Paul is such a late night drives and love songs on the radio, his hand on your thigh as he drives you to some pretty, quiet little place only he knows kind of guy ♡♡♡
summary: intense jealousy pushes paul’s fierce imprint instincts to the breaking point, driving him to lock the bedroom door and claim what is entirely his.
𝒯he absolute gravity of the imprint doesn’t just make paul a dedicated partner; it turns him into a man permanently operating on a razor’s edge. from the moment his eyes locked onto yours, his entire universe violently re-centered, and with that came a terrifying, intoxicating level of obsession. he doesn’t just love you; he yearns for you with a visceral, physical ache that never truly fades, even when you’re sitting right next to him. every breath he takes is filtered through the constant need to ensure your safety, your comfort, and above all, your absolute belonging to him.
his possessiveness is loud, heavy, and impossible to ignore. when you walk into a room together, his arm isn't just draped casually over your shoulders, his large hand is securely anchored to the nape of your neck or firmly gripping your waist, physically pulling your frame against his side. he marks his territory without saying a word, casting dark, warning glares at anyone who dares to look at you for a second too long. his inner wolf is constantly pacing the perimeter of your space, viewing the rest of the world as a collective threat trying to steal glimpses of what is entirely his.
the trigger for his snap builds up over a suffocatingly tense afternoon. maybe it’s a casual interaction, a male coworker lingering a bit too long at your desk, a guy at a coffee shop offering a polite but warm smile, or a male friend laughing just a little too easily at a joke you made. to anyone else, it’s completely harmless, but to paul, whose instincts amplify every micro-expression, it’s an unbearable provocation.
watching another man look at you makes his blood literally boil under his skin. you can feel the intense, vibrating heat radiating off him as his jaw tightens so hard the muscles twitch. he stands completely rigid, his dark eyes locked onto the offender, blackening with a mix of pure feral jealousy and an agonizing, possessive hunger. he doesn't cause a scene in public, only because he refuses to distress you, but the moment he gets you away from the crowd, his restraint completely shatters.
the shift the moment you’re behind closed doors is instantaneous and breathless. the door barely clicks shut before paul pins you against it, the sheer mass of his body crowding you into the wood, completely cutting off the rest of the world. he doesn’t speak at first; his breathing is heavy, ragged, and hot against your skin as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent like a dying man finally reaching oxygen. his hands are frantic but unyielding, framing your face, mapping the curves of your hips, needing to physically reconfirm that you are here, you are safe, and you are his.
the words are thick with raw, desperate vulnerability masked by his usual rough demeanor. his voice drops into a gravelly, low growl that vibrates against your collarbone as he confesses just how much it tortures him to see anyone else even breathe your air. "you have no idea what it does to me," he’ll mutter, his lips brushing harshly against your skin as he kisses his way up to your jaw. "watching them look at you like they have a right to. like you could ever belong to anyone but me. you’re mine. tell me you’re mine. c’mon." he needs to hear the verbal submission, needs your reassurance to quiet the roaring wolf inside his chest.
the sex is a masterclass in desperate, consuming passion. paul is usually careful with his supernatural strength, but when his instincts take over like this, he handles you with a firm, unyielding grip that leaves no room for doubt about who commands your body. every touch is heavy and deliberate; he holds your wrists pinned above your head or locks his fingers tightly with yours, pressing your palms flat against the mattress so he can look down into your eyes, ensuring you are completely focused on him and only him.
he claims every inch of your skin with a feverish intensity, leaving a trail of dark, burning bruises and love bites along your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, and the inner warmth of your thighs. it’s an act of pure, instinctual marking. he wants you to wear the physical proof of his possession long after the night ends. when he finally sinks into you, it’s deep, slow, and overwhelming. a rhythmic, bruising pressure that drives away any lingering trace of the outside world until your thoughts, your gasps, and your entire existence are completely consumed by his heat.
the aftermath is deeply protective and tenderly suffocating. once the fever breaks and his instincts are finally quieted, he doesn't let you move an inch away from him. paul wraps his massive, heavy limbs around you, pulling your back flush against his chest in a tight, inescapable hold. he buries his face back into your hair, his heartbeat still thumping like a war drum against your shoulder blades, slowly lulling you both to sleep while his arms remain locked around you like a human fortress.
writer’s note : okay soooo . . i don’t even know what came over me but i wanted to try and write something more mature. as terrified as i was, i believe it turned out pretty decent. i’m even thinking of writing a longer, more detailed version of the bedroom scene but for now this is my first +18 writing. yayyyyy ゛⸝⸝ ⋆
🐆💋 𝟏𝟖+ — michael brushes his tip against your open folds, your fingers holding both sides, feeling his pre-cum cover your skin. his right index finger comes over to cover your clit with his cum. michael thinks about how beautiful you are, his beautiful girlfriend, the person that keeps him breathing. you stare up at him with that teary look in your eyes, nipples hard and covered with his saliva, trails of spit all over you. he’s humped his dick between your folds, sometimes letting just the tip inside. “just the tip, baby, just the tip,” he mumbles, his thighs tense with each push. your slick covered his shaft, a sticky feeling that drips to his ballsack. michael’s thrust are annoyingly slow, his balls slamming against your ass as the bed feels uncomfortable now.
he’s made you cum over three times now with his tongue and fingers, and it still wasn’t enough for him. you haven’t wept for him enough, you haven’t squirmed against his body enough, your hips hiking up and slamming back down to the mattress as you hold onto his shoulder. michael’s favorite sight to see when his tongue is deep inside your hole, curled and tasting you.
his weakness is you, his shame is you, his purpose is you.
you feel that reminder with every kiss, every lick, every thrust, your entire body covered with his hickies and saliva. michael will never be done with you, he’s under your control, you tell him everything he should do, and he does it. so when you’re crying to michael, your free hand positioning his dick to your hole, michael’s hips finally give in and let his dick push inside your slicked pussy, his cum coating all over, dripping down to your ass and bedsheets.
you pull michael closer to you as you wrap your hands and legs around his waist, your teeth finding his shoulder and biting a piece of him. michael thrusts harder and deeper, moaning with you as you pull back to look at him better, his skin covered in your teeth and nail marks, and it’s still not enough for michael. he’s so greedy, and you are too.
✦ pairings ... 1.8k ﹒ invincible michael ℘ f.reader.
✦ premise ... 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 ★ hoping to savor a few quiet days away before life gets busier, you and michael escape on a much-needed couples vacation.
✦ contains ... ( fluff ) established relationship, husband!michael, expecting!reader, babies, beach day, brief labor, prince & paris being adorable siblings, sickeningly sweet fluff, slight humor, no use of y/n
✦ adore’s note ... everytime i see a notification in my inbox, the squeal i let out omg. also, watched once upon a time in hollywood while editing and posting, great movie—reminds me of hail caesar
requested ﹒ snoopyreincarnated3 ! ♡
July on Tybee Island was a thick, soupy blanket of heat. The air, heavy with the smell of salt and coconut sunscreen, shimmered above the sand, making the distant dunes look like a watercolor painting left out in the rain. You were propped up in a nest of brightly colored towels, your swollen, ripe belly a heavy, warm anchor on your lap. You were due in three weeks, and this trip—this last, gasping breath of freedom before your world irrevocably changed—was Michael’s idea.
“It’s for us,” he’d insisted, his dark eyes earnest and pleading. “Jus’ us. No schedules, no cameras, no nothing. Jus’ you, me, n’ th’ ocean.”
And it had been perfect. For two days, you’d existed in a lazy, sun-drenched haze. You’d left Prince and Paris in the capable hands of their nanny back at Neverland, a decision that had felt like a small, delicious act of rebellion.
From your perch under the wide-brimmed straw hat, you watched him. Michael was in the water, up to his waist, the waves lapping gently at his chest. He was trying, and failing, to bodysurf a languid, rolling wave. He’d run, stumble, and then be unceremoniously dumped by the surf, emerging a moment later, spluttering and laughing, slick with saltwater. His hair, free of its usual tight curls, was a halo of dark, wet ringlets clinging to his neck and forehead. His body… you smiled to yourself. It wasn’t the taut, dancer’s physique you’d fallen in love with. The last few months of domesticity, of late nights in the studio followed by even later nights with you, had softened him. There was a new, comfortable roundness to his stomach, a softness to his chest that you found irresistibly, intoxicatingly appealing. He wasn’t Michael Jackson, the King of Pop. He was Michael, your husband, a goofy, beautiful man playing in the ocean like a kid. He was a dad. He was going to be a dad again.
A sharp, sudden pang of affection tightened in your chest. You shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, and felt it. A strange, internal pop, followed by a sudden, warm gush between your legs, soaking through your maternity sundress and the towel beneath you.
You froze. For a heartbeat, the entire world seemed to stop. The cries of the gulls, the crash of the waves, the distant laughter of other beachgoers—it all faded into a dull, meaningless roar.
Oh. So that’s what that feels like.
A strange, serene calm settled over you. No panic. No fear. Just a quiet, knowing certainty. It was time.
With a grunt of effort that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the sheer physics of it, you pushed yourself to your feet. You abandoned the soggy towel and started your slow, ponderous journey across the sand. You walked with the awkward, rolling gait of a woman carrying a watermelon under her shirt, a gait you’d come to know as the pregnant waddle.
Michael saw you coming. He’d just been dumped by another wave and was standing up, shaking the water from his hair like a dog. A wide, beaming smile spread across his face when he saw you. He started jogging towards you through the shallow water, his movements long and graceful. “Hey, beautiful! Come t’join me? Th’ water’s—”
“Michael,” you said, your voice placid, even. You stopped where the wet, packed sand met the soft, dry dunes. You looked down at your dress, now plastered to your legs with a mixture of ocean water and… something else. “My water jus’ broke.”
His smile vanished. The joyful, boyish energy was instantly replaced by a wide-eyed, stark terror. His brain, usually so quick, so nimble, seemed to short-circuit. He took a step towards you, moving too fast on the uneven, sandy ground. His foot caught on an unseen divot, and he went down with a spectacular, ungraceful flail, landing hard on his side in a foot of water with a loud SPLASH.
And you laughed. It wasn’t a giggle; it was a full-throated, body-shaking laugh that felt so good, so right, in that absurd, perfect moment. The sight of this legendary performer, this global icon, flat on his ass in the Atlantic Ocean because you’d announced you were in labor, was the most ridiculous, most wonderful thing you had ever seen.
“Ow,” he grumbled, pushing himself up, spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. He looked at you, indignant, but the sight of you doubled over, shaking with laughter, was infectious. A small, sheepish grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
And then another sensation hit you. A tightening in your lower back, a deep, band-like pressure that wrapped around your entire abdomen, squeezing the air from your lungs. The laughter caught in your throat, turning into a sharp, involuntary gasp. Your hands flew to your belly, your knuckles white. You leaned forward, bracing yourself against the sudden, intense cramp.
The grin on Michael’s face evaporated, replaced by a renewed, and this time fully justified, panic. The absurdity of his fall was forgotten. He scrambled out of the water, rushing to your side. “What? What is it? Are y’okay? What’s happenin’?”
“It’s okay,” you panted, squeezing your eyes shut as the contraction peaked. “It’s jus’… a contraction. Jus’ breathe.”
“Breathe? Breathe?! You’re havin’ a contraction! We need t’go! We need to—” He was vibrating with a frantic, nervous energy, looking wildly around the empty beach as if he expected a maternity ward to just magically appear. “Our stuff! We need t’get our stuff! Where are th’ towels? Did y’bring your bag? Oh god, we’re not prepared!”
