leo.

we're all stories in the end, we just gotta make a good one || multi! || she/her/they

[paranoia-scrms]

losing all my innocence in the backseat

made a dream edit x diet pepsi 😩 this song is stuck in my head for days now and it doesn't help that i keep thinking about poison while listening to it too 😩

follow me on tiktok? @/paranoiascrms

[startingsomethin]

₊ ⊹ JUST AN AFTER THOUGHT

DISCLAIMERS: This is not an accurate portrayal of anyone depicted in the story. I do not know these people. It's strictly a work of fiction.

PAIRING: Michael Jackson x Fem!Reader.

GENRES: Angst (sorry, it's my speciality.)

SUMMARY: Working tirelessly on his upcoming album, Michael Jackson starts to neglect the one person actually worthy of his attention. It isn't long before the cracks of their realtionship begin to form and emotions run high. Cancelled dinner dates turn into him just blatantly standing her up. He doesn't mean it, of course, but the damage is already set in motion. An argument ensues, he says words he does mean and maybe his ignorance will be their downfall.

WARNINGS: Angst. That's all I think.

WORD COUNT: 4.2k (relatively short for me.)

Another night, another disappointment. She supposed it might have been her own fault this time. Didn't someone smart once define madness was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? Sometimes things didn't change and the wises choice was to accept that they wouldn't.

Hours of waiting just to be thrust into the cold reality of always feeling like second best. She'd wasted her time so foolishly, so innocent in her pursuit to make her lover happy, just for all that effort to crumble under the weight of being forgotten.

She had known he'd been stressed. Finishing up any album was hard, but when you're categorised as the biggest artist on the planet, there was an added layer of pressure where you couldn't afford to let the ball drop. Michael knew it.

People had expected greatness from him, others had been patiently waiting for his downfall so that they could turn around and say 'I told you so.' In that mocking kind of taunt that would haunt his darkest nights. As a perfectionist, one of his biggest fears was rejection, so he had spent all his time locked away in the studio, working on melodies, harmonies and vocals.

Whatever it was, he'd been gone and it wasn't only the physical aspect, she could feel him emotionally withdrawing too.

This morning, she'd been brave enough to voice his concern ― waking just before his alarm chriped so she could catch him before he left.

At first, she'd noticed it, the way his eyes kept falling back to the clock, checking the tedious minutes at they passed by with aching precision. He'd felt ambushed and he'd told her so. For a moment, she's almost let it go, seeing the frustration swimming in the depths of those doe-eyes she'd fallen in love with, but then she'd realised if this kind of thing continued, she'd lose him for good.

So with a new sense of determination, she built up the courage to tell him how she'd felt, how she knew his work was important, but she missed him, she missed the two of them together, she didn't want to lose him.

She'd watched as the icy resolve of his face melted away, he'd brought her into his warm embrace and kissed her forehead, promising he would do better, that he would make more time, swearing that he would never allow himself to make her feel that way again. Seeing her upset hurt him too and he didn't want that for their realtionship.

With a firece persistence, Michael had swore to her that he would finish early in the studio today, no later than 7 pm so that they could spend quality time together in the evening, completely alone, without any talk of studio stress of lyric dilemmas.

Naivety made a fool out of her, because she'd actually believed him. Sending him away with a soft kiss and a longing, "see you soon."

But soon never came.

All she had wanted to do was spend time in his company and cheer him up. She'd gone through so much effort to make things perfect for him. Now standing alone in their home, dressed to the nines as the clock reached midnight, she wished she hadn't bothered.

She should've known better than to get her hopes up.

It was only last week she planned a romantic picnic under the stars in the dazzling acres Neverland provided them with, but last minute, he had called from the studio and cancelled.

His excuse?

He'd promised the studio musicians they could grab a quite bite to eat before settling back in the studio to power through a particular tricky hook.

His promise to her was broken, but he assured that he would make it up to her. That somehow only furthered her issue.

Even though she was excited for some quality time with Michael and felt the burning twinge of disappointment settle, she had kept calm, she'd let it go, for his sake more than her own.

His job was demanding, she knew that so she decided to be the bigger person and with a shaking breath, she told him it was okay. Over the phone, she heard his smile as he leaned over the landline with a cheerful, "you're wonderful."

She certainly hadn't felt that way.

Had he made it up to her?

On some level, she supposed he had the intent. With a pleading promise to spend the day after sweeping her off her feet, Michael insisted she be ready by 8 pm and had called at lunchtime just to remind her.

Genuinely excitment swarmed in the pit of her stomach. Michael had a way of making her feel so cared for when he actually put in the effort, which is probably why the ache of his absence felt so raw when he wasn't around.

With a new found perspective, she'd cheerfully dolled herself up for him, even going to far as to use one of her least perfumes simply because she knew he adored it.

But when the clock reached 11:30 pm and there was still no sign of him, she was hit with a wall of exhaustion. He wasn't going to show and she'd been too tired to scream her frustration.

All that time she had spent getting ready for the day had ultimately been pointless. So as she stepped out of the little black dress and wiped the make up away, she watched her reflection in the mirror and wondered if this was how her life was destined to play out for as long as she lived.

It was some time after 3 am when he graced her with his presence. She had felt the bed dip beneath him as he climed under the sheets. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back to his chest while she kept her composure in an attemp to fake being asleep.

He hadn't noticed.

She hadn't wanted to talk to him that night. She couldn't. They rarely argued, but when they did, they were both left deverstated. So like always, she swallowed her pride and let it go.

The next morning, he's explained his absence from the night before while he changed, already on his way out the door.

Apparently one of the studio engineers had been distracted and messed up one of his recordings. Michael had insisted that he would go back in the booth and sing over and over again until he could replace the one vocal take he had actually considered to be up to standard.

Understanding his frustration, she had accepted his half hearted apology and let her anger fade away.

At first, she's been willing to let it slide. Mistakes happen once in a while, but when those mistakes turn into routine, she knew it couldn't let it continue.

It wasn't like she was asking for much. She didn't want to go anywhere. She'd have been thrilled to have dinner at home, so long as Michael was there, the location didn't matter.

She'd have never imagined she could miss the very person she lived with.

The clock now chimed midnight. A brand new day would start to bloom soon and still, she sat pathetically in the wreckage that was her hope for their realtionship.

How many times did she have to sit alone before she realised, she would never be his priority?

Like a fool, she's planned a whole romantic night in. He's promised he'd be back, that they could shared an entire evening in each other's company and she'd vigorously planned for it, even going so far as to phone his mother to kindly ask for the recipe for one of his favourite childhood meals. Katherine had been gracious enough to comply.

Sure, he had a personal chef, but she wanted to make something special for him. So with a new lease of life, she had spent hours trying to form the perfect, stress free night for him.

Through the halls of the ranch, the classic cadence of Debussy bounced off the walls, quite in tone, but setting the perfect ambience of what she hoped would be the building blocks of trust reformed.

She'd planned it all out. Dinner, dessert, maybe even a movie if he was feeling upto it. They could sit in the cinema room, holding each other like they used to when they first started dating.

But once again, nothing went according to plan. The mocking chimes of the clock taunted her, poking fun at the time and effort she'd wasted yet again and so for a final time, she felt the fight leave her body.

She gave up.

He wasn't going to be home anytime soon.

The candles she'd lit had long since burnt out, leaving the only source of light to be that of a silvery wash of color the moon generously provided through the open window.

Ironic that one thing they used to watch in awe together now became a becon of sorrow in the foundations they'd laid.

With a disappointed shake of her head, she looked down at the cold plate on the table and picked her own up. With more grace than she possessed, she crossed the floor and threw the untouched food in the trash. It wasn't like she had much of an appetite now anyway. Michael's reamined stiff on the dining room table, she knew he'd be hungry when he returned.

Following the all too familiar path to their bedroom, she wasted no time. The aching sense of deja vu ripped through her as she removed her make up and changed into a set of comfortable, silk pyjamas. This time when she looked at herself in the mirror, she just laughed.

How much sadness could one person take before they broke beyond recognition?

While exhaustion ached her bones, she decided against allowing the sweet embrace of slumber claim her as it's own tonight. They had to confront this head on if this realtionship had any chance at survival. She would stay awake all night if she had to.

Making her way back down the stairs with a new goal in mind, she cuddled up on the sofa with her latest purchase from the book store and tried her absolute hardest to calm the racing beat of her heart.

The clock handles were nearing 4:05 am when the sound of the front door opening creaked through the silence. Half way finished with her book by now, but understanding she would have to reread since her mind was otherwise preoccupied, she barley flinched as his heavy footsteps grew near. He stopped only once to remove his shoes before making his way into the living room.

There, he came to a sudden and unexpected halt, dark eyes settled on the familiar sight of his girlfriend, sitting in the corner of the sofa with a book clutched in her grasp, but her eyes focused steadily on him.

"Nice to know you remember where you live." Were the only words she dared to utter before she placed the soft cream blanket she'd been using to keep herself warm on the arm of the sofa and leaving for the stairs with book in hand.

It was then Michael knew he had well and truly messed up.

She never screamed or shouted. It was one of the many reasons he adored her so much. She hated conflict as much as he did. If they fought, which was a rarity in itself, she would always manage to keep her compsure and remain calm.

After witnessing the sadness clouding her tired eyes, he didn't know if that still rang true. He'd upset her so much, she verged on angry.

It wasn't his intention, of course. He had never wanted to hurt her. She'd been one of the few people that offered him peace in the crazy uncertainty of his life. She'd loved him through it all and he loved her right back, he just lost himself sometimes and that was more evident in the early hours of the morning than it had ever been before.

It wasn't as though he was viciously ignoring their dates nights on purpose, they just seemed to constantly slip from his mind. Time in the studio moved different than it did in the outside world. So caught up with finding the right sound, he would forget his own name had it not been called so frequently.

