Blog info, about me, my fics, socials, page rules, request rules, and personal preference
Grammys AU series
𓃭! Chap 1:
Don’t We Look Good Together
𓃭! Chap 2:
Before we get into something
𓃭! Chap 3:
Where The Noise Fades
𓃭! Chap 4:
Starlight
𓃭! Chap 5:
if these star could speak
One shots
𓃭! Wild West
𓃭! Like Sunlight
𓃭! Party Of 2003
Headcanons
𓃭! Card tricks
.✦ ݁˖ before continuing here are some of my rules
𓃭! DNI if you’re racist, homophobic, transphobic, sexist, Zionist, or fat phobic! (No hate of any kind)
𓃭! I am currently EMPLOYED , so fics may not come out everyday. I will continue to try my best at working + reading requests!!
𓃭! My request rules:
𓃭 What I will NOT write.
No drug add!cions
No non X Reader fics
No male/ nonbinary !reader
No knife, gun, scat, drug, pedo, breeding, step sibling, degrading, or pregnancy kinks
No fic request for people other than MJ (for now)
𓃭 What I will write!
Smut, fluff, and angst
Fem!reader
Most kinks (if you’re reading them I’m writing them so please just ask)
Age gap (legal age gap)
Threesome (MMF only)
Slow burn yesss
Lots of jealousy my favorite ahhh ;)
.✦ ݁˖ About Me
My very first fic was Stanley Uris from the 2017 IT movie. Wattpad was the trenches…
My favorite color is red, and my favorite animals are tigers! (Elephants and Bunnies too but right now tigers)
I am a theater nerd; as well as a film nerd. My favorite film is Bones and All. (Watch it girl)
My pets are my heart. Marcy my chubby tabby cat,(He will be hearing me type all this out while he lays next to me) Bunny my black lab blue healer mix, and my terrier mix Charlie. Marcy is a boy. Bunny is a sweet girl. Charlie is an old man dog.
My music taste consists of MJ, Tyler the Creator, Kendrick Lamar, David Bowie, and The Chats
.✦ ݁˖ My personal preference in fics
𓃭! My personal preference would be Off the Wall and Thrad era Micheal. Usually like x Famous Reader!, but I’ll be switching it up. I also love a good jealous fluff headcanon. We will be getting many headcanons. I love slow burn stories, so I would love to write an agonizing long ass slow burn for y’all (ik I’m Scottie and I run the south I say y’all). I love yearning, and I LOVEEEE writing in a different prospective. The internal monologue when he sees you. Ohhhh gurllll I’m getting hot already. Pleaseeee id love to write requested workkk. My keyboard ready doll!!!
𓃭! Last updated - Jun 14
Thank you so much for having me. I hope you had fun because I know I did. Bye love bugs Lili outttt! <3
𓃭! Authors note: I’m going to stop proofreading and overly worrying about my grammar and start just writing naturally so if things don’t make sense, make them make sense.
𓃭! Summary: It’s your 25th birthday, and Michael Jackson makes sure it’s a night you’ll never forget. With fifteen hundred guests, famous faces, and a packed club, your party becomes the one everyone talks about.The quiet moments after all the things that happened. Michael Jackson is still there, with you.
By eleven o’clock the line outside the club stretched halfway down the block.
Black Escalades drove slowly through camera flashes while security stood behind velvet ropes trying to keep the crowd moving.
Music poured out from the entrance loud and you could feel the bass before you even stepped inside.
Girls in glittery tops and low-rise jeans walked in with their friends laughing and fixing their hair in the reflection of car windows before disappearing into the club.
Nobody in Los Angeles wanted to miss your birthday.
The entire venue had been rented out.
Both floors.
The rooftop.
Every private room and VIP section belonged to you for the night. Somehow the place still felt packed.
Everywhere you looked there were flashing lights, glitter scattered across tables, drinks being carried through the crowd, smoke drifting toward the ceiling and famous faces pretending they weren’t watching who else had shown up.
Downstairs was already alive.
The DJ booth overlooked a sea of people moving to the music while Get Low shook the room.
Someone was standing on a VIP couch despite security telling them not to.
A rapper you met at an award show months ago had the microphone in his hand hyping up the crowd while everyone around him shouted along.
Somehow in the middle of all of it you were exactly where you wanted to be.
You weren’t hiding in a VIP corner. Sitting at a table letting people come to you.
You were everywhere.
You stopped to hug people you hadn’t seen in months.
You checked on friends.
You thanked the staff.
You talked to people you had only met once and somehow made them feel like friends.
That was what everyone liked about you.
You had the kind of personality that filled a room without trying.
Someone always had an arm around you.
Someone was always pulling you into another conversation.
Someone was always handing you another drink because it was your birthday and nobody wanted you standing still for long.
“Where’s the birthday girl?" someone yelled from across the room.
“There she is!”
You turned toward the sound. Immediately got pulled into another group of people.
Up near the balcony Michael watched you move through the crowd.
He knew you were like this.
You never wanted anyone standing alone.
You never wanted anyone feeling left out.
On your own birthday you were making sure everyone else was having a good time.
He smiled to himself.
He had rented the club for you.
You had somehow turned it into the party in Los Angeles that summer.
Before midnight everyone already knew they were going to be talking about it for a time.
You barely had time to catch your breath before someone grabbed your hand.
“Come on birthday girl " your friend called over the music.
“You’re not sitting down yet.”
You looked back at her already tired from running around all night.
“I have been dancing for hours."
“. "
“. My feet hate me.”
She. Pulled you back toward the crowd anyway.
You rolled your eyes. Followed.
Because honestly you didn’t want the night to slow down either.
The night only got louder after that.
Around midnight the crowd had completely filled the floor.
The kind of packed where nobody knew who they came in with anymore because everyone was dancing with everyone.
The DJ switched songs. The room reacted instantly.
Then the opening beat of "In Da Club" came through the speakers.
The reaction was immediate.
People screamed before the first line even started.
“No way " someone shouted near you.
“They’re really doing this.”
You already knew what was coming.
You covered your face for a second shaking your head as people started gathering around you.
“Don’t start " you warned,. You were smiling.
That only made everyone louder.
The crowd started chanting your name pointing toward you pulling their friends over because they didn’t want anyone missing the moment.
Someone near the front of the dance floor looked toward the DJ booth. Yelled, "Get her up there!"
You looked around confused.
“Wait, what?”
Before you could argue, a few people were already reaching for your hands.
“Come on!"
“No, no hold on!”
You weren’t scared.
Mostly you were surprised.
The whole thing happened quickly.
One second you were standing in the middle of the crowd and the next everyone was making room guiding you through the people toward the booth.
“Careful!"
“Watch her!"
“Birthday girl coming through!”
You were laughing then mostly because you couldn’t believe everyone was actually doing this.
From across the room Michael noticed immediately.
At first his expression changed.
Not because he didn’t want you having fun.
Because for a second all he saw was a crowd of people moving quickly around you.
He watched carefully as security moved closer and made sure you had a path.
He stayed calm.
He didn’t want to make a scene or pull attention away from you. His eyes never left you.
Then you reached the booth.
Safely.
The DJ helped you step up making sure you were steady before turning toward the crowd.
That was when Michael finally relaxed.
Because now he could see your face.
You weren’t overwhelmed.
You were glowing.
Your hair had started coming from dancing all night.
Glitter caught in the lights across your skin.
Your makeup wasn’t as perfect as it was when you arrived. Somehow you looked even more like yourself.
The DJ handed you the microphone for a second.
You looked down at the crowd. Immediately started shaking your head.
“You guys are ridiculous.”
The crowd cheered.
Then the music came in.
A minutes later the energy got even bigger when 50 Cent stepped onto the stage beside you.
The crowd went crazy.