“Michael,” you said, your voice firm as the wave of pain subsided, leaving you breathless and shaky. You grabbed his arm, your grip surprisingly strong. “Look at me. Breathe. With me. In… n’ out.” You demonstrated, a slow, steady inhale and exhale. He mimicked you, his chest rising and falling in a jerky, uncoordinated rhythm.
“Okay,” he said, nodding, trying to get a grip. “Okay. I’m good. I’m calm. I’m the husband. I’m in charge.” He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and looked at you with a new, determined resolve. “Let’s go. La Perruque is waiting with th’ car. Let’s have this baby.”
The short walk back to the beach house was a blur of frantic activity. Michael was a whirlwind, grabbing towels, your bag, your forgotten hat, all while keeping a hovering, anxious hand on your back. Mike La Perruque, Michael’s ever-present security guard and driver, was leaning against a rented SUV, his face a stoic mask, though his eyes held a flicker of amusement at Michael’s flustered state. He opened the back door without a word.
Michael helped you in, climbing in beside you as Mike slid into the driver’s seat. “Savannah Memorial Hospital, Mike,” Michael said, his voice tight with command. “N’ step on it.”
The ride inland was a chaotic symphony of Michael’s nerves. He held your hand through two more contractions, each one stronger than the last, wincing every time you squeezed his fingers.
The room was a sterile, white box, the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air. You were on the bed, your legs in stirrups, a whirlwind of doctors and nurses a blur of blue scrubs around you. Michael was by your head, a pale, wide-eyed specter in a paper mask. “You’re doin’ s’good, baby, just push! You can do it! PUSH!”
“One more! One more big one, I can see the head!” the doctor shouted. You were screaming now, a raw, primal sound you didn’t know you were capable of making. Michael had tears streaming down his face, whispering encouragement, his hand gripping yours so hard you thought it might break. “They’re almost here, our little sunshine, they’re almost here…”
And then, a sudden, blessed silence, followed by a thin, reedy cry. A squalling, indignant wail that was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. The nurse held up a small, purple, writhing creature, covered in vernix. “‘S a girl!”
You were propped up in bed, the adrenaline and pain fading into a warm, hazy exhaustion. The sterile white room was quiet now, the chaotic energy replaced by a profound, gentle peace. In your arms, wrapped in a soft, pink blanket, was a miracle. She was tiny, her features a scrunched-up, perfect miniature of a person. Her skin was still a little blotchy, and she had a shocking amount of dark, wispy hair plastered to her tiny head. Michael was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over you, one arm wrapped around your shoulders, the other hovering over the baby, afraid to touch, unable to look away.
“She’s perfect,” he whispered, his voice thick with an emotion so profound it was almost painful. He reached out, his long, elegant finger gently stroking the baby’s petal-soft cheek. “Absolutely perfect.” He looked up at you, his dark eyes shining with tears. “She has y’nose.”
You smiled, a tired, watery smile. “And y’eyes.”
“We did it,” he breathed, leaning in to press a soft, reverent kiss to your forehead. “We made her. Our little Sunshine.”
Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. Mike La Perruque poked his head in, a rare, gentle smile on his usually serious face. He held up a large, clunky Nokia phone, the screen lit up. “Sorry t’interrupt. The nanny has the kids on the phone. They’ve been beggin’ t’say hello t’their new sister.”
Michael’s face lit up, a whole new kind of joy washing over him. He took the phone carefully, pressing it to his ear. You watched as he listened, his expression softening into one of pure, unadulterated love.
“Hi, my babies,” he cooed, his voice a soft, gentle murmur. “Yes, I’m here. Mama’s here too… N’ guess what? You have a new baby sister… Yes! She’s here! She’s so, s’beautiful… Her name is Sunshine… Yes, like th’ sunshine in the sky… Do you want to say hello?”
He turned the phone, angoring it so the small, hopeful voices on the other end could drift into the quiet room.
“Hi, baby sissy!” Prince’s small, clear voice chirped, full of a big-brother pride that made your heart ache.
“Baby?” came Paris’s tiny, sweet lilt, a question full of wide-eyed wonder. “Hi, baby.”
Michael held the phone closer to the baby’s bundled form, and for a moment, the four of you—you, Michael, and the two small voices crackling through a phone miles away—were all together, a family, welcoming its newest member into the world. He looked at you, his eyes full of a lifetime of promises, a silent, breathtaking affirmation of everything you had just created, together.
Summary: Michael suffers from insecurity after gaining a bit of weight, so you, as a good wife, help him see his beauty.
Content/Warnings: fluff fluff fluff, 18+ themes (MDNI!), oral sex (m!receiving), dad body michael arghhh he's so cute, insecurities. reader in her late 30s, being a mom of two hehe. no use of y/n!
W/c: 1,4k+
“Prince! Prince, get over here, let me strap your kneepads on... Prince?”
You sighed deeply, folding your arms across your chest. A flash of blonde hair darted past your field of vision, lost among the perfectly planted hedges of the decorative labyrinth not far from the estate’s entrance. Leaning your shoulder against the doorframe, you observed the boy tearing through the foliage, silently counting down the seconds until he tripped. You were certain it was bound to happen.
Smiling at your own thoughts, you shook your head and looked over at quiet Paris, who was softly babbling away to Bubbles. The contrast was truly amusing – less than a year apart, yet your children’s personalities couldn't have been more unbearably different.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t even notice Prince rushing up to you and wrapping his arms around your leg with a beaming smile.
“Mommy, can I come with you today?”
You gently took his small hands in yours and crouched down, bringing yourself eye-to-eye with Prince. Softly running your hand over his fair hair, you pecked him on the nose, coaxing a bright giggle out of him.
“Daddy said this is an adults-only event, remember? Now, if you were... mmm...” You held your hand just a few inches above his head, dramatically pretending to ponder, “about this much taller, we could’ve brought you along.”
Prince stared at you in silence for a few seconds, processing your words. You tried to fight back a smile at how striking his resemblance to Michael was at that very moment. It warmed your heart so deeply that alongside the smile, you had to blink back tears.
“So if I grow this much,” he mimicked your gesture, holding his tiny hand just above his head, “I get to go with you next time? I promise I’ll grow!”
You laughed at his innocent attempt to bargain with you and planted a kiss on his chubby cheek.
“Ask daddy next time, deal?” Receiving an affirmative nod, you continued, “Now let’s get those kneepads on you so the nanny doesn't have to patch up your scrapes, you little troublemaker.”
Prince giggled and finally cooperated. Phew.
The house was remarkably quiet in the pleasant cool of the summer evening. The sun was already dipping toward the horizon, beautifully painting the rooms through the lace curtains. You strolled over the expensive parquet in kitten heels, a steady rhythm tapping against the floor. From the master bedroom, the soft sound of exertion blended with a quietly hummed tune drifted out. A smile touched your lips. The more time you shared with Michael, the more familiar his mannerisms became, and the more devotedly you loved him. Gently touching your wedding ring out of habit, you stepped into the room, instantly locking eyes with Michael through the mirror.
You found it impossible to suppress a broader grin at the sight of him clad in trousers that contoured his thick thighs with exquisite perfection, immediately catching your gaze. Gliding your eyes higher, you caught the subtle strain on the buttons of his waistcoat.
You swallowed, feeling your mouth pool with saliva.
Over these past few years, Michael had put on a bit of weight, pouring every spare moment into family life and abandoning dancing or workouts for weeks at a time. You recalled the very first time you met him on the music video set for Give In To Me, how in the blink of an eye he had pressed you against the wall of a storage closet, how you used to shower kisses over his sunken cheeks and razor-sharp cheekbones, counting his ribs beneath his black shirt with your fingertips. Undoubtedly, he had been breathtakingly handsome.
But truly, nothing in the world could compare to those delicious thighs and that slightly soft tummy peeking out from under his t-shirt whenever Michael helped you reach something on the top shelves. You wanted to kiss him, bite him, leave your mark. To lick him all over, all the way down to the waistband of his sweatpants, and...
“Oh, I don’t know!”
A half-frustrated, half-downcast exclamation snapped you right out of your fantasy, making you unconsciously clench your thighs against the sudden flare of heat between them.
“What’s wrong, love?” You stepped closer to him, trying to keep your voice sounding natural.
“Just take a look,” he sighed, gesturing toward his mirror image. “I look... God, I really need to start watching my shape.”
“You look...? How? Breathtaking? Magnificent? Like a wonderful husband and father?” You embraced him from behind, the height of your heels enabling you to rest your chin on Michael’s shoulder. “You look mouthwatering.”
Michael shook his head in frustration, placing his large palms over yours.
“No, its you who looks utterly gorgeous, sweetheart. Beside this beauty, I just feel... too large.”
You pressed a tender kiss to his neck, trailing upward toward his earlobe. Your hands began to roam over Michael’s body, coaxing ragged breaths from him.
“You look breathtaking,” you whispered, giving one of his buttocks a playful squeeze despite his disgruntled murmur “ Just look.”
Stepping away from his coveted frame, you moved directly in front of Michael. Nestling your back against his chest, you stared at your reflection in the mirror.
“We are perfect together.”
Michael met your gaze in the reflection and gently held your chin between his fingers, tilting your face toward his for a kiss. It was infused with such sweetness that you felt on the verge of melting right there in his grip. Surrendering to a sudden impulse, you parted your lips from his, sinking slowly onto your knees in front of him.
“Sweetheart...” he murmured, resting his hand gently on your shoulder, “we’re running short on time...”
“Just a quick one. I want to show you how beautiful you are,” your hands reached for the fly of his trousers, unzipping them with a sharp rustle, “look at yourself, Michael.”
He covered his face with his hands, hit by a sudden wave of shyness. A tender pink flush spread across Michael’s cheeks as you pulled his hardened length from his boxers and gently licked the tip to taste him. Purring with satisfaction, you took his cock into your mouth, leaving a ring of red lipstick on the skin.
Michael groaned softly, raising his head to lock eyes with his reflection. Flushed, eyes glistening, his chest heaving with rapid breaths. Words in your voice echoed in his mind: “Look at how beautiful you are... just look at yourself... so obedient for me...”
You continued licking Michael with your nimble tongue, long accustomed to his impressive size. You took his length into your mouth in an attempt to take all of him, but he was simply too big. The weight of Michael’s cock resting on your tongue felt like pure euphoria, blended with the ragged groans drifting down from above.
Michael felt waves of heat surging through him, his head spinning from the overwhelming rush of sensations. He wanted to bury his fingers in your hair, pull you close, push deeper. His hands trembled with restraint, but his conscience wouldn't let him ruin your hairstyle. Michael stared at his reflection, furrowing his brows in pleasure that washed over him in continuous waves. His slightly tousled hair and glistening eyes looked impossibly striking in the light of the setting sun. For a split second, he saw himself through your eyes, and his lips twitched into the faintest smile.
Sensing the rhythm of his pulsing against your tongue, you released a soft breath through your nose, allowing Michael to sink as deep into your throat as he could, holding yourself perfectly still. With a long, drawn-out groan, Michael released deep within, as your hands squeezed his firm thighs in an irresistible impulse.
“You’re completely crazy... a crazy woman...” he whispered, gently guiding you to your feet. Glancing down, you smirked with deep pleasure upon seeing the entire base of his length painted with red lipstick. Tenderly, you zipped his trousers, restoring Michael’s pristine look.
He bent down to press a soft kiss to your lips, a wordless token of the quiet gratitude nestled in the depths of his heart. It had little to do with sex or the comforting words, but everything to do with your unwavering readiness to accept and cheer him up.
“I love you,” he whispered, gently thumbing away the smeared lipstick on your chin.
