been taken. just a reminder, this is a work of fiction, all references to real life people are entirely coincidental.
series masterlist — next episode
MARCH — 1983
Tucked away on a gilded street somewhere in Los Angeles sat a small juke club, a hidden haven frequented by disco icons both young and old. Tonight, the place was alive with heat. It was the night after a small award show, and as always, those in the know slipped away from the flashing cameras and crowded venues to somewhere they could finally be free.
You slipped through a beaded curtain, fanning yourself lightly as you slumped onto a maroon beanbag. The heat was no joke. And the stale smoke drifting throughout the parlor made it even worse. Thankfully, the fabric of your paisley dress was thin and short — just how you liked it. But… you had already sweated out your blowout. That meant you had to keep your brown newsboy hat on, no matter if it trapped heat. You would rather look cute than stupid. That was just your stubborn nature.
You wanted to leave some time ago, but you couldn’t leave until your older brother Julian was ready. It was frustrating but you understood. Today was his day. His band — Axis 79 — had just won an award for best newcomer album. In a way, this was an after party, a way for him to connect with some of the big names in the industry.
You turned your head towards the main room. Sitting on bar stools were The Bee Gees. Donna Summer walked by, chatting with a group of friends. Producers mingled, singers exchanged compliments, and in the center of it all you saw your brother. He had the brightest smile on his face, framed with his high cheekbones and clean low cut. Next to him was Lenny Brooks, the twenty-six y.o bassist and funniest member of the band. You could spot him instantly due to his perfectly rounded afro and the expensive rings on his fingers. To Julian’s left was Marvin Vale, twenty-seven and known as the man behind the keyboard. And the one behind the group making a total fool of himself was Tommy Ray Knight, the twenty-two y.o drummer and your age mate.
You tilted your head back. Maybe getting a drink would clear your head… and cool you down.
°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*
Michael didn’t often go to after parties. Sometimes, after a busy day, he liked to go somewhere quiet to clear his head. But, Quincy told him that it was important for him to attend this one. He said that it was a good networking opportunity, and so here he was.
Entering the venue alongside Quincy, Michael’s eyes widened. This place wasn’t what he expected. The low orange lights created a homey ambiance, along with the occasional chatter and laughter peppered throughout. It felt welcoming, and it shocked him how instantly he felt relaxed. Of course, Quincy wasn’t lying. Immediately Michael recognized some big names, and even bigger bands such as Kool & The Gang.
Quincy leaned down to Michael’s ear. “I know you mentioned being a fan of Axis 79, so I wanted to introduce you to them.”
Michael’s eyes immediately locked onto the four member group. It was true. Michael had so much admiration for the band, being able to break through at such a young age. He was the same age as their lead singer Julian [Surname], at just twenty four. Sure he had a successful career with the Jackson 5, but it’s only been a couple years since he released a solo-album, let alone been a solo artist.
“Yeah, let’s do that.” Michael stated, with a sudden determination (and twinkle) in his eye.
Although, Michael may have underestimated how much presence he has. As soon as he entered, the music got a little quieter, the conversations stalled, and everyone’s attention soon turned towards him. The man making a quiet ripple in the music industry.
As soon as he took a step forward, he was bombarded by people, excited to greet him and introduce themselves. Quincy could only chuckle silently to himself as watched their objective get farther and farther away. This would certainly be a long night.
°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*
You got yourself a light drink and instantly felt better. You were the type of person who loved those childish sugary drinks. The ones so glittery and colorful that no “true adult” should drink it. But you loved them. And you were certain that you were the one keeping these drinks in business. As you turned away from the bar, you saw a crowd in front of you that was not there before. There were a bunch of people surrounding two guys, and as you got a closer look you almost dropped your drink.
‘No way. Is that Michael Jackson?’ You couldn’t believe it. This was the man you grew up watching sing and dance on TV. The greatest upcoming talent that’s been the talk of the town. You were in a room of celebrities, but they were lining up like fans just to speak with him. Even if many of them were his seniors.
You couldn’t see him well, but he wore a simple clean cut tuxedo, with dark shades on. Next to him was a man you could only assume to be Quincy Jones. You never met him yourself, but there were times when you sat in recording sessions and heard Marvin speak about the man — as a fellow producer himself.
You had half a mind to go introduce yourself to him, but then you paused. You weren’t anybody important. Just the kid sister of a band. What use would it be introducing yourself to him, besides being the same as a fan? Despite being in the same room, less than ten feet apart, he probably didn’t know you existed.
‘Well, that was depressing.’ You let out a sigh. ‘Besides, it’s probably best for me not to get tangled up with musicians.’
Just as you had that thought, the lights suddenly dimmed, and you heard a clank of a glass up from the stage. It was your brother, followed by Marvin, Lenny, and Tommy.
“Oh God,” you mumbled, raising a hand to your face. Those four idiots, alcohol, and a stage could only mean one thing… chaos.
You instantly make a beeline to their manager — Kenny Cole. He was seated on a couch nearby, watching the four men with baited breath.
“Hey Ken, did you know about this?” You asked, bending down slightly.
He shook his head. “No, but Marvin promised me that he’d keep the boys in check. It shouldn’t be too bad.”
You looked back towards the stage. You surely hoped so.
Julian cleared his throat, holding the microphone close. “First off, I want to thank everyone for coming out here today. Yes, I know you all didn’t come out here to celebrate our win, but it makes me feel better thinking y’all did.”
A few scattered laughs ring out throughout the crowd.
“But I know we have a few producers in the crowd, so I just wanted to thank everyone who worked to make our album possible. Those who worked with us in the studio tirelessly to ensure we put out…”
Your brother’s speech faded in your ear as you looked around. You always liked people watching. Just to see their expressions, their faces, their gait. You liked to wonder what kind of lives they lived, what they were thinking in the moment. Out of everyone in this room, no one knew who would be the next superstar, who would be a friend or foe, who would be out of your life just as quickly as they came in. Your attention then found itself on Michael Jackson, he watched the stage attentively — which was surprising. You never could build a perception of him. You knew he was a talented singer, a great dancer, and a soft spoken person who could be a bit shy. But that was about it. You didn’t read sensational articles about people. Especially since you knew that people had lives that media outlets couldn’t even begin to know about.
“That being said, a lot of people have been asking about our outfits.”
Your ears perked up. Turning back to the stage, it was Lenny who now took the mic. “We’ve been shining and dropping glitter all over this place. But no, it wasn’t a stylist who did it. Our thanks can only go out to the women behind our looks, Jules' little sister — [Name]!”
Cheers erupted throughout as the group showed off their dazzling outfits. They were all wearing classic disco attire, but each had their specific flair. Gold accents, glitter, rhinestones, flared denim, and patterned scarfs. This was not the work of a stylist, but of you.
“Yes, she didn’t just put these clothes together, every piece was hand sewn and designed by her.” Julian remarked, a proud look on his face as he scanned the crowd. Once he found you, he motioned for you to get on stage. “There she is, come on up here!”
You shook your head. You didn’t know how stars did it, but for you, someone who was used to being behind the scenes, this was a huge leap forward. You tried to hide behind Kenny, but he was useless, pushing you forward towards the stair. Tommy came down, taking your hand before leading you up.
Julian wrapped an arm around you, before pulling you to center stage. “As you can see, she is quite the fashionista herself.”
You did a small courtesy, twirling around to show off your outfit. Along with your orange paisley mini-dress (with a classic 70s cut), you wore knee high leather boots, a leather belt, and a beaded necklace.
You thought that would be enough, but of course, every older sibling's mission is to embarrass their younger sibling. And that was exactly what he did.
“You know, ever since we were younger, I thought she was a bit eccentric. She would always doodle on her face, and wear the funkiest things. But now I realize that it was all practice, so she could look like this…” He motioned up and down, before pointing to himself and the group. “... and we could look like this!”
More cheers and whoops erupted. It was all getting to you. With nothing better to do, you smiled nervously, attempting to hide your face in your brother's arms.
°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*
Michael had never seen anyone as beautiful as you in his entire life. Maybe Diana Ross, but there was a certain uniqueness to you that was unlike anything he’s ever experienced before. Unlike anyone he’s ever seen before. And there was something about your mannerisms that made you endearing.
“My brother loves to talk, but I’ll keep my introduction short and sweet. Hi, my name is [Name] [Surname], I’m twenty two and I am a prospective stylist and makeup artist.”
Your voice was soft and even, like music to Michael's ears. And not screeching or annoying like Carol Burnett.
“This is one of my more simpler days, but I promise I can pull off more detailed looks than this.” The makeup you wore today was dated, pulling from popular 60s styles, but it only enhanced your features. Michael could tell that you were talented in your craft. If this was a simple day, he wondered what your more detailed days looked like.
“And… yeah, if anyone is interested in doing business I have some contact cards in my purse.”
Ending off your words with a bright smile, Michael was the first to clap. Not only did he think highly of Axis 79, he knew that there were a ton of people behind-the-scenes responsible for the success of many. You were one of those people.
“Since I’m a star, it’s my duty to use my nepotism to shout out my sister.” Julian joked, pointing over your head. “So make sure to give her a holler!”
The lights soon came back on, and many people clapped as the five left the stage. Before Michael knew it, he was already heading in your direction. Quincy followed, close behind. It was only when he saw Julian and the others did Michael remember to greet them before he got to you.
°🥂⋆.ೃ🪩*
“I still can’t believe you made me do that!” You huffed, lightly pushing your brother.
“Hey, if you’re gonna be a big name, you might as well get used to it now.” Julian shrugged.
“For once I agree with Jules.” Marvin added.
You sighed. It was truly four against one. There was no way you were winning this debate.
“Excuse me…”
Just then, a quiet voice broke through your conversation. You froze up. It was almost embarrassing how quickly you recognized that voice. But perhaps even more embarrassing how quickly you snapped your neck to look in his direction.
“If it isn’t Mr. Jackson himself!” Julian reached a hand out towards Michael, a bright smile on his face. “Julian [Surname].”
Michael gladly shook his hand. In his mind, he could see where you got your smile from. “I know who you are Julian, I’m a fan of your album. I listen to it sometimes in the studio.”
Julian turned around in shock. “Are y’all hearing this?”
Lenny chuckled. “We’re hearing it.” He then reached to shake Michael’s hand. “Thanks for the support, man. That really means a lot to us. Leon Brooks, but most call me Lenny.”
Michael then shook Tommy’s hand, as the two of them got around to introducing themselves.
Marvin was the next to speak. “That was some great work in Thriller. I listened to the instrumentals… the production is astounding.”
Michael smiled. “Thank you, but it’s not all me. I have great people I work with, including Quincy Jones who helps me with the songs and the beats.”
On cue, Quincy appeared by Michael’s side, shaking everyone’s hand. “I wanted to introduce him to you boys, but it looks like he beat me to it.”
Your attention drifted away from the conversation. That was usually how it went. You let the men talk while you found something to distract yourself. Unfortunately there was nothing nor no one nearby to lean to. That was until a warm brown hand appeared in front of you. You looked up at Michael in surprise. He wanted to meet you…?
‘Don’t be silly, he probably picked up how awkward it was for me to be standing here. It’s nothing more than that.’
“I know you already introduced yourself up there, but I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Michael Jackson, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
You nervously extended a hand out, shaking his own. His hands were warm and soft.
“The pleasure is all mine Mr. Jackson, I’m [Name].”