He looked over at you smiling.
“Y’all know what time it is " he said into the microphone.
You. Looked away embarrassed by how much attention you were getting.
The lights flashed across the room.
Fifteen hundred people packed together all looking toward the stage.
Then he pointed toward you.
“Go shorty!"
The crowd answered instantly.
“It’s your birthday!"
The sound filled the club.
You stood there for a second just taking it in.
Not the cameras.
Not the celebrities.
Not even the fact that everyone knew your name.
Just the feeling of being surrounded by people you cared about.
Later when you finally stepped away from the booth you could feel the night catching up with you.
Not all at once.
Little things.
Your heels started bothering you.
You leaned against your friends when you talked.
You forgot where you put your phone twice in the span of ten minutes.
“You okay?" one of your friends asked.
You nodded.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
She gave you a look.
“You always say that."
You. Took her hand.
“Because I am.”
For the most part you were.
You just weren’t moving through the night with the unstoppable energy you had when you walked in.
By two, in the morning the party had reached that point where nobody wanted to admit it was getting late.
The lights were lower.
The music felt heavier.
People who had been standing for hours were finally sitting down at tables laughing about things that had happened earlier in the night.
The club still felt alive. The energy had changed.
You noticed it too.
Earlier you had been running from one side of the room to the other.
Now you moved slower taking your time between conversations.
Your friends had started keeping an eye on you without making it obvious.
You were still smiling.
Still happy.
Still stopping when someone called your name.
You weren’t bouncing around like you had at eleven.
At one point you found yourself sitting on the edge of a VIP couch holding your shoes in your hand because you had given up pretending your feet weren’t hurting.
Your friend looked over.
“You finally admitted defeat?"
You looked down at your heels.
“These things were designed by someone who hates women.”
She laughed.
“That’s the smart thing you’ve said all night."
You gave her a look.
“Excuse me?"
“You heard me.”
You started to respond then paused.
You forgot what you were going to say.
That made you laugh a little at yourself.
“Never mind.”
Your friend shook her head smiling.
Across the room Michael noticed.
Not the fact that you were having fun.
He had been happy watching that all night.
It was the changes.
The way you were quieter between conversations.
The way you rested your hand against the table when you stood up.
The way you looked around for a second like you were trying to remember where you were going.
He knew you enough to notice things other people missed.
When you finally made your way over to him you leaned against his shoulder before you even said anything.
“There you are."
Michael looked down at you.
“I’ve been here."
“I know.”
You looked around the room.
“I just wanted to find you."
His face got softer.
“I figured."
For a moment you both just stayed quiet.
The music kept playing around you. People were dancing by. Someone at the bar was telling a story enough for a lot of people to hear.
You looked toward where people were dancing.
“Everyone had fun right?"
Michael looked at all the people.
“They did."
You smiled because you were happy.
That was the thing about you. Even after hours of people celebrating you you first thought about if everyone else had a time.
“You did a lot tonight " he said.
You looked back at him.
“I just threw a party."
“No " he said quietly. "You made everyone feel welcome."
You looked like you were about to argue. Instead you just smiled.
A minutes later someone called your name from where people were dancing.
You turned automatically.
Michael raised an eyebrow.
“You’re going back?"
You looked at the crowd.
Then back at him.
“Maybe."
He gave you a look.
You sighed.
“Okay. Maybe not."
That made him smile.
The rest of the night went by slower.
You stayed close to your friends. You talked more than you danced. You took pictures with people who were leaving. You hugged everyone goodbye even when your friends reminded you that you had already said goodbye twice.
By four in the morning the club was finally starting to empty out.
The bright lights came on showing what the night had been like.
There was glitter on the couches. Empty glasses were on tables. A few people were picking up jackets and purses that had been left behind.
The big party was finally a room again.
You were standing near the entrance with your friends when someone asked, "You ready to go?"
You opened your mouth to answer. Before you could Michael was already walking over.
He had been giving you space all night.
Now he could tell you needed someone to take over for a little while.
“You ready?" he asked gently.
You looked up at him.
“I think so."
You tried to step but stopped and reached for the edge of the couch.
Michael didn’t react dramatically.
He just stepped closer.
“Hey."
You looked at him.
“Come here."
He offered his hand.
You hesitated for a second then took it.
“I’m fine " you said quietly.
“I know."
His voice was calm.
“I know you are."
A pause.
“Let me help you."
And for once you didn’t argue.
You let him.
Outside the club everything felt really quiet.
After hours of flashing lights, music and hundreds of voices the night air felt strange. The sidewalk was still busy with people saying their goodbyes waiting for cars and laughing about everything that had happened.
You stood near the entrance with your friends trying to convince everyone you were completely fine.
“I’m okay " you insisted, though your voice wasn’t as confident as it had been earlier.
Michael didn’t argue with you.
He just looked at you for a moment.
The same person who had spent the night making sure everyone else was having a good time was now struggling to let someone take care of her.
“Come on " he said gently.
He stayed close as you walked toward the car one hand steadying you while the other carried your things. He didn’t rush you. Make you feel embarrassed. He just quietly helped you through the crowd ignoring the cameras and people calling goodbye.
A few guests smiled when they saw the two of you leaving.
After all night of being the center of attention the birthday girl was finally letting someone else handle things.
When you reached the car Michael made sure you were comfortable before getting in. He checked that you had everything with you made sure the door was closed properly and gave the driver the address.
The second you were sitting down the energy you had been holding onto all night finally started to fade.
You leaned back against the seat eyes half closed, still smiling a little to yourself.
“That was a party " you said quietly.
Michael looked over at you.
“It was."
“You’re not just saying that?"
“No."
A small smile crossed his face.
“You were happy."
That seemed to be all the answer you needed.
During the ride home Michael stayed close making sure you were comfortable. When you got quiet he checked on you. When you started drifting off he gently reminded you to drink some water and rest.
The person everyone had watched all night dancing, talking and taking over the room was suddenly calm and exhausted.
When you arrived home the quiet felt really different from the club.
No music.
No cameras.
No crowd.
Just the two of you.
Michael helped you inside slowly making sure you didn’t rush or try to do everything yourself like you usually did. He knew you hated needing help. Tonight wasn’t about proving anything.
Tonight was about letting yourself be cared for.
Once you were settled he brought you water, helped you get comfortable and made sure you had everything you needed before leaving you to rest.
“You had a night?" he asked.
You nodded, still smiling.
“The best."
Michael smiled softly.
“Good."
After everything that happened that night, after the lights and music and thousands of people celebrating you, the quiet ending was the part that mattered most.
The party would be talked about for years.
This was the part only the two of you would remember.
This was the part only the two of you would remember.
The next morning, the headlines would talk about the impossible guest list, the celebrities who showed up, the music, and the party that somehow became the story everyone wanted to hear.
But none of that mattered in this moment.
The room was quiet.
Your dress was hanging over a chair. Your shoes were abandoned near the door. A few pieces of glitter still clung to your hair and your skin, little reminders of the night that had just happened.
Michael looked at you and smiled.
“You know you still have glitter everywhere, right?”
You looked at him, confused for a second before looking down at yourself.
“I do?”
He nodded.
“Everywhere.”
You smiled tiredly.
“Good. That means it was worth it.”
He laughed softly.
That was what he loved about you.
You could walk into a room full of the most famous people in the world and somehow still be the person everyone wanted to talk to. You never acted like you were above anyone. You remembered names. You asked people how they were doing. You made a room feel warmer just by being in it.
But Michael also knew something most people didn’t.
You were always trying to do everything yourself.
You planned. You organized. You made sure everyone else was okay before you ever thought about yourself.
Tonight was one of the few times you actually let someone else step in.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you don’t always have to do everything.”
You looked over at him.
“What do you mean?”