“I love you too...”
“Daddy! Are you wearing the brooch I made for you? You promised!”
You let out a soft chuckle, melting into Michael’s arms as Paris bounded into the room to inspect his promise.
“I want hugs too, me too!”
You gazed lovingly at Paris throwing herself into her father’s arms, brushing a tender kiss against his cheek.
Synopsis: For years, Prince Aemond Targaryen wrestled with a question no maester, knight, nor king could answer for him: how does one court a lady like you?
Warnings: Miscommunication Trope, Fluff, Courtship, Soft Aemond, Down Bad Aemond
Word count: 4.5k
Part: I, II, III, IV
He met you on the last day of spring. You were a shy little thing, hiding behind your father's legs and clutching onto your mother’s skirts as they tried to introduce you to the queen. Aemond had stood beside his mother then, his eyebrow raised as you slowly stepped away behind your parents and curtsied low before them. Your eyes were steady on the ground, and Aemond almost laughed when you quickly hid yourself from their gazes.
You were an odd one, he thought for a while. He did not mean to spy on you, yet he often found himself hiding behind a pillar or bush just to observe the odd and overly quiet girl from Essos. You were born in YiTi. A land so distant and different from them, and Aemond had believed that your oddness was because of your land’s customs. However, as days and moons passed, he learned that you were truly just different from the other ladies of the court.
Aemond was no stranger to the peculiar. He had seen eccentricity before, his family being a prime example. His sister was overly interested in bugs and murmuring to herself. His eldest brother had a strange fascination with women twice his age. Even his father, the king, was hyperfixated on the miniature models, spending most of his time on them instead of caring for his children. Aemond was not in a state to question nor critique your demeanour, he was simply curious.
He was curious why you hid yourself in the desolate corners of the gardens, the shade of a weeping willow tree near a pond being your favourite. He was intrigued by why you barely spoke, and if you did, you spoke so softly, as if you were whispering a secret that was only meant for certain ears to hear. But most of all, he was eager to learn why he was so interested in you.
Perhaps it was your appearance. Admittedly, there were not many YiTish in court– there were only three, you and your kin. Perhaps it was that. Aemond was fascinated by your fox-like eyes, heart-shaped lips, and your silky onyx hair. And as you two grew older, your already striking appearance only furthered. It was a shame you hated attention, as you were always the center of it. Aemond could not recall a day when not a single knight, lord, or even prince did not look back at you as you passed them in the halls. He noted how their pupils would always dilate ever so slightly, and some would even let their mouths hang in astonishment.
Maybe it was because of your insistence on not being noticed– maybe that is what fueled his intrigue. An ironic turn of events, for even if you try to hide yourself behind crowds and shadowy corners, he still found you. Once, you were invited to play the hiding game with other ladies of the court. Where the other ladies hid themselves behind pillars and cramped broom closets, you opted to hide in the wine cellars in hopes they would not find you and simply leave you be. Aemond found that particular memory quite amusing. Especially as it was the first time he saw your fox-like eyes turn doe-like as he caught you by surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Aemond questioned as he saw you tilt your head to read the marking on the large, oak barrels. A surprise yelp left your lips, and it was the loudest sound Aemond had ever heard you make. He bit back his smile as you rested a hand on your chest, your other hand fisted your skirts as if to ground yourself.
You were twelve now. You had spent the last three years in the Red Keep, but only now did Aemond decide to speak with you. He must admit that he had gotten used to simply following you about the castle, that speaking to you barely crossed his mind. It was thought that only came in the dead, silence of the night. Where, instead of sleeping, he would think of an opening phrase to utter if and when he approached.
“My prince,” You curtised quickly, your eyes still planted on the ground, and did not even dare to look at his. “I was playing a game of hide and seek with the other ladies,”
Aemond hummed as he cautiously took a step forward. “You are quite competitive then. Not a single one of them has even ventured near your hiding place. I suppose you could be declared the winner.”
You gave a wry smile, eyes still planted on the ground, where you could see each cautious step the prince took to inch closer to you. Aemond observed you closely, as this was the closest he had been to you since the first day you two met.
“You are gifted in hiding.” The prince remarked, and he felt his heart skip a beat as a small yet true smile came to your lips. “And you are gifted at seeking.” You remarked, but the smile on your lips dissipated, and a questioning frown took its place.
“How did you even know I was here, my prince?” You asked in great confusion. Not even the ladies who invited you to their game found your hiding place. How then did the prince find you?
Aemond never answered your question. Even after moons passed, he never once explained how he would always find you; he would only appear by your side, and he was fortunate enough that once he discovered a concealed corner, you were kind enough not to leave or excuse yourself from his presence.
The following year, a decision was made: Prince Aemond made known his intention to court you.
You could still vividly remember the confusion that overcame you when your father informed you of his conversation with the prince.
“He was quite eager for my approval if I were to be honest. He would not leave my side the entire afternoon. Well, at least not until I gave him my blessing.” Your father hummed as he poured himself a cup of wine. The moon was high, and so was your bewilderment. You never thought that a prince would court you. A statement not at all brought forth by modesty, but genuine confusion. When he discovered you in your hiding places, you assumed he was merely searching for somewhere to conceal himself as well. It never crossed your mind that he had been searching for you all along. “But why would he wish to court me?”
“I believe that is a question we should be asking you, my child.” Your mother hummed, a small, almost teasing smile on her lips as she did her nightly embroidery. She hummed and exchanged glances with your father, who hid a smirk behind the cup of wine he raised to his lips. “I wouldn’t even know what to answer. I, too, am just as confused as you.”
“Well then, perhaps it is best that you ask the prince the question on all our minds.” Your mother suggested, as you mindlessly nodded, standing and kissing their cheeks as you returned to your chambers. However, as you neared the door to your room, you froze in shock as you saw the prince already waiting for you in the shadowy halls.
He had a small flower pot in his hands— a rather odd image of a royal prince holding a potted orchid in his hands when you had gotten used to seeing him holding his sword.
Aemond felt out of breath as he stared at you through the light of the moon. You looked radiant— ethereal— nymph-like.
“This is for you,” he nervously said. Aemond was a brave man. He was courageous when he claimed his dragon. He was courageous when his eye was taken. And he was courageous when he asked for your father’s blessing to court you. However, he felt the courage he always relied on falter when he came face to face with you.
He watched as your ever stoic gaze finally met his. In the years he had known you, he had gotten used to your overly composed state. You were reserved, like he, however, you were more consistent in your reservation. The only moments when he actually witnessed your reactions were moments when you were startled or confused.
“Why?” You asked plainly, and Aemond felt his heartbeat in his ears. “Why? Because I’ve noticed you are fond of flowers— and I do believe that your favoured ones are orchids.” He explained and held out the pot closer to you. A confused frown overcame your face.
“No… why had you decided to court me, your highness?” You asked, not wanting to be vexed by the question the entire night. Unfortunately, your question was left unanswered once more as the prince simply reached for your hand and placed the small bundle of flowers in it. A smile on his lips as he bid you good night and left the halls.
How do you court a lady? Aemond could not help but think. He had hoped that he would find the answer long before he asked for your father’s blessing, yet here he was, kept up at night trying of ways on how to court you.
In hindsight, courtship should have come naturally to him. However, he was a prince– a pawn for the crown. The custom was to bind him to a lady who came from a family that could be great allies to the crown; however, Aemond had taken it upon himself to find a match made by himself, not his grandsire or mother. He had seen the effects of marriages borne out of duty, and as dutiful as he was, he’d rather not subject himself to a loveless marriage filled with misery.
Do you win a lady through gifts? Aemond thought. Ladies of the court seemed to easily give their agreements to the lords who courted them when they were given gifts. Who was Aemond to question such traditions? Especially when he was entirely clueless about what to do.
It started with little gifts left by your door. Each morning, you would be stirred awake with a light knock on your door and a gift left unattended. The first morning, it was a jade pendant from your home, YiTi. The light green stone was remarkable and unmistakable under the early morning sun.
Aemond hid himself behind a pillar and watched your knitted brows as you held the necklace to your eye, a small smile on his lips as he could already foresee the image of you wearing his little gift. However, Aemond’s enthusiasm was left dim when he found you in the gardens, bare-necked, and mentioned naught about the necklace you found.
The prince was disheartened, but not so much to easily relent. It was the first days of your courtship. Of course, he could not be so vain and arrogant to think that you would lay yourself on his feet after offering you a simple pendant. He at least thought a small blush would come to your face when you met him that day; however, he supposed he asked for much for his little effort.
The second day, he sent a pair of pearl earrings. Pearls harvested from the mighty seas of the Orient. On the third, he sent a set of gold rings mined deep within Casterly Rock.
When the fourth day came, he sent various rolls of fabric for your dresses. Light blue silk from Lys. Delicate white laces from Myr. A serene cream velvet from Braavos. Crimson brocades from Volantis. Fine threads of various colors from the Reach.
Aemond almost revealed his hiding place in great concern when you opened the door, and the rolls of fabric that he set upright came toppling down. Almost crushing you if you were not agile enough to step to the side. You did not use a single fabric nor thread for any of your fine dresses.
By the fifth day, the prince already had the inkling to quit. It was clear that you were not easily impressed– he was foolish to think you otherwise, for if you were, he certainly would not be this eager in your courtship. Nevertheless, the prince was no quitter.
By the fifth day, he veered away from the usual gifts given to the court ladies. Instead of shiny things, the prince left a small wooden dragon that he had carved in childhood. It was imperfect– it was left dusted in some corner of his chambers for years until the moment the prince decided to offer it to you.
When you opened your chamber doors after hearing a soft knock, you almost expected a chest of gold left by your doorstep. However, a small, yet true smile came to your lips when you saw a simple carved dragon made from oak waiting for you. Aemond almost hollered in triumph as he saw the corners of your lips curl upwards ever so slightly. Inspecting the carving with more interest than the shiny jewels he had left days before.
He watched as your fingers delicately traced the carvings he made, a sense of giddiness at the thought that your fingers caressed the wood that bore his touch. A new sense of hope coursing in his bloodstream.
Aemond had foolishly hoped that it was enough for you to return his affections, or at least announce your favour towards him, so the other line of suitors who paid you tribute would dissipate. However, the prince would be a fool to think that simple carving would have you swooning.
Word got around about how you set the little carving on your bedside table, near you, even in sleep. That was enough to inspire your other suitors to send you tens of pieces of woodwork, turning your chambers into a woodcarver’s shop.
Aemond knew he must take a different approach, which led him to question once more: How do you court a lady?
Could Aemond win you through feats of strength?
As all know, Aemond had no care for tourneys. He found it pointless– superfluous– pathetic for a man of his station. Yet, he rode out into the grounds, adorned in his armour, hoping to seek the favour of the lady he courted.
Aemond struggled to find where you sat through the slats of his helm. His mount circled the grounds as he searched for you through the jeering crowds, when he spotted the familiar outline of your parents without you by your mother’s side. He frowned severely as he realized that you would not attend, and he could not seek your favour.
He felt foolish as he charged his horse, his lance unadorned by a flower garland but stained by blood. He knew you well. You hid from crowds. What then led him to believe that you would willingly attend a tourney? Aemond felt no satisfaction the entire day, even if he was named the victor. The only speck of satisfaction he found was when he spotted you by a bench in the quiet gardens as a celebratory feast commenced. You said not a word when the prince sat next to you. Yet, that was enough for Aemond.
However, not enough for him to learn how to capture your favour. Especially as Aemond heard cruel whispers of you leaving Westeros.