“Oh please don’t worry about formalities. You can just call me Michael.”
Well now you’re confused. Did celebrities usually let people call them by first name basis, or was that just Michael?
“Alright.” You were too nervous to test it out, so you simply nodded.
“Actually… I wanted to talk to you because I’m interested in your makeup skills.”
Now you’re flabbergasted. The Michael Jackson was interested in your makeup skills? Just a few hours ago, you were certain he didn’t even know you existed!
Michael continued. “You see, I’m working on a short film for one of my songs and there’s a ton of visual effects that go into it. Well… I guess what I’m trying to ask is if you have any experience in that area. Like scary makeup.”
‘Scary makeup?’ You tilted your head. Sure it wasn’t something you usually did, but you were sure you could do it.
“I’ve done a ton of looks. I would say I have experience but it depends on what you’re looking for. I do have an album with pictures of makeup I’ve done for people. I would be happy to walk through them with you.”
The two of you were in your own little world, completely oblivious to those around. You spoke in an animated way, while Michael gestured into the air. To onlookers, it seemed to look like other nonsense, but somehow, it just made sense to the two of you.
While Marvin was locked into conversation with Quincy, Julian was speaking with their manager, leaving only Lenny and Tommy to witness what was happening. Although they couldn’t hear the contents of the discussion, based on the bright smiles on both of your faces — they could only assume that it was going well.
You then reached into your purse, pulling out a business card. “You can reach me at this number if you have any more questions, I look forward to working with you Mr. Jack— Michael.”
Michael grinned, pocketing the card. “So do I.”
Michael then turned to Quincy. “Hey Q, I think we should be heading back soon. Bill might get a little worried.”
Quincy ended his conversation with Marvin, nodding to Michael. The two of them wrapped up all that they needed to do, so it was the perfect time to end the night.
Before Michael left, he gave you a small nod.
Tommy appeared by your side, nudging your shoulder. “What was that all about?”
“What was what?”
“That whole secret conversation.”
You rolled your eyes. “There was no secret conversation. Michael was impressed with my skills and wanted to know if I could be a makeup artist in one of his short films.”
Tommy’s eyes widened. “Really? That’s huge [Name]! He’s released some pretty good things.”
“I know.” That’s why you were so nervous. For a man as big as Michael, you couldn’t mess this up. This was the first time your makeup skills would be put to the test. Not for an award show, or a simple look. But for a set, against cameras, harsh lighting, and various conditions. If you could impress Michael, he would be one hell of a reference. And you were up for the challenge.
more about name’s look:
an: i’m sorry that this chapter was extremely wordy but it needed to be for the worldbuilding!! i know you’re probably wondering who tf is axis 79 and why should i care about them, but trust, it’s important for the plot.
summary: In the quiet of a California summer, your close friendship with Michael Jackson slowly shifts into something deeper—built on trust, closeness, and a unspoken desire. ꩜
warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, a bit angsty, being walked in on lol, misogyny à la 70’s
a/n: Continuation of OKAY? (pt. 1) and STILL OKAY? (pt. 2). This was originally supposed to be a short fic, but somehow it turned into three parts lol ♡ this is my first ever fic… so please bare with me, also English is not my first language ( ܸ. .)՞՞ some things are directly translated from my native language so it might sound a bit odd lol :-3
Even though you’d had a handful of lovers before, nothing had ever felt quite like this with Michael.
He was gentle, attentive, and endlessly patient — a true gentleman to his very core. He could make you laugh like no one else, and around him, you felt an overwhelming sense of comfort and safety, even long before the intimate moments you had begun to share.
Because deep down, you knew it had never really been about sex to him. It wasn’t about reaching some new level of intimacy. It was about the friendship the two of you had built, the trust you had placed in each other, and the quiet vulnerability that had slowly blossomed between you.
You loved him the way the ocean loves the shore — endlessly, gently, and with a pull neither of you could ever truly escape.
That was why the words had come so naturally, so easily, despite what most people would probably consider too soon.
“I love you.”
The moment the words left your lips, you didn’t regret them. If anything, they felt like the surest thing you had ever said in your life.
Still, a flicker of nervousness curled in your stomach as you looked at him. From Michael’s perspective, this was all still so new — the intimacy, the vulnerability, the feeling of being loved so openly. With how little experience he had when it came to romance, and with the complicated, painful version of love he had grown up around, you couldn’t help but wonder if the weight of those three words might overwhelm him, even if they were true.
He took a shaky breath before looking at you with an intensity that made your chest tighten, his warm, slightly clammy hands gently cradling your face.
“I think I’ve loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you,” he whispered, voice trembling around the words. “You’ve become the one steady thing in my life… and all I want is to grow old with you.”
For a second, all you could do was stare at him.
Not because the words startled you — but because of how deeply sincere they were. Michael had always loved carefully, almost fearfully, like he was terrified of giving too much of himself away. And yet here he was, looking at you like he was placing his entire heart into your hands and simply trusting you not to break it.
You couldn’t hold back the tears gathering in your eyes, your lips trembling into a pout before a wide smile slowly spread across your face.
Michael leaned in immediately, pressing soft kisses against the tears coating your cheeks. The only light in the room came from the full moon pouring through the windows, bathing the bedroom in a soft silver haze. The tracks of your tears glimmered faintly beneath it as your big brown eyes met his, warm and shining.
The two of you laughed quietly after that—maybe out of relief, maybe because the happiness filling the room had become almost overwhelming.
A sudden shiver ran through your body, goosebumps rising along your skin. Maybe it was the adrenaline finally leaving your system after such an emotionally overwhelming day. Maybe, for the first time all evening, you were finally beginning to relax.
Michael noticed instantly.
Still straddling him, you barely had time to react before he gently guided your hips away and slipped out from beneath you. For a second you thought he was leaving, but only moments later he returned with a pair of comfortable pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt in his hands.
You took the shirt curiously, holding it up enough to read the faded lettering across the front.
Led Zeppelin.
You snorted softly.
“They’re way better than all that disco nonsense anyway.”
Michael looked at you with an offended little side glance.
“Is this how you treat the man who just confessed his undying love for you?”
A laugh escaped you instantly.
“I’m kidding, baby.”
You pulled on the clothes, immediately surrounded by the soft scent of lavender and apple shampoo. They smelled so distinctly like him that your chest ached a little.
Michael caught your smile immediately.
“What?” he asked suspiciously. “You got more jokes coming?”
He dramatically leaned back slightly, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead like he’d been mortally wounded.
You burst out laughing.
“No…”
Only then did the exhaustion finally hit you.
Your eyes drifted toward the digital alarm clock on the bedside table, the glowing red numbers reading 11:37 PM.
Michael caught the yawn that escaped you, and almost instantly one left him too.
You slipped beneath the covers and patted the empty space beside you.
He climbed in without hesitation, immediately curling himself behind you, one arm wrapping securely around your waist as he pulled you gently against his chest.
Outside, the distant sounds of nighttime wildlife echoed softly through the estate while your breathing slowly fell into the same steady rhythm.
And somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, sleep finally pulled you under.
————
You woke to the sound of hurried footsteps racing up the staircase, accompanied by the faint sound of someone humming a tune somewhere out in the hallway. The bedroom door had been left slightly ajar, allowing the noise to drift inside along with the warm California sunlight pouring through the windows.
Still half asleep, you glanced toward the digital alarm clock on the bedside table.
8:37 AM.
A sleepy hum left your lips as a soft kiss was pressed against your untamed curls, gently pulling you awake the rest of the way.
You turned over slowly, arms stretching above your head, only to be met with Michael’s ridiculously lovesick grin.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he said happily, sounding like he’d personally been gifted the entire universe.
A tired little smile spread across your face.
“Morning,” you murmured softly, your voice still thick with sleep as your eyes met his warm doe-like ones.
“I made you breakfast.”
Michael carefully placed a tray beside you on the bed, the smell of cinnamon immediately filling the room.
“You made your famous French toast?”
“Yes,” he said proudly. “So incredibly delicious and nutritious that it remains the one delicacy in this world I can make perfectly.”
A laugh escaped you instantly.
Pouting slightly, you pointed toward your lips in silent demand for a kiss.
Michael wasted no time leaning in to give you one, soft and lingering enough to make warmth bloom through your chest all over again.
While he settled beside you, you reached into your bag near the bed and pulled out your pills, quickly swallowing them with the cold glass of water resting on the tray.
You glanced over at him afterward.
“What were those?” he asked, curiosity soft in his voice.
“Oh,” you said casually. “Just my birth control pills.”
Michael nodded slowly, a small, easy smile forming on his lips as if the answer made perfect sense. He didn’t say anything else, simply letting the moment settle between you.
But there was a brief pause — subtle enough that you almost missed it — where his gaze lingered a little longer than before. Thoughtful, quiet. Not uncomfortable, not judgmental. Just… considering something he hadn’t fully put into words yet.
Like somewhere in the back of his mind, time was already something he was imagining differently than you were. Softly, almost instinctively, toward permanence — toward ideas of “someday,” without either of you being there yet.
Then he blinked, as if pulling himself gently back, and reached for his comic book again.
Michael sat comfortably beside you wearing a turquoise sweatshirt, blue jeans, his usual white socks — and somehow, despite being indoors, loafers.
Of course.
“You were up early,” you noted.
A grin spread across his face again.
“Yeah. I woke up a few hours ago and couldn’t fall back asleep.” He rubbed the back of his neck shyly. “I had to go into the studio for a little while and write some things down. These past twenty-four hours have been pretty inspiring.”
His eyes flickered toward yours, softer now.
“I think I might’ve found myself a muse.”
You giggled at the obvious charm in his voice.
A comfortable silence settled between the two of you after that as you ate breakfast beside your hopelessly lovesick boyfriend, who had somehow already become completely absorbed in a comic book beside you.
————
You and Michael had decided that, with the California heat draped heavily over the compound — especially now as noon approached — another lazy afternoon by the pool sounded perfect.
The two of you lounged on separate chairs, though “separate” hardly meant anything anymore when your chairs had somehow drifted close enough for your fingertips to brush whenever either of you moved. Keeping distance from each other had become nearly impossible after last night.
You glanced over at him shamelessly.
Michael sat with his leather notebook balanced against one knee, entirely absorbed in writing down ideas for the album he’d been talking about endlessly these past few weeks. Every so often, he’d pause to hum softly under his breath before scribbling something else down in hurried handwriting.
You admired that part of him deeply — the passion, the dedication, the excitement of finally creating something that belonged entirely to him after spending so much of his life moving as part of a group instead of simply as Michael.
Maybe it was the suffocating heat making your thoughts hazy, but your attention slowly drifted from the notebook to him instead.
To the pair of red swim trunks sitting low on his hips.
To the faint sheen of sweat sliding down the warm brown skin of his chest, disappearing lower beneath the waistband after catching briefly in the soft dark curls beneath his navel.
Your mouth suddenly felt dry.
And unfortunately for your self-control, the rest of him wasn’t helping either.
Michael had always been tall and lean, all graceful limbs and sharp angles, but somewhere along the way his body had settled into something quietly unfair. Subtle muscle shifted naturally beneath his skin whenever he moved — toned stomach, defined arms, narrow hips — not overly built, just enough to make warmth curl low in your stomach every time you looked at him too long.
If he had any idea what was currently running through your mind, neither of you would survive it.
Which was probably why, only seconds later, you abandoned your own lounge chair entirely.