“You spend so much time taking care of everybody else.”
You smiled a little.
“Someone has to.”
Michael shook his head.
“Sometimes someone can take care of you too.”
For once, you didn’t have a quick response.
You just looked at him.
Because maybe that was the thing you loved most about him. He never tried to change who you were. He loved that you were independent and determined and full of life.
He just wanted you to remember that you didn’t have to carry everything alone.
You reached for his hand.
“Thank you for tonight.”
Michael squeezed your hand gently.
“I wanted you to have a night you’d never forget.”
You smiled.
“I think I will.”
A quiet laugh escaped both of you.
Outside, Los Angeles was finally starting to wake up. The same city that had been buzzing around you hours before was becoming calm again.
The party was over.
The music was gone.
The lights were off.
But somehow, sitting there together in the quiet, it felt like the best part of the night was only beginning.
And for once, you weren’t thinking about tomorrow.
You weren’t thinking about work, auditions, or the next thing you had to accomplish.
You were just there.
With him.
And that was enough.
Author- yall I had fun writing this if your reading please drop recommendations on what you wanna see it’s open and ready i need some more ideas
Summary- A quiet night at Hayvenhurst leads to a conversation about love, devotion, and the kind of relationship that feels like it could last forever. Michael listens a little too closely. (1.6k words)
this req answered
Author’s note- Today is the day of his passing, so I will be posting a lot. I wanted it to feel like one of those moments where nothing big happens on the outside but everything changes internally.
The first time Michael noticed you, you were fourteen years old, sitting cross legged on the carpet of the Jackson family living room with a bowl of popcorn balanced carefully in your lap. The house was loud in the way it always was when everyone gathered at once. Voices overlapped, someone laughed too loudly, a chair scraped across the floor, and yet you stayed focused on the old black and white movie playing on the television like nothing else in the room existed.
That was what made him look at you first.
Not because you were trying to stand out. Not because you were trying to be seen. But because you weren’t.
A soft laugh slipped out of you at something on the screen, small and genuine, like it belonged only to you and the moment that caused it. Michael’s voice faded mid sentence while he was talking to his brothers. He didn’t even realize he had stopped speaking until he noticed he was no longer listening to himself.
He was listening to you instead.
After that, he started noticing things he didn’t expect to notice.
Not in a way that felt strange or overwhelming. It felt more like paying attention without meaning to, like his mind had quietly decided you were worth keeping track of.
The way you always went for the marshmallows in Lucky Charms before anything else.
The way your fingers moved absentmindedly against the cold glass of your drink when you were thinking, tracing little shapes only you could see.
The way you seemed drawn to older things, old music, old films, old stories that most people your age dismissed without a second thought. Stories about love that felt too big or too patient or too devoted to be real.
But you never called them unrealistic.
You looked at them like they were something to hope for.
Michael remembered all of it without trying to.
Years passed the way they always do, quietly and without asking permission. Now you were older, and the world outside the Jackson home had changed, but somehow this moment felt familiar in a way neither of you talked about.
Rain pressed softly against the windows of Hayvenhurst, steady and calming, turning the outside world into a blurred painting of gray and silver. You were curled into the corner of the couch with your feet tucked underneath you, flipping through television channels with slow, lazy movements like you weren’t in any rush to find anything in particular.
Michael sat nearby, not too close, not too far, his attention drifting more than it settled. His hands were occupied with the rings he always wore, turning them gently without really thinking about it.
Then the screen caught your attention.
An old movie appeared, black and white, slightly grainy, and your expression changed immediately. It was subtle, but Michael noticed anyway.
“I love this movie,” you said, like it was something you had been waiting to find.
Michael’s eyes lifted at your voice, and for a moment the rest of the room disappeared. He had not been paying attention to the television at all. He rarely did when you were around. It was always easier to pay attention to you instead.
“You do?” he asked quietly.
There was something about the way he asked questions when you spoke about things you cared for. It never felt like interrogation. It felt like interest that had nowhere else to go.
You nodded faintly, still watching the screen. “Yeah. I think it’s far out.”
He let that sit for a second, not because he didn’t understand you, but because he liked the way you said things. The way your thoughts sounded when they left your mouth.
“What is it called again?” he asked, even though he had the feeling you had told him before.
You glanced at him with a small, knowing look. “You forgot?”
A soft, slightly embarrassed smile appeared on his face.
“Maybe.”
You laughed under your breath, not unkindly, and turned back toward the television.
“It’s The Addams Family.”
On screen, Gomez Addams lifted Morticia’s hand and kissed it like it was the most natural thing in the world to treat someone with that kind of devotion.
Michael noticed the way you watched that moment like it meant something more than just a scene.
“Why do you like it so much?” he asked.
You paused, your chin resting lightly on your knee as you thought about it. The question didn’t feel strange to you. It never did when it came from him. Michael had always been curious in a way that made you feel like your answers mattered.
Still, tonight something about his attention felt different. Not louder. Just closer.
“The characters feel real to me,” you said after a moment.
He tilted his head slightly, listening without interruption.
You gestured faintly toward the screen. “Take Gomez. What other man talks about his wife like that? He acts like he adores her every second of the day.” A soft, almost dreamy smile touched your lips. “And Morticia is the same way with him. They don’t act like they’re tired of each other or bored or anything like that. They just choose each other. Over and over again.”
Michael stayed quiet, but he didn’t look away.
“I think that’s what love is supposed to be,” you continued more softly. “Not something you hide or tone down or get embarrassed about. Just… devoted.”
The word settled in the room like it belonged there.
Outside, the rain kept falling in a steady rhythm against the glass.
On the television, Gomez once again reached for Morticia’s hand like he had done it a thousand times and would do it a thousand more.
You watched it with a faint smile, almost lost in your own thoughts.
“I want something like that someday,” you said, simple and honest, like you were stating a fact about the weather.
Something in Michael shifted at that. Not visibly. Not in a way anyone else would notice. But inside, it felt like something warm and quiet tightening in his chest.
Because he understood you in a way you did not fully see yet.
He understood how deeply you meant things when you spoke like that. He understood how you didn’t say things for attention. You said them because they were real to you.
And because of that, every word mattered.
He looked down for a moment, focusing on the rings on his fingers so he wouldn’t stare too openly. His thumb moved slowly against one of them, a small grounding habit he had when his thoughts became too full.
Devoted.
The word stayed with him.
The room felt warmer than it had a moment ago, or maybe it was just that he was noticing it differently now. The storm outside made the windows flicker occasionally with pale light, and each flash seemed to briefly highlight the way you sat there completely unaware of the effect you had on him.
“You think it’s silly, don’t you?” you asked suddenly.
His head lifted immediately.
“What?”
“The whole Gomez and Morticia thing,” you said, adjusting slightly against the cushion. “People always think it’s dramatic or unrealistic.”
Michael’s expression shifted right away, almost protective in a quiet way.
“I don’t think it’s silly,” he said.
You turned to look at him fully now.
He didn’t rush his words. He rarely did when it mattered.
“I think people just get embarrassed about loving someone like that,” he continued. “About caring that much.”
That made you quiet for a moment.
The television continued playing, but neither of you were really watching it anymore.
Michael leaned back slightly against the couch, but his attention stayed completely on you. “If you really love somebody,” he said carefully, choosing each word as if it had weight, “you should show it. All the time. Not just sometimes.”
Your chest tightened slightly at the simplicity of it.
“Even after a long time?” you asked.
He nodded once.
“Especially then.”
There was no hesitation in his voice. No doubt.
His eyes flicked briefly toward the screen before returning to you again.
“Gomez still looks at Morticia like he can’t believe she’s real,” he said softly.
A small smile formed on your face. “Exactly.”
“And she looks at him the same way.”
That made you smile wider, something warm and easy settling into your expression.