“You are leaving?” The prince asked in dread as he found you in your usual place, hidden inside the weeping branches of a willow tree. It had been a year after he announced his intent to court you, and it had been a year filled with gifts, flowers, and attention that you not once asked for, but Aemond was enthusiastic to give.
He stood behind you as you sat on the cool, soft grass. His body tense, his stomach pitted, and his heart aching even if he denied it as such.
You turned your head to glance at the prince, his eye steely– almost seething, and his hands clenched tightly by his side. Aemond swallowed thickly as the afternoon sun cast you aglow and formed an angelic halo. How could you look so beautiful even as you threatened to leave him?
“Only for a year, my prince.” You explained and watched as Prince Aemond fervently shook his head and took his place next to you. “You are to leave for a year.” He gritted out, his fists clenching tightly around the damp grass.
“Well, a year and two moons. It takes a month of sailing and traveling to reach YiTi.” You clarified as you set your eyes on the pond's calm waters, which reflected the afternoon light. Aemond breathed heavily at the thought of you leaving him for more than a year. What shall happen then? Would you garner new admirers in your homeland? Should you be forced to take a groom who resembles your own culture and customs? What should become Aemond then? Would he be a man who lost the only lady who consumed his thoughts for the past five years?
“What of our courtship then?” He could not help but ask, his hand that gripped the grass, loosening as it inched closer to yours. “What of it, your highness?”
Aemond pursed his lips. His eye was intently studying every possible expression that may come to your ever-composed face. He stayed silent, and he heard a sigh leave your lips before you turned your head to meet his gaze.
“Do you wish to cease courting me?” You asked quietly, heartbeat erratic, and you tried your best not to let it show.
“No.” The prince quickly answered, and you bit back a smile as you stood, watching as the prince followed each single one of your movements. “Then court me in YiTi, my prince.”
“Another letter, my lady,” a maid called as she approached with a rather thick scroll that was wrapped tightly and bore the Targaryen seal. It had been three moons since you had left Westeros, and it had been three moons filled with consistent letters from the prince.
You sat upright on your bed, your eyes glancing and admiring the simple wooden carving of a dragon that the prince gave you years before, placing a small smile on your lips as your maid exited your chambers and left you in your own company.
How long must I live in agony, my lady?
You breathed out a laugh as you read the first line of the prince’s letter. You sighed dreamily as a blush came to your cheeks, and your fingers caressed the bold letters of what he wrote.
Sometimes, at night, you feared the prince would leave you spurned. You feared that you were not enough for him to keep interested. That your overly composed and some would even say, stoic demeanor would run him off, and he’d find a lady who did not struggle in showing their affections.
In truth, the reason why you were completely perplexed when he decided to court you was because you had been completely infatuated with him ever since you arrived in the Red Keep. As children, many feared him and his lack of one eye, but if you were being honest, you quite liked him that way.
It was a tragedy, of course, but the silver lining was that even if he had only one eye, never once did the unique lilac orbs leave your thoughts.
You bit your lip as you drafted your letter of reply. The prince had sent a dozen letters, yet the one you wrote would only be your fifth letter sent. You stared long and hard at the blank parchment, torn as to what to write. Fear was a powerful emotion that often left their captives paralyzed. And so, you took a deep breath and simply wrote.
Wrote anything and everything you could think of. No direction. No aim. Simply a letter written in hopes the prince would be reminded of your existence and would wait until your return.
I believe your dragon would enjoy the East. There is a vast valley near my grandsire’s keep that your great Vhagar would find agreeable.
I also believe that you shall enjoy the East. I recall that you are fond of combat, and here, there are customs in which fighters do not rely on weapons but simply their bodies. Men fight with open palms, swift and fluid like water, while others strike with such force that one would think their fists forged from steel. I suspect that you shall excel in such a kind of combat, my prince.
Aemond bit his lip as he reread your letter for the tenth time in an hour. Gods, he wanted to feel foolish. There he was, in his grandsire’s study, being forced to listen to business dealings, all the while his only thought was of you. His heart that beat for no other than you, swelled at the thought that not only did you write to him, but you as well knew of his fondness for combat and were thinking of his dragon too.
Lord Otto eyed his grandson in curiosity and concern. For the past hour, Aemond read a letter repeatedly, would let out a yearning sigh, and stare at the wall with an odd softness in his eye that he could not believe was capable. “Are you listening, Aemond?”
Aemond breathed out another sigh. His mind recalling what you had written, imagining your voice that uttered what you wrote echoing in his head. Gods, he missed you. He did not even think he’d miss you as intensely as he did. You were a quiet little thing, you prefer to go unnoticed, and the prince foolishly thought that he could manipulate his mind to think that you were simply hiding away in your corner, but he felt your absence deeply, and he could not concentrate on his duties.
“This is pathetic, my prince.” He heard his grandsire sigh from his desk. The lord hand’s gaze steady on a parchment containing business while his grandson reread a letter over and over.
“I did not ask for your opinion.” Aemond gritted out. The elation he felt just moments earlier quickly disappeared at his grandsire’s words. Otto Hightower sighed.
“You are a prince of the realm. You have hundreds of ladies at your disposal, yet you obsess over a lady who cannot even name you as her favoured suitor. A lady who you had let distract you from your duties. Had you acting and sighing like a damsel as well.”
“She had made you weak. Turned you into a simpleton.”
Prince Aemond frowned deeply, his fists clenching around air. No word of reply nor defense on his tongue as his grandsire plainly said the doubts and thoughts he fought hard to repress. Aemond had grown distracted as to who he truly was. He acted like a love-sick pup when he was meant to be a dragon prince.
Aemond did not respond to your letter. Nor did he respond to the other two that followed. He simply let the year of your absence pass. His grandsire’s word aimed true to his heart. All his life, the only thing the prince knew was that he did not like being seen as weak. He had been weak as a child, as he let his brother and nephews constantly belittle him. He knew it could not happen once more, even if you were the reason.
For the following moons, the prince made no move to contact you. He sent no bi-weekly letters. He sent no greetings or regards. He even hindered himself in sending you a bundle of gifts on your name day. He exercised a great feat of restraint and control for an entire year, simply lying in wait until the dawn of your return came.
Prince Aemond stood by the docks, his veins fueled with adrenaline and his heart aching to see you once more. He did not know how he had been able to resist you for a year, yet it did not matter, for now his long suffering was to come to an end.
However, as he watched your parents disembarked the ship, it was painfully obvious that you were left in YiTi.
***
Prince Aemond broke your heart. Your great fears of being left spurned– of being forgotten turned true as the prince seemed to forget your existence. He ignored your letters, even if you sent three scrolls consecutively. You had spent your days staring longingly out the windows, hoping that the ravens that flew would come with a letter from a prince, but none did.
You tried your best to hide the grief you felt at the prince’s action. You tried to act your usual detached and unemotional self. But each time you would sit alone in either the great gardens of your home or at banquets and feasts, you feel your heart pit as you had gotten used to the prince finding his way to you and accompanying you even through silence.
The days that led to your return to Kingslanding, you made the decision to stay in YiTi. You could not subject yourself to return to Westeros with a broken heart. You could not fathom the thought of facing Prince Aemond once more. And so, you stayed. You did not return after a year and two moons. You stayed in YiTi under your grandsire’s care and hoped that the ache in your heart would dissipate soon enough.
“The Westerns are simple-minded– especially the Targaryens. They act as if they are gods among men when in truth, they’re mere ferrets who only rose to power because of their dragons.” You hear your grandfather remark as you join him for supper.
Your parents had sent word that they were already in Kingslanding, and they also mentioned that the courtiers had to ask why you did not return. They mentioned naught of the prince, and you did not know whether to feel grateful or not.
“They reside on stolen land. They trample over the cultures and customs of those before them and punish those who disagree with their views. They appear to be almost the same as us, but not quite, for they trample over others they believe beneath them.” Your grandsire continued as you picked on your food.
“They were kind hosts,” You defended quietly, but heard as your grandfather clicked his tongue and watched him shake his head.
“It’s a lure, my child. Kindness to those men is given for their amusement– once they tire, they discard what no longer entertains them.” Your fingers tightened around the porcelain cup in your hands, holding it tightly so that you feared the warm tea might spill the moment you cracked the delicate clay. “It’s a lesson you must learn soon enough.”
Across the narrow sea, a prince stewed in rage, anger, fear, and sadness, trying his best to figure out how to get his girl back.
pre-invincible era! michael jackson x shy wife! female reader
summary. 1999. you and michael have been married for over 7 years now, yet you—him, as well, still get butterflies around each other like you were still those two young lovesick people who fell in love all the way back in the 80s.
tags. romance, fluff, suggestive (no explicit nsfw). michael is 41, you are somewhere in your mid 30s. toddler prince & baby paris being the most mischievous and cutest kids! established relationship since mid-late 80s, married in 1992. michael loves teasing you.
———————
Seven long and beautiful years.
Married since 1992.
Nearly 2 decades together if anyone counted from the first time the two impossibly shy, young adults met in the eighties. Back then, people used to laugh because conversations between the two of you would take an eternity of awkward silences, sheepish smiles, and a bunch of flustered glancing at each other.
Neither of you wanted to speak first, neither of you wanted to make the other uncomfortable—or even redder than you both were already are.
Dates consisted of long walks where whenever your shoulders, and your hands brushed together...a sudden jolt made you both shiver and make your cheeks warm. And entire evenings were spent together, making deep talks about everything under the sun—yet when your eyes met, you both would go into a lull of silence, smiles on your bashful faces.
Michael had once been every bit as timid as you, maybe even worse.
But time had changed him. Fatherhood had changed him—and God, did he look magnificent with the glow it brought. It was like he was destined to be a father.
He'd became even gentler somehow. Calmer, certain. He walked with purpose, and confidence now, willing to do anything and lay down everything for his family, his world.
He became more self-assured.
He no longer questioned whether or not he deserved happiness.
Because every morning, happiness slept beside him.
Although for you, somehow, seven years of marriage hadn't changed one very important thing about you.
You were still impossibly, incredibly, and adorably shy.
The nervous smiles, the way you would tuck your face into Michael's shoulder whenever too people would look at you, and the way you would immediately pull away and look off into another direction when it was Michael that stared at you.
You never really grew out of that, not really. And Michael just thought it was the cutest thing ever.
———————
"Mrs. Jackson?" The interior designer called out as they walked into the living room.
"What color were you thinking for Ms. Paris and Mr. Prince's playroom?" They asked with a polite smile.
You looked up from where you sat next to Michael on the couch. Suddenly, every worker in the room looked at you. The decorators, contractors, assistants. Your cheeks immediately warmed.
You instinctively tried to hide your face into Michael's shoulder but he evaded you and sat up straight. You looked at him with a slightly horrified expression.
Michael smiled without even looking away from the papers in his lap. "Baby?" His voice was gentle. "What were you telling me this morning?"
You stared at him, eyes wide. "The..."
You swallowed. "The pale...yellow..."
"A little louder." He said softly. You almost melted from him saying that, biting your lower lip. He glanced at you, raising his eyebrow. "They can't hear you, mama..." he smiled, amused.
It wasn't fair, he was making you flustered! He knew damn well what he was doing to you—the effect he still had on you after all these years.
"Pale...yellow..." You spoke up a little louder than a mouse.
"I can't hear you, baby." He leaned in closer, grinning handsomely.
You huffed, what a tease! "Michael..."
He bit the inside of his cheek, putting a hand to the small of your back, encouraging you. "You can do it, beautiful."
You just closed your eyes shut, not bearing to look at Michael's expression in that moment. You can already see the teasing smirk on his annoyingly hot face.