Before Michael could properly react, you climbed into his lap and pushed the notebook aside, forcing his attention away from the pages and fully onto you instead.
He blinked up at you instantly.
You tried your best to look unimpressed, almost bored even, as though you hadn’t just spent the last several minutes staring at him like a woman on the verge of losing her mind.
Michael, meanwhile, looked at you like you were something sacred.
His gaze moved slowly across your face, lingering with such quiet intensity it almost made your chest ache, like he was trying to commit the moment to memory before it could disappear.
Your honey-brown eyes softened beneath the sunlight pouring over your face, warmth glowing through them in a way that never failed to completely undo him.
You placed your hands gently on his shoulders as you leaned down toward him, your bikini-clad chest suddenly far too close for him to ignore.
Michael tried — he really did.
But every few seconds, his eyes betrayed him, flickering downward before snapping back up again almost immediately, a deep blush spreading across his face as heat rushed through him far too fast.
“You know,” you murmured teasingly, “for a man who confessed his undying love for me, you’ve been pretty quiet this past hour. Almost feels like you’re ignoring me.”
Michael’s eyes widened instantly.
“What? Baby, I would never—”
The panicked explanation died on his tongue the moment your lips crashed against his.
For a second, Michael kissed you back with the same soft hesitation as always.
Then something shifted.
One of his hands slid more firmly against your waist, guiding your hips down against his lap in a slow roll that pulled a startled breath from you.
The sound that left you seemed to affect him instantly.
His brows knitted slightly, almost surprised by his own boldness, but he didn’t pull away.
Instead, he kissed you deeper this time — slower, needier — like he was finally allowing himself to take instead of only asking.
Feeling bolder now, one of his hands slid higher along your body, settling against your chest with a touch far less hesitant than before. The pressure of his palm pulled a soft moan from your lips almost immediately.
Your fingers slipped into the damp curls at the back of his neck, tugging gently until he looked up at you properly.
Michael let out a breathless little laugh against your mouth, shy and disbelieving all at once.
But the second he saw the effect he was having on you, something in his expression darkened ever so slightly — confidence slowly replacing the hesitation from earlier.
The moment his hand left your chest, a disappointed whimper escaped you before both his hands slid lower instead, gripping your hips more firmly and pulling you harder against him.
“Oh, Michael…” you breathed.
Something in him seemed to snap at the sound.
His grip tightened instinctively as he kissed you deeper now, less careful than before, like he was finally losing himself in it too.
Your breath caught when you glanced down between your bodies.
Even through the thin fabric of his swim trunks, it was impossible to ignore how hard he’d become beneath you. Heat curled low in your stomach at the sight alone, your fingers instinctively tracing along the waistband before slipping lower.
The second your hand brushed against him, Michael’s entire body reacted.
A shaky breath broke against your lips as his hips lifted instinctively into your touch, like he physically couldn’t help himself anymore.
His fingers tightened against your waist before sliding lower, carefully pulling your bikini bottoms aside. At the same time, your fingers abandoned their teasing touch just long enough to curl beneath the waistband of his red swim trunks, slowly pulling them lower.
The sudden exposure to the warm afternoon air sent a shiver through you, but the feeling barely lasted before Michael pulled you closer again.
He let out the softest groan as your bodies pressed together more fully, the sound vibrating straight through your chest and making your thighs tremble around him.
And then—
The loud slam of a car door shattered the moment completely, cutting through your desperate breaths and pulling both of you violently back to reality.
Michael froze so fast it was almost comical.
“Oh my— nope. Nope.”
His eyes darted toward the front of the property, panic instantly flooding his expression.
From the pool area, it was painfully easy to see anyone arriving near the driveway — which unfortunately also meant they could see you.
“Why are they here— they’re not supposed to be here—”
He practically launched himself off you, grabbing wildly for the towel beneath him in a panicked — and not remotely subtle — attempt to hide the very obvious situation in his swim trunks.
His lips were swollen and glossy now, smeared faintly with crimson lipstick that matched the marks scattered across his neck.
For a split second, his hands hesitated.
Then, despite his very obvious panic, he quickly reached for the second towel and draped it around your shoulders first before even properly fixing himself.
Like somehow covering you up now would make the situation less humiliating — or hide what moments earlier had only been meant for his eyes.
A chorus of wolf whistles and loud snickering echoed across the backyard as the band of brothers approached the pool area.
Michael looked seconds away from spiritually leaving his body.
Marlon was the first to step into view.
He took one look at the scene and immediately lit up, a shit-eating grin stretching across his face so widely it practically lifted his mustache with it.
“YO—”
Michael made a sound that genuinely resembled a man begging for death.
“I didn’t think you had that game in you, little Mikey.”
The nickname hit differently coming from him now — especially after hearing it fall from your lips so many times over the past twenty-four hours.
“Oh my God,” Michael groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Please stop talking.”
Jermaine appeared right behind Marlon, immediately taking in the scene.
“Awww,” he said slowly, a grin spreading across his face. “Look at you.”
“W-what?” Michael stammered, still visibly flustered. “W-why are you guys here? I thought you weren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”
You glanced between all of them, your own brain still struggling to catch up with reality.
Marlon waved a hand vaguely.
“Tito wasn’t feeling too good, so we brought him home early,” he explained. “Mother, Joseph, and the girls are still staying until tomorrow.”
Then he suddenly leaned forward again, eyes narrowing as his grin returned full force.
“But hold on— that’s not even the important part,” he cut in, pointing between you and Michael. “THAT’S why you’ve been acting weird all week?”
Jermaine immediately pointed at Michael.
“I told y’all he was hiding something.”
“I was not hiding anything!” Michael snapped far too quickly.
“You absolutely were,” Jermaine laughed. “Man’s been walking around the house smiling at walls.”
Marlon gasped dramatically.
“OH, HE WAS DOWN BAD.”
“I was not—”
“Conveniently got ‘sick’ right before the trip too,” Marlon added.
Michael looked seconds away from combusting.
“You people are unbelievable.”
And then Jackie appeared seemingly out of nowhere beside them, taking one long look at the scene before nodding slowly.
“Nah,” he said calmly. “Marlon’s right. My man definitely had a secret.”
Michael physically recoiled.
“Jackie, not you too.”
You rubbed your temples and let out a small groan, finally pulling the group’s attention toward you.
That was when Jackie spoke again.
“You know, we never thought you’d be Mikey’s little girlfriend,” he teased, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Didn’t know he had it in him… especially with you being all foxy and stuff. Maybe even out of his league.”
Heat rushed to your face instantly, your confidence shrinking under the sudden attention.
But Michael’s expression told a very different story.
You could see it immediately — the shift in him. The way his jaw tightened, the way the teasing stopped being funny to him.
He didn’t like that.
“Watch it, Jackie,” he said, sharper than usual.
The reaction was instant.
A collective “WOOO!” erupted from the group.
Jackie laughed.
“What? It’s true,” he said easily. “If you weren’t always glued to her side or hiding her away in your room, I’d be all over that.”
That did it.
Your expression changed immediately.
“I’d have to be fed to the sharks before I’d even entertain your sorry ass,” you snapped.
The group burst into laughter again.
Marlon whistled.
“She’s feisty. I like it.”
That was enough for Michael.
The teasing, the laughing, the way they were talking about you like you weren’t standing right there — it all snapped something in him.
He stepped forward and grabbed your hand.
“Let’s go,” he said firmly.
Before anyone could say anything else, he pulled you through them, walking fast toward the house and pushing past his brothers.
“You’re overreacting, Mikey!” Jermaine called after you. “We were just joking!”
But Michael didn’t answer.
You could hear their laughter fading behind you as he guided you inside, straight up the stairs.
On the way, you passed another member of the Jackson family on the stairs. Tito paused briefly, looking between you two.
“What—”
But Michael didn’t slow down.
He just kept walking.
————
By the time you reached his room, he shut the door behind you a little too quickly, the sound sharper than intended.
Silence settled.
You moved toward the bed and sat down at the edge, watching him carefully.
“Mikey,” you said softly. “Don’t mind them. They’re just angry you’ve got the talent and the girl.”
He tilted his head back slightly, exhaling through his nose — visibly still annoyed, but also trying not to let it fully show.
He stayed quiet for a moment after that, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor like he was sorting through something heavier than the words just said.
Then he finally made his way toward you, sitting down beside you on the edge of the bed.
“That’s not it,” he said finally.
His voice was lower now. Less sharp. More tired.
You watched him closely, the shift in him subtle but unmistakable.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, his head falling into his hands as he rubbed tiredly at his face in frustration.
“It’s just…” he started, then paused, like the rest of the sentence didn’t want to come out properly.
Another breath.
“They never stop.”
You didn’t speak, just let him continue.
Michael swallowed, jaw tightening for a second before easing again.
“It doesn’t matter what I do. It’s always something to laugh at. Or twist. Or turn into… whatever they want it to be.”
A small shake of his head.
“And if I say something about it, I’m the problem.”
Silence stretched again.
He looked down at his hands now.
“I’ve been dealing with it my whole life,” he added quietly. “So I’m used to it. I guess.”
But the way he said used to it didn’t sound like acceptance.
It sounded like exhaustion.
A pause.
Then, softer:
“And now it’s you too.”
That made something in the air shift.
Not accusatory — just honest. Like it had been sitting in him since the moment downstairs and finally found a way out.
“They don’t even know you — actually know you,” he said, almost to himself. “But they still turn everything into… a joke.”
His fingers tightened slightly together.
“And I just— I don’t like it.”
You could tell this had been weighing on him for a long time now, something pushed down so deeply it had almost become normal to carry. From the outside, it probably looked harmless — brothers teasing each other, joking around — but growing up the way Michael had, nothing about it felt simple.
“I don’t like how easily they can take something that matters to me and make it feel like it doesn’t.”
He finally looked up at you then, but only briefly.
And in that glance, there was something completely unguarded there now — not anger anymore.
Just hurt that had nowhere else to go.
“All my life,” he started quietly, “I’ve been molded into this… machine.”
The word itself sounded bitter leaving his mouth.
“Joseph saw what my talent could do for the group and after that it was just… work. Rehearse. Perform. Repeat.”
His eyes dropped again.
“Everything always depended on me getting it right.”
A quiet breath escaped him.
“And don’t get me wrong,” he added quickly, almost defensive out of habit, “the work ethic he pushed into me made me who I am. I know that.”
His fingers nervously twisted against the edge of the mattress.
“But sometimes I wish I got to just… be a person too.”
That one hurt to hear.
“Not the lead singer. Not the money maker. Not the one everyone depends on all the time.”
His voice softened further.
“Just Michael.”
You felt your chest ache at the vulnerability in his voice.
“And the crazy thing is…” he continued with a small humorless laugh, “my brothers know better than anyone what all of this has been like for me.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“But instead of lifting me up, sometimes it feels like they’d rather turn me into the joke first.”
Silence settled for a moment.
You knew exactly what he meant.
The teasing had never really been just teasing.
Not completely.
There were traces of jealousy buried underneath it sometimes — toward his talent, his passion, the way people gravitated toward him so naturally without him ever having to force it.
Michael had never been like his brothers.
He wasn’t loud or performatively macho, never felt the need to prove himself by treating women like trophies or acting tougher than he really was. He was soft-spoken, emotional, shy even — and despite everything, he had never fully let the world harden that out of him.
And maybe that was part of what frustrated them most.