Only then did you notice it more clearly. The way Michael listened when you spoke. The way he remembered things you had said long before. The way he looked at you like your thoughts were something worth holding onto.
Your voice softened a little.
“You’ve thought about this before,” you said.
A quiet, shy laugh left him.
“Maybe a little.”
Outside, the rain continued, steady and patient, as the movie carried on without either of you really paying attention anymore.
You shifted slightly, hugging your knees closer. “You know what I think?”
Michael looked at you.
“What?”
You hesitated just long enough for it to feel thoughtful rather than uncertain.
“I think you’d love someone like that too,” you said gently.
The words landed quietly between you.
Michael’s breath caught, subtle but real.
Because you had no idea.
No idea how carefully he remembered you.
No idea how often he noticed the smallest things about you that nobody else seemed to see.
No idea how easily his mood changed just from hearing your voice.
No idea that everything you were describing, every soft idea about devotion and love, already lived in the way he felt about you in a way he never said out loud.
He looked down again, almost reflexively, as if that could hide anything.
And then, barely more than a breath, almost lost beneath the sound of the rain outside, he said it.
𓃭! Hey Love bugs, I have been considering making a tag list! So, if you would like to be included please comment to let me know!!! I can’t wait to show you what stories I have waiting for you!!
𓃭! Also, if you have any dividers or art with deep red, tigers, or roses imagery send them my way! My dm are always open, and i try my best to reply! I will tag you in every post I use your art in. Thank you!
After a long day on set where her costar’s constant digs finally push her over the edge, an exhausted actress breaks down in her dressing room. When her husband arrives and realizes what’s been happening, his quiet comfort turns into something steadier—reminding her that she is not difficult, not dramatic, and not alone. Just loved.
this req answered
One shot- HurtComfort- Fluff
𓃭! authors note-
A comfort fic for anyone who’s had a rough day at work and needed someone to remind them they’re not “too much” for caring.
The studio lot was still loud long after filming was over.
Crew members were rolling cables across the pavement. It was slick from the artificial rain machines.
Somebody in the distance was yelling for wardrobe.
A golf cart zipped past, carrying exhausted production assistants who were clutching coffees like they were lifelines.
You were standing under fluorescent lighting outside Stage 12, trying very hard not to cry.
Again.
Your costar muttered behind you with a laugh, “Seriously? You’re upset over one note?”
You kept your expression still and professional because that was the rule on set.
Always professional, even when somebody was humiliating you.
You replied evenly, clutching your script tighter against your chest, “I said I understood the adjustment.”
Your costar shrugged dramatically. “Could’ve fooled me. You looked like you were gonna burst into tears in front of everyone.”
A few nearby crew members went awkwardly silent. Your face burned instantly.
You hated that the director had changed the blocking during a scene at the last second, and you had asked a single clarifying question because the camera angle altered the continuity of the scene.
One question. Somehow your costar had turned it into this.
Again.
It had been weeks of comments, little digs: “You are too sensitive,” “You overthink everything,” “No wonder makeup takes forever on you, you are high maintenance,” “Relax, sweetheart.”
Always said in a way that made calling it out look dramatic, but never harmless.
Tonight you were exhausted enough that it finally started getting to you.
You inhaled slowly. “I am going home,” you said quietly.
Your costar scoffed behind you. “For the best.”
You did not answer. If you opened your mouth now, you were genuinely afraid you might cry in front of half the crew.
So you walked—past lighting rigs, trailers, and assistants pretending not to stare.
You kept your head down until you finally made it inside your dressing room and shut the door behind you.
Then silence. Real silence. Your shoulders sagged immediately.
The room smelled faintly like hairspray and coffee and the roses Michael had sent you that week because “long filming days require flowers.”
You stared at them for a moment before sitting in the chair in front of the vanity mirror.
Your reflection looked exhausted: dark circles beneath your eyes, lipstick half faded, tension written all over your face.
And suddenly the humiliation hit all at once—the comments, the laughter, the way nobody had said anything. Your eyes burned.
“Nope,” you whispered to yourself quickly. “Don’t do that.”
You grabbed your makeup wipes, scrubbing at your eyeliner before tears could ruin it first.
But halfway through removing your makeup, your vision blurred anyway.
“Dammit.”
A knock sounded softly against the dressing room door.
“Yeah,” you said.
The door cracked open carefully. “Your husband is here,” the production assistant smiled knowingly. “He’s carrying food.”
Of course he was.
You laughed weakly, wiping quickly beneath your eyes. “Send him in.”
The second the door opened fully, Michael stepped inside carrying two takeout bags and wearing a button-up beneath a long coat.
His curls fell loosely around his face tonight, sunglasses tucked into the front of his shirt despite it being nearly midnight.
The moment he saw you, he stopped moving. His smile faded immediately.
“Oh no.”
That was all he said—just, “Oh no.”
The concern in his voice nearly shattered the last of your composure.
Michael shut the door behind him carefully, setting the food down without taking his eyes off you. “Baby,” he said softly.
You looked away quickly. “I am okay.”
His brows furrowed instantly. That sentence never worked on him. Not once.
He crossed the room slowly until he stood directly in front of you, resting his hands lightly on either side of the vanity chair. “What happened?” he asked gently.
You shook your head. “It is stupid.”
Michael’s expression softened immediately. “If you are crying in a dressing room at midnight, it is not stupid,” he said gently.
Your throat tightened.
God, you hated how easy it was to cry when someone was kind to you after a day like this.
Michael crouched slightly so he could look at you properly, his voice lower. “Talk to me.”
You tried to laugh it off. “It is actor drama.”
“Mm.” His eyes stayed fixed on yours. “And what kind of actor drama makes my wife look this sad?”
The word wife still affected you every time.
You sighed shakily. “There is this guy on set.”
Michael’s face changed instantly—subtle, but immediate. Not angry yet. Protective.
“What guy?”
“My costar.”
His jaw tightened slightly. You noticed because you always noticed things about Michael that nobody else did—tiny shifts, tiny reactions.
You rubbed at your tired eyes. “He has just been making comments for weeks, and today I think I finally hit my limit.”
Michael stayed very still. “What kind of comments?”
“Just making me feel stupid all the time,” you admitted, your voice cracking slightly. “Like every single thing I say is wrong or annoying.”
His eyes darkened quietly.
“He embarrassed me in front of everybody tonight because I asked a question during rehearsal.”
You laughed bitterly. “One question.”
Michael stared at you for a moment. “What is his name?”
You immediately let out a tearful laugh. “Michael—”
“What is his name?”
“You are not fighting my costar.”
“I just want to talk.”
“That is even scarier.”
His expression remained serious.
You reached for his hand instinctively, thumb brushing over his wedding ring. “I am okay,” you whispered.
Michael looked down at your intertwined hands before lifting your knuckles to his lips. “No,” he said softly. “You are hurt.”
And somehow that nearly made you cry harder.
Because that was the thing about Michael—he never minimized pain. Not yours, not anybody’s.
The world constantly expected people—especially women in the industry—to tolerate cruelty if it was disguised as humor.
Michael never accepted that.
Not once.
He stood again, reaching behind you to gently remove the makeup wipe from your hand before you could rub your skin raw. “C’mere,” he murmured.
The second he opened his arms, you stood and folded into him instantly.
Michael wrapped himself around you immediately—strong, warm, protective.
One hand cradled the back of your head while the other rubbed slow, soothing circles along your spine.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
You buried your face against his chest. His shirt smelled faintly like cologne and clean fabric—like Michael. Safe.
“He keeps acting like I am dramatic,” you admitted quietly. “And now I feel stupid for being upset.”
Michael pulled back just enough to look at you. His expression turned heartbreakingly serious.
“Listen to me,” he said.
You blinked up at him.