Still, it was no excuse. He knew that. Having been a constant source of comfort in his life, he'd failed to show just how much she meant to him and with cripping disappointment, Michael found himself shaking his head at his own actions. He knew he could be forgetful, but he hadn't realised how idiotic his actions were.

Pushing dark hair from his eyes, he allowed himself a couple of seconds to take a few deep breaths before he walked upstairs, following the same path his love had hiked only moments before.

He found her exactly where he thought he would. Sitting cooly on her side of the bed. Only she wasn't under the covers and showed no signs of wanting to sleep. She wanted to talk and he knew it.

Selfishly, part of him wished she wasn't so rational. Maybe if she screamed at him, he wouldn't feel so damn guilty for being the one who constantly let her down.

He called her name, soft and with intent. She barley looked at him. With the corners of his mouth fell into a frown, he caredully walked to her side of the bed and crouched down, taking her now free hands in his own and stoking her knuckles with the pads of his thumbs.

"Come on, mama." He tried, in hopes the pet name would soften her. It didn't. "I'm sorry. Will you let me explain?"

Finally illiciting a response, a heavy sigh passed through her lips. She'd heard that phrase one too many times recently and she didn't know if she could handle another vague excuse.

Still, she deserved to know why he'd rejected her company for what felt like the millionth time in the past two months. So after weighing up her options, she pulled her hands from his and brought her knees up to her chest while responding with a small nod.

Getting ahead of himself, Michael felt himself smile upon her agreement, but that emotion soon fell when with the withdrawl of her hand. He noticed traces of sadness etched across her face and he instantly wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and keep her sheltered from any harm.

He'd done this. He was the one responsible for the sorrow she felt and it hit him like a truck.

Despite wanting to rationalise the night and the mishaps that lead him to him being late yet again, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't exhausted too.

The ability to form words was suddenly lost to him and Michael sat there, looking up at her through dark lashes, willing his mind to catch up to the severity of the situation.

"Are you going to stand there with your mouth open all day or are you actually going to explain?" She spoke monotone and the lack of emotion in her voice only further scared him.

The frown lines on his face only became more pronounced the longer she stared at him, but he quickly shook away his fear and willed himself to speak.

"You know studio time is really precious right now. We're really in the midst of something great. I can feel it." He started, hands gesturing with each word he spoke. "I think we're almost done, so long as we can keep this pace up."

The words should have excited her. After all, the recording sessions were the biggest factor into his absence, but not the only one. All she heard as he spoke was that he would be spending even more time away from her.

She knew how he acted with album cycles. Nothing was ever good enoigh and he worked himself to the bone to try and achieve a realm of perfection that didn't exist.

Michael was never fully happy with an album. Even upon release, he would find some flaw in the art and he could never let it go.

So yes, the album might be close to being fully recorded, but he would keep going back to tweak things until he physically couldn't anymore.

As much as she wanted to congratulate him on all his hard work, it felt empty when the result of that time away had been the breakdown of their relationship.

"I've been so busy, so when we finished early today, someone suggested I let off steam. Teddy who owns the arcade close to the studio said he'd close it for me and some of the studio engineers." He spoke and it was honest, she knew it to be true. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened and it wouldn't be the last. "I guess I got distracted. I didn't realise the time until Bill mentioned it."

A simple explanation really. One that he hoped would calm her, but she was anything but calm. Her anger was working over time, something which didn't happen often. She always tried her absolute best to stay rational. She hated conflict, always had, but this entire situation was enough to boil her blood.

Not only was Michael available for dinner, but he had the choice to come home early. They could have spent most of the day together if he'd actually wanted it. Or at the very least, he could've had the curtesy to phone before he'd left so she wouldn't have wasted her time cooking for him.

She understood his life was a roller coaster most days and despite being in it, she would never fully understand the magnitude of the weight he felt crushing his shoulders.

At times, he needed to step back, breath and allow the child within him to take the front seat just for a little while.

She'd always loved that about him. His ability to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, like spending hours playing games in an arcade just because he could. She just wished she hadn't always been placed in the sidelines of his life in order for him to enjoy it.

At least she knew where she stood, she supposed.

Rolling her eyes to the back of her head, she finally allowed herself to catch his eye and cursed at the puppy dog look he gave so easy.

"I'm very happy for you, Michael. I'm glad you had a nice time." She spoke with a sarcastic bite, her eyes darked and her mouth settled into a permanent frown. "You could've at least called. I spent hours cooking, trying to recreate one of your mother's recipes. I'm so tired of being the last person to know your plans."

Guilt settled into his bones. He hadn't known the extend of the effort she'd been willing to go to in order to cheer him up.

Realising she wasn't getting any sleep any time soon, she scooted further up on the bed, arms circling her knees as she watched the frustration start to take place against the soft features she'd always been so enamoured with.

"Like I said, I'm sorry." He stood, wide eyes still focused on her. "I was a genuine mistake, it could happen to anyone."

"Yeah, six days in a row." She scoffed, pulling at the loose thread of her pyjama top. "That's not even counting the amount of times you've cancelled on me within the last two months. It always is a genuine mistake with you, isn't it?"

"That's not fair." He snapped in defence, his kind, soft tone long gone by now. Michael wasn't a cruel man, but he certainly was defensive when he felt like he was being caged in. "Sometimes things just happen and I can't control it."

"Right, like spending all night in an arcade." She scoffed. "I forgot what an obligation that was."

Michael couldn't help it now, he was in the wrong and he knew it, but admitting his fault was an entirely different story.

Pacing back and fourth, stubbornly running his long fingers through his hair, he turned towards her with narrowed eyes. "What was I supposed to do, huh? I've been working around the clock on this album. I needed to blow off some steam and a friend gave me a way of doing that. Did you expect me to turn that down just to eat some lousy meal with you? You're so selfish some times." There was a darkness to his tone, like he wanted to hurt her, but as soon as he said it, he wished more than anything to take it back.

The words settled heavy in the air and for a moment, neither of them so much as blinked.

His blood ran cold. He hadn't meant to say that, his frustrations had gotten the best of him and he'd taken it out on her. It wasn't his intention and as he noticed the crestfallen look on her face, he felt part of his heart crack as a result of his own pigheadedness.

Stepping towards her, he tried to reach for her shoulder. "Bab-"

"Don't." She snapped, expertly dodging his touch and climbing out of the bed, stumbling just out of reach.

The rapid thump of his heart ached, he could hear his pulse in his ears and regret build in layers. Subtle at first until he suddenly couldn't feel anything but painful remorse.

"It's not like I ask for much from you, Michael! I moved to a completely different state, had to find a brand new job, new friends. I rarely see my family and I've had to learn to keep my guard up with everyone around me in case they use me to try and target you. I did that because you asked me to." And as she said it, it wasn't an accusation. She'd done it willingly, but it didn't change the facts. "I'm so lonely and I never complain about it because I love you! But sure, I'm the selfish one here."

For the first time in their entire realtionship, her voice raised in volume and she'd be a fool not to notice the way his eyes grew in shock at the sound she produced. She hated it. She wasn't usually this way inclined and now she was even more miserable than she had been only moments ago when she was only furious at his late arrival.

Michael stayed quite, not daring to intrupt as he learnt something new. His heart ached at the confession. He hadn't known. She did a wonderful job at keeping her emotions in check while smoothing his own.

He listened as she continued, only this time, her voice lowered in volume and sadness stretched across her pretty face.

"I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one making an effort and fighting to keep this relationship on track." She confessed, eyes glassy as her resolve broke. "You keep cancelling or worse, you don't show up at all and I've tried to stay calm, but it fucking hurts, Michael." As strong as she was, somethings were impossible to ignore and with that revelation, she allowed the tears to fall. "I have more of a relationship with your secretary's answering machine than I do with you these days."

"That's not true." A weak response, but he had nothing else to give.

"Yes, it is." She persisted, angrily wiping her damp cheeks with the sleeve of her shirt. "You're gone before I wake, you return when I'm already asleep. I'm not a priority to you anymore and I deserve to be trested as something more than an after thought."

The heavy weight of her truth came up to bite them both on the ass. This shouldn't have been the way things were between them. When they were happy, even paradise couldn't tempt them away. But things hadn't been that good for months now and denying it would only cause more hurt in the long run.

Mistaking his silence for hesitation, she gave up. Too tired and too tormented to stay up arguing anymore, she felt the fire leave her body.

"Y'know what? I really don't care anymore." She admitted, walking to the closet, she grabbed a jacket to place over her pyjamas to combat the icy chill of the night air.

"W-where are you going?" He stuttered, trying to reach for her again only to stumble back when she flinched.

"My car... a hotel, I don't know. Anywhere but here." She muttered, wishing more than anything she could stop the abyss of tears that continued to fall. "I don't want to be around you right now."

She'd never said anything like that to him before.

Michael was winded, the breath knocked right from his lungs and he wanted nothing more than that to fix this, but she was already reaching for the handle before his mind could catch up to the severity of the situation at hand.

"Oh, and that lousy meal I made for you is waiting on the table downstairs if you decide you're hungry."

And with that, she stepped out of their bedroom and closed the door right behind her.

TAG LIST: @bbyjjunie @xoxogossipgirl02 @starryeyedmoonlight @angelofpearls @weasleylovers @scknights @msapplehead @cloverjeanmj

[michaelsfavgirl]

‎‧₊˚✧[masterlist]✧˚₊‧

˖⁺‧₊˚ 🎞️✮Michael Jackson✮🎞️˚₊‧⁺˖

One-shots:

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ needy*

As the days pass, during a holiday stay at Hayvenhurst, your need for Michael grows more insistent, leading you to beg for his touch while everyone else is home.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ innocence*

Wanting the best for his angel, Michael takes you to your dream vacation place and makes your first time unforgettable, more special than you could have imagined.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ not like the movies

it's a cliché love story isn't it? The global superstar and a die hard fan who manages to catch her idol's attention during a concert. it's that simple, right?....right?