Because the same sensitivity they mocked was the exact thing that made people love him.
The exact thing that made him unforgettable.
Silence lingered after his words faded.
Not uncomfortable.
Just heavy.
You looked at him quietly, taking in the way his shoulders had sunk lower now, the exhaustion in his voice, the nervous way his fingers kept pulling at the edge of the mattress like he needed something to ground himself.
Your chest ached.
Not out of pity.
Just the painful realization of how long he must have carried all of that around by himself.
Slowly, you moved closer beside him.
Your hand gently reached for his, stopping the anxious movement of his fingers before intertwining them with your own.
For a moment, you simply sat there.
No jokes. No teasing. No trying to immediately fix what he’d said.
Just you and him in the quiet of the room.
“I don’t think I could ever fully understand what that felt like for you,” you admitted softly after a while.
Michael finally looked up at you then.
“But I do know none of that should’ve happened to you.”
Your thumb brushed slowly against the back of his hand.
“And I think…” you started carefully, “when people spend their whole lives expecting something from you, they forget you’re a person before anything else.”
The room stayed quiet except for the faint sounds of the house downstairs.
“But you don’t have to worry about that with me, Mikey,” you continued softly. “I don’t expect you to perform or prove something or carry everybody all the time… especially not me.”
A small pause followed.
“You can just exist.”
He looked at you with those big brown eyes of his, now glassy with tears that had finally begun spilling over onto his cheeks.
Your expression softened instantly.
You leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead.
Michael let out the smallest shaky breath before his hands slid against your cheeks, pulling you closer with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
Then he kissed you.
Slow. Loving. Full of every unspoken thing still lingering in the room between you both.
When he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before he whispered softly:
“I’ll love you till the end of time, my sweet girl.”
A smile slowly spread across your face at the words.
Behind the two of you, the late afternoon sunlight poured through the windows, wrapping around your figures and casting your embrace into a warm golden silhouette across the bedroom walls.
summary: In the quiet of a California summer, your close friendship with Michael Jackson slowly shifts into something deeper—built on trust, closeness, and a unspoken desire. ꩜
warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, experienced!reader, kind of subby? and unexperienced!michael, maybe some religious corruption ish?, right before off the wall
a/n: continuation of OKAY? ♡ this is my first ever fic… bare with me, also English is not my first language ( ܸ. .)՞՞ some things are directly translated from my native language so it might sound a bit odd lol :-3
“I appreciate the enthusiasm, pretty boy,” you murmured, tilting your head to look at him properly, “but I seriously need a shower after… everything that happened five minutes ago.”
The nickname hit him harder than it should have.
You could see it immediately in the way his jaw tightened, the way his fingers flexed absentmindedly against your waist. Michael ducked his head with a breathless little laugh, already looking painfully affected.
“Alright,” he said softly. “Let me take care of you, then.”
Something about the sentence settled warmly in your chest.
You leaned up just enough to press a quick kiss against his cheek before pulling yourself off his lap, immediately missing the heat of him beneath you. The cold air against your skin sent a shiver down your spine.
Michael stood too, awkwardly adjusting his jeans in what he probably thought was a subtle movement.
It wasn’t.
You bit back a grin as you walked toward the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water while the reality of your dehydration started catching up to you.
Before you could even take another sip, a pair of arms slid around your waist from behind.
You startled violently.
A soft laugh brushed against your ear before lips pressed briefly against your cheek.
“Mikey!” You turned around with a hand dramatically pressed to your chest. “You scared me.”
He looked completely unapologetic. If anything, the lovesick look on his face only deepened.
“I thought maybe your brothers came home,” you muttered, swatting lightly at his arm.
Michael only grinned.
“You still have two more days alone with me in this big, empty house.”
The words should’ve sounded teasing, but there was something quieter underneath them. Something hopeful.
You stepped closer instinctively, arms sliding around his neck as you looked up at him.
“I already don’t want it to end.”
For a moment, he just stared at you.
Not in the hungry way from earlier.
Softer than that.
Like he was trying to memorize you exactly as you were standing here in his kitchen.
His hands came up to cup your face gently before he kissed you again — slower this time, unhurried enough to make your stomach twist.
“Give me fifteen minutes,” he murmured against your lips. “I’ll get the bathroom ready for us, pretty girl.”
The nickname settled embarrassingly low in your stomach.
—
You leaned back against his toned chest in the bathtub, nearly melting at the feeling of his fingers working gently through your hair.
Warm water lapped softly against your skin while the scent of shampoo and steam wrapped around the room, turning everything hazy and slow.
Michael was unusually quiet behind you now.
Not awkward quiet.
Content quiet.
His fingertips massaged slow circles against your scalp with almost embarrassing care, like he was terrified of being too rough with you.
You tilted your head back slightly to glance up at him.
“You’re being very serious about this,” you teased softly.
A shy smile pulled at his lips almost immediately.
“You said you needed a shower,” he murmured. “I’m providing a service.”
You laughed quietly, the sound echoing gently off the tiled walls.
“Mhm. A very expensive one, I’m sure.”
That earned a breathy little laugh from him too — the kind that still sounded slightly disbelieving, like he couldn’t fully process that this was real.
His arms tightened around you just slightly after that.
Not possessive.
Just close.
Like he wanted to keep you tucked against him for as long as possible.
Eventually, though, the warmth of the water began to fade, and reality slowly crept back in.
You both stepped out of the bathtub after a while, the air cooler against your skin.
Michael immediately reached for a thick, fluffy robe, wrapping it gently around your shoulders with careful hands. Looking at you with that unbearably soft expression he always seemed to get around you.
Like you were something precious.
He leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead before murmuring softly,
“Gorgeous girl. My girl.”
The words settled warmly in your chest.
Over the past few months, Michael had slowly begun trusting you with the heavier parts of himself — the stories buried underneath the fame and bright stage lights.
The endless pressure. The loneliness. His father’s iron grip over every part of his childhood and everything that had come with it.
Just thinking about it now made your chest ache.
You could still hear the way his voice had shaken the first time he told you, how hard he’d tried to hold himself together while talking about it.
And somehow, despite all of it, he had still remained gentle.
Still kind.
How could someone who had been hurt so deeply still carry such a beautiful soul?
Whatever this was becoming between you, one thing was certain:
You wanted to be something soft for him.
Something safe.
Pulling yourself away from the heaviness of the thought, you leaned forward and kissed him slowly before resting your forehead against his.
“My gorgeous boy,” you whispered.
The smile that spread across his face looked almost painful in its sincerity.
As you carefully squeezed excess water from your curls, trying not to ruin them completely, Michael quietly slipped out of the bathroom.
He returned a few minutes later wearing loose red pajama pants, a white t-shirt, and his usual white socks — an oddly consistent combination that had somehow become part of his signature look already.
You swore the black loafers weren’t far behind.
A laugh escaped you at the thought.
Michael reached for your hand gently and led you toward his bedroom.
Soft jazz crackled quietly from the record player near the corner of the room, warm and soulful.
Carefully chosen.
Of course it was.
One thing you had quickly learned about Michael was that he thought about everything down to the smallest detail.
Always.
Without saying a word, he lifted your hands and began swaying slowly with you to the music.
You giggled almost immediately.
“You picked a really bad dance partner,” you teased softly. “I have absolutely no rhythm. Especially compared to you.”
Michael laughed under his breath, shaking his head lightly.
“I wouldn’t trade you for any other dance partner in the world.”
The sincerity in his voice made your stomach twist.
He leaned down to kiss you slowly, lingering just enough to make warmth bloom through your chest again as his hands settled carefully against your robe-covered waist.
Your arms slipped around his neck instinctively, the kiss deepening little by little until a quiet sound escaped your throat.
Slowly, you guided him backward without breaking the kiss, smiling against his mouth when the backs of his legs finally bumped against the edge of the bed.
The kiss broke only briefly as he sat down and you settled yourself across his lap.
Even through the thin fabric between you, the warmth and tension was impossible to ignore.
A soft breath escaped Michael as you shifted slightly against him, but before the moment could go any further, he gently pulled back.
“I wanna make you feel good too, pretty girl,” he murmured softly.
The words alone made your chest tighten.
Considering the fact that only hours ago he’d barely managed to take the first step in any of this, the sudden determination in his voice almost caught you off guard.
“Baby, it’s okay,” you reassured softly. “You don’t have to.”
Michael only looked at you for a moment, thumbs tracing absent-minded circles against your waist.
“I want to,” he said quietly.
And somehow, hearing him say it like that — soft, certain, sincere — made your heart race even harder than before.
He slid a hand to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently into your curls as he pulled you closer.
The kiss that followed was almost overwhelming — deep and desperate, like he was terrified you might slip away from him if he let go for even a second.
Slowly, his lips trailed away from yours, moving along your jaw before descending to your neck.
A shiver ran through you instantly.
He lingered over the same spot again and again, kissing and sucking softly enough to make your breath catch, clearly intending to leave a mark behind.
One of his hands drifted lower, brushing carefully along the edge of your robe near your chest.
You knew exactly what he was asking.
Michael paused immediately, looking up at you with hesitant eyes, waiting for permission.
When you gave him a small nod, he carefully pushed the robe from your shoulders.
The breath left him completely.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, the words sounding almost disbelieving as his warm eyes searched your face.
The sincerity in his voice made heat rush to your cheeks, forcing you to glance away for a second — suddenly feeling shy in a way you normally never did around him.
A soft smile tugged at his lips at the reaction.
His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing slowly across warm skin while his other hand explored you more carefully now, tentative at first, like he was still learning what reactions belonged to which touches.
A soft whimper escaped you when his thumb grazed over your nipple, the reaction clearly encouraging him.
His breathing turned uneven again as he leaned closer, lingering there for a moment before finally taking you into his mouth, the desperate tenderness of it nearly making your head spin.
”Mikey…” you whispered weakly, fingers tightening in his curls.
He looked up immediately, swollen lips parted, eyes dark and completely focused on you
“What?…” he asked, almost like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.
The look on his face alone nearly made you lose it.
“I need you to—” you swallowed, breath shaky. “Touch me… m-maybe just… use your fingers…”
“Touch you…” he repeated quietly, almost like he needed to hear it again to understand.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed.
Then his gaze flickered up to yours again, softer now.
"Like this?" His voice was small, barely more than a whisper—but his fingers didn't waver as they traced down your thigh.
You nodded, biting your lip when he hesitated just under where you needed him most.
His touch was careful, almost reverent, as he finally slid between your slick folds.
The sound you made had his breath stuttering.
You leaned forward, kissing him hungrily—nipping at his lower lip just enough to draw a choked groan from his throat.
His fingers twitched inside you in response, his entire body tensing like he was holding himself back.
"Just like that," you murmured against his mouth, your voice already unsteady. "Please—"
He didn't need more encouragement.
The moment your hips rocked against his hand, his fingers curled deeper, stroking in a rhythm that made you dizzy.
Through the haze of it all, you managed to choke out a few words, your voice unsteady.
“M-Michael?”
He stopped immediately.
The shift in him was instant — concern breaking through everything else as he pulled back just enough to look at you properly.
“Hey…” he said softly. “Are you okay?”
You reached up, cupping his cheek gently, grounding him again.
“I am,” you whispered. “I just… wanna try something. Is that okay?”
His brows knit slightly, nervous now, but not pulling away. Curious. Open.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
There was a pause.
A small breath.