“People who hurt others always want to call them dramatic afterward,” he said gently. “It is how they avoid feeling guilty.”
Your chest tightened painfully.
“I just do not understand why he does not like me.”
Michael frowned softly. “Baby… sometimes people decide they do not like somebody kind because kindness makes them aware of what they lack.”
You stared at him quietly.
“How do you always know what to say?”
“I have dealt with people my whole life.”
There was a softness in his voice when he said it—the kind that came from experience.
He guided you carefully toward the couch in the corner of your dressing room.
“I brought food,” he said softly, clearly shifting into comfort mode. “And dessert.”
You sniffled. “Dessert?”
“Yes,” he nodded solemnly. “This situation required chocolate cake.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
“There she is,” he murmured immediately, visibly relieved.
You sat beside him while he unpacked takeout containers across the small coffee table.
“You know,” he said casually, “I could have you removed from this production.”
Your jaw dropped. “Michael!”
“What?”
“You cannot.”
He opened sauce packets innocently. “I know people.”
“You are insane.”
“He made my wife cry.” Michael glanced up. “I am exploring options.”
You laughed harder, wiping beneath your eyes.
And God, the relief on his face seeing you smile again—like he had been holding his breath since walking in.
“There,” he said softly. “Better.”
You leaned against his shoulder while he handed you food.
Outside the dressing room, the studio was still chaotic.
Inside, it felt peaceful.
Michael always did that somehow—created quiet around himself.
Even when he was busy, there was something about being alone with him that was calming.
You rested your head against him tiredly. “I feel embarrassed.”
Michael immediately shook his head. “No.”
“I do.”
“You should not.”
You sighed. “I almost cried in front of the crew.”
“So?” he said gently.
You looked up.
“So,” Michael repeated, “you are human.”
The sincerity in his voice hurt, because he meant it.
You know how many times I got overwhelmed working?” he asked softly.
You blinked. “Really?”
“Baby,” he let out a quiet laugh. “More than I can count.”
You stared at him.
“I care too much sometimes,” he admitted with a small shrug.
That made you laugh for real.
He smiled softly. “That sound… more of that.”
You shook your head, smiling weakly now.
“I just wanted them to respect me.”
His expression softened deeply.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.
You looked down at your hands.
“I work hard.”
“I know you do,” he uttered gently.
“And I hate feeling like people are waiting for me to mess up.”
He went quiet for a moment.
Then he reached for your hand again.
“You want to know something?” he asked.
“What?” you let out.
“The strongest performers I have ever worked with are almost always the ones who are hardest on themselves,” he said quietly.
You looked up at him.
“Because they care.”
Something emotional crossed his face.
“The people who do not care never question whether they are good enough,” he murmured.
The room went quiet.
He held you steadily in his gaze.
“You care deeply about your work. That is not weakness,” he added softly.
Your eyes burned again.
He noticed right away.
“Oh no…” he let out a soft sigh. “No more crying. We are trying to heal.”
You laughed a little wetly.
He shifted closer on the couch until your legs tangled together naturally.
“You know what I saw when I walked in here tonight?” he asked.
“What?” you murmured.
“My favorite actress,” he said.
You groaned instantly. “You are biased.”
“I am correct,” he said simply.
“Michael—”
“No, really,” he continued softly. “You have this thing when you perform.”
You blinked.
“This honesty,” he said carefully. “You make people feel like they are watching a person instead of somebody acting.”
Heat rose into your cheeks.
“You are just saying that,” you whispered.
“I am not,” he replied.
His voice dropped softer.
“And maybe your costar notices it too,” he added.
You frowned slightly.
“What does that mean?” you asked.
He leaned back against the couch thoughtfully.
“There are people in this industry who become threatened when somebody else shines naturally,” he murmured. “Especially if they spent their lives forcing it.”
The realization hit slowly.
“You think he is insecure?” you let out quietly.
He gave you a look.
“People do not spend weeks trying to make someone feel small,” he said simply.
You sat quietly with that.
Because maybe he was right.
Maybe Ryan’s comments had always said more about him than about you.
His fingers brushed gently through your hair.
“I wish you saw yourself the way other people do,” he uttered softly.
Your chest tightened again.
“How do people see me?”
His eyes softened instantly.
“Like sunlight,” he murmured.
You stared at him.
He smiled shyly afterward, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Somehow that made it even worse.
Your eyes filled immediately.
“Oh come on…” he let out a soft, affectionate groan. “That one was supposed to help.”
You laughed through tears.
He pulled you sideways into his lap before you could protest.
“You’re emotional and vulnerable,” he said gently. “So now you have to stay.”
You curled instinctively against him.
He rested his chin against the top of your head while his hands rubbed slowly up and down your back.
“You know what really makes me angry…” he murmured after a while.
“What?” you let out.
“That somebody made you doubt yourself,” he uttered, voice heavy now.
Not anger for himself.
For you.
You looked up slightly.
“I hate that.”
He shook his head softly.
“Because you are so hard on yourself already,” he murmured, fingers tightening gently against your back. “Anyone who loves you should want to make that voice quieter, not louder.”
That one nearly broke you completely.
You buried your face against his neck immediately.
“Oh, baby…” he murmured softly. “Come here.”
The room blurred warm around the edges while he held you.
No cameras.
No crew.
No expectations.
Just him.
Your husband.
The man who still looked at you like you were something after every exhausting day.
Eventually your breathing steadied.
His head tilted slightly.
“Can I ask you something?” he let out quietly.
“Mhm.”
“Did anybody stand up for you?” he asked.
You hesitated.
“One makeup artist checked on me afterward,” you said.
His brows furrowed.
“But nobody said anything during it?”
You shook your head once.
He sighed quietly.
“That is the part I never understand,” he uttered.
There was sadness in his voice now too.
“People staying silent while somebody gets hurt,” he murmured.
He stared ahead for a moment, thoughtful.
“I think sometimes people are afraid that if they defend someone,” he said softly, “they will become the target.”
The understanding in his voice ached.
Because he knew.
God, he knew.
You touched his hand gently.
He glanced down before giving you a small smile.
Then his expression shifted—mischievous, lighter.
“You know what—” he started.
“What?” you asked.
“If I was on that set and I heard somebody talk to my wife like that…”
“Oh no…” you let out through a small smile.
“Security would have to remove me,” he uttered dramatically.
You started laughing.
He sat up a little.
“You are so dramatic,” you said.
“I am serious,” he replied.
“You are literally the least threatening person alive,” you let out.
His eyes widened. “Wow.”
“You apologize to spiders before putting them outside,” you added, shaking your head.
“They live there too,” he muttered.
You laughed harder.
“See? You’re laughing again,” he pointed out.
“That is because you are ridiculous.”
“Mhm… you love me,” he uttered softly.
“Unfortunately true,” you wiped your eyes for the last time that night.
You looked at him quietly for a moment afterward.
The soft curls around his face.
The warmth in his eyes.
The concern still lingering there.
“You really came all the way here just because I had a day?” you asked.
He looked confused.
“Of course.”
Like that explained everything.
Maybe with him, it did.
You smiled shakily.
“I love you.”
His entire expression melted instantly.
Every time.
Every single time.
He reacted to those words like hearing them was still unbelievable.
He leaned forward, forehead resting gently against yours.
“I love you more,” he uttered softly.
“That is impossible.”
“Nope,” he murmured with a small smile. “I checked.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately.
Outside, someone knocked announcing final wrap for the night.
His arms tightened around you immediately.
“No,” he let out.
“Michael—” you started.
“She can stay here,” he added quickly.
“I have to go eventually,” you murmured.
A pause.
“Fine,” he agreed softly. “Only because I am staying.”
You shook your head, smiling.
For the first time all day, the ache in your chest finally started easing.