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ good luck charm*

Michael is a meticulous performer, driven by the pursuit of perfection in every show. Thus, he has crafted the perfect routine to reach his goals and you're an integral part of it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ first kiss (captain eo)

You confess to EO that you've never kissed anyone before. Rather than judging, he guides you through your first kiss with care and tenderness.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ in the studio*

After weeks of no intimacy due to his demanding schedule you decide to pay Michael a visit at the studio in a short skirt. Oblivious to the effects it has on him you face the consequences.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ crestfallen

After Michael cheats on you with Diana Ross you cross paths again at the Grammy's.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ through the keyhole*

While Michael attends to his duties as a devoted husband (taking you to pound town), the maids arrive unnoticed. Drawn by the sinful sounds echoing from your bedroom, they find themselves unable to resist eavesdropping.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ fast learner*

(related to/continuation of innocence) After taking your virginity and focusing solely on your pleasure, Michael hasn't asked for anything in return, leaving you doubting your ability to please him due to your inexperience. Determined to return the favour you ask him to teach you how to give him a blowjob.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ freaky friday

One ordinary night, you and Michael unexpectedly switch bodies, forcing him to navigate life as you. With no choice, he has to go on set and do his best to act like you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ heartstrings & rings

A thoughtless act on your part leads Michael to mistakenly believe you're planning to divorce him. Consumed by fear he spirals, thinking he's about to lose you.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ porn stash*

Alone at home, consumed by boredom, you stumble upon Michael's secret stash of tapes. Lost in curiosity, you're oblivious to his return until he catches you red-handed.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ tied & taken*

Michael finally indulges one of his most sinful fantasies: tying you to the bed like the perfect present you are and fucking you stupid over and over, until you're utterly spent.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ word to the jealouss!!*

Spotting the pathetic voyeur through the door, Michael makes sure he is put back into his place and reminded that he'll never measure up.

Drabbles/Blurbs:

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ spit kink*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ spoiled with pleasure*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ panty stealer*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ arranged marriage*

Headcanons:

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ he takes care of you when you’re sick

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ NSFW alphabet*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ chubby chaser*

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ dating headcanons pt. 1

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ NSFW headcanons*

Last updated: May 8th, 2026

© michaelsfavgirl 2025 | All rights reserved. Do not republish, steal, repost, modify, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

[mikajensen58]

a friend to call my own sequel

“ in which michael finds someone (y/n) who accepts him for who he is. ”

pairing: strangers to friends, michael jackson x fem!reader, self-insert

warnings & disclaimers: a little angsty tbh, unwanted suggestive touching (not towards y/n), mentions of the pepsi incident and scarring, brief mention of unrequited love (hint: big eyes), michael is afraid of j*e

word count: 2.4k

authors note: stay tuned for the final chapter ;)

—

a few days later, you found yourself sitting beside michael once again, but this time the destination was entirely different. he was taking you to the studio to get a glimpse of his creative process. wanting to look smart and ready to learn from an icon, you had picked out a preppy outfit, feeling a little sophisticated yet completely like yourself. michael was dressed casually but sharply—a crisp collared top, fitted jeans that showed off his lean build, and his signature loafers paired with bright white socks.

during the ride there, the atmosphere inside the car was cozy. michael turned to you, his large bambi eyes soft and earnest.

“y’know, i never really take people to the studio with me," he admitted passing a glance at you, his voice a gentle murmur over the hum of the engine

"it’s a very private space for me. but i wanted you to be there." hearing that made your heart do a slight flutter; you felt incredibly flattered that he was letting you into his sacred sanctuary after knowing him for such a short time.

when you arrived, the heavy studio doors opened to reveal none other than his legendary producer, quincy jones. michael immediately smiled, stepping forward to introduce you.

"q, this is my new friend, y/n," he said proudly. you offered a polite smile as quincy’s eyes wandered, and from that moment on, the magic began.

michael was working on a beautiful, unreleased track. watching him lock into his element was mesmerizing. the moment the music started, he transformed. you sat back, absolutely amazed by his sheer talent—the way he felt the rhythm, his absolute precision, and the vocal control he commanded. as he gestured while explaining a beat, you couldn't help but notice his hands. his fingers were strikingly big and long, moving with precision.

about an hour into the session, you excused yourself to use the bathroom, wanting to give them a moment to talk shop.

once the door closed shut behind you, michael and quincy were left seated next to each other in front of the massive mixing console. the room grew quieter, save for the low hum of the monitors. quincy leaned back, slyly testing the waters. with a knowing look, he reached over and placed his hand firmly on michael’s lower thigh, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"you really have a way with the ladies, don't you, smelly?" quincy murmured, his tone dripping with an unreadable, smooth confidence.

michael stiffened instantly, his muscles locking under quincy's palm. a wave of deep discomfort washed over him as a memory flashed in his mind—just last month, quincy had caressed his thigh in a similar way. michael genuinely didn't know what quincy’s intentions were with these sudden, firm touches, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to find out.

clearing his throat sharply, michael subtly shifted his leg away, forcing his tone to remain polite but firm. "i'm just a gentleman, q," he said, his voice dropping its usual boyish warmth.

noticing michael’s blatant disinterest and the rigid posture of his body, quincy smoothly retracted his hand, entirely unfazed. he quickly switched gears, leaning back into his chair with a casual shrug.

"so," quincy started, his eyes gleaming with a sharp, calculating look. "how are you feeling about diana’s marriage?"

the question hit a raw nerve. diana ross was a incredibly sensitive subject for michael. she was a woman who had occupied his thoughts, his heart, and his entire life for years, leading him on with mixed signals until she suddenly married another man. michael's jaw flexed tightly, a sudden wave of quiet anger flashing in his eyes before he looked down at the floor, refusing to give quincy the satisfaction of a verbal breakdown.

quincy knew exactly what he was doing. he reveled in the reaction, watching the younger man's silent distress for a lingering second before letting out a low, satisfied chuckle.

"alright, let's get back to the music," quincy said, turning back to the soundboard as if he hadn't just poked at a deep wound.

only a single minute had passed since you walked out of the room, yet michael desperately wanted you to come back. your sweet, safe presence was the only thing he wanted right now. he looked up, stealing a glance at the older producer. a confusing, heavy knot formed in his stomach. he truly wasn't sure how to feel about the man mentoring him anymore.

he kept his eyes glued to the studio door, waiting for the knob to turn, hoping your familiar smile and comforting scent would walk back in.

when you finally walked back into the room, a cold water bottle in your hand, the shift in the atmosphere was subtle but there. you instantly noticed the deep relief and pleased expression that washed across michael’s handsome face the second his big eyes locked onto you. right next to him, quincy sat with a smug grin plastered on his features. being entirely oblivious to what had just occurred, you simply assumed quincy had told him a funny joke or shared some lighthearted industry gossip. little did you know about the uncomfortable tension michael had just endured.

the session continued for about another hour, the music enveloping the room once more, before michael reluctantly had to call it a wrap. he explained that he had to get back home to hayvenhurst to discuss the final contents and logistics of the upcoming victory tour, which was set to kick off in just a couple of months. after you both said your polite goodbyes to quincy, you walked out to the waiting limousine.

the moment the car doors closed, and the privacy of the vehicle surrounded you both, michael’s mood shifted visibly. the bright, magical aura he held while working on the music vanished, replaced by a heavy, exhausted slump of his shoulders.

"i'm gonna do a tour with my brothers," he announced softly, staring out the tinted window as the city lights began to blur past.

his clasped hands were visibly shaking from the anticipation. his voice carried a weight that sounded far too heavy for his mid twenties.

"but i don't want to. i'm really just doing it for my family... my father—joseph—is insisting i do it."

in the front seat, bill caught michael's reflection in the rearview mirror, a deeply worried look crossing the older bodyguard's face as he quietly steered the limo away from the studio.

you sat beside him, your heart aching a bit at the sheer sadness in his tone. you had read in the newspapers before that michael’s father was abusive and cruel, but you never knew how true any of it actually was. growing up with a father in showbiz, you knew firsthand that most things written in the press were complete lies or wildly sensationalized to sell copies. instead of probing into his personal life or bringing up ugly rumors, you chose to offer a gentle silver lining to comfort him.

"at least the fans will be happy," you said softly, your sweet voice offering a small blanket of warmth in the quiet car.

michael looked down at his lap, a melancholic sigh escaping his lips. as his head tilted forward, the car's interior lighting caught the side of his head, and that’s when you caught a glimpse of it—the scars along his hairline, still looking distinctly red, tender, and raw from the horrific pepsi commercial accident earlier that year.

you gulped, a lump forming in your throat as the reality of his physical pain hit you. without thinking, your caring nature took over, and you reached out to gently place a hand on his shoulder.

"but you're still healing..." you mumbled, your eyes locked onto the painful reminders on his skin.

michael sharply exhaled, the touch of your hand grounding him. he turned his head toward you, forcing a soft, incredibly tender smile to his lips as his big round eyes met yours.

"i'm okay," he assured you gently, his voice quiet. "they prescribed me some pain medication to help me feel better. it manages it."

with the sudden, heavy gravity of the conversation, a deep but comfortable silence settled over the two of you for the remainder of the ride. bill kept his eyes on the road, navigating the la traffic to drop you back off at your mansion. michael secretly wished he could just take you back to hayvenhurst with him, desperately craving your goofy, comforting presence to help him face the rest of the evening.

but he knew the harsh reality of his situation. if he brought a girl home tonight, his dad would have thought he was trying to mess off and waste time instead of strictly handling business.

as the limo pulled up to your gates, the quiet understanding between you two hung in the air—a bond that was silently growing much deeper than either of you had expected.