Michael had always been strangely vulnerable with you about certain things — pieces of himself he didn’t often let anyone see. Especially the insecurities that had followed him since childhood.
His nose was one of them.
Something people had commented on, picked apart, turned into a joke before he ever had the chance to feel neutral about it himself.
And yet, to you, it had never been something you even noticed in that way.
All you saw was him.
The way he softened when he laughed. The way his eyes changed when he looked at you. The way he tried so hard to take up less space than he deserved.
It didn’t make sense to you — how something so small in other people’s words could ever overshadow everything that made him who he was.
Your thumb brushed his cheek slowly, anchoring him in the moment.
You didn’t give yourself time to second-guess it — it came out before you could stop it, soft but certain, like you already knew exactly what you wanted.
“I wanna sit on your pretty face”
He froze for a second.
Not in shock — more like he was trying to understand exactly what you meant.
Then his expression shifted, softening, but something else flickered through it too. Something lighter. Curious.
“Baby…” he said quietly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.
His hand found your wrist again, gentle — grounding himself, but also not letting go.
“If that’s what you want,” he added after a pause, voice softer now, “I… yeah. I think I can do that.”
A small, almost shy breath of a laugh left him as his gaze flickered away for a second, like he was suddenly aware of how intense this all was.
Then he looked back at you — eyes a little brighter now.
“I just… I didn’t think you’d ever wanna be that close to me,” he admitted, voice dropping. “But I want you to be.”
Something in your chest tightened at his words.
At that, his expression softened instantly.
A small smile broke through, but his eyes turned glassy — almost teary — like he was trying not to let it overwhelm him.
You didn’t hesitate.
You kissed him with so much warmth and certainty that it felt like it answered everything he hadn’t said out loud.
When you pulled back, you stayed close, your hand sliding to his chest to ground him.
“Hey,” you whispered softly. “Lay back for me, okay?”
He didn’t need to be told twice. There was only a brief pause before he nodded slightly and did as you asked, lying back as a soft, shaky breath escaped him.
You moved forward the small distance between you, settling over his head with careful intention. His gaze didn’t leave you—wide-eyed, almost reverent—as he licked his lips, uncertainty flickering across his expression. You could tell he wasn’t used to this, didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
You took his hand gently, guiding it into yours, and traced slow, grounding circles with your tongue around his thumb—a quiet ritual to draw him back to the moment, to you. When you finally took it into your mouth and sucked softly, his heart seemed to stop, then raced ahead twice as fast. A devilish smile curved your lips.
Still holding his thumb, you guided it down to your slick, waiting warmth. You pressed the pad of it against your sensitive little pearl. You made a sound he didn’t recognize from you—soft, undone, real. His eyes went wide.
"I need you to lick—kind of kiss that delicate nub, baby? Like you kiss me but longer, softer. “Just try what feels natural. I’ll guide you if I need to.”
You lowered yourself onto his mouth, and goosebumps rippled across your skin the moment his tongue made contact with that tender knot of pleasure. He experimented with gentle circles and teasing flicks until he found the rhythm that made you gasp, your head falling back, a breathless moan escaping. Below you, you could feel him smile.
“A little to the right,” you murmured, almost pleading, and he adjusted immediately.
He reached up with one long arm and squeezed your left nipple firmly—a bold move that sent sparks behind your eyes. "Nghh... feels so good... you're such a good boy," you moaned, desperate and open. A low sound rumbled from him; being called a good boy, all for you, was the most honored title he could imagine.
Lost in the moment, you began to roll your hips against his face, your slick folds dragging across his nose, his lips. "Faster," you breathed, sensing the wave building inside you.
Emboldened, he slid two fingers down from your nipple and into your wet, yielding warmth. He lapped at you as though you were the last meal he'd ever taste—and if it meant dying by your side, he would gladly do it again and again.
"Don't stop," you begged. The coil in your belly released in a shuddering wave, and you cried his name. "Fuck... Michael."
He felt your inner walls grip his fingers, and his own cock twitched hard, a damp spot spreading through his pants as he watched you come undone.
You came down slowly, covering your face with your hands, breathing like you'd just sprinted a mile. When you uncovered your eyes and met his gaze, what he did next almost stopped your heart.
He pulled his fingers out of you—a silken thread of your arousal stretching before breaking—and brought them to his mouth. He licked them clean, never breaking eye contact, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.
"I want to taste you every second of the day."
You did what any woman would: you kissed him fiercely, teeth nearly clashing, tasting yourself on his tongue.
And the next three syllables slipped from you as naturally as dawn casting its first light.
summary: In the quiet of a California summer, your close friendship with Michael Jackson slowly shifts into something deeper—built on trust, closeness, and a unspoken desire. ꩜
warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, experienced!reader, kind of subby? and unexperienced!michael, maybe some religious corruption ish?, right before off the wall
a/n: this is my first ever fic… bare with me, also English is not my first language ( ܸ. .)՞՞ some things are directly translated from my native language so it might sound a bit odd lol :-3
The warm July day eventually began to cool down when the orange sky settled over the manor-like compound in Hayvenhurst. You’d found yourself spending more and more time here, drawn in by a growing friendship with Michael — the lanky boy who had been engulfed by fame nearly his entire life, yet still stood on the edge of something entirely his own.
Although he was busy creating his fifth studio album, he always made sure to find time for your company whenever he could.
This particular day had been quite peaceful, the two of you spending most of it lounging by the pool. As evening crept in, you moved inside to the living room to watch a movie and settle in for yet another sleepover.
The flicker of the TV screen and the crunch of popcorn were the only sounds filling the house. For once, the sprawling Jackson clan had retreated elsewhere, away on a mini vacation for a couple of days, leaving the two of you wrapped in a rare and borrowed silence.
You glanced over at Michael, who was clearly engrossed in the film, sitting only an arm’s reach away on the sofa, and asked quietly.
How come you didn’t follow your family on the trip?
He quickly snapped away from the screen and looked at you for maybe a second too long before answering.
Uhm, I wasn’t really up for it.
Hmm, alright. You looked back at him with a suspicious glance before turning your attention back to the TV.
You didn’t mind the two of you being alone in the house. Although you enjoyed the company of his family — even if his brothers would make flirty remarks and tease you, and his sisters would pull you aside for a few minutes too long to chat — it was nice to have some quality time without the chance of being interrupted. Though your friendship had only begun a few months ago in spring, you couldn’t help but lately feel a flutter of butterflies, a faint tingling in your fingertips, every time you came over. You had always found Michael cute, a gentleman wrapped up in an innocent persona — but lately you’d noticed his glances lingering on you just a moment longer than they would in a purely platonic friendship.
Between the two of you, you had always been the more outgoing one — bold, never really afraid or hesitant to act when the moment called for it. Something that mirrored the complete opposite of Michael’s demeanor. He had always been more careful, a little shy — though something he had noticeably blossomed from since your friendship began. When it was just the two of you, you could talk freely about every possible question and topic. Which is why you found yourself thinking back to a particular predicament from a few weeks ago.
It had been during one of your sleepovers, when the night had crept in and you were lying in his bed, him on a mattress on the floor beside you, both of you staring up at the ceiling waiting to be overtaken by sleep — when he had blurted out a question seemingly from nowhere.
When did you have your first kiss?
You looked over at him, not quite prepared to be met with that type of question from him of all people, but answered with a sly smile.
I think it was in 7th grade, with this guy from my class.
Michael, still staring at the ceiling, looked a little envious — maybe even jealous — before answering quietly.
You have a pretty good head start. I feel like I’m light years behind.
What do you mean? you asked, searching his face for context.
Well, you know — I’ve never really had time for relationships because of everything with the group. I feel like I’ve missed out on that part of my teenage years, and lately it’s been catching up to me. I’ve never really had the space to think about that kind of stuff until now. And obviously, growing up under my mother’s roof and being influenced by her beliefs, I’m waiting for the right one — but still. You know.
You looked at him and tried not to let your sadness show. You were very aware of the life he had lived so far — so different from yours. Robbed of the childhood and teenage experiences he should have had.
I understand you, you said softly. But I promise you — when you let the right one in, those years you feel like you’ve lost won’t matter at all. I can speak from experience when I say I’d rather have one meaningful experience with someone I truly care about than several shallow ones with people who don’t matter. Whoever she is, she’s going to be lucky to have you. I promise.
You always know what to say. He looked at you with his big doe eyes, a slight glimmer in them, a wide smile spreading across his lips.
What he hadn’t told you was that his special someone had been in his life for the past few months — and she was laying right beside him.
The memory brought a faint smile to your lips as you glanced over at him now, still engrossed in the film, the blue glow of the screen dancing across his features — but it also gave you an idea that made your stomach flutter.
You rose from the sofa, patting down the back of your short, flower-patterned sundress as you stood up and announced casually — it’s a bit hot in here. You lifted your curls from the back of your neck and fanned yourself lazily with your hand. I’m just gonna go grab a soda.
Michael looked up at you, and you couldn’t help but notice his gaze lingering a moment too long, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks before he answered. Okay, but hurry up — I’m not pausing this.
You giggled and made your way quickly to the kitchen, returning only a few seconds later with an ice cold drink in hand. This time, you chose to sit closer to him — close enough that your arms and thighs touched. The contact made him tense up almost immediately, a small cough escaping him as he nearly choked on his popcorn. You played innocent, pressing the cold can against your chest, letting the condensation trail slowly downward your chest.
You noticed him staring at what was unfolding, watching him shift slightly in his seat, his eyes darting briefly in your direction before fixing back on the screen — a little too deliberately. His jaw tightened, and he reached for a handful of popcorn he clearly didn’t want, just to have something to do with his hands.
Your gaze drifted briefly to his hands — large and slightly calloused, with long slender fingers — and you quickly looked away, a warmth blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with the July heat.
You tore your eyes from him and reached over to place the soda down on the table, something Michael watched far too closely. The movement caused the hem of your dress to shift just enough for a sliver of white pointelle fabric to peek out beneath it, hugging the curve of your ass for only a second before disappearing again.
The sight sent a sharp shiver down his spine.
You turned toward him slowly, and something in your expression must have given you away — because he turned toward you too, uncertainty flickering across his face.
Michael?
He swallowed. Yes?
I’ve been thinking about our conversation from a few weeks ago.
His gaze flickered with something unreadable. Oh? Uuhm— his voice came out a little unsteady. He cleared his throat. What about it?
You mean so much to me, and I can’t help feeling something more than just friendship. And that conversation made me realize — if I were ever in your situation, I’d want my first to be with someone who truly cares, deep down from their core.
Michael’s heart was hammering in his chest — he had never experienced anything like this before. But a warmth washed over him almost instantly, because he knew he would never in a million years have found the courage to take this step himself. Not with her. Not when it mattered this much.
Because the truth was, he felt exactly the same. At night, he would imagine her lips against his — never once believing it could become anything more than a dream.
I— he swallowed hard. I— I feel the same way. About us. His voice was barely above a whisper. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that night either — because it was you I was talking about. It was always you. I j-just never thought you felt the same way.
A blush rushed across your face, warmth spreading through your chest — followed by a soft giggle you couldn’t quite hold back. I was hoping you’d say that.
Something in his expression softened at that, the nervousness still written all over his face, but lighter now. A little easier to breathe.
You turned toward him slowly, tucking one leg underneath you on the sofa. His eyes followed your every move, wide and uncertain.