Not because the situation disappeared.
Not because cruel people stopped existing.
But because he had this extraordinary way of reminding you that one person’s ugliness did not define your worth.
A gentle kiss pressed to your temple.
“You know they are lucky to work with you, right?” he uttered softly.
And somehow, you almost believed it too.
I hope you enjoyed!! Send more reqs!! I loved writing this one!!
This one goes out to all the women and girls that are put down at work, university, or at home. Don’t let anyone anywhere put out your light! You are loved, and no one deserves to be treated like they’re less than! Especially not women for being women!!!!
I was thinking about a fluffy idea where the reader is friends with Micheal by proxy because their family knew his family, and while they didn't realise it, Michael liked them and had been silently cataloging their interests etc. They have a conversation about love and the reader opens up and says that their ideal couple is morticia and gomez (the og versions) and they dreamily describe wanting a devoted relationship like theirs
𓃭! This is good like gosh it’s gonna be so fluffy/ angsty but which one of my fics isn’t This would definitely be off the wall era maybe while he’s still working on it and I love writing different povs and I feel like I haven’t fully tapped into that yet so this might be a Michael’s pov one shot if yall would like that???
Hiii, can you write Michael (whatever era you like most) x recently engaged or married reader where something happens with a coworker that makes her really upset and she tells Michael? Michael gets all sweet and protective. Been a rough week at work for me and I’d love this!
𓃭! This is such a cute ideaaa!! I would love to do this as a mature era Michael because i feel like ive been writing with thriller and off the wall in mind Are you ready for a mature era one shot???
Sorry for the long awaited next part the writers curse is definitely real 💔
if you like one shots without perfect grammar lmk because those i can make A LOT quicker
this is my regular fluff and angst nothing major this part honestly I don’t know where to go with this story because I have so many ideas
Enjoy!
The rooftop fell quiet again after your whisper.
I do not think it has to be that way.
Michael stared at you like he had not expected those words. He looked like some part of him had already prepared himself for disappointment before you had even had the chance to answer him.
The wind shifted softly through the trees surrounding the estate. It carried music from the party below. Downstairs glasses clinked together and laughter erupted again but it sounded far away now. It was muffled. It was unimportant.
Here everything felt suspended.
Michael lowered his eyes for a moment. He looked almost overwhelmed by the tenderness in your eyes. He smiled faintly to himself. He looked nervous in a way that did not suit the image the world had built around him. The Michael everybody else knew would have looked confident. He would have looked smooth. He would have looked untouchable.
This Michael. The one sitting beside you with flushed cheeks and trembling hands. Looked almost afraid to hope too much.
He asked quietly "You really mean that?"
His voice carried something underneath it.
You nodded slowly.
You said, "I do."
The answer settled over him slowly. It was visible. You watched the tension leave his shoulders little by little. It was like he had spent the evening bracing himself for the moment things would suddenly become awkward between you.
Instead you stayed.
Michael looked down at his hands resting beside him on the rooftop tiles. His long fingers twisted together nervously.
He admitted softly "I am usually better at talking than this."
You smiled.
You said, "I do not think that is true."
That earned a laugh from him.
He asked, "No?"
You said gently "No. I think you are just trying hard not to say the wrong thing."
His expression shifted instantly. He was caught off guard by how you had read him.
He asked, "That obvious?"
You said, "A little."
He groaned quietly under his breath. He dropped his head into his hands for a second.
He said, "You are going to make me self conscious "
You said, "You already are self conscious."
Michael peeked at you through his fingers. He was smiling despite himself.
He said, "That is not fair."
You said, "It is true."
The moonlight softened him in a way cameras never could. Without stage lights and screaming crowds surrounding him he looked younger somehow. He looked quieter. His curls fell messily across his forehead from the wind. Every and then he would glance at you before immediately looking away again. It was like eye contact still made his heart race.
Which judging by the visible pulse fluttering in his throat it probably did.
He admitted after a while "I still cannot believe you were watching me all night."
You blinked.
You said, "You noticed that?"
Michael laughed softly.
He said, "You were not exactly subtle."
Heat rushed immediately to your face.
You said, "Oh, God."
He said quickly, smiling wider now "I liked it."
You looked away in embarrassment.. His voice softened almost immediately afterward.
He said, "It made me nervous though."
You asked, "Nervous?"
He nodded.
He said, "You are different than people I usually meet at these things."
You asked, "How?"
Michael leaned back slightly on his hands. His eyes drifted toward the stars above you both.
He said, "Most people talk to me like I am Michael Jackson first." His voice quieted. "You talked to me like I was Michael."
The sincerity in his tone made your chest ache unexpectedly.
Below the rooftop another burst of laughter echoed through the estate. You could picture the rooms downstairs vividly now. Famous faces, champagne glasses, loud conversations, cameras waiting outside the gates.
Yet Michael had left all of it behind to sit up here with you.
Alone.
He said softly after a pause "I almost had to pinch myself."
Your eyebrows lifted slightly.
You asked, "Why?"
His fingers tapped anxiously against the rooftop beside him.
He said, "I thought maybe tonight was all a dream." He laughed once under his breath embarrassed by the confession. "The looks, the flirting. All of it."
You asked, "You thought you imagined it?"
He said, "A little."
The idea was absurd considering how obvious the chemistry between you had been all evening.. The uncertainty in his expression made it impossible to laugh.
Instead it made your heart hurt for him.
Because suddenly you could see it clearly. The pressure of wondering whether people liked him or simply the idea of him.
You whispered, "You did not imagine it."
Michael looked at you carefully then like he was trying to decide whether he deserved to believe you.
He asked, "You really wanted me to come find you?"
You said, "Yes."
The answer came easily.
Immediately.
For a moment Michael simply stared.
Not with confidence.
Not with ego.
With disbelief.
His eyes dropped toward his lap again, almost shy beneath the weight of your honesty.
He admitted quietly, "That is crazy to me."
You asked, "What is?"
He said, "That somebody like you. " He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. "Never mind."
You said gently "No tell me."
Michael hesitated for seconds.
Then finally he said, "You are so comfortable in yourself." His voice was above the wind now. "Everybody notices you the second you walk into a room. You know how to make people laugh. You know what to say."
He swallowed nervously before continuing.
". Then there is me."
You frowned softly.
You asked, "What is wrong with you?"
Michael let out a laugh.
He said, "Where do I start?"
You said, "Michael."
He said, "No I mean it." He smiled faintly. Sadness lingered underneath it. "I spend half my life worrying about saying the thing.. Standing wrong.. Disappointing people somehow."
Your expression softened immediately.
The vulnerability in his voice did not sound rehearsed. It sounded old. Familiar. Like a fear he carried constantly.
You said quietly "You do not disappoint me."
That seemed to affect him more than you expected.
Michael looked away afterward, jaw tightening slightly like he suddenly felt emotional about something he did not fully know how to explain.
The silence stretched gently between you.
Not uncomfortable.
Just honest.
Finally after a moment Michael spoke again.
He began carefully "When I was on stage tonight. Every time I walked over to accept an award I kept trying to think of something to say to you."
A smile pulled at your lips.
You said, "The compliments?"
He groaned softly.
He said, "They were stupid."
You said, "They were sweet."
He said, "They were embarrassing."
You said, "They made me blush."
That made him pause.
Slowly his eyes lifted back toward yours.
He asked, "They did?"
You nodded once.
A shy smile spread across his face instantly. Small and boyish. So genuinely pleased it nearly made your heart stop.
For all his fame, all the screaming crowds and sold-out stadiums and cameras flashing endlessly in his direction, that smile looked like it belonged to someone younger. Someone who still got startled by affection.
Michael laughed quietly to himself before shaking his head.
He said, "I practiced some of those "
Your eyes widened.