—

later that evening, you were already winding down for the night, dressed in your pajamas and ready to put the heavy events of the afternoon behind you. then, the telephone on your nightstand rang. picking it up, you were surprised to hear michael's soft, recognizable voice on the other end.

"hi, y/n," he said, his tone lighthearted and a little mischievous. "are you busy? do you want to go see a movie with me?"

an uncontrollable, wide smile spread across your face instantly.

"i'd love to," you agreed without a single second of hesitation.

michael let out a quiet, happy giggle through the receiver. he desperately wanted to blow off some steam after how pissed and stressed he had been earlier with his family, and you were the exact person he wanted to escape with.

"okay, good. i'll be there in ten minutes," he said before hanging up.

you practically flew across your bedroom. you excitedly changed out of your pajamas and threw on a casual, effortlessly stylish outfit—a pair of khaki shorts that showed off your long legs, an oversized top, and your favorite sneakers. rushing to the mirror, you snatched off your silk scarf and quickly fluffed out your permed hair, giving it that perfect, voluminous, fluffy look.

as you hurried out of your room and began descending the grand staircase, your mother was seated in the living room, completely engrossed in her late-night soap operas. she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and did a total double take, noticing your sudden outfit change.

"y/n?" she called out, standing up to interrogate you. "where on earth are you going at this hour? it's late, and you know it's not safe for a young woman like you to be wandering out in the city at night."

you walked over to stand near her, offering a reassuring smile. "mama, please don't worry. i'm in really good company," you said softly.

your mother paused, a knowing look crossing her face. she knew exactly who you meant.

"you seem to be spending an awful amount of time with this michael jackson for him to 'just be a friend,'" she noted, raising an eyebrow.

your mother actually loved the jackson family's music, so she wouldn't be upset at all if something romantic blossomed between the two of you, but she was still your protective mother at the end of the day.

you rolled your eyes playfully, a sweet chuckle escaping your lips.

"mom, he's just as sweet and gentle as he appears on television. i promise you i'm safe."

before she could question you further, albert stepped into the living room, politely alerting you that michael's vehicle was waiting outside. you leaned in and kissed your mother's forehead goodbye, promising you'll see her later, before heading out into the cool night air.

when you excitedly climbed into the back of the limousine, there michael sat, looking at you with pure admiration written all over his handsome face. he absolutely loved the way you dressed. you never had to do too much or wear flashy clothes to stand out; your effortless, tomboyish style naturally made you look like you were walking a high-fashion runway.

as you settled into the leather seat, you didn't realize just how close you were sitting next to him until the car pulled away. your hand accidentally brushed against his, and your thigh was pressed directly against his lean, muscular leg. neither of you moved away. instead, a sudden, electric stillness fell over the space as you turned your head and stared kindly into his big, chocolate eyes. michael's cheeks grew visibly redder than usual under your gaze, and the two of you shyly looked down at your laps at the exact same time.

breaking the sudden tension, michael reached over and playfully tickled your knee. you gasped and let out a goofy giggle, which made him chuckle melodically into the quiet of the car.

"i'm making a note of that," he teased softly, his eyes sparkling. "now i know you're ticklish.”

he continued, his voice even softer. “i just... i really enjoy talking to you, y/n. i have so much fun with you."

"i have fun with you too, michael," you replied, your heart warming up completely.

when you arrived at the theater, it was completely empty. michael had sold out the entire room just for the two of you so he could have a normal night. he went all out at the concession stand, buying a large bucket of popcorn, hot dogs, and sodas for you both to share.

after settling into the plush seats in the center of the dark theater, the action movie you picked began to play on the massive screen. but as the loud explosions and music started, you turned to look at his profile.

"michael?" you asked quietly. "how does it feel to not be able to just blend into a crowd anymore? do you ever miss it?"

michael quieted down, looking at you with a gentle seriousness. he opened up, explaining the heavy reality of losing his privacy, but how moments like this made the weight of his fame worth it. from there, the movie became background noise. the two of you spent far more time talking, laughing, and whispering to each other in the dark than actually watching the screen.

for a few blissful hours, surrounded by the smell of buttered popcorn and the comfort of each other's presence, both of you completely forgot about your responsibilities, the victory tour, and the heavy expectations of the world outside.

[naity-sama]

Some words to use when writing things:

winking

clenching

pulsing

fluttering

contracting

twitching

sucking

quivering

pulsating

throbbing

beating

thumping

thudding

pounding

humming

palpitate

vibrate

grinding

crushing

hammering

lashing

knocking

driving

thrusting

pushing

force

injecting

filling

dilate

stretching

lingering

expanding

bouncing

reaming

elongate

enlarge

unfolding

yielding

sternly

firmly

tightly 

harshly

thoroughly

consistently

precision

accuracy

carefully

demanding

strictly

restriction

meticulously

scrupulously

rigorously

rim

edge

lip

circle

band

encircling

enclosing

surrounding

piercing

curl

lock

twist

coil

spiral

whorl

dip

wet

soak

madly

wildly

noisily

rowdily

rambunctiously

decadent

degenerate

immoral

indulgent

accept

take

invite

nook

indentation

niche

depression

indent

depress

delay

tossing

writhing

flailing

squirming

rolling

wriggling

wiggling

thrashing

struggling

grappling

striving

straining

[littlestsecret]

Appetite -  craving, demand, gluttony, greed, hunger, inclination, insatiable, longing, lust, passion, ravenousness, relish, taste, thirst, urge, voracity, weakness, willingness, yearning, ardor, dedication, desire, devotion, enthusiasm, excitement, fervor, horny, intensity, keenness, wholeheartedness, zeal

Arouse -  agitate, awaken, electrify, enliven, excite, entice, foment, goad, incite, inflame, instigate, kindle, provoke, rally, rouse, spark, stimulate, stir, thrill, waken, warm, whet, attract, charm, coax, fire up, fuel, heat up, lure, produce, stir up, tantalize, tease, tempt, thrum, torment, wind up, work up