Hey, you said softly, tilting your head. If anything feels weird, just tell me and we’ll stop. Okay?
He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Okay.
You lean toward him slowly, giving him every chance to pull away if he wants to. But he doesn’t. His breathing quickens, his pulse racing so fast you swear you can feel it between the space separating you. His wide, doe-like eyes search yours for just a second before fluttering shut.
When your lips finally meet his, the kiss is soft. Careful. Almost hesitant. Like neither of you wants to ruin the moment. His hands hover uncertainly at first before finally settling gently against your sides. He kisses you back like he’s afraid of getting it wrong — like this is something far too precious to mess up.
When you pull away, his eyes open slowly, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks.
“Was that okay?” you whisper.
He lets out a shaky breath, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah,” he manages quietly. “More than okay.”
You smile softly before leaning in again, this time without the same hesitation. The kiss deepens instantly — slower, warmer, hungrier. He responds immediately now, like something inside him finally snapped loose after that first kiss. His tongue finds yours carefully, intertwining with it as a quiet shiver runs through him.
Almost instinctively, his hands slide to your waist, holding you there like he’s afraid you might disappear. Your arms loop around his neck, and when your fingers slip into the curls at the nape of his neck and tug just slightly tighter, a small moan slips from his lips — soft and breathless, the sound shooting straight through you.
The movie still playing in the background has long since been forgotten.
Michael pulled away from the kiss just enough for you to see the deep flush spread across his cheeks, his pupils blown wide. But something in his expression had changed. Less uncertain. More decided.
“Come here,” he murmured softly.
Before you could even register what was happening, his hands guided you forward, gentle but firm, until you were straddling his lap.
A sharp wave of heat rushed through you at the sudden shift, the fabric from his jeans, between your bodies doing little to hide how affected he was.
Michael’s breathing turned uneven the second you settled against him, his hands instinctively gripping your hips like he was trying to steady himself. Despite the blush burning across his face, he didn’t pull away this time.
Instead, his fingers tightened slightly as he guided your hips against him, slow at first, like he was testing the movement.
The sudden friction pulled a soft moan from your lips before you could stop it, your head tipping back slightly.
“Mmm… feels so good, Michael,” you breathed.
Something darkened in his gaze at the sound. A small, almost smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth — a look so unexpectedly confident it sent another rush of heat through you.
“Yeah?” he asked softly.
Even though this felt unbelievably good, part of you still wanted to focus on him. This was his first real experience with any of this — and you had all the time in the world to explore everything else later.
Michael kept guiding your hips against him for a few more seconds before you gently caught his wrist.
“Wait a second.”
The movement stopped him immediately, uncertainty flashing across his face.
“Did I do something wrong?”
You giggled softly, warmth flooding your chest at how quickly he worried.
“No, baby,” you reassured him, squeezing his wrist gently. “You’re doing everything right, okay? I just wanna try something.”
Before he could ask what you meant, you carefully climbed off his lap and moved down onto the carpeted floor between his legs, settling onto your knees.
Michael’s eyes widened instantly, like a deer caught in headlights.
“You don’t have to—” he started quickly, already flushed all over again.
You smiled softly and rested your hands on his thighs, rubbing soothing circles against the denim.
“Michael,” you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes. “I want to.”
He stared down at you, visibly nervous but wanting all at once, his chest rising unevenly beneath his thin shirt.
“You okay?” you teased gently, your fingers brushing lightly along the waistband of his jeans.
Michael nodded a little too quickly, cheeks burning crimson.
“Y-yeah, I just—” He swallowed hard. “I’ve never…”
He didn’t get to finish the sentence before you leaned up and kissed him again — slower this time, softer, reassuring. The second your lips touched his, he melted embarrassingly fast beneath you, a shaky breath leaving him.
“Don’t you worry, okay?” you whispered against his mouth. “I’m gonna make you feel really good. You just tell me if you want me to stop.”
Michael looked at you for a long moment after that, the nervousness still lingering in his eyes — but softer now. Easier. Like he was finally letting himself trust this completely.
Trust you.
His shoulders relaxed slightly beneath your touch before he gave you a small nod.
“Okay,” he breathed quietly.
Your fingers worked carefully at the buttons of his jeans before slowly pulling the zipper down. Michael’s breath caught so hard it almost sounded painful as you pushed the denim lower, leaving only the thin cotton fabric between your hand and the obvious effect you were having on him.
The sight alone sent a wicked little smile across your lips.
“O-oh God…” he breathed shakily, thighs tensing beneath your hands the second your palm pressed teasingly against him through the fabric.
A soft, helpless moan slipped from his lips almost immediately, his head falling back against the couch cushions as though he physically didn’t know how to handle any of this.
Every reaction he gave you felt addictive.
Whatever possessed you next had to be some kind of call straight from the devil himself.
Before he could even process what you were doing, you leaned forward slowly, dragging your tongue teasingly against him through the thin fabric.
Michael jolted beneath you instantly, a strangled gasp escaping him as his fingers scrambled uselessly against the couch cushions.
“A-ah—”
His chest rose unevenly, curls sticking slightly to his forehead now, completely flushed from head to toe.
“P-please…” he stammered breathlessly, eyes glassy as they looked down at you. “Y-you can’t just—”
The sentence completely died on his tongue when you looked up at him innocently through your lashes.
Poor thing looked seconds away from short-circuiting entirely.
“S-stop teasing me,” he whispered weakly, even as his hips betrayed him with the slightest movement toward your touch.
You looked up at him slowly, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.
“You’re right,” you murmured softly. “You’ve been a really good boy.”
The praise alone nearly ruined him.
A shaky sound escaped Michael as his head tipped back against the couch, his chest rising unevenly beneath every breath. His hands gripped helplessly at the cushions beside him, like he didn’t know what to do with himself anymore.
You slid the fabric down slowly, and the second your eyes landed on him properly, your breath caught for just a moment.
Oh.
Heat curled instantly through your stomach, surprise flickering across your face before you could hide it. He was flushed and achingly hard, bigger than you expected, the sight of him somehow both overwhelming and unfairly attractive against the softness of the dim living room light.
Somewhere deep down, maybe you’d expected him to be hiding more beneath the shy smiles and gentle demeanor — but the reality still caught you off guard.
Michael noticed your reaction immediately.
His entire face burned crimson.
“D-don’t look at me like that,” he stammered weakly, thighs tensing beneath your hands. “I-I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”
A soft laugh slipped from your lips as your fingers traced soothingly along his thigh.
“Trust me,” you whispered, glancing up at him through your lashes. “It’s definitely a good thing.”
The completely wrecked expression that crossed his face after that almost made you lose composure entirely.
You leaned forward slowly, pressing lingering kisses along him, taking your time just to hear the effect it had on him.
You could hear his breathing completely fall apart above you — uneven, shaky breaths slipping from his glossed-over lips.
Slowly, you dragged your tongue upward before finally taking him into your mouth.
Michael’s entire body twitched instantly, a broken sound escaping him as one of his hands flew to your hair, fingers curling into it carefully but with a surprisingly firm grip.
The feeling sent heat rushing straight through you, forcing you to press your thighs together in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the growing tension building inside you.
You pushed him deeper slowly, tears beginning to gather at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming stretch.
Above you, Michael had already completely fallen apart — head tipped back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut, shaky breaths spilling from his lips.
What you couldn’t handle, your hands made up for instead, slow and steady, pulling another broken sound from him.
You pulled back just slightly, just enough to make him whine softly at the loss.
“Ah, ah,” you murmured.
His eyes fluttered open instantly.
“I want you to look at me when you come undone beneath me.”
The words hit him like a physical blow.
His gaze snapped to yours, dark and unfocused, another broken sound catching in his throat at the expression on your face.
“O-oh God…” he stammered breathlessly.
The eye contact alone made everything worse — like he couldn’t hide anymore.
His chest rose unevenly, curls falling into his face as he tried — and completely failed — to keep himself together beneath you.
You cut him off before he could find his words again, not giving him the chance to finish.
The rest of his sentence dissolved completely.
You quickened your pace, and Michael’s breathing became completely unsteady — every sound smaller now, more broken, like he was barely holding himself together anymore.
“I-I can’t—” he tried, but it fell apart halfway through.
His grip tightened instinctively, head tipping back again, his entire body tense beneath you.
“I’m— I’m close…” he admitted shakily, voice barely holding together.
The confession alone made something twist in your chest.
A wicked thought crossed your mind then — sudden, sharp, impossible to ignore.
You slowed just slightly, pulling back enough to make him whine softly at the loss, your hands still keeping him grounded.
“Mikey?”
“Yeah…” he breathed, already completely undone.
You said it softly — almost too softly.
”I want you to finish on my face, okay?”
And the moment the words registered, something in Michael visibly faltered.
His breath hitched sharply. His eyes widened for just a second before flickering away, like his mind had short-circuited trying to process it all at once.
Not just you — but the contrast of you, here, in a moment he was never supposed to imagine, let alone live.
A quiet, almost involuntary thought crossed his mind — something old, ingrained, half-forgotten prayers and teachings colliding with the way he felt right now.
For a split second, guilt flickered through him.
And then it disappeared just as fast.
Because he was already too far gone to pretend he wanted anything different.
He just stayed there, breathing unsteadily, completely yours in spite of it all.
As you continued, you could feel the shift in him immediately — his breathing turning uneven again, his body tensing beneath you.
You could tell he was almost there, the way his control started slipping at the edges, like he was trying a little too hard to hold on and stay grounded.
“I’m gonna—” he started, voice breaking before he could finish.
The rest of it fell apart on a shaky exhale, the words dissolving completely as he lost his grip on the sentence.
You took him out of your mouth as strings of white painted your face, some catching at your open lips as you swallowed welcomingly.
You could feel his breathing slow into something like peace.
He looked at you like the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist. “You look so beautiful,” he murmured, “my beautiful girl.”
You felt a warmth bloom in your chest — that giddy, helpless kind — and smiled up at him before adding, with a laugh, “could I get some help, please?” He understood immediately.
He reached for the towel still draped over the sofa — the one he forgot when you were out for your pool date — and wiped your face with a slowness and care that made your chest ache, like you were something precious he was afraid to ruin.
You smiled at him and he pulled you onto his lap without a word, kissed you once, then wrapped his arms around you and just held you there.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
You brought your hand to his cheek, met his eyes, and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. He leaned into it.
Then you pulled back with a grin. “How about a shower?”
He raised an eyebrow, something mischievous flickering behind his eyes.
“Yeah — we’re not done yet.”