You asked, "You practiced flirting with me?"
He said, "Maybe."
You said, "Oh my God."
He admitted, hiding his face briefly again "I did not know what to do. I thought if I walked there without a plan I would embarrass myself."
You asked, "You were nervous that night?"
He said, "Terrified."
You laughed softly, unable to help it.
Michael pointed accusingly at you.
He said, "See? You keep laughing at me."
You said, "I am not laughing at you."
He said, "Yes you are."
You said, "I think it is cute."
The second the words left your mouth Michael froze.
Completely.
His expression turned alarmingly shy.
He asked, "You think I am cute?"
Now it was your turn to feel flustered.
You said, "You know what I mean."
He said quietly smiling despite the redness creeping into his cheeks "I want to hear you say it again."
The wind brushed softly between you both as you looked at each other beneath the stars.
For the first time that night Michael did not look like a superstar at all.
Just a lonely hearted boy hoping someone might truly see him. And stay anyway.
Guys I really think this part is cute anyway Lili outtt yuhh
Michael was looking for the idea for his next music video. Ideas were. Going, like lights flashing on a screen. He thought about a spaceship floating through silver galaxies. He thought about an old town in the Wild West, where people smoked cigarettes and the heat was unbearable. He thought about the glamour of the 1950s with its pastel colors.. Nothing felt right yet. Nothing had the magic he wanted.
His team was searching everywhere for inspiration. They looked through books covered in dust. They looked through museum archives. They looked through magazines with yellowed pages.
That is where they found you.
You were on the cover of a magazine sitting with one boot resting on your knee and a cigarette hanging from your lips. You had a rifle in one hand. The other hand was holding onto a wooden chair. The desert was behind you with the wind in your hair and the sun on your skin.
You looked amazing.
You did not look like the women they have in Hollywood, all polished and perfect. You looked wild in a way like you belonged on old roads and in old motels and in country songs.
Michael could not stop staring at the cover.
"There " he said softly tapping the page with his fingers. "That is the one."
You did not know that his team had started buying all the magazines you were in until your manager called you one evening.
"Hey " he said.
"Yes " you replied.
There was a pause like he was waiting for the moment to say what he wanted to say.
"You are going to be in a Michael Jackson music video " he said.
The room was silent.
Your heart was beating fast. Your mouth was open. Outside the cicadas were. The headlights of cars were shining down the road. Everything felt unreal like a dream.
Somewhere in Los Angeles Michael Jackson was wondering if you looked even prettier in person than you did in the magazine.
You traveled to the shooting site in Arizona, where the desert heat was waiting for you. The air smelled like dust and gasoline and hot pavement. The mountains were away and the landscape felt like a movie.
The production set was built away from the nearest town. There were trailers and big lights and a fake Western town. The crew was running around carrying cameras and clothes and makeup. Country music was. Someone was shouting directions.
You were nervous.
Your stomach was tight. Your hands were shaking. You were going to meet Michael Jackson.
You kept smoothing your hands over your jeans trying to calm down.. Nothing could stop your heart from beating fast. You were going to meet Michael Jackson and talk to him and stand in front of him.
The thought alone felt unreal.
When the car stopped your manager got out first.
"You will do fine " he said. "Just breathe."
You got out of the car. Looked around. The sun was high. The set was busy. You saw the fake saloon and the horses and the crew running around.. Then you saw him.
Michael was standing outside a trailer talking to the director. He had a presence, like a magnet, that drew people to him. He was wearing a cowboy hat and a black shirt and his eyes were hidden in the shade.
You forgot how to walk.
Your manager said something. You did not hear him. Michael looked up. His eyes met yours.
Everything changed.
There was a pause like time had stopped.. Then Michaels face softened, like he had found something he was looking for.
You felt it too.
Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart skipped a beat. It was like your soul recognized his before your mind could catch up.
Michael excused himself. Started walking towards you.
Every step felt slow like time was moving slowly. Your pulse was. Your body was tense.
When he stopped in front of you you felt like you were going to collapse.
He was more beautiful up close with his soft eyes and his sharp cheekbones. He smelled like cologne and cigarette smoke.
For a moment you just looked at each other.
Then Michael. Your heart melted.
"There you are " he said softly.
You swallowed hard. Tried to speak.
"Hi " you said.
Michael laughed, like he was nervous too.
"I have been waiting to meet you " he said.
His voice was gentle, like velvet.
You tried to respond. Your brain was not working.
"I am really excited to be " you managed to say.
Michaels eyes stayed on yours for a moment long.
"So am I " he said.
The way he said it made your stomach flip.
The crew was still moving around you. Everything else felt far away. The noise of the set faded into the background. It was just the two of you standing there in the Arizona sun.
Neither of you could look away.
The days of shooting blurred together under the Arizona sun.
Dust was everywhere on your boots and your clothes and your skin. The set started to feel real like a town pulled from another decade.
Michael Jackson demanded perfection.
Every movement had to mean something every glance had to be intentional. He noticed details that no one else saw, like the tilt of a cowboy hat or the timing of a hand brushing against someones waist.
You learned how much he cared about his work.
The music video was, about a woman and a mysterious outlaw, who danced together under dim lights. It was a Western tale, of jealousy and tension and danger.
On camera you played your role perfectly.
Behind the scenes something was unfolding between you and Michael.
At first it was things.
The way he found you between takes, the way his attention drifted towards you during rehearsals. Conversations that started professionally but stretched longer and longer into the night.
You did not know what was happening. You could feel it.
Something was building between you and Michael something that felt dangerous and exciting and real.
Michael was not what people thought he was. When we were on set he was always joking around. Making people laugh even when things got really stressful. He loved to tease the dancers and make faces when the director was not looking. Sometimes he would just start singing in the middle of a conversation. It was like he did not even realize he was doing it.
I remember this one time we were filming late and everyone had gone back to their trailers. Michael was sitting by himself watching the sky turn dark. I went over to him. He smiled when he saw me. We sat down together on the porch steps. It was really quiet. We did not say much. It was a nice kind of quiet.
Then Michael asked me what I thought of him. I said I was getting used to him. He laughed. He said he did not want me to get too used to him and that made me feel weird. He looked at me for a time and I could feel my heart beating fast.
When we were filming Michael would always touch me like when we were dancing. He would put his hand on my waist. It felt really nice. The director would tell us to look at each other like we were in love. It started to feel like that was real.
One time we were in my RV and Michael was watching me get ready. I told him to look but he did not. He just kept looking at me. It made me feel funny. I asked him if he wanted to help me with my zipper. He came over and started touching me. It felt really good. I did not want him to stop.
He pulled down my zipper. His hands were on my back. It felt like he was touching me just because he wanted to not because we were filming. He said something about helping me take off my bra. I felt my heart beating really fast. I told him to unhook it. He did.
When my bra was off Michaels hands were on my skin. It felt amazing. He was touching me. I could feel his heart beating against my back. He said something about me doing something to him. It made me feel special.
Michael was different with me. I liked it. He was not like the person people thought he was. He was sweet and funny. He made me feel really good. I was happy when we were together. I did not want it to end.
As the days went by Michael and I got closer. We would touch each other. It felt natural. We did not need to say much because we just understood each other. I liked being around him. I felt happy when he was near me.
I think Michael felt the way. He would look at me. I could see it in his eyes. He liked being around me. He wanted to touch me. It was like we had our little world and nothing else mattered.
When we were filming Michael would find excuses to touch me. He would adjust my costume. Guide me to where I needed to be. It was like he just wanted to be near me. I felt the same way.
The dancing scenes were the worst. We would be close. Michaels hands would be on my waist. It felt like we were really dancing, like we were in love. The director would tell us to look at each other. It was like we were really feeling it.