Assault -  attack, advancing, aggressive, assailing, charging, incursion, inundated, invasion, offensive, onset, onslaught, overwhelmed, ruinous, tempestuous, strike, violation, ambush, assail, barrage, bombard, bombardment, crackdown, wound Beautiful -  admirable, alluring, angelic, appealing, bewitching, charming, dazzling, delicate, delightful, divine, elegant, enticing, exquisite, fascinating, gorgeous, graceful, grand, magnificent, marvelous, pleasing, radiant, ravishing, resplendent, splendid, stunning, sublime, attractive, beguiling, captivating, enchanting, engaging, enthralling, eye-catching, fetching, fine, fine-looking, good-looking, handsome, inviting, lovely, mesmeric, mesmerizing, pretty, rakish, refined, striking, tantalizing, tempting Brutal -  atrocious, barbarous, bloodthirsty, callous, cruel, feral, ferocious, hard, harsh, heartless, inhuman, merciless, murderous, pitiless, remorseless, rough, rude, ruthless, savage, severe, terrible, unmerciful, vicious, bestial, brute, brutish, cold-blooded, fierce, gory, nasty, rancorous, sadistic, uncompromising, unfeeling, unforgiving, unpitying, violent, wild Burly – able-bodied, athletic, beefy, big, brawny, broad-shouldered, bulky, dense, enormous, great, hard, hardy, hearty, heavily built, heavy, hefty, huge, husky, immense, large, massive, muscular, mighty, outsized, oversized, powerful, powerfully built, prodigious, robust, solid, stalwart, stocky, stout, strapping, strong, strongly built, sturdy, thick, thickset, tough, well-built, well-developed Carnal -  animalistic, bodily, impure, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, libidinous, licentious, lustful, physical, prurient, salacious, sensuous, voluptuous, vulgar, wanton, , coarse, crude, dirty, raunchy, rough, unclean Dangerous -  alarming, critical, fatal, formidable, impending, malignant, menacing, mortal, nasty, perilous, precarious, pressing, serious, terrible, threatening, treacherous, urgent, vulnerable, wicked, acute, damaging, deadly, death-defying, deathly, destructive, detrimental, explosive, grave, harmful, hazardous, injurious, lethal, life-threatening, noxious, poisonous, risky, severe, terrifying, toxic, unsafe, unstable, venomous Dark -  atrocious, corrupt, forbidding, foul, infernal, midnight, morbid, ominous, sinful, sinister, somber, threatening, twilight, vile, wicked, abject, alarming, appalling, baleful, bizarre, bleak, bloodcurdling, boding evil, chilling, cold, condemned, creepy, damned, daunting, demented, desolate, dire, dismal, disturbing, doomed, dour, dread, dreary, dusk, eerie, fear, fearsome, frightening, ghastly, ghostly, ghoulish, gloom, gloomy, grave, grim, grisly, gruesome, hair-raising, haunted, hideous, hopeless, horrendous, horrible, horrid, horrific, horrifying, horror, ill-fated, ill-omened, ill-starred, inauspicious, inhospitable, looming, lost, macabre, malice, malignant, menacing, murky, mysterious, night, panic, pessimistic, petrifying, scary, shadows, shadowy, shade, shady, shocking, soul-destroying, sour, spine-chilling, spine-tingling, strange, terrifying, uncanny, unearthly, unlucky, unnatural, unnerving, weird, wretched Delicious - enticing, exquisite, luscious, lush, rich, savory, sweet, tasty, tempting, appetizing, delectable, flavorsome, full of flavor, juicy, lip-smacking, mouth-watering, piquant, relish, ripe, salty, spicy, scrummy, scrumptious, succulent, tangy, tart, tasty, yummy, zesty Ecstasy -  delectation, delirium, elation, euphoria, fervor, frenzy, joy, rapture, transport, bliss, excitement, happiness, heaven, high, paradise, rhapsody, thrill, blissful, delighted, elated, extremely happy, in raptures (of delight), in seventh heaven, jubilant, on cloud nine, overexcited, overjoyed, rapturous, thrilled Ecstatic -  delirious, enraptured, euphoric, fervent, frenzied, joyous, transported, wild Erotic -  amatory, amorous, aphrodisiac, carnal, earthy, erogenous, fervid, filthy, hot, impassioned, lascivious, lecherous, lewd, raw, romantic, rousing, salacious, seductive, sensual, sexual, spicy, steamy, stimulating, suggestive, titillating, voluptuous, tantalizing Gasp -  catch of breath, choke, gulp, heave, inhale, pant, puff, snort, wheeze, huff, rasp, sharp intake of air, short of breath, struggle for breath, swallow, winded  Heated - ardent, avid, excited, fervent, fervid, fierce, fiery, frenzied, furious, impassioned, intense, passionate, raging, scalding, scorched, stormy, tempestuous, vehement, violent, ablaze, aflame, all-consuming, blazing, blistering, burning, crazed, explosive, febrile, feverish, fired up, flaming, flushed, frantic, hot, hot-blooded, impatient, incensed, maddening, obsessed, possessed, randy, searing, sizzling, smoldering, sweltering, torrid, turbulent, volatile, worked up, zealous Hunger -  appetite, ache, craving, gluttony, greed, longing, lust, mania, mouth-watering, ravenous, voracious, want, yearning, thirst Hungry -  avid, carnivorous, covetous, craving, eager, greedy, hungered, rapacious, ravenous, starved, unsatisfied, voracious, avaricious, desirous, famished, grasping, insatiable, keen, longing, predatory, ravening, starving, thirsty, wanting Intense -  forceful, severe, passionate, acute, agonizing, ardent, anxious, biting, bitter, burning, close, consuming, cutting, deep, eager, earnest, excessive, exquisite, extreme, fervent, fervid, fierce, forcible, great, harsh, impassioned, keen, marked, piercing, powerful, profound, severe, sharp, strong, vehement, violent, vivid, vigorous Liquid -  damp, cream, creamy, dripping, ichorous, juicy, moist, luscious, melted, moist, pulpy, sappy, soaking, solvent, sopping, succulent, viscous, wet / aqueous, broth, elixir, extract, flux, juice, liquor, nectar, sap, sauce, secretion, solution, vitae, awash, moisture, boggy, dewy, drenched, drip, drop, droplet, drowning, flood, flooded, flowing, fountain, jewel, leaky, milky, overflowing, saturated, slick, slippery, soaked, sodden, soggy, stream, swamp, tear, teardrop, torrent, waterlogged, watery, weeping Lithe - agile, lean, pliant, slight, spare, sinewy, slender, supple, deft, fit, flexible, lanky, leggy, limber, lissom, lissome, nimble, sinuous, skinny, sleek, slender, slim, svelte, trim, thin, willowy, wiry Moan - beef, cry, gripe, grouse, grumble, lament, lamentation, plaint, sob, wail, whine, bemoan, bewail, carp, deplore, grieve, gripe, grouse, grumble, keen, lament, sigh, sob, wail, whine, mewl Moving -  (exciting,) affecting, effective  arousing, awakening, breathless, dynamic, eloquent, emotional, emotive, expressive, fecund, far-out, felt in gut, grabbed by, gripping, heartbreaking, heartrending, impelling, impressive, inspirational, meaningful, mind-bending, mind-blowing, motivating, persuasive, poignant, propelling, provoking, quickening, rallying, rousing, significant, stimulating, simulative, stirring, stunning, touching, awe-inspiring, energizing, exhilarating, fascinating, heart pounding, heart stopping, inspiring, riveting, thrilling Need -  compulsion, demand, desperate, devoir, extremity, impatient longing, must, urge, urgency / desire, appetite, avid, burn, craving, eagerness, fascination, greed, hunger, insatiable, longing, lust, taste, thirst, voracious, want, yearning, ache, addiction, aspiration, desire, fever, fixation, hankering, hope, impulse, inclination, infatuation, itch, obsession, passion, pining, wish, yen Pain -  ache, afflict, affliction, agony, agonize, anguish, bite, burn, chafe, distress, fever, grief, hurt, inflame, laceration, misery, pang, punish, sting, suffering, tenderness, throb, throe, torment, torture, smart Painful -  aching, agonizing, arduous, awful, biting, burning, caustic, dire, distressing, dreadful, excruciating, extreme, grievous, inflamed, piercing, raw, sensitive, severe, sharp, tender, terrible, throbbing, tormenting, angry, bleeding, bloody, bruised, cutting, hurting, injured, irritated, prickly, skinned, smarting, sore, stinging, unbearable, uncomfortable, upsetting, wounded Perverted -  aberrant, abnormal, corrupt, debased, debauched, defiling, depraved, deviant, monstrous, tainted, twisted, vicious, warped, wicked, abhorrent, base, decadent, degenerate, degrading, dirty, disgusting, dissipated, dissolute, distasteful, hedonistic, immodest, immoral, indecent, indulgent, licentious, nasty, profligate, repellent, repugnant, repulsive, revolting, shameful, shameless, sickening, sinful, smutty, sordid, unscrupulous, vile  Pleasurable -  charming, gratifying, luscious, satisfying, savory, agreeable, delicious, delightful, enjoyable, nice, pleasant, pleasing, soothing, succulent Pleasure -  bliss, delight, gluttony, gratification, relish, satisfaction, thrill, adventure, amusement, buzz, contentment, delight, desire, ecstasy, enjoyment, excitement, fun, happiness, harmony, heaven, joy, kick, liking, paradise, seventh heaven  Rapacious-  avaricious, ferocious, furious, greedy, predatory, ravening, ravenous, savage, voracious, aggressive, gluttonous, grasping, insatiable, marauding, plundering Rapture -  bliss, ecstasy, elation, exaltation, glory, gratification, passion, pleasure, floating, unbridled joy Rigid -  adamant, austere, definite, determined, exact, firm, hard, rigorous, solid, stern, uncompromising, unrelenting, unyielding, concrete, fixed, harsh, immovable, inflexible, obstinate, resolute, resolved, severe, steadfast, steady, stiff, strong, strict, stubborn, taut, tense, tight, tough, unbending, unchangeable, unwavering Sudden -  abrupt, accelerated, acute, fast, flashing, fleeting, hasty, headlong, hurried, immediate, impetuous, impulsive, quick, quickening, rapid, rash, rushing, swift, brash, brisk, brusque, instant, instantaneous, out of the blue, reckless, rushed, sharp, spontaneous, urgent, without warning Thrust -  (forward) advance, drive, forge, impetus, impulsion, lunge, momentum, onslaught, poke, pressure, prod, propulsion, punch, push, shove, power, proceed, progress, propel (push hard) assail, assault, attack, bear down, buck, drive, force, heave, impale, impel, jab, lunge, plunge, press, pound, prod, ram, shove, stab, transfix, urge, bang, burrow, cram, gouge, jam, pierce, punch, slam, spear, spike, stick Thunder-struck - amazed, astonished, aghast, astounded, awestruck, confounded, dazed, dazed, dismayed, overwhelmed, shocked, staggered, startled, stunned, gob-smacked, bewildered, dumbfounded, flabbergasted, horrified, incredulous, surprised, taken aback  Torment - agony, anguish, hurt, misery, pain, punishment, suffering, afflict, angst, conflict, distress, grief, heartache, misfortune, nightmare, persecute, plague, sorrow, strife, tease, test, trial, tribulation, torture, turmoil, vex, woe Touch -  (physical) - blow, brush, caress, collide, come together, contact, converge, crash, cuddle, embrace, feel, feel up, finger, fondle, frisk, glance, glide, graze, grope, handle, hit, hug, impact, join, junction, kiss, lick, line, manipulate, march, massage, meet, nudge, palm, partake, pat, paw, peck, pet, pinch, probe, push, reach, rub, scratch, skim, slide, smooth, strike, stroke, suck, sweep, tag, tap, taste, thumb, tickle, tip, touching, toy, bite, bump, burrow, buss, bury, circle, claw, clean, clutch, cover, creep, crush, cup, curl, delve, dig, drag, draw, ease, edge, fiddle with, flick, flit, fumble, grind, grip, grub, hold, huddle, knead, lap, lave, lay a hand on, maneuver, manhandle, mash, mold, muzzle, neck, nestle, nibble, nip, nuzzle, outline, play, polish, press, pull, rasp, ravish, ream, rim, run, scoop, scrabble, scrape, scrub, shave, shift, shunt, skate, slip, slither, smack, snake, snuggle, soothe, spank, splay, spread, squeeze, stretch, swipe, tangle, tease, thump, tongue, trace, trail, tunnel twiddle, twirl, twist, tug, work, wrap  (mental) - communicate, examine, inspect, perception, scrutinize Wet - bathe, bleed, burst, cascade, course, cover, cream, damp, dampen, deluge, dip, douse, drench, dribble, drip, drizzle, drool, drop, drown, dunk, erupt, flood, flow, gush, immerse, issue, jet, leach, leak, moisten, ooze, overflow, permeate, plunge, pour, rain, rinse, run, salivate, saturate, secrete, seep, shower, shoot, slaver, slobber, slop, slosh, sluice, spill, soak, souse, spew, spit, splash, splatter, spout, spray, sprinkle, spurt, squirt, steep, stream, submerge, surge, swab, swamp, swill, swim, trickle, wash, water Wicked -  abominable, amoral, atrocious, awful, base, barbarous, dangerous, debased, depraved, distressing, dreadful, evil, fearful, fiendish, fierce, foul, heartless, hazardous, heinous, immoral, indecent, intense, mean, nasty, naughty, nefarious, offensive, profane, scandalous, severe, shameful, shameless, sinful, terrible, unholy, vicious, vile, villainous, wayward, bad, criminal, cruel, deplorable, despicable, devious, ill-intentioned, impious, impish, iniquitous, irreverent, loathsome, Machiavellian, mad, malevolent, malicious, merciless, mischievous, monstrous, perverse, ruthless, spiteful, uncaring, unkind, unscrupulous, vindictive, virulent, wretched Writhe -  agonize, bend, jerk, recoil, lurch, plunge, slither, squirm, struggle, suffer, thrash, thresh, twist, wiggle, wriggle, angle, arc, bow, buck, coil, contort, convulse, curl, curve, fidget, fight, flex, go into spasm, grind, heave, jiggle, jolt, kick, rear, reel, ripple, resist, roll, lash, lash out, screw up, shake, shift, slide, spasm, stir, strain, stretch, surge, swell, swivel, thrust, turn violently, tussle, twitch, undulate, warp, worm, wrench, wrestle, yank 

[aghostnotaguardian-archive]

//MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS - HERE IS THE ANSWER TO THE PROBLEM OF FINDING THAT RIGHT WORD!!!!!