And it slowly dawned on you that you had the whole house to yourselves for two more days.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ michael jackson x spouse! reader
summary ⋆ a prestigious awards ceremony goes wonderfully off-script when you decide to thank your husband for something you definitely shouldn’t be admitting in public. michael spends the rest of the evening trying to recover from the complete character assassination.
content ⋆ 18+, suggestive content warning, mild language, embarrassed michael, reader is a rascal, reader wears a dress but a gender is not explicitly stated
author's note ⋆ this is based on this nicki minaj clip with michael b. jordan. I KNOW SHES FALLEN OFF OVER THE YEARS BUT YOU HAVE TO AGREE THIS WAS REALLY SMOOTH OF HER. this was really funny to write, i kindaaaaa wanna make a spicier continuation of this?? we shall see.
the MTV video music awards had already stretched well past tolerable, the ceremony going deep into the evening by the time the presenters for best music video finally began making their way toward the stage. the auditorium smelled faintly of freshly opened champagne and overheated stage lights, buzzing beneath air conditioning powerful enough to lift napkins but somehow still incapable of cooling the crowd packed inside it.
at this point, both sets of cheeks hurt.
the ones on your face were stiff from smiling at cameras for three straight hours — a practiced, porcelain mask maintained for every roving lens and spontaneous cutaway. then there were the ones currently going numb against a velvet chair, the plush material beginning to feel like hard granite after the fourth commercial break. somewhere beneath the heavy linen of the table, your left foot had dissolved into pins and needles, a dull roar of static creeping up your ankle.
michael, meanwhile, had spent the better part of the ceremony staring at you as if you’d contained the secrets to the universe.
which was not helping your attempts to remain composed for the millions of viewers watching the broadcast. every single time you glanced sideways, trying to look at the stage or the teleprompter, you caught him looking.
not subtly either; it was obvious he had no pretense of interest in the surrounding spectacle.
he was just openly admiring you from across the candlelit table, his chin resting loosely against his knuckles while applause crashed somewhere else in the hall. his thumb moved in slow circles over the sensitive surface on the inside of your wrist below the table — distracted, affectionate, and almost lazy with the familiarity of it — like touching you had become second nature years ago.
‘though it is partly your fault,’ he would’ve told you if you’d confronted him about his lack of focus. the dress had made it nearly impossible for him to think about anything else.
versace had made it specifically for tonight.
black silk poured over your body like ink. fitted close through the waist, dropping lower across the hips, then falling clean against your legs. the fabric moved like liquid when you walked, dark enough to swallow the light before throwing it back in delicate flashes. the back dipped dangerously low, exposing the length of your spine beneath delicate strands of gold embellishment stitched into the silk like molten metal. the detailing arched across your shoulders and lower back in fine, constellated patterns, tiny crystals threaded between the goldwork so every flashbulb caught somewhere different.
michael had gone visibly quiet the first time he saw you wearing it in the hotel.
you still remembered the exact way he’d looked up from tying his cufflinks — a task he usually performed with effortless ease — only to forget how his hands worked.
“baby?” you’d laughed as he fumbled with the cuff.
nothing. just michael staring at you in silence, eyes roaming over the expanse of your body like he couldn’t believe you were real.
“…michael.”
his eyes had finally blinked back into focus.
“you can’t wear that,” he finally managed, his voice strained.
you’d choked on a laugh. “well, i thought showing up naked would be inappropriate.”
“no, i mean — ” he gestured vaguely toward your entire figure, visibly struggling to construct a coherent thought. “people are gonna see you.”
“well yes,” you’d said, stepping into your heels. “that is usually the purpose of attending public events.”
he had looked genuinely distressed about this for the rest of the evening, like he was mentally inventorying every available coat available in the tri-state area to drape over your shoulders the moment somebody looked at you for too long. it was a look of profound, adorable panic — the expression of a man who had realized too late that he was expected to share something he very much wanted to keep to himself.
which was precisely why you were currently fighting the urge to ruin his life a little bit, savoring the friction between his growing possessiveness and your own rising wickedness. the dress felt almost like a weapon in the way that you were more than happy to wield if it meant watching the poise of the world’s greatest performer continue to unravel below your presence.
onstage, the presenters for best music video exchanged rehearsed smiles beneath while the orchestra swelled softly through the ballroom. around you, entire tables straightened in anticipation, champagne glasses lifted, conversations cutting off mid-sentence as the cameras swept across the audience searching for reactions.
then the nominees began flashing across the displays overhead one by one: a montage of grainy cityscapes. screaming crowds. music video clips cut together in sharp bursts beneath the roar of the audience.
the opening shot from your newest single, sweet nothings, filled the LED screens surrounding the venue, your face appearing twenty feet tall in a way that made you reflexively cringe as the crowd erupted into cheers. a rain-soaked city flashed across the montage behind you, silver accents catching briefly against your stage costume beneath the neon haze while a few seconds of the chorus thundered through the speakers before the montage cut sharply to the next nominee.
beside you, michael inhaled sharply.
his arm slid instinctively around you, bringing you closer against his side as the final nominees were announced. the movement looked casual to everybody else, but you could feel the tension underneath it — the way his fingers flexed once against the silk of your dress before settling there.
because if you won this tonight, that was it. a full sweep.
artist of the year.
best choreography.
best direction.
and now this.
michael leaned down slightly, close enough for only you to hear him over the music. “you okay?”
you laughed once through your nose, though it came out tighter than intended. “ask me in thirty seconds.”
a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes stayed fixed on the stage. the envelope hadn’t even been opened yet, and somehow both of you already looked like you were bracing for impact.
"and the award goes to — "
the presenter paused for a grueling few seconds, the silver cue card catching the harsh glare of the broadcast cameras while the entire room collectively held its breath. cameras swept across the nominees one by one, flashing nervous smiles to the people at home.
beside you, michael’s hand found your knee so quickly it surprised you. then —
your name echoed into the audience.
your entire table celebrated instantly, a symphony of crashing silverware and jubilant shouts of glee.
before you could even properly process the win, michael was already on his feet beside you. he was clapping harder than anybody else in the auditorium, he looked at you with such open pride that it made your eyes sting.
“oh my god,” you mumbled, stunned and lightheaded as your composure cracked.
“you won,” he breathed, already halfway out of his chair. he gripped your shoulders, squeezing them tight with excitement. then he pulled you toward him, pressing a quick kiss against your cheekbone. “baby, you won!”
“i didn’t doubt you for a second.”
you giggled, still trying to comprehend the praise surrounding you. “well, it’s nice one of us didn’t, because i definitely did.”
michael just shook his head, smiling like the idea itself was ridiculous.
the pins and needles in your foot vanished the second you stood. you tilted your head up to kiss him quickly — lipstick, laughter, adrenaline, all of it catching between you until the intensity of the ballroom rushed back into view.
then you turned toward the stage.
though you didn’t miss the way his eyes dipped shamelessly as you walked away, his focus dropping to the curves of your dress before he dragged himself back up to public decorum.
unbelievable behavior.
the applause swelled around you as you climbed the stairs, the award finally settling into your grasp — heavier than you’d expected, cool against your palms. your reflection flashed briefly across the giant monitors surrounding the stage, chandeliers scattering fractured gold across the darkened auditorium as the crowd continued howling somewhere beneath you.
michael smiled up at you from his seat the entire time, he watched with the same intent attention he always wore whenever you talked about something you loved. his eyes felt like an anchor in the blur of bright flashes and indistinct faces, steadying your nerves every time they threatened to slip. even from across the hall, his admiration felt almost tangible.
adjusting the microphone, you gave the standard opening first: thanking the academy. your team. the collaborators who pushed your vision. supportive friends. your family.
everything was going perfectly normal.
then near the end of the speech, your eyes drifted back toward michael again. and there he was, still staring.
there was something so endearing about him — chin tucked into his fist, eyes fixed on you with complete and utter adulation — that you felt the first spark of trouble curl through your chest before you could stop it.
“and of course,” you started warmly, “shoutout to donatella versace for custom-making this dress for me tonight.”
polite applause scattered through the room. michael nodded approvingly from his table.
then you looked directly at him. a tiny smile tugged at the corner of your mouth.
and instantly his expression shifted into pure suspicion. the man who had spent the night in a daze of adoration suddenly sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the specific brand of mischief that always accompanied that particular curve of your lips.
he knew that look.
“…and shoutout to my husband michael jackson—”
the audience burst into cheers the second his name left your mouth, the sound vibrating through the floorboards. michael ducked his head, laughing coyly while the cameras swarmed toward him.
then you finished, the words pouring into the microphone with devastating precision:
“—because he’ll definitely be taking it off me later.”
silence.
for one glorious, suspended moment, the entire ballroom simply forgot how to function. the oxygen in the auditorium seemed to vanish, sucked out by the collective gasp of a thousand industry elites.
the monitors cut to him immediately.
michael froze mid-applause, his hands hovering inches apart as if the signal to clap had been abruptly severed from his brain. his eyes went wide behind impossibly long lashes as the reality of what you’d just said hit him in real time.
then the room lost its mind.
laughter surged through the auditorium in waves. people doubled over at their tables. the front row was a scene of total disarray; one prominent actress nearly fell out of her chair, needing to catch herself against the edge of the table while she desperately gasped for air.
meanwhile, you remained the picture of composure at the podium. with the award still resting beside you, you simply took a small sip of water and peered over the rim of the glass with wide, innocent eyes as though you hadn’t just publicly assassinated your husband’s dignity on live television.
“oh my god,” somebody screamed from somewhere near the back of the room, the exclamation cutting through the general din and triggering a fresh wave of delight from the audience.
at the center of the storm, michael looked like his soul had left his body. several celebrities at the surrounding tables were leaning over to congratulate him like he’d won an award himself, grabbing his shoulders, patting his back, laughing so hard some of them could barely get words out. all while michael sat there flushed deep enough to show through his stage makeup, seeming seconds away from disappearing directly into the upholstery of his chair.
by the time you returned to the table, he was hiding his face behind the nearest object he could find. which was currently a decorative vase.
“you are unbelievable,” he whispered hoarsely the second you slid back into the chair beside him, the scent of his expensive cologne mixing with the frenzied energy of the moment.
you smoothed your dress innocently. “what?”
“why would you say that?” he asked, lowering the vase just enough to reveal dazed, dark eyes. “in front of everyone?”
“because it was true.”
michael made a small, wounded noise deep in his throat, a huff of air that was half-wheeze and half-protest. around you, the nearby tables continued to ignore the actual ceremony, their occupants openly staring at the two of you and whispering behind their programs.
“oh, look at him. how precious! he's red!” somebody pointed out nearby.
they were right. the flush climbing up michael’s neck had become impossible to hide.
“baby,” he hissed under his breath, actively trying to crawl beneath the tablecloth.
a tiny stab of sympathy hit you then. you leaned closer, catching his face in between your hands and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek in apology.
unfortunately, that only made the nearby tables react even louder.
michael made a strangled sound as you kissed the corner of his mouth next, trying your very best to comfort him while simultaneously making the situation worse. his entire face had gone hot beneath your touch, eyes darting everywhere except directly at you while the cameras continued circling like vultures.
“i’m sorry,” you whispered, already collapsing against him again as your composure threatened to give out entirely.
“no you’re not,” he muttered, voice muffled into your shoulder as he tried to hide his face.
and honestly?
he was right.
the rest of the ceremony passed in a haze of cameras and secondhand mortification. every time somebody referenced your speech in the following categories, the broadcast cut back to your table, catching michael in his bewildered state all over again.
at one point, an interviewer approached your table with a grin already threatening disaster.
“so! about the dress—”
michael vanished before the question even finished.
one second he was beside you, the next he was halfway across the venue at concerning speed, pointing back toward you in silent delegation as he abandoned you to deal with the consequences alone.
fair enough.
eventually, sometime past midnight, the two of you finally escaped the barrage of flashbulbs and microphones and retreated back to your hotel suite.
the second the door shut behind you, michael turned and pointed at you accusingly.