"Pale yellow! I'd like...pale yellow." You spoke up. Michael smiled proudly.
The workers all hummed, enthusiastic about your choice. "Perfect! Great idea, Mrs. Jackson." They all the dispersed to get back to working on the new playroom.
You then gently smacked Michael's arm, your lips pressed together. He dramatically held his arm. "Owww...."
"Don't you oww me...you knew they heard me..." You breathed out, embarrassed.
"I did." He admitted easily.
Your eyes went wide, you covered your face and sank into the couch. "You embarrassed me..."
Michael laughed. "I helped you, baby."
"Helped? Michael you—you—"
"I did what?" He leaned in closer to you, his face mere inches from yours. His gaze flickering down to your lips as he smiled slowly. Your mouth was slightly agape, you could practically explode right then and there. "Hm?" He hummed with that shit-eating, handsome grin.
This really wasn't fair!
You tucked your face into his shoulder, making him laugh brightly.
"I hate you..." You said, muffled.
He kissed the top of your head. "I love you too, honey."
You groaned at that, making him laugh even more.
———————
One evening, the house was unusually quiet.
Prince had finally fallen asleep after playing and operating through out the day in a different time frame. Paris was tucked beneath her favorite blanket, hugging her favorite stuffed toy. Only the sound of warm water drifted from upstairs.
Michael sat by the piano, trying again and again. Another melody, another unfinished song that he wasn't satisfied in. Nothing sounded right for his new album Invincible. Until...
"Da de-de-da
Da de-de-da, da de-de-da
Da de-de-da, da-da..."
His fingers froze on the ivory keys, he peeked his head up at the stairs and headed towards the sound quietly.
"Da de -de -da, da de -de-da
Da de-de-da de-de-da..."
You were humming. Like you always did.
You had always insisted to him that you weren't good at singing or that your voice wasn't good whenever he would ask you to sing for him throughout the years—but you were never really a good liar.
Whenever you were happy, at peace, and calm—you'd hum something that was composed with your heart. He noticed that the day you first met.
You hummed when he held hands with you, shyly looking away from each other on your first date.
You hummed when Michael laid his head on your lap, helping him doze off.
You hummed when you first cradled your babies: Prince & Paris in your arms, with the most radiant smile on your face.
His heart warmed. You were just so cute, so endearing.
He quietly reached inside of his pocket, producing his tiny handheld recorder he'd keep on his person always—you'll never know when inspiration channels back to you!
He then pressed record.
"Da de-de de-da, lda de-da-dum
Da de -de -de -da, da-dum, da-dum, da-dum..."
His smile was so wide, it hurt his cheeks. He could already imagine your face when you realize you were gonna be in his next song.
He can always apologize later.
———————
Over the next few weeks, he collected that familiar melody you always hummed.
Every take was perfect, but really at this point—he just collected your humming because he was kinda obsessed with hearing it all the time. He was obsessed with you in general, really.
Sometimes, he didn't even record. He'd just watch you.
You stood barefoot in the kitchen one morning whilst he washed the dishes. You yawned. You wore one of his shirts, hanging off your shoulder. You balanced Prince easily on your hip, bouncing him in one arm as you fed Paris in her high chair with your other hand.
You had baby food on your cheek. Some kind of marker or paint staining the sleeve of his shirt. You thought you looked awful, but so be it.
But Michael...lord, he could barely breathe. He bit his lip, his scrubbing slowing down.
God...you are so beautiful. No.
Beautiful didn't cut it.
You were...everything.
He watched the way you kissed Prince's forehead gently, brushing his blonde hair.
He watched the way you laughed when Paris accidentally spilled her milk, cleaning it up with a smile.
He watched the way you weren't hesitant at all when it came to your family.
His stomach fluttered. Like he was in his twenties again, seeing you for the first time.
Butterflies.
He stopped scrubbing the plate, biting his lower lip even more as he eyed you wipe the back of your neck with a tissue, sweat dripping down your neck.
His thoughts wandered somewhere very dangerous at that moment...dear God, was he ovulating??
He let out a quiet whistle when he saw you fan yourself by flapping the hem of his shirt, showing the slightest bit of your stomach.
He swear he could've just fell to his knees at that moment.
Thank you Lord. He prayed for times like this.
You just had no idea...absolutely no idea what you did to him.
Even looking like this. Especially, looking like this.
He wished that everyone else in the house could just go for a moment so that he could kiss you, touch you...taste you—
Suddenly, the plate slipped out of his hands, almost breaking and making a loud sound in the sink. You jumped as Prince and Paris continued playing, not caring about the loud sound at all since they were also making loud sounds.
"Michael? Are you okay?" You immediately asked, turning around with concern etched on your beautiful face.
Michael couldn't answer you, he just kept staring at you with a flush appearing on his high cheekbones. You figured out that he was also feeling hot from the heat.
"It's so hot today, let's just sit down and rest for a bit." You said softly with a small smile on your beautiful face.
He just kept staring at you—naturally making you nervous. "Is there...something on my face...??"
He smiled. "Yeah."
You hurriedly wiped your cheek, "Did I get it?"
"No." He muttered. You rubbed harder. "Did I get it now?"
He shook his head, you frowned. He then reached to your face, brushing his thumb against the upper part of your cheek. "There, baby..."
Your breath caught, you gulped, sweat dripping down your neck. "Thank you..."
"'so pretty.." He mumbled, pupils dilated as he then placed lingering kisses to your forehead, to your temples, to your cheek, down to your neck...
"Michael, the kids—" You said, your breath caught in your chest as your face was incredibly warm.
As if on cue, Prince suddenly spilled his cereal on the floor, making Michael dip his head dramatically and exhale. He then started cleaning up after Prince.
You watched him clean, the flush still warm at the back of your neck.
———————
After that very hot afternoon, he found himself writing on random papers that evening. Words spilled out of him effortlessly.
All you got to do is walk away and pass me by
Don't acknowledge my smile...
He smiled to himself, thinking about you.
When I try to say hello to you, yeah
And all you gotta do is not answer my call...
It was all about you. Every lyric somehow circled back to you.
When I'm tryna get through
Keep me wonderin' why when all I can do is sigh...
Every thought.
I just wanna touch you.
Every desire. Everything. All about you. He was crazy about you.
The woman who still gets awkward and adorable when he complimented her even after almost 2 decades together.
The woman who still hid behind him, tucking her face into his shoulder.
The woman who unknowingly riles him up, driving him absolutely insane.
He dropped his pen, burying his face into his hands, feeling flustered himself. God...this was too much. He smiled, laughing to himself. He could just die from happiness.
———————
Months later, he had finally finished making the song. He made sure to hide it from you as a surprise, but he just couldn't wait any longer. He wanted to see your reaction to it ASAP.
One late afternoon, the sunlight painted the Neverland gardens gold and orange.
Prince let out a laugh as he chased a squirrel around the lawn, Paris was sat next to the gardens, curiously watching the workers as they carefully planted the new flowers for the next season, and carefully trimming the hedges.
The fountains sparkled beneath the California sun, the wind growing colder. Michael watched his children for awhile, a smile on his face.
He then walked up next to you, taking your hand in his. You visibly became shy at that—making him grin.
"Come with me." He urged.
"What? Where?"
"It's a surprise, baby."
You thought for a moment, "I should stay with—"
He chuckled. "The workers are watching them. Just five minutes, please?"
He tugged you gently, you smiled, your heart warming at his request and went along with him. You had that cute curious look on your face, making his heart warm as well.
———————
He closed the door behind you, you both then sat in his personal studio in Neverland. He dimmed the lights, turned up the volume of the speakers, and pressed play. Soft strings floated all around your ears pleasantly.
Then...
Butterflies Michael whispered out in the start.
Da de-de-da
Da de-de-da, da de-de-da
Da de-de-da, da-da...
Your eyes widened at hearing a familiar hum. Not just any other hum. It was yours.
"Michael."
He just smiled, not answering you. Then his voice entered.
Smooth, gentle, longing, and sensual. It made your spine shiver delightfully. Then you started focusing on the lyrics at the chorus...
I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight (You give me)
'Cause you give me butterflies
Inside, inside and I
Your hands flew to your face in shock. As the lyrics unfolded, you slowly realized that every line, every word, every yearning confession, and every romantic desire...they were all pointed towards you.
"...Michael..." You breathed out, still covering your face.
He laughed, covering his grin with his fingers. "What?"
You refused to meet his gaze. "...It's about me."
"Mhm." He hummed lowly, tapping his foot along to the tempo. He grinned widely, biting his bottom lip. "Clever girl."
You felt yourself melt when he said that, you frantically fanned yourself with your hands.
"You—You...wrote these lyrics?"
He nodded casually, his eyes fixated on you, licking his lips.
"You...You think—wish—about kissing me this much??" You asked, an incredibly flustered expression on your face.
He shook his head with a serious look. "Nope. More."
Your eyes were impossibly big as you heard that he wanted to taste you! "Michael Joseph Jackson!" You yelped out.
"Okay, that one might be too dirty, I'll cut that one out...but y'know what I meant." He said with a breathy chuckle.
"I wish I didn't." You murmured, burying your lower face in the thick collar of your turtleneck.
"You liked it, didn't you?" He teased. You glanced at him and almost combusted.
"I did not say that!" You defended yourself weakly.
"You aren't denying it though..." He said in a sing-song manner, looking at you with that look in his face.
You stared at him. This was just so unfair!
You buried your face in your hands once more. "Oh my goodness..."
He then stood up from where he sat, leaning down at you and grabbing your chin gently, lifting your face until your eyes met. "So..." He whispered.
"Did the song work?"
"What...what do you mean?"
He patted your stomach affectionately, smiling at you with those pretty eyes of his. "You've got butterflies huh?"
You scoffed, looking away. "I do not..."
"You do." He leaned in even closer.
"I don't..." You murmured.
"You can't even look at me, mama..." He said gently in your ear, making you weak in the knees.
"Stop..." You could only protest weakly, not even trying to push or pull yourself away from him. You even had a dreamy smile on your face despite your words.
He grinned at that. "Nah." He stated simply.
"You're impossible, Mike..." You breathed out, chewing on your bottom lip as you looked at him.
"Yet you married me." He chuckled out. You rolled your eyes at that.
"I've been married to the shyest person in the universe for seven years..." He teased you, making you gasp and scoff playfully.
"Yet somehow...she still makes me shy too." He confessed, your eyes softened.
"You?"
"Yeah...everyday, baby. You drive me wild." He chuckled, a bashful smile on his face.
The confession had melted some of your embarrassment away. You then laughed, at least you weren't alone in your suffering. You reached to his face, brushing a loose dark strand away from his face.
"I love you, Michael." You said so tenderly, it made him almost weak in the knees too.
"I love you more." He breathed out, a bit desperate and so entranced by you.
He kissed you—slowly, passionately, lingering long enough for you both to smile into it. When you both pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours with a playful glint in his dark, bambi-like eyes.
“You know…” He started.
“Hm?”
“I wrote all those lyrics because every time I see you, I still end up wondering if I can steal a little more of your attention… another kiss… maybe convince you to spend the evening with me once the kids are asleep.” He said with half lidded eyes, biting his lip whilst looking at you.
Your cheeks immediately flared.
“Michael…”
“What?”
“You can’t just say things like that.”
“I just did.”
He chuckled as you lightly swatted his chest.
“You are so mean.”
“I’m teasing.”
“I know.”
“…Mostly.”
Your eyes widened again.
“Mostly?”
Before you could protest, he drew you into another kiss, and you laughed softly against his lips.