[shades-of-orange]

I’ve reblogged it before, and I’ll reblog it again

[drabblily]

again….reblogging to save a writers life 🤒

[r3ady00rnot]

Yeah I’m reblogging…what about it

[hcwait]

spotlight.ᐟ 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　( michael jackson )

❛ thriller era!michael jackson 𝑥 popstar!reader ❜ ╱ 𝒸hapter one.

ⓘ media rivalry, lots of banter & passive aggressive flirting if you squint, michael is a shmuck (for now) ➥ navigation.

january 1983 — los angeles, california

the first article appeared three days after christmas. you ignored it. the second showed up a week later. you ignored that one too. by the time january arrived, they were impossible to avoid.

❝ the new princess of pop.❞

❝ the female answer to michael jackson.❞

❝ is thriller’s biggest competition already here?❞

you stared at the magazine cover sitting on your kitchen counter while your makeup artist flipped through another one nearby.

“they’re getting bold now.”

you snorted. “they’re getting stupid.”

the cover featured a photo of you from the christmas gala and directly beside it was michael jackson. the editors had intentionally placed the pictures next to each other. your smile & his smile, your recent hit climbing the charts & his album currently taking over the entire world. it wasn’t subtle in the slightest. instead, it was bait.

“have you even met him?” your stylist asked.

you grabbed your coffee as you debated if you really wanted to talk about him in your own free time, when you have to be bombarded with him everywhere else.

“once.”

“what was he like?”

you thought about the shrine auditorium and the way he’d looked at you. the strange tension that had existed for all of thirty seconds.

“dramatic.”

your stylist cackled at your aloof answer.

“well, according to these magazines, you two are about to start world war three.”

the american music awards were somehow louder than every nightmare you’d imagined.

camera flashes erupted from every direction the second you stepped backstage, reporters shouting over one another while publicists rushed around with clipboards pressed tightly against their chests. assistants hurried past carrying garment bags. executives shook hands and exchanged smiles that never quite reached their eyes.

the entire building felt alive, you had attended industry events before but nothing like this. this was different because this was your first real award season.

your first time standing shoulder-to-shoulder with artists you’d spent years watching from your living room television. people whose posters hung on bedroom walls, people whose records filled your collection, people who suddenly treated you like you belonged beside them—it was exciting yet terrifying.

unfortunately for you, michael jackson was everywhere. his face decorated promotional banners hanging from the ceilings as his songs drifted through speakers between commercial breaks. his name seemed to echo from every corner of the venue. it was impossible to take three steps without hearing it.

“michael!”

“michael, over here!”

“one more picture, michael!”

you rolled your eyes hard.

the man had somehow become the center of gravity, the entire room revolved around him. part of you hated how much it irritated you, the other part hated that the magazines weren’t helping.

for weeks they’d been comparing the two of you. every article, every interview, every headline, basically calling you ‘the female michael jackson.’

you were beginning to despise all of them because every time you opened a magazine, there he was. every time you saw his face, you wanted to prove them wrong or perhaps prove them right, you honestly weren’t sure anymore.

hours later, you found yourself accepting the best new artist award and surviving what felt like a hundred interviews, you finally found a moment to breathe.

the trophy felt heavier than expected in your hands. you were studying the engraved plaque with a proud grin, tears almost wanting to well in your eyes. that’s when a voice appeared beside you.

“congratulations.”

you immediately recognized it, i mean who wouldn’t. you turned to the familiar tabloid king.

michael stood beside you holding one of his own awards beneath his arm. perfect curls, perfectly tailored suit and his perfect smile, you already hated it.

“thank you.” you said in your most perfect poised voice, well, as poised as you could be.

“big night for you.” he continued.

you forced a polite smile, “i could say the same.”

“well,” michael adjusted his grip on the trophy. “some people have been saying that.

you blinked as he blinked, both smiling yet neither smiling.

“i’m sure they have,” you sneered. “must be exciting.”

“it is.” he was annoying casual, it made your blood boil.

“that’s good.” you matched his energy.

“thank you.”

“you’re welcome.”

you let the silence sit and consume the both of you for a good minute. or two. almost three. the air somehow became heavier but neither of you looked away nor did either of you back down—it was ridiculous.

you’d spoken maybe twenty words to each other, yet somehow it already felt like a competition.

michael finally nodded, “see you around.”

“you probably will.” another smile, this time with just enough teeth to qualify as one.

then he went on his way. you watched him disappear into the crowd of executives and photographers.

what an asshole.

across the room, michael glanced over his shoulder one final time. his eyes landed on you for half a second before he looked away again.

what an asshole.

the interviews got worse as the night went on. though, it started simple.

“you’ve had an incredible year. how does it feel being one of the biggest breakout stars in music right now?”

you smiled, “it’s exciting. i’m grateful people are connecting with the music.”

that was the easiest question of the night, then came along the next reporter.

“there’s been a lot of comparisons between you and michael jackson recently. what do you think about that?”

and there it was. despite all, you kept your smile in place.

“i think michael is incredibly talented.”

the reporter leaned forward, “but?”

“there is no but.”

a few journalists laughed as the reporter who spoke got awfully quiet, you considered that a victory.

unfortunately, it didn’t stop there. there was yet another microphone accompanied with a camera shoved in your face.

“do you see him as competition?”

“i see everybody as competition.”

the crowd reacted immediately. someone behind a camera muttered, “that’s a headline.”

damn it. the twisting of narratives had just began.

somewhere across the venue, michael wasn’t having much better luck. as you were walking down, you caught part of one of his interviews.

“there’s a lot of buzz surrounding her right now. any thoughts?”

michael adjusted his jacket, like he didn’t even want to acknowledge the question. “she seems very nice.”

the interviewer laughed.

“that’s not exactly what we asked.”

“that’s my answer.”

“do you think she could reach your level of success?”

of course the reporter had some nerve, throw one artist under the bus to get something out of another.

michael displayed a polite smile.

“i think people should focus on her accomplishments instead of comparing her to someone else.”

he caught the crowds attention, accompanied with collective “ooohs”

“so you’re saying she isn’t competition?”

michael’s annoying smile widened.

“i didn’t say that.”

you narrowed your eyes as you listened in.

asshole.

later, near the exit, a reporter cornered you. “last question.”

you immediately knew it wasn’t.

“if you and michael jackson released albums on the same day, who would sell more records?”

the cameras leaned closer. you smiled—almost the same ignorant one that michael had.

“i guess we’ll find out.”

the reporters erupted and across the room, michael looked up just in time to hear it.

his eyebrow lifted in suspicion, but all you could do was smile wider.

tomorrow’s headlines were going to be unbearable & you couldn’t wait.

　　　 　　　 © original works by hcwait

tags: @gorgystarr, @daphne020708, @floralsightings, @swe3tyann, @18lkpeters, @ovohanna24, @valky4e, @justfaefaeee, @xxxercess, @sorasomi, @bbyjjunie, @1eliana123-blog, @rosiiee3, @iluvbeingdelulu4evaaa, @liyahhsnuckhere, @mochimommy2002, @cyb3rsw1rls, @kyumiiee, @ch3rrybl0ssomtree, @scknights, @lavendernightsky, @iris-xoxo-juhu, @bouncylikebouncyball, @aisheteruyosblog, @lotuspetalss, @nata-de-coconuts, @passionsmoon, @slugstarzz, @michaeljacksonsonlylady, @inbredfawn, @popzeenat, @luv4kook, @its-jennarose, @ilovvesleepp, @daemontargaryenwhore

[cupcakeprincezz]

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘺 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦

michael never fails to mention you at the end of his award speeches. michael jackson x femreader short and sweet one !!!