“you embarrassed me,” he declared, though his voice lacked any real bite.
you folded in on yourself immediately, kicking off your heels to be abandoned near the doorway as you finally gave up trying to behave. you flicked a hand at him in a dismissive motion. “you survived.”
he stood by the massive window, his eyes fixed on the view overlooking los angeles, the city glittering below him like scattered diamonds. a faint pout was still playing on his lips. “barely.”
michael shook his head, his attention drifting back to you again — it followed the delicate detailing along the sides of the dress, the dangerously cut back, the way the fabric clung to every dip and swell of your body. the remnants of your stage makeup still surviving, smudged.
“i was traumatized,” he muttered weakly.
“oh please, you were smiling the whole time.”
“i was under a lot of peer pressure.”
“sureee.” you started walking toward him, letting your palms glide over the satin lapel of his suit jacket. you danced your fingers across the intricate military-style embroidery, feeling the raised threads beneath your touch. michael’s eyes tracked every motion, sharpening with desire the closer you got.
“so,” you murmured, letting go of him and turning around, showing off the gold zipper that ran down your lower back. you glanced over your shoulder at him with a playful little smile. “you gonna take this off me or what?”
something in his expression shifted.
the shy embarrassment that had followed him around all evening finally broke just enough for something steadier to ease itself underneath. his grip closed around your waist, pulling you flush against him hard enough to make you lose the rest of your sentence.
“careful,” he murmured, finally looking at you directly. “you’ve been causing problems all night.”
his voice had dropped an octave. it sent a pulse straight between your legs.
“oh, now you wanna act brave?” you teased, even as your heart raced.
michael let out a muted laugh before clasping your zipper and bringing it down agonisingly slow, tooth by tooth, letting the cool air skim across the newly exposed skin as the material gradually loosened around your body.
“you done putting on a show for everybody else?”
you opened your mouth, but he spun you around before you could answer. one strong hand slid under your thigh, lifting your leg high against his hip, forcing you to balance as he pressed you flush against him. the other hand settled possessively at the base of your spine, fingers splayed across the heat of your body.
“because,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “i’ve been wanting to get you alone since the second you stepped out in that dress.”
the zipper traveled lower under his fingers. the dress loosened, slithering further down your shoulders and arms, barely clinging to your chest. michael’s touch slipped inside, gliding over your ass before hooking into the thin strap of your underwear. he yanked at it until it was taut, letting it snap sharply against your flesh with a soft sting that made you gasp.
he smiled at that. his mouth was on you — brushing your jaw, grazing your neck with his teeth, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch.
“hm,” he hummed, satisfied, feeling the way you trembled against him. “guess you’re done.”
he traced slowly up your spine, tugging the zipper the rest of the way down. the silk dress unraveled completely, descending further until it pooled softly around your waist and exposed the full swell of your chest. michael pulled back just enough to look at you properly.
there was still a voracity there, obvious and impossible to miss, but tangled up with something quieter too — something almost reverent in the way his eyes moved over you like he still couldn’t fully believe you were real, let alone standing here in front of him like this.
only then did he cup your face with both hands and kiss you.
the kiss started deep and warm. but the hunger he’d been holding back all night quickly took over. it grew heavier, more consuming. his tongue brushed yours, teasing as your fingers traveled to his hair. you melted into him, a soft sound leaving your throat while he tilted his head and kissed you even deeper.
one hand stayed at the nape of your neck, holding you exactly where he wanted, while the other skimmed down your bare back. every time you tried to gasp for air, he chased your lips again, refusing to let you go. his kisses turned slower, more sensual — lingering presses mixed with gentle bites to your bottom lip.
“you have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your mouth, voice rough and low, before diving back in. the moment stretched until your lungs finally started protesting.
you pulled back first, forehead brushing his as you tried unsuccessfully to steady yourself.
“so,” you murmured between uneven breaths, fingertips smoothing lazily along the buttons of his jacket, “i’m guessing you did like the speech?”
michael let out a light chuckle, thumb brushing slowly across your bottom lip while his eyes stayed fixed on yours. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered.
he leaned in again, mouth trailing from yours to your jaw, then lower. kisses pressed along your décolletage one by one, lingering beneath your ear before drifting down the column of your neck.
the longer he kissed you, the less restrained he became.
what started gentle turned heavier, more deliberate — the scrape of teeth, the pull of his mouth against your skin, the sting that followed whenever he sucked hard enough to leave colour behind. he took his time with it, savoring every inch, leaving a trail of bruises. by the time he finally lifted his head, faint marks had already begun blooming across your throat and collarbones beneath the dim hotel lighting.
“i loved every second of it,” he admitted quietly, lips grazing your skin between words. “even when i wanted to disappear into the floor.”
another kiss.
“all i could think about was getting you back here and ripping this dress off you.”
the dress hung low on your hips now, threatening to slip further. michael’s attention fell down. eyes outlining the way the fabric clung to your silhouette, gold detailing twisted beneath his fingers from how tightly he’d held you — it completely ruined for anyone else.
“actually keep it on a little longer,” he murmured. he tugged the material up slightly, only to let it fall again. “i’m not finished admiring it yet.”
synopsis: micheal’s girlfriend loves to party and it has taken a toll on his heart but it only takes one kiss to make him feel better again.
70s!michael jackson x black!reader
warning(s): none just fluff and a kissy here and there, not proofread. micheal calls reader ‘mama’ and reader calls him ‘baby’
note: it’s safe to say mj got me out of my writers block!!! & I’m almost done with the jackie fic, this is something to hold yall over 🙂↕️
my baby′s always dancin' and it wouldn′t be a bad thing
but I don’t get no lovin' and that’s no lie
this night was going to make it three nights in a row you didn’t come over to michael’s house after going out dancing. within those three night contained a lonely, sulking michael who waits for a call from you, maybe even a letter. micheal lays in his bed, arm folded behind his head, thinking about you in that club dancing your heart out instead of hanging out and loving on your man. a part of him worries if you made it back safe or not and the other part knows you’re probably still in that club, gettin' down.
We spent the night in Frisco at every kinda disco
from that night I kissed our love goodbye
he couldn’t say it was entirely your fault. he did take you along with him to dance once and it seemed ever since then, you went completely overboard. for some reason you spent more time dancing than tending to your own boyfriend. no amounts of board games or books could michael endure to take his mind off you. it seemed like forever when you finally called. michael’s head perked up at the sound of the telephone ringing and quickly lifted the handle.
first he heard breathing then a soft, “michael, honey?” into the receiver. he sat on his bed, contemplating whether to to be mad at you or just completely crumple at the softness of your voice.
michael scoffed to himself before answering. “forgot all about me, huh?” it was silent on the other line and during that silence, michael thought about you and how you were probably dancing with some random cat who thought you were cute and single and-
“Hello?” you call through the other line, your voice snapping Michael out of the storm spinning in his head. He straightens up a little, fingers tightening around the phone cord before he answers.
“I’m here,” he says softly, calm enough to let you speak first. Deep down, he knows the more you talk, the harder it is for him to stay upset with you. Your voice has a way of slipping through the cracks in his anger like glitter through fingertips. Impossible to hold onto.
“Are you mad at me?”
the question makes him sigh quietly.
this was the third night in a row you’d ditched him for another party, another crowded dance floor glowing under neon lights and cigarette smoke. Truthfully, Michael had every reason to be angry. But being mad at you was like trying to keep rhythm with a broken metronome. No matter how hard he tried, his heart always stumbled back into place the second you came around.
he lowers his head, absentmindedly twisting the phone cord around his fingers as he searches for the right thing to say.
“I ain’t mad at cha,” he mumbles. “Just… disappointed.”
the words come out quieter than he intended, carrying more hurt than anger. like he wasn’t disappointed in you nearly as much as he was disappointed in himself for always waiting by the phone, hoping tonight would finally be different. michael was starting to think you loved music more than him, even though he was apart the jackson 5 you always came before the group and his music.
after the call he learned you were going to walk home by yourself after dancing your heart out and no matter how upset he was, he was still a gentleman. when he got there the parking outside the club was damn near impossible but somehow he managed to park right in front of the club, waiting for your arrival. michael leaned on the hood, arms crossed, trying his best to look patient as he listened to the funk bursting outside the club walls. the second the club doors swung open, here you came with that restless attitude you always carry. your sparkly heels were dangling between two fingers, lip gloss worn off and hot combed hair in a frizzy mess from the dancing and the other hot bodies in the club. still beautiful. agonizingly beautiful.
the irritation on michael’s face instantly went away.
“there she go.” he muttered under his breath.
the second you saw him, your face brightened.
“mikey!” you exclaimed, arms thrown in the air. you weren’t drunk, god knows you didn’t need alcohol to have a good time. you were just having a dancing high and was still buzzing with excitement. michael didn’t have time to be upset, you were already throwing your arms around his neck. the smell of perfume and nightclub air clung to you along with the glitter that was in your hair on in your glowing skin.
“you came,” you grinned.
“what time of man would i be, letting his girl walk home all alone.”
you rested your chin on his chest and smiled gently at him. you knew the affect you had on him.
the ride back home was quieter than the club but you ended up bringing a piece of the club along with you. micheal could see it in the way your knee bounced nonstop and the sound of your finger tapping your knee. even with the radio low, you still acted like there was a disco ball above your head. michael shook his head in disbelief, not wanting to say anything more about it.
at the red light michael glances at you again, fighting back a grin.
“mama, do you ever sit still?”
“says the famous michael jackson.”
“even I don’t move that much.”
you laughed before turning to him in your seat, “you think I danced this much before I met you?”
he rolled his eyes but apart of him knew you were right. all those time you’ve watched him listen to music and dance in his room. it was safe to say he was your muse. little did you know, you were his.
he liked the way your energy filled every quiet space around him. he liked how alive you looked after nights like this, glowing from adrenaline and energy. by the time you reached, the neighborhood sat still and dark, the world finally asleep. michael killed the engine and looked over at you seriously.
“now remember,” he whispered, “if my father wakes up, you’re on your own.”
you snorted. “michael!”
“i mean it! don’t get me killed ‘cause you can’t be quiet.”
sneaking you inside his house became a routine for him. stifled laughter. shoes in hand. trying not to trip over stuff in the dark. michael had to grab your wrists twice to keep you from laughing so hard. the second his bedroom door clicked behind you two, you dramatically collapsed on his bed.
“finally,” you sighed. “my feet are killing me.”
michael shook his head, setting your heels beside the door.
“wouldn’t be if you wasn’t out all night, partyin' “
you ignored his lecture completely, too busy sinking into the comfort of his bed. the mattress dipped along your body weight as you sighed in satisfaction, dramatically stretching your legs and arms. michael watched you for a moment before coughing softly into his fist to get your attention.
when you looked up, he was standing near the edge of the bed, staring expectantly like you forgot something.
you pinched your brows together.
“what?”
he didn’t answer.
instead, he lifted to fingers and tapped them against his lips, eyes narrowing a little as he silently pointed out the thing you’ve been neglecting all day and night.
you couldn’t help but laugh.
“baby, are you serious?”
his expression stayed the same.
you rolled your eyes playfully before tilting your chin upward, pressing a slow kiss right against his lips. michael melted almost instantly, one hand settling against your jaw like he’d been waiting hours for that alone.
“there,” you whispered against his mouth. “you happy?”
“mhm.” he hummed, entirely too quick.
a grin tugged at your lips as you dropped back onto the pillows again, exhaustion finally catching up to you. your eyelids grew heavy almost immediately.
michael stood there watching you for another second, trying not to smile too hard.
didn’t matter how many nights you drove him crazy. it only takes one kiss.