Just as his hands settled around your waist, and he started deepening a kiss, drawing a wonderful sound from you—
Outside, a loud crash and some shouts were heard.
You immediately pulled away from Michael and almost ripped the curtains. You and him gaped at what you saw.
“M—Mr. Jackson! Prince! Please…let go of the hose!” One of the workers pleaded as Prince just laughed mischievously and started spraying everyone in the vicinity.
Paris was in the garden beds, covered in dirt as she ripped out every new flower and replanted them back…root side up. She just smiled and cheered at her own accomplishment.
The workers were frantically and gently trying to stop the havoc of the two children, but failing miserably.
Michael sighed dramatically.
“Our children…”
“Our children!” You exclaimed out, already half way downstairs.
He blinked, he didn’t even know you were that fast as he watched you run out into the lawn, your skirt bundled up in one hand, chasing Prince around as he hosed down and waterboarded the newly planted grass.
Once you caught Prince into your arms, you went to Paris to stop her from making her own garden arrangement when suddenly—Prince broke free from your hold and ran around again.
When you looked away from Paris, she was gone in a second, following after her brother. Both of them laughing and squealing as they threw mud on the workers.
The workers just laughed light-heartedly as they let the two toddlers have their messy fun. You apologized profusely and didn’t hesitate to do so.
Michael watched you with a smile of pure adoration. You were really an amazing woman.
When it came to your family, you never hesitated to act and put aside your own nature.
He sighed dreamily, laughing a little as he watched you.
You then looked at the window upstairs.
“Michael!” You called out, the loudest he’s ever heard you call his name. He immediately sat up.
“Help me down here—Prince and Paris have somehow teamed up with the squirrel and is chasing the gardeners!”
The workers all yelled playfully as Prince, Paris, and the squirrel chased them. You couldn’t hold back your laughter either as you rushed over, trying—and failing—to hide your laughter as you scooped Paris into your arms and Prince running away.
He laughed brightly, immediately running downstairs to join in the chaos.
.
.
.
Note: That was the most suggestive thing I’ve ever written…😂😅 Hope you guys liked this one! Much love to you all ❤️
summary: After their ten-year marriage ended, they find each other one last time, the night before the world stopped.
warning: please note this story is based off real life events of Michaels passing. Reading this may be deeply emotional and sensitive to viewers.
get ready to cry!
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The silence of the house on the day you left was the loudest sound you had ever heard. Ten years of marriage, of shared dreams and quiet midnights, collapsed into a single afternoon.
You didn’t want his money. When his lawyers, acting on his desperate orders to "give her whatever she wants, half of Neverland, anything," approached you, you turned it all down. You didn't want a settlement; you wanted the man you had married back.
But he was gone, buried under a mountain of yes-men, relentless work, and the heavy haze of painkillers he promised he’d quit. He had shut you out to protect his addiction, the addiction you tried so desperately to get him out of, yet he refused and pushed you away to protect himself, and leaving was the only way to survive the heartbreak.
After the split, you went completely off the grid. You changed your number, moved away, and built a quiet, isolated life where no one knew your name or your past. But Michael always found a way. Over the years, the letters came to your private box. one every single day.
You never replied. Every letter broke your heart a little more, and you kept them all locked in a wooden box beneath your bed. You knew that if you answered even once, you would run right back to him, and you both would fall straight back into the beautiful, destructive cycle.
༻✦༺
The notes were a shifting map of his fractured mind. Some were filled with agonizing apologies, others were nostalgic timelines of your milestones, your wedding day, the quiet mornings, the laughter. Some were desperate pleas for forgiveness, instantly followed by another note apologising for breaking the silence.
༻✦༺
I went to Elizabeths wedding today, her 8th one now I think. Do you remember the time we went to her first wedding together? You looked so beautiful in that blue dress, i remember us dancing that entire night. Just us.
I got another fish today, I thought about how if you were here, you would be demanding we name it something ridiculous. Like taco or sushi or something. I just ended up naming him Frank, funny names aren't funny anymore unless you're the one naming them.
Today would have been our 12th anniversary, I wish I could be next to you right now, I wonder what we would have done for it. Nice dinner maybe, Disneyland, or maybe we would have just had a night in to celebrate. I miss you.
I know I shouldn't be writing you, I know I should let you live in peace, I love you, i'm sorry.
༻✦༺
But no matter the tone, every single letter ended with the exact same sentence, It was the promise he had whispered to you in his vows on the day you married, a callback to the classic song he had sung with his brothers so many years ago:
"Just call my name, and I'll be there."
it was written in small handwriting at the bottom of every single letter. Your signature words you used to say to each other.
༻✦༺
June 24, 2009 - Los Angeles, 9:00 PM
The pull of the city eventually brought you back. You found yourself driving toward the one place in the world that belonged strictly to the two of you. It was a secluded, scenic overlook tucked away in the hills-the exact spot where you first met by chance, where you got married under the stars, where you went together after midnight just to talk, and where he proposed. Somewhere near the edge, your initials were still crudely carved into the stone.
The night air was cool as you stood by the railing, looking out at the sprawling, glittering carpet of Los Angeles lights.
"Michael" you softly called out to the city, expecting silence In return.
Yet a soft rustle of footsteps sounded behind you. A familiar warmth settled over the space, accompanied by the faint, unmistakable scent of his custom perfume.
"Baby?" a gentle, breathless voice whispered.
You turned around. It was Michael. He looked fragile, thinner than you remembered, his eyes shadowed with an immense exhaustion. But the moment his gaze locked onto yours, a spark of the old Michael flared to life.
"Michael," you breathed, tears instantly stinging your eyes.
He lets a small smile,
"I always told you didn't I? just call my name, and I'll be there"
As he looked at you, his eyes suddenly glazed over, losing themselves in a memory that had haunted him for years.
༻✦༺
He was back in that echoing, empty house on the afternoon of the split. He remembered walking through the front doors, calling your name, only to be met by a cold, suffocating silence. He had run to the bedroom, his heart hammering against his ribs, only to find the closet doors wide open. Every hanger was bare. Your perfumes were gone from the vanity. Everything that made the house a home had been completely erased in a single day. He remembered collapsing onto the edge of the mattress, burying his head in his hands, and weeping until his chest ached. He had realized, with absolute, terrifying clarity, that his addiction and his pride had finally driven the only person who truly loved him away.
༻✦༺
With a sharp blink, Michael pulled himself back to the present, his eyes refocussing on you standing before him. You didn’t hug right away. You just stood there, the space between you heavy with years of unspoken words, letting the cold night wind blow past as the sheer shock of being in each other's presence washed over you.
"Hey," he whispered, a tiny, tentative smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Hey," you replied, your voice barely louder than the breeze.
Michael looked down at your hands, then back up to your face, his eyes softening. "You’re shivering." He began unbuttoning his heavy corduroy jacket.
"Don't," you said softly, reaching out to stop him. "You’re already too thin, Michael. Keep it on."
He let out a quiet, breathless chuckle, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. "Still worrying about me. Even now." He still took it off and handed it to you, then he tilted his head toward the path leading down the hill. "Come on. Let's walk. Before my security team realises I sneaked out the window and starts deploying helicopters."
As you began to walk down the winding trail, the heavy tension that had separated you for years began to fracture, dissolving into the familiar rhythm of your past.
"I miss Marcus," you said, a small smile breaking through your nerves as you remember how close you were with Michaels entire team "Is he still as intense as he used to be?"
Michael burst into that high-pitched, giggly laugh you had missed so desperately. He put a stern expression on and narrowed his eyes in a ridiculously serious frown. "Michael you shouldn't be walking around alone at night, you shouldn't even be in public without a bulletproof vest" he mimicked.
You laughed, the sound bright and loud in the quiet night. "Yes! That is exactly him! He always did the most."
"He still does," Michael gasped, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "The other day, a squirrel jumped out of a bush, and I swear Marcus almost tackled it to the ground. I had to tell him, 'It's okay, Marcus, the squirrel doesn't want an autograph.'"
By the time you reached the faded, 24-hour diner at the base of the hills, the years of silence seemed to melt away. You slipped into a torn, red vinyl booth hidden in the far corner, the smell of cheap coffee and maple syrup wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
Michael slid into the seat opposite you, pulling his fedora down slightly to shadow his face, but his eyes were brighter than they had been in years.
"Please tell me you've learned how to cook since I left," you teased, resting your chin on your hand.
Michael groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands, though you could see his cheeks flushing. "Oh, God. I swear, I made one bad pasta!"
"Michael the sauce you used was mouldy!" you laughed, leaning across the table. "It was our fifth anniversary, you told me you were going to cook something special and ten minutes later were both almost puking out expired pesto pasta."
"I was trying to be romantic!" he defended himself playfully, his voice rising to that sweet, defensive pitch you knew by heart. "I wanted to make something you loved. I thought 'use before' was a suggestion."
"Okay but even the pasta was crunchy! You didn't even fully cook it" you shot back, your chest aching from laughing so hard. "We ended up eating KFC on the floor of the projection room."
"But it was the best anniversary we ever had," Michael said softly.
His laughter died down, leaving behind a warm, tender silence. He reached across the table, his fingers lightly brushing the edge of your coffee cup, his gaze locked onto yours.
"We laughed all night," he whispered, his voice thick with nostalgia. "We always laughed when it was just the two of us."
"We did," you agreed quietly, the laughter fading into a bittersweet ache. Sitting in the neon glow of the diner, the pain of the past, the tragic letters, and the shadow of his struggles drifted into the background. For those precious, fleeting hours, the clock had wound back, and you were just the two young people who had fallen in love in the hills.
"Have you been getting my letters?" he asks softly.
You nod, "Yeah, I have all of them, I read them everyday. I just.. I couldn't reply. I knew if we began talking, I wouldn't be able to stop"
"Oh.. yeah. I guess that's fair"
༻✦༺
Midnight passed, and eventually, he walked you back to the front entrance of your hotel. As the warmth of the old memories faded, the harsh light of reality settled back over you. The atmosphere shifted, turning deeply emotional and heartbreakingly heavy.
Michael reached out, grasping your hands, his eyes pleading. "Please," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Come back to me. My life... it’s so empty without you. It’s terrible. I’m so unhappy."
You looked at his pale face, the deep exhaustion etched into his features, and a cold weight dropped into your stomach. You looked him dead in the eyes and asked the question that had haunted your entire divorce. The question that you didn't even know If you wanted the answer to.
"Are you still using?"
His eyes dropped. The silence stretched between you, heavy and damning. He tried to swallow, his shoulders slumping as the truth laid itself bare. He hadn't stopped. He hadn't fixed it.
A tear slipped down your cheek. You gave him a devastatingly sad look, gently pulling your hands from his. "I love you...but I can't go back if nothing has changed. I can't watch you do this to yourself again. I can't sit there and watch you die"
Michael lowered his head, accepting the boundary with a heartbreaking nod. "I want to change," he whispered defensively, desperately. "I'm just so stressed right now. There's so much riding on this This Is It tour, the debts, the people counting on me... but after this is over, I swear to you, I'm getting my life back on track. I'm going to clean up. And I'm going to come get you."
"I get that Michael but you have to understand, I left because I love you. The easy thing would be to ignore all of it, and stay. But loving you means wanting the best for you, and what we were wasn't. I walked away because I love you too much to help you destroy yourself."
"Then I kinda wish you loved me a little less"
He didn't actually mean that, but the concept of an alternate universe in which you took the easy road and stayed with him, ignored all his troubles instead of begging him to get help, was a easier way to manage.