FEBRUARY 28, 1984 - 26TH ANNUAL GRAMMY AWARDS.

the shrine auditorium feels like it’s breathing around you, warm and golden and alive, but nothing in the room shines the way he does. michael walks beside you with that quiet, almost shy confidence, his sequined jacket catching every light like it was made to be seen, but his hand stays wrapped around yours like he needs the reminder that you’re here. he keeps leaning down, his big sunglasses brushing your cheek, whispering little things that make your stomach flip, “you okay, baby?” and “you look so beautiful.”, and even though the world is watching him, he keeps watching you, like you’re the only thing grounding him in all this noise.

album of the year — thriller

the second they announce thriller as album of the year, you grab michael's arm so fast he actually jumps a little in his seat. his eyes go huge and round and he just stares at the stage like maybe he heard wrong. then he slowly turns toward you with the most stunned expression you've ever seen. "oh no..." he whispers under his breath, already getting shy. not because he won, but because suddenly all those people are looking at him. you immediately start smiling at him, reaching for both of his hands. "michael, go!" you whisper excitedly. he ducks his head with a small laugh and squeezes your hands once before standing. while the audience applauds, he gives you one last nervous glance over his shoulder before making his way up there. at the microphone he smiles shyly and looks down for a second. "wow... thank you..." he laughs softly and rubs the back of his neck. "i... um..." the audience gives a few affectionate laughs while he smiles and looks down again. "thank you to quincy and everyone who worked on this album." then his eyes lift and immediately search the audience until they land on you. his entire face softens. "and..." he gets shy all over again, smiling into the microphone. "my lady's out there tonight..." he glances down with a little grin. "thank you for smiling at me. it helps."

best male rock vocal performance — beat it

michael barely sits down before his name is called again and he physically freezes. absolutely freezes. slowly, very slowly, he turns his head toward you with complete disbelief all over his face. "baby..." he whispers, eyes wide. "again?" you immediately clap and grab his shoulders excitedly while laughing. meanwhile michael just hides part of his face behind his gloved hand for a second because now people are cheering for him again and he suddenly looks so adorably overwhelmed. before standing he leans close. "you're making me nervous." he whispers with a shy smile. when he gets to the microphone, he laughs quietly and looks down immediately. "thank you so much..." he smiles into the floor for a second before looking up. "wow..." he shifts his weight shyly. "and..." there's already laughter because everyone notices now. michael laughs too and covers his smile briefly. "my lady..." he glances toward you quickly then away. "she looks more excited than me tonight."

record of the year — beat it

you’re practically laughing and tearing up at the same time now, and michael notices immediately when he sits back down. he leans closer, his voice soft and amused. "you’re going to run out of emotions before this night is over." he says gently, and you nudge him while still smiling through tears. when his name is called again, he exhales like he’s bracing himself, then stands, smoothing his jacket nervously. at the microphone, he takes a longer pause this time, visibly thinking before he speaks. "i never imagined this song would reach this many people in this way. it started as something very simple... a message about not letting fear control you." he looks down for a second, then continues. "i think we all face moments where we have to decide whether we shrink back or step forward, and this song was my way of stepping forward." he looks up, shy but sincere. "and i want to thank everyone who listened, who understood it, and who made it something bigger than me." then his expression softens even more. "and to my lady here tonight who has been reminding me, without saying anything, that confidence doesn’t always mean being loud. sometimes it just means having someone beside you who believes in you quietly." he smiles faintly, eyes flicking to you before he quickly looks away again, almost embarrassed by how honest he’s being.

best male pop vocal performance — thriller

he sits beside you again, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s still shy about all of it, then leans in just a little. "this is getting a little overwhelming..." he admits softly. you laugh and brush his arm and he smiles before heading back up. at the microphone, he looks more composed but still gentle. "thank you... this album has meant a lot to me personally." he pauses. "it’s about imagination, joy, and finding your voice." his eyes flicker down, then up again. "and i want to thank my woman again who has been making this whole experience feel less like a stage and more like home in a strange way." he gives a shy smile. "my brightest face in the crowd."

producer of the year (non-classical)

by now the audience is smiling before he even reaches the mic. michael notices and gets shy again, laughing under his breath as he adjusts the microphone. "i think you all are starting to expect what i’m going to say..." he says softly, making the room laugh. "thank you to quincy jones, who has taught me so much about trust and creativity." he pauses. "and to everyone who worked on this project, thank you for your patience and your brilliance." his gaze lifts toward you for a second and laughs. "my lady who’s been sitting out there like she’s trying to convince me i deserve this... you’ve done more for me tonight than you probably realize."

best recording for children — e.t. the extra-terrestrial

he comes back to you briefly and lets out a soft breath, leaning just slightly like he needs a moment to reset. "i think my brain is slowly turning into glitter." he whispers, making you laugh. at the stage, he smiles gently now, a little calmer. "thank you so much. this project reminded me that imagination is something we should never really grow out of." he pauses. "because it makes life a lot more interesting." he smiles faintly. "and you already know who, i love you i hope you’re not tired of hearing your name yet because i’m not tired of saying it”, and the whole audience laughs with him while you melt into your seat.

best engineered recording (non-classical) — thriller

he looks down for a second, collecting himself before speaking. "i want to sincerely thank the engineers and technical team for their incredible work on this album." he nods. "they brought precision and life to something that began as imagination." then he pauses, smiling to himself again then pointing towards you. "my girl, thank you for everything."

best rhythm & blues song — billie jean

by the time they announce it, the whole room feels like it already knows what’s about to happen. michael sits beside you for a moment completely still, then lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like he’s been gently cornered by fate all night and has finally stopped resisting it. he looks at you for a long second, eyes soft and shy in that way he gets when he’s overwhelmed but trying to stay composed. "i think if they call my name again, i’m going to start apologizing before i even stand up." he whispers, making you laugh as you squeeze his hand. he doesn’t let go this time. when his name is announced, he exhales slowly, like he’s accepting the inevitable, then stands with that same gentle shyness, smoothing his jacket out of habit even though his hands are slightly unsteady. the applause feels endless, but he moves through it quietly, almost humbly, like he’s still surprised anyone is cheering at all.

at the microphone, he doesn’t speak immediately. he just stands there for a moment, looking out at the audience with a kind of quiet disbelief that slowly turns into gratitude. then he bows his head slightly, smiles, and finally speaks, voice soft and thoughtful. "thank you so much... truly. i want to start by saying how deeply grateful i am for music itself, for the way it allows us to tell stories that don’t always fit into words on their own." he pauses, choosing his thoughts carefully, still shy but more present now. "this song, billie jean, was a story about perception, responsibility, and how quickly something can grow beyond the person who created it. and i think what i’ve learned most from it is how important it is to stay grounded in truth, even when the world around it becomes loud."

he glances down for a second, smiling faintly to himself like he can’t quite believe he’s still standing there, then looks back up with a softer expression. "i want to thank everyone who worked on this record, everyone who listened to it, and everyone who understood it in their own way. that kind of connection is something i’ll never take for granted." his voice gets quieter, more personal. "and i also want to say something i think i’ve been circling around all night without meaning to." a few people in the audience laugh softly, already anticipating it, and he lets out a small shy breath of laughter too, like he’s caught himself.

he shakes his head gently, smiling. "i’ve been mentioning someone in the audience after almost every speech tonight..." he pauses again, this time more openly embarrassed but in a warm, affectionate way. "and i think it’s because i’ve realized something important." his gaze slowly finds you in the crowd, and everything in him softens, like the noise of the room fades just a little. "she’s not just someone i’m grateful to see here tonight... she’s the reason i’ve been able to stand up here at all without feeling like i’m going to disappear under the lights."

his smile turns shy again, but it’s brighter now, more certain. "she’s been my calm when everything else felt too big. my reminder that i don’t have to perform confidence to actually feel safe in a moment like this. just knowing she’s there... looking at me like i’m already enough... it changes everything."

he laughs softly, almost under his breath, shaking his head like he still can’t believe he’s saying it out loud in front of everyone. "i think i’ve tried all night to avoid calling attention to it, but it keeps coming back to the same thing..." he pauses, voice gentler now, full of warmth. "she’s my reason for not overthinking every step I’ve taken up here tonight. my reason for not running off stage the moment the applause starts."

his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, and the shyness in him returns in the sweetest way, like he suddenly remembers how many people are listening, but he doesn’t pull away from the feeling. instead, he just smiles a little wider, softer. "and if i’m being completely honest... she’s the reason tonight has felt less like something i had to survive... and more like something i get to remember."

the room is warm with applause, but he seems quieter now, like he’s finished saying the most important part and everything else can just exist around it. when he finally walks back to you after the eighth win, he doesn’t even try to hide how shy he is anymore. he just sits down beside you, still smiling, still a little overwhelmed, and gently takes your hand like it’s the only steady thing left in the world.

"i meant it..." he says softly, almost like he’s still surprised he said it at all. then he gives a small, bashful smile, eyes warm. "you really are my reason for getting through all of that without falling apart."

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you walk out toward the car with the biggest, brightest grin on your face, still buzzing from everything, your hand wrapped around michael’s arm like you’re not planning on letting go anytime soon, while he walks slightly close beside you, giggling under his breath in that shy, overwhelmed way, still holding all eight grammys carefully in both arms like he’s trying not to drop a single piece of the night, and every step makes him glance down at the awards, then back at you, like he still can’t believe any of it is real, especially you, and the second you hit the lights outside the paparazzi explode into flashes and shouting, cameras going wild as they catch him mid laugh, mid blush, full of eight red lipstick marks and still trying to stay composed while failing completely, and he gets even shyer, ducking his head a little but not letting go of you either, letting you guide him through it as he whispers, half laughing, "they’re going to zoom in on my face, i know they are..." while you just laugh and squeeze his arm tighter, proud and glowing, and he keeps walking anyway, smiling like he can’t stop himself, shy but happy, surrounded by chaos and cameras and eight awards and somehow still looking like the softest version of himself just because you’re right there beside him.

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

been busy with my final exams but i will be back soon and will be writing your requests, feel free to request ily all ❤️❤️🌸🌸😙😙

[carmaloves]

𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝑻𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒉 ʚ𖦹ɞ

Michael Jackson x Sweet!Reader

Synopsis: Michael was well known for staying up late late into the night. Often making phone calls to talk to people when he was lonely. After a long night in the studio he had come by the Sweet's Shop you worked at. He had seen you through the glass mopping up the floors and had somehow managed to get you to open up the doors for him... it wasn't that hard. Era: Start of Bad Era Content/ Warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF! Tooth rotting fluff. Word Count: 2.5k

Masterlist

Michael's stomach grumbled as he left the studio. He had gone practically the whole day without eating, and now he was starving at 12:02 in the morning. No where would be open, and he didn't feel like trying to make himself a quiet dinner back at Hayvenhurst. Bill opened the car door from and and he slid in, his stomach letting out another loud grumble. Bill chuckled a bit and got into the driver's seat.

"You need to eat something, kid." He looked at him.

Michael nodded, "I know. I know. But it's too late, nowhere is going to be open." Michael sunk into the seat, his mind thinking about how good some candy or something sweet would be right about now.