I do not know what happened. Michael and I just clicked. We were like two people who were meant to be. We did not need to say much because we just understood each other. I was happy when I was with him. I felt special.
Michael was a person and I liked him. He was funny and sweet. He made me feel good. I was happy when we were together. I did not want it to end.
The time we spent together was special. I will always remember it. Michael was a person and I felt lucky to have met him. I hope we can be together again because I felt happy when I was with him.
Michael and I had something and I do not want to lose it. I want to be with him. I want to feel happy again. I hope we can make it work because I like being with him.
I like Michael and I want to be with him. He is a person and he makes me feel good. I am happy when we are together. I do not want it to end.
Michael is a person and I feel lucky to have met him. I hope we can be together again because I felt happy when I was with him.
The time we spent together was special. I will always remember it. Michael and I had something and I do not want to lose it.
I want to be with Michael. I want to feel happy again. I hope we can make it work because I like being with him.
Michael and I are special. I do not want to lose what we have. I want to be, with him. I want to feel happy again.
Michael pulls one hand away from you. Lifts his index finger to touch your lower lip. You open your mouth. Your tongue moves slowly over the tip of his finger. He makes a sound and watches your mouth in the mirror. Then he takes his hand back. Touches your nipple with his finger moving it slowly and tightly. This makes you gasp and lean back against him.
His other arm holds you tightly against him. He whispers softly into your ear. "Will you bend over for me mama? Let me feel you." You do what he asks and lean forward. He pushes his body against your panties. Kisses the side of your neck making a dark mark that will be hard to cover up later.
He whispers, "That's my girl " and his words make you feel hot all over. His hand moves lower touching your belly and then slipping into your panties. His fingers feel whats already happening inside you. He makes another sound before touching your most sensitive spot.
You. Grab his thighs and he moves his finger slowly around that spot. He kisses your ear. His thumb keeps moving and you can feel his body pressing into your back. "Oh " he says, his voice rough with need. "You're so ready for me baby. What do you want me to do to you first?"
The noise from the party outside is still there. You can't help how your body is reacting to Michael. You press back against him. Say, "I want it Michael. I need it. Now." He doesn't move away and you feel his fingers still touching you. He says, "Don't be so demanding. I'll decide when you get it."
Then he pushes his fingers inside you. You make a sound before he covers your mouth with his hand. He whispers, "Be quiet mama. We don't want anyone to hear us." You. He starts moving his fingers inside you. He says, "You stay quiet and I'll give you what you want. Promise."
You nod again trying not to make any sounds. His fingers keep moving. You feel your body reacting to him. The noise from the party gets louder for a moment. You focus on staying quiet. Michaels fingers feel so good. You bite your lip to keep from crying out.
He keeps kissing your neck and touching you. You feel yourself getting closer to the edge. He says, "You gonna cum for me mama? Gonna cum over my fingers?" His words make you feel like you're going to explode. Then you do. Your body. Michael holds you up.
When its over he takes his hand out of your panties. Lifts his fingers to his mouth. He tastes you. Makes a sound and then he spins you around and sets you on the edge of the vanity. He steps between your legs and leans in to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue.
He pulls back. Says, "I told you I'd give you what you wanted. Now I'm gonna take you here. You're gonna stay quiet for me yeah?" You. He helps you undo his jeans. The noise from the party fades away. Its just the two of you, in the RV finally getting what you've both wanted for so long.
Hello my longest fic I hoped my love bugs liked it ❤️ Smut for the first time little nervous pleaseeee send reqs
im sorry but WHY THERE GOTTA BE ANOTHER DOCUMENTARY ABT THE ALLEGATIONS MAN, WHY CANT THERE EVER BE A DOC ABOUT HIS ART AND HIS PROCESS AND HOW HE CAME TO BE AND ALL OF HIS HARDSHIPS AND STRUGGLES. like omg, hes a successful black man who started his music before the civil rights movement even ended, who has went through hell and back, and the only thing companies like netflix like to talk about and focus on are the allegations.
𓃭! Moonlight, trembling hands, and the kind of silence that only exists right before everything becomes real.
fluff
angst
The world blurred around you.
The cold wind brushed your skin, sending a quiet shiver down your neck, then seemed to fade into the background entirely. The rooftop tiles still held the warmth of the afternoon sun, even as the breeze moved through the trees surrounding the estate. Somewhere below, muffled laughter drifted out from the house, distant and unreal.
His hand rose to your cheek careful, almost uncertain before he leaned in and kissed you a little deeper.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t bold.
It was soft in a way that made your chest tighten.
Your heart stuttered painfully, like it didn’t know how to keep up. No one had ever looked at you the way Michael did like you were something fragile enough to protect, but precious enough to hold onto without letting go.
His palm stayed against your cheek like he was afraid you might disappear if he relaxed even slightly.
When he finally pulled back, a faint, shy smile lingered on his lips. It warmed his face in the moonlight, boyish and unguarded, like he couldn’t quite believe you were here with him either.
It was just you and him.
He stayed close, barely pulling away at all, his forehead almost level with yours. His fingers twitched against your cheek before dropping back into his lap, as if he didn’t trust himself to hold on any longer.
His breath was uneven. So was yours.
Up close, he didn’t feel like a performer or a name the world knew. He just felt like someone real someone nervous, someone trying not to mess up something he already cared too much about.
Neither of you spoke. The wind moved through the trees. Voices drifted faintly from below.
But neither of you moved away.
Not fully.
Not yet.
His gaze held yours for a second too long before slipping away.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, almost breathless. “I just—”
He stopped, shaking his head slightly like he couldn’t finish the sentence properly.
Michael Jackson had stood in front of thousands without breaking. But here, with you, he looked like he was learning how to breathe again.
“You make me nervous,” he admitted quietly.
A short, embarrassed laugh escaped him, like he couldn’t believe he’d said it out loud. His eyes dropped to his lap, then flicked back to you like he couldn’t stay away for long.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
“Michael Jackson gets nervous?” you teased softly.
He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m serious,” he added, though there was no real frustration in it.
“I know,” you said gently.
A pause.
Then, quieter, like it cost him something to admit it.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you all night.”
He swallowed, eyes dropping again. “Maybe longer than tonight.”
Your chest tightened at that.
“I just kept thinking about it downstairs,” he continued. “Every time someone looked at you… I didn’t like it.”
The honesty in his voice made something shift between you.
Another gust of wind rolled over the rooftop, colder this time.
Without thinking, he slipped his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders. It still held his warmth when it settled around you. You pulled it closer instinctively, the weight of it grounding you.
He watched you carefully, like he was waiting to see if he’d done the right thing.
“Better?” he asked softly.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.
He stayed close, but this time the silence between you wasn’t tense. It was easier. Familiar in a way it hadn’t been before.
His shoulder brushed yours
You turned your head slightly toward him and found him already looking at you again, just not quite as guarded.
“You’re quiet now,” you said, almost teasing.
“I’m thinking,” he admitted.
“About what?”
His fingers shifted beside yours on the rooftop, close enough to touch, but not quite there.
“About how I don’t want this to end yet,” he said.
Your breath caught a little at the honesty of it.
You didn’t answer right away.
Instead, you leaned in until your shoulder rested more firmly against his.
“I don’t think it has to,” you whispered.
That did it.
He turned to you fully this time really looked at you. No performance. No hesitation pretending to be confidence. Just him.
Open. Soft. A little disbelieving, like he was still trying to understand how you could be here and choosing this.
Above you, the stars stayed distant and endless.
But for the first time that night, nothing felt like it was slipping away.
My grammar checker was getting abused today! 😭
I hope you liked it my lovebugs
- lili outtt
PS: I was watching a bunch of Romcoms yesterday, and they all used Michael’s songs. He is a romantic man what can you really say. That’s all byeee!!