༻✦༺
You exchanged a few more emotional, breathless words, both of you crying, knowing the reality of the situation but unable to fully let go. Finally, you knew it was time to walk away.
"Goodbye, Michael," you whispered, turning toward the hotel doors.
"Wait" he stopped you.
You slowly turned around. He was standing a few feet away, looking so small against the backdrop of the city lights.
He took a minute, deep breathing as if he was struggling and scared to get the next words out.
"Do you still love me?" he asked, his voice quiet, trembling.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. Staring at him for a few seconds before repsonding,
"A part of me will always love you, Michael." You devastatingly admitted.
You turned again, taking two steps toward the glass doors, when his voice called out to you one last time.
"All of me will always love you,"
The words cut right through, echoing the promise he had kept through all the years of silence. Your heart broke completely. Forgetting the rules, forgetting the past, you turned and ran back to him. Throwing your arms around his neck, holding him with every ounce of strength you had left, burying your face in his shoulder. He held you back just as tightly, gasping for air.
Pulling back just enough to look at him, you gave him one last, lingering, deeply passionate kiss- a goodbye to the man you had loved more than life itself.
Without needing any further words, you turned and walked inside, not looking back.
༻✦༺
June 25, 2009 — 2:26 PM
The next afternoon, the world stopped.
You sat in your room, staring blankly at a television screen as the news anchors broke the bulletin.
Michael was gone.
The shock froze the breath in your lungs. Your mind rushed backward to less than twenty-four hours ago- the warmth of his hands, his promise to fix his life after the tour, his final, desperate declaration of love outside the hotel.
Before the weight of the grief could even paralyze you, adrenaline took over. You grabbed your keys, ran out of the hotel, and drove frantically through the congested streets of Los Angeles toward UCLA Medical Center. The sirens of emergency vehicles screamed in the distance, and the roads surrounding the hospital were already being blocked by police barricades and swarms of weeping fans.
You abandoned your car, running the remaining blocks on foot. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you pushed through the chaotic crowds, the flashing cameras of the paparazzi, and the heavy hospital security doors.
"I need to see him! Let me through!" you screamed, tears blinding your vision as security guards tried to hold you back. You screamed his name, desperate and feral, until a sobbing Katherine, your ex mother in law spotted you in the lobby. Recognising you instantly, she yelled at the staff to let you go, grabbing your arm and rushing you down the sterile, frantic hallways.
The double doors of the private room swung open, and the chaos of the hospital instantly fell away into a cold, suffocating silence.
The room was empty of doctors now. There were no machines buzzing, no frantic shouting. Just a quiet bed, and a white sheet pulled up to his shoulders.
You stumbled forward, your knees nearly giving out. You reached the side of the bed, your hands trembling violently as you reached out and gently pulled the sheet down.
༻✦༺
There he lay. He looked peaceful, the deep lines of stress and exhaustion finally gone from his face, looking younger than he had in years. Your chest heaved with a broken, choked sob.
Everything inside you completely broke.
You reached down to take his hand—and that was when you saw it.
On his left ring finger, catching the dim fluorescent light of the hospital room, was his silver wedding band.
He had never taken it off. Through the divorce, through the tours, through the drugs, and through the loneliness, he had kept the ring on his finger, hidden away from the cameras, keeping his promise to you.
You sank into the chair beside the bed, burying your face against his limp cold chest. You desperately clutched his hand, your tears falling onto his pale skin, pressing your lips against his knuckles right beside the silver band. You then pressed one last soft kiss against his weak cold lips, and for the first time, he didn't kiss you back.
your voice cracking into a million broken pieces as you held him one last time.
"im sorry I couldn't save you Michael."
༻✦༺
authors note: Written purely with love and respect, this fictional piece is not meant to insensitively sensationalise his struggles or addiction, but to serve as a heartfelt tribute to a beautiful, unforgettable soul. thankyou love you guys <3
summary. it is now 1996, mike is starting his history tour — a retaliation against the slander of the press and media towards him. but in the process, he pushes away many people in his life — prioritizing other things.
content warning: toxic behavior in relationships (avoidance & neglect), angst, wishing to have children.
Part 2 here
———————
You walked next to Michael in the early morning hours of the airport, his security surrounding you two as you escorted him to the plane.
You’ve done this millions of times already in the 5 years you’ve been married — sending him off with a warm, slow kiss and a hug that is filled with love.
This one is no different.
Michael wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into your neck as you chuckled softly.
You squeezed him, pulling away slightly to kiss his soft lips. He kissed you back with such gentleness and warmth like always.
He rubbed your ears, warming them up since it was too cold that morning.
You chuckled. “Go on now, Mikey, I’ll be okay.”
“Wear your bonnet over your ears, honey…” He fussed — evading your goodbyes as always.
Your eyes curved, a smile on your face that he’s always admired. “What?” He sheepishly said as he adjusted your bonnet to cover your ears.
“You need to go now, applehead. I’ll wear my coat and bonnet, yes I’ll drink water a lot, I’ll eat my meals on time and not immediately lay down after — even though it’s comfortable.” You assured him as he laughed.
“It’s not good for you baby, you always get constipated when you do that.” He said whilst tapping your forehead gently. You rolled your eyes, secretly loving it when he fusses about you, worries about you, and cares about you.
He always noticed the little things that made you happy, sad, or hurt.
“I’ll be okay, promise. Just come back soon, Michael.”
He sighed, hugging you once more, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“I love you.” He whispered — even after all the farewells and hugs you both gave, he still never wanted to go leave you.
“I love you too.” You murmured back.
He reluctantly pulled away after a couple of seconds.
His security divided, one half staying with you and the other half staying with him.
Michael got on the escalator, waving his arms to you widely with the brightest smile on his adorable face.
“I’ll be back before you know it!” He yelled out, walking away fully.
You watched his figure through the empty airport windows getting into a private plane with his crew.
You never really minded saying goodbye to Michael, because you always knew he’d come back home to you.
———————
The first couple days of his tour has been going well from what you heard during your late night phone-calls with him.
The different timezones were difficult to deal with, often than not — he called you when you were about to fall asleep and you called him when he was in rehearsals.
But it wasn’t that bad at all.
He always asked how you were doing, fussing over you like always.
You laughed at his antics, same as ever, and loving as ever.
This one night after his show in South Korea, he dialed your number in the telephone.
You were half-asleep whilst a book was about to topple over your lap when you answered.
“Mike? Michael? Hi honey…”
“Hey, baby…sorry I didn’t get to call yesterday I was in a meeting after the show…” He murmured into the phone.
You smiled softly, you were waiting for him to call yesterday but you expected him to be busy anyway.
“It’s alright, Mikey. I understand. You’re taking on a lot right now…are you okay?”
He smiled. He knew you’d understand. You were always patient like that.
“Yeah, I’m okay…I’m taking a break right now.” He said softly.
“How was your day-“
“Hold on, baby.” He said into the phone as you heard knocking in the background on his side.
“…Sorry baby, I got to go. Business calls. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Of course, Mikey. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
He promptly hung up the phone, and you put the phone back on the stand.
You sighed to yourself, well, that was to be expected from someone as busy as Michael. Although, you couldn’t help but just wish to at least be able to have talked to him for at least 5 minutes.
You then shook your head, slapping your cheeks to wipe off your negative thoughts.
You needed to stay positive as you always did like when he was doing his Dangerous tour.
Although it was much easier since he often had time to go back to you and take a break…
But nonetheless, you can do it.
———————
The next few weeks were okay. The late night-early morning calls were often interrupted by Michael needing to go to rehearsals, meetings, or deal with something else. Of course, all you could say is: “I understand.”
And that brought comfort to Michael. But really, you couldn’t understand how — somehow everything is just keeping the little time you have to talk with your husband away.
The calls seem to be getting shorter by the day, once you were even barely able to say a greeting to him before getting interrupted.
And right now, you dialed his number once more. The third time you’ve tried calling.
“Pick up…” You muttered to yourself, biting on your thumb.
You just wanted to hear his voice today. You were missing him very much.
And he picked up.
“…”
“Michael? Hey baby…how are you?”
“(Name)? Oh, I thought you were one of the business guys…” He murmured, sounding relieved for some reason.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, no…just stressed as always baby. You know the drill.” He chuckled out.
You smiled at his chuckle, laying your head on his pillow as you put the phone near to your ear.
“I miss you, Mike.” You whispered to him.
He hummed. “I miss you too, honey. But I promise, I’ll be back soon.”
“Yeah, we got that dinner planned when you get back right?” You said with a little laugh evident in your voice, you glanced at the calendar on your nightstand — the date marked with a red marker.
“Yes baby, it’s gonna be great-“ He suddenly hushed down as some voices were talking to him in the back.
He just hummed. “I gotta go now baby.”
You sat up, hugging his pillow.
“Wait, I haven’t even had 3 minutes with you yet —“
“I’m sorry honey, I got to go. Talk to you later.”
“I love you —“
He then hung up before he could respond back. You put the pillow up to your nose, inhaling his cologne.
It’s okay. He’s just really swamped with everything, he’s at the peak of his tour right now so of course he is. You wouldn’t want to hinder his passion for this tour.
You understand.
You look at the empty space in the bed next to you and smile absentmindedly.
He’s in Europe today…or Asia?
The flight schedule is muddled in your head right now, but wherever he is, he must be okay.
———————
Michael let out a long exhale, dropping his sunglasses on the nightstand next to his hotel bed. The days were muddling together.
Hotel.
Airport.
Soundcheck.
Meeting.
Rehearsal.
Concert.
Repeat.
He was constantly juggling things as well as trying to deal with the media’s bashing on him, trying to keep his fans’ love and loyalty.
He had locked himself in his hotel room for most of the time after his concerts, he just wanted some quiet. No extravagant after-party or anything. Just silence.
Michael loved to keep a journal to write down his thoughts for the day, a way to regulate himself and to check off things he wanted to achieve that day.
And on the upper corner of each one of those pages, he scribbled “Call (Name)”
Yet every night and day, something would come up and he couldn’t check that one thing out.
Someone needed him.
A producer.
A promoter.
A doctor checking his throat.
Wardrobe.
Security.
Business.
Especially those business men. They just loved to take up all his time.
By the time he was finally alone…
He’d glance at the hotel clock.
Three in the morning.
Ten in the morning for you.
“She’s probably busy…”
He’d tell himself he’d call later. You’d understand, right?
———————
One thursday afternoon, you decided you needed to get out and have a nice time to yourself.
Which is really just French of you saying you needed a distraction from not getting a single call or word from Michael.
You put on a face mask and sunglasses, as well as a scarf and a hat for good measure to your disguise.
One of the security men saw you sneak out of the house and immediately they started following you.
You tried to shoo them away like they were a group of cats but they just kept following you, making you sigh as they surrounded you — making it obvious who you were.
Michael’s wife, (Name) Jackson.
Once you arrived to the mall, the paparazzi and fans were already there, crowding the entrance — taking photos of you as you and your security pushed through the crowd.
You then entered a clothing store, buying clothes for yourself and Michael.
Then you felt a hand tug on your skirt gently, you looked down to see a kid about 5 years old. Big brown eyes and (color) hair…that baby kinda looked like you and Michael.
Your heart swelled as he held out his arms go you, seemingly thinking that you were his mother.
Funny enough, the kid that you and Michael could’ve had would’ve been his age.
You and Michael weren’t able to have kids yet, because Michael was simply too busy to.
You and Michael were going to have children after his Dangerous tour, but when the media started making a hate train on him and actively attacking him — he had to protect his reputation, his legacy. So he immediately got to work on his HiStory album and tour to set things straight.
You supported him of course, that was his passion. You understood.
The mother of the child then came over and took her child, apologizing to you before becoming starstruck when she realized who you were.
“You’re…You’re…”
You couldn’t help but chuckle.
“That’s the lady from the TV, mommy…” The little boy pointed towards you as his mom hushed him, telling him that pointing is bad.
You chuckled.
“It’s alright, you have such a delightful little boy. He’s as cute as a button.”
The mom smiled instantly, a motherly kind of pride.
“Thank you, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me as a single mom…would you like to hold him?”
You blinked, surprised as the lady held up her son to you.
She saw your eyes tear up as you held her son in your arms. The boy immediately hugged you and you cradled the back of his head.
You were always just waiting for the right time to have children with Michael. He wanted to have kids too — they’d probably look like this boy right here.
“You look beautiful.” The mom said softly as you shed a tear, it rolled down your cheek before the boy wiped it away, melting your heart.
“Thank…Thank you.”
“If I may ask…why haven’t you and Michael have kids yet?” She asked before smacking herself on the mouth.
“I-I’m sorry, I’m so insensitive.”
“No, no, it’s alright…well, he’s on tour right now. And it would be hard on him going back and forth…we’re just looking for the right time.”
“Oh, I see…but you know, you’d make a good mother. My little boy’s almost asleep in your arms even though with me, he’s so hyper.” She laughed out, squeezing her son’s chubby arm gently.
You rocked the boy in your arms, cherishing this moment.
“Children just make the whole world go round, don’t they? I’m really honored to have been able to hold your son…may I buy some toys and things for you and him?” You asked softly as the mom’s jaw almost dropped.
She didn’t even get to answer before you started putting things in a cart, she held her son in her arms as the boy let out amazed noises — expensive toys, clothes, appliances — even furniture.
You probably spent thousands of dollars in mere seconds, you just nodded when the cashier told you the price, not hesitating to pay all of it in cash.
You and the duo then left the store, your security helping carrying the newly shopped things for them.
“Would you like to buy groceries too?”
The mom hastily shook her head, still in shock and a bit embarrassed that you just paid for everything.
“N-No, it’s alright!” She squeaked out as her son played with a new toy airplane in his hands.
“I wanna be a pilot!” He said suddenly to no one in particular.
You smiled and patted his head.
“Work hard then okay? Help your mommy always, be there for her.”
The boy nodded and hugged his mom. “My mommy’s the best mommy!”
You chuckled softly, your heart melting as his mother hugged him back.
Soon, you’ll be able to experience this with Michael.
———————
You stepped out of the mall with your security, where some of the fans were at the parking lot. Some paparazzi were clever enough to expect you to exit through the parking lot.
“Ms. Jackson! What are your thoughts about the tour so far?”
“Why aren’t you with Michael?”
“Can we get a comment on your marriage being a stunt?”
You kept your head lowered, you were so tired of these vultures.
The fans then started blocking these paparazzi and pushing them away, you chuckled as those journalists grumbled as they walked away.
You then waved your hands to the fans, walking up to them.
“Thank you, everyone…”
“Don’t sweat it, (Name)!” They said like they were your friends, after today — they definitely were.
You chuckled as they started having a conversation with you, and for once in a long time, you felt normal. You felt like you.
“— Aw but, Michael’s show in Auckland last night was crazy, though. It was amazing!” One of them said as all of them nodded in agreement.
Auckland? Wasn’t he just in Bangkok? You felt a pit in your stomach.
You didn’t even know where he was anymore since he barely updated you.
But they did. His fans did.
You smiled politely.
“Oh…yes. It looked fun.”
The fans smiled and helped you to your car.
Once you got into the car, you pressed your head against the tinted window — praying that Michael could call tonight.
———————
Three more days passed.
No phone call.
You kept trying but…
Nothing.
You stopped sitting beside the telephone.
Instead, you carried it with you.
Cord stretched halfway through the hallway while you dusted furniture.
Across the kitchen while you cooked.
Into the bedroom while you folded laundry.
Ridiculous.
But you didn’t even want to miss a single second of hearing that phone ring. Your heart ached. You felt so lonely.
———————
The phone finally rang after a week.
You nearly dropped the mug in your hands when you were dozing off.
“Hello?” You said, elated.
“…Baby?”
Your face lit up instantly.
“Michael!”
His laugh came through the receiver.
“I woke you?”
“No.” You lied.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called.” He whispered softly to you.
“It’s alright.” You said with a tight lipped smile.
“I’ve been swamped.” He reasoned.
“I know.” You said with a curt nod.
“I’ve missed you.”
“I miss you too.”
There was a pause.
A comfortable one.
The first one you’d shared in weeks.
“…How’s home?”
You smiled at that, was he worrying about you?
“Lonely.” You said with a dramatic sigh.
He laughed softly. “I’ll fix that.”
“When?”
Another pause.
Longer.
“I…”
Papers shuffled on his end. Someone whispering and people conversating in the background.
Then another voice.
“…Jackson…they’re…downstairs sir.”
Michael covered the receiver.
“One minute.”
You listened to the muffled noises of him talking about the tour, business and all kinds of things that you didn’t know about anymore.
When he uncovered the phone, his tone had already changed. The one he used for those meetings of his.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
You looked down at your mug.
“…Again?”
“…”
“I really have to—”
“You always have to go.”
The words escaped from your lips before you could stop them.
“…Honey.”
“No, it’s okay.” You said softly, instinctively. “I understand.”
He exhaled in relief.
“I knew you would.” He said with a smile evident in his voice.
You felt hot tears burn in your eyes, your body racketing with quiet sobs — holding away the phone from your face.
You were getting really tired of fighting for your time with your husband. You shouldn’t even have to. Just for 5 minutes, you were constantly cradling the telephone, worrying. Just for 5 minutes with him.
“…Michael?”
“Yeah?”
“I was thinking…” You hesitatedly started.
“…Maybe after the tour…”
“Hm?”
“…We could finally start talking about children again.”
Silence. Not because the line cut out, but becausehe didn’t answer. You waited, of course.
“…Michael?”
Another voice interrupted him.
“Five minutes.” He said politely.
He sighed, heavy through the reciever. He wanted that too but…
“…Baby.”
Your heart sank before he even spoke, you feel like you already knew the answer.
“I don’t think now’s the right time.”
“You said after Dangerous.” You murmured.
“I know.”
“You said after the album.” You choked up.
“I know.”
“You said after—” He interrupted you with a tense tone.
“I know.”
His voice became sharper than he’d intended. He then let out a breath, exhaling to calm down.
“I know what I said.”
Neither of you spoke. He rubbed his forehead. “…Things changed, yknow.”
“They always change.”
He didn’t answer.
“I’ll wait.” You whispered it so quietly you almost hoped he wouldn’t hear.
He swallowed thickly, rubbing his temples. He heard that. “…We’ll talk when I get home.”
“You always say that too.”
Another silence. Long enough that you checked whether the line had disconnected.
It hadn’t.
He simply wasn’t speaking.
Finally—
“I have to go.”
Of course.
“You understand, right baby?” Michael asked softly, like he was there next to you. You wish he was.
You didn’t answer this time. He furrowed his brows.
“…I love you, Michael.”
“…Love you.”
He hung up after that, the dial tone filling the room afterwards.
———————
Another week passed by with no call. You only really got updates from his security, who were urging him to take a rest.
Michael didn’t listen to anyone, not even you. He was too busy fighting the entire world and industry to care about anything else.
You opened the bedside drawer of your shared bedroom, chuckling bitterly as you saw the cream-colored knitted socks fit for a baby.
Katherine and your mother had gifted this for you on your wedding day. “For when the time comes.” “Mhm.” They said with smiles on their faces.
“Not yet, guys — c’mon.” You laughed shyly then as they chuckled.
“With how in love you two are, it’ll probably be next month, hm?”
Your mom teased out as Katherine laughed. You blushed in embarrassment but you couldn’t help and smile back then.
You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with Michael. Every second with him, making a family with him.
But in those 5 years, 5 anniversaries, and countless promises he made to you that he would settle down after his projects…
These socks never left the drawer.
———————
The next few weeks were expectedly quiet, not many phone calls from Michael, just him apologizing and you murmuring that you understood before he hung up.
It was almost New Years Eve at this point, the fireworks painted the night sky, you watched them as they colored in the darkness.
5 years ago, Michael would always kiss you at midnight. You always treasured that movie-like moment as the fireworks blew in the background of a chill night.
You can only reminisce right now. Was it even New Years for him? He’s in Japan. Wait, no. The Philippines.
That was weeks ago, you grabbed a tabloid paper that was delivered to you that morning.
Ah, Brunei.
You laughed bitterly. You would’ve known if he had told you.
But you understand right?
You checked the calendar and see the date marked on when he was coming back.
The 7th.
You smiled at that at least. You then kept looking at the tabloids delivered to you. You slowly frowned as you read another title.
“TOUR EXTENDED TO MAY DUE TO OVERWHELMING DEMAND: FANS GOING CRAZY FOR JACKSON”
You just put your head in your hands. Sobbing quietly as the fireworks blew off in the background.
You couldn’t count how many times that you’ve cried for the past 5 months. One of the first things Michael ever promised to you was that he would never make you cry.
But just like a bunch of other promises he made, he broke it.
.
.
.
note: Not too sure about this one guys 😅 I kinda suck at making angst 😂 But anyway, I finally got WiFi at my hospital so I’ll post again soon 👁️👁️ Much love to you all! ❤️❤️❤️
Can you write a fanfic where reader calls Michael “sexy” and he gets all shy about it 🤭
݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ Dont say that ! • Michael x reader
⤷ ゛Synopsis ˎˊ˗ Michael seems to always get shy when you call him sexy no matter how long you two have been together !
𑣲⋆ warnings : None !
It was already way past your bedtime, long past the time when the sun had gone down, and the stars and moon came up for the night, signaling to all the night creatures that it was time to come out. The high-pitched sounds of crickets chirping outside the window made it even clearer that it was way past the time you usually slept. The light from your laptop veiled over the room as Michael sat with his glasses nearly slipping off his nose, taking his own trip down memory lane.
It all started with a simple video of him during his Jackson Five era. That iconic video of him in his purple hat, which sat at an angle on top of his small afro, singing "Who's Loving You."
“Aw, Mikey, you look so cute,” you pointed at the screen, giggling at how cute he looked with his big, round, doe-like eyes and his hat that seemed almost too big for his frame, but it was fitting for the time as he swayed to the music.
Then, the making of Thriller appeared in the YouTube suggestions, that big boyish grin on his face as John Landis flipped him upside down and he yelled out. His laughter cut through the speakers of your laptop.
“I had a lot of fun with Thriller,” he spoke, pointing at the screen and laughing at one of the moments on the screen.
“I really wanted people to create better.”
“What are you saying, the videos at the time were complete trash?”
“No, no, I didn't say that,” he put his hands up defensively, earning a laugh from you as you clicked on the next video of him during Bad era at Wembley. The giant belt strapped across the waistline of his black pants, paired with the thigh belts that were loosely strapped to his thighs, became the star of the show in your eyes.
"Oh, Mikey, you look really sexy here, still do too," you cooed, placing a hand on his arm as you nudged him.
"C'mon, don't say things like that."
"What? That you're sexy?" You teased lightly, watching that familiar look, like a boy whose crush just talked to him for the first time.
"Exactly, it makes me all shy. It's embarrassin" he nudged his glasses upwards, pushing them higher on the bridge of his nose as he tried his best to keep his composure
"We've been together this long, and you can't handle me calling you sexy?"
"It's still just as embarrassin as when you did it the first time."
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