Bill thought for a moment before looking at Michael, "I might know a place, but I can't promise it'll be open. And it's not food food."

Michael raised an eyebrow, "What is it? Plastic food?" He crossed his arms, irritation inching into his voice.

Bill laughed a bit, "No, it's sweets."

"Drive."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You were exhausted. Your coworkers had left the kitchen a mess, leaving you to clean all of it up before the owner came in the next morning. You had half a mind to call their homes and demand they get their butts back to the Sweet Shop and help you, but you didn't want to deal with the hassle.

The shop had closed at 11, it was now an hour past and you were at the home stretch of finishing up. You wanted nothing more than to go home and collapse into your bed, in fact you had planned to have a chill night, to have a relaxing night after work. But no, no here you were, mopping the floor like it had personally attacked you.

You muttered angrily about how you were going to chew out the people working the shift before you when there was a knock at the glass door. You jumped slightly, who in their right mind was here at this hour. You turned and saw Bill standing outside the door.

A bit of anger washed away as you smiled at the close family friend. You expected to see his wife, Gail, beside him, but no it was just him. Weird. You quickly unlocked the door, smiling up at the man. "Bill? What are you doing here so late? Where is Gail?" You brought him into a quick hug. Bill and your father had been friends since childhood, and he was like an uncle to you.

He hugged you back, "Hey there, duck." He used his little nickname for you. "Sorry for this... but I have a favor to ask." He pulled away and stepped to the side to reveal a sleek black car parked in front of the shop. You knew that car. That car was his work car.

You looked at him painfully, "No no no no, don't do this to meeeeee. I was just about to finish mopping." You pouted a bit, trying to avoid his pleading eyes.

"Just this once, I swear. Look, the kid hasn't eaten all day, and I know if I drop him off at home he'll just go straight to bed."

You bit your lip, still thinking.

Bill quickly threw in something he knew you would like, "I'll buy you that new mixer you really wanted."

Your eyes shot to his, "The pink one???" You got a little giddy. He nodded. "The pink one with the white accents and different whisks??" You had to confirm.

He nodded again, "Yup, I swear on it, duck."

You smiled widely, hugging him tight, "Thank you thank you! You can tell him to come in!"

Bill hugged you back and looked at the car, giving Michael a nod. Michael quickly got out of the car, and raced into the bakery. "Bill, you're an absolute life saver."

"Not me, Joker. You should thank her." He nodded his head at you.

Michael turned and looked at you. The two of you locked eyes and for a moment you forgot all about the mess you were left with, or how tired you were. He smiled at you, that charming grin. "Thank you..." He waited for your name.

"Y/n." It came out quieter than you meant. Michael let out a tiny breathy laugh, eyes still holding yours.

"That's a sweet name."

Bill eyed the two of you, "Go on and tell her what you want so she can head home soon."

You both snapped out of whatever trance was put on you. Michael looked at the big menu above the counter, eyes scanning. "Gosh, it all sounds so good. Bill, what do you recommend."

"My wife and I typically get cookies, or sometimes they have ice cream in the summer."

Michael nodded, and looked at you, "Do you guys have ice cream right now?"

"Well, it's the middle of summer, so yeah." You teased him. He laughed a bit, head ducking down for a second.

"Then, I'll take strawberry ice cream with as many toppings as you can add, and like 5 chocolate chip cookies." He looked back up at you with a smile. You nodded and moved around the back. You scooped three large scoops of ice cream and loaded them with sprinkles, whipped cream, fruit, and syrup. Bill and Michael were now sitting at one of the little tables. You came and gently placed the bowl of ice cream down in front of him before looking at Bill.

"Do you want anything, goose?"

"Goose?" Michael questioned, looking at you with a smirk. Your face heated up, and stepped away.

"Let me go get those cookies for you." You quickly left.

Michael turned to Bill looking to him for an explanation. Bill smiled. "Her Pa and I have been friends since childhood, so I've known her since she was a baby. When she was a toddler her favorite game to play with me was Duck Duck Goose, and we played it so much that she started calling me Goose. And I call her Duck."

Michaels smile somehow grew as Bill told the story. He leaned back to get a better look at you again, something in the back of his mind told him that there was something about you. Like he could feel that this wasn't the last time he would be in this shop. You came back moments later with the cookies in a small brown paper bag. You handed it to Michael, your fingers brushing his as he took it. It felt so sweet, like a toothache. His eyes met yours again, both of you were slightly red in the face.

You lead the two men to the door, hugging Bill goodbye. "Do not forget about the pink mixer you promised me." You warned him playfully. He smiled, and hugged you back. Michael watched, making a mental note of what you said. Bill pulled away and told Michael he was going to start the car. Michael stayed back for a moment and you looked at him, "It was really a pleasure to meet you Michael."

"You as well," His eyes widened and he reached for his wallet, "I'm sorry, I almost forgot to pay you." He fumbled quickly.

You laughed a bit and put your hand on his, stopping him, "It's okay, really."

"No I insist, I've kept you far later than needed, the least I can do is pay."

"Michael, please. You're real good to my uncle, and that's payment enough." There was something so gentle behind your eyes. Michael couldn't stop his heart from swelling up. He nodded and put his wallet away, instead taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

"I'll see you around, Y/n." He smiled and left you standing in the doorway, cheeks red as roses. As he got in the car he waved one last time to you before taking off down the road. You cleaned up the rest of the shop with nothing but a stupid smile on your face.

As Bill drove Michael back home, Michael couldn't help but think about you. Call him crazy, but Michael knew immediately what that feeling in his chest was. He had never believed that love at first sight could exist, at least not until now. He was in your vicinity for all but 20 minutes and he was absolutely smitten. He hadn't felt this certain about anything or anyone in all his life.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

As Bill dropped him off at Hayvenhurst he looked over at Michael in the passenger seat and locked the doors before he could get out.

"Michael, you know you mean a lot to me. You're like a son to me. But she means just as much. If you hurt her you will regret it."

Michael nodded seriously, "I won't. You know me, Bill. I wouldn't hurt any girl, especially a girl like that."

Bill nodded and unlocked the door, wishing Michael a goodnight.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

When you came into work the next day one of your coworkers immediately pulled you to the back. There on the table sat the pink mixer with a big white bow and a note attached. You smiled at Bill's thoughtfulness and grabbed the card.

Thanks for opening your doors up for me and thank you for the ice cream and cookies. Everything was so sweet that I'm looking forward to coming back. I hope you like the mixer.

-M

P.S. I'm not talking about the treats.

A gentle smile spread from your lips as you tucked the note into your purse.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Michael came by almost every night. You always told him that if he kept eating only sweets he was going to get a sugar crash. He always shrugged it off and told you he just had a strong sweet tooth that came out late at night. But you were the sweetness he was craving so badly. The more time he spent with you the more he felt addicted.

He started coming to the shop even when he was up late at home, despite the fact that the store wasn't exactly close to Hayvenhurst.

He would show up outside the shop's glass windows, a wide smile on his face as you let him inside. He would sit on the counter as you moved about the shop, either cleaning or preparing things for the next day. He watched you work with an intensity you could feel trailing your every move.

Michael's friendship meant a lot to you, you greatly appreciated that despite how busy he was he always found a way to come and visit you. Even if it was only for a minute or two, seeing him smile at you like you were the best thing on the earth became your favorite part of the day.

Conversation flowed naturally between the two of you, both of you listening to the other with such pure intention that it made the other actually slow down and think about what they were saying. You had never done that before. You had never really given much thought to the way that you spoke to other people, or the things you said. But with Michael you did, and not because he was this big celebrity, but because you wanted him to understand your words fully.

One particularly late night you were prepping from frosting that needed to chill overnight and Michael stood close behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist and he rested his head on your shoulder, watching you work diligently. He had come up behind you and hugged you, and he truly meant for it to be strictly friendly, but then he didn't pull away. And you didn't tell him to.

He listened to the beat of your pulse as you worked, it beat steadily, and somehow that made him fall for you even more. Because he knew that you were comfortable around him, he knew that this kind of touch was something you both wanted. He rested there, head turned slightly into the crook of your neck, for a while. And then he got an idea. He moved one arm and stole a piping bag from beside you.

"Michael!" You turned to face him as he ran to the other side of the counter, ducking behind it.

You quickly got your own, knowing exactly what was about to go down. You leaned over the counter and squeezed the bag hard, making the icing fly onto him. He gasped and jumped up, retaliating immediately. Icing was flying left and right, and when the bags were empty you both decided to grab fistfulls of icing and fight each other playfully. You grabbed a glob and smeared it all over his chest. In turn he grabbed you and hugged you to him, smearing it all over your body. You both laughed and screamed as the other tried attacking the other. You yelped as he smeared some onto your cheek.

When the icing ran out you were both covered in icing, and the floor of the shop was sticky. The two of you breathed heavily, looking at each other with sickeningly sweet smiles.

Your eyes traced his face admiring him as he stood there. You quickly glanced down to his lips. You blushed and walked to the back, grabbing two rags. You returned and handed one to him. You expected him to clean off his own face, but instead he grabbed your arm and pulled you back, carefully cleaning off a large spot on your cheek. His hand moved the rag gently across your face, easing the icing off. "There, now I can see your pretty face again."

You smiled and took the rag, carefully cleaning off his face. Your touch was just as gentle as his. Your hand stayed on his cheek as you looked up at him. He smiled and looked down at you, "I missed a spot." His eyes moved to your lips as his hand settled on your waist.

You both pulled into each other at the same time, lips meeting gently. He could taste the frosting on your lips as he kissed you. Your hand rested on his shoulder as you held him close. It felt like a movie cliche, the kiss ignited fireworks between the two of you. It was like you fit together like two perfect puzzle pieces. You were made for each other. The kiss stayed sweet, but there was an unmistakable passion behind it that made your head spin.

Michael pulled away a smile etching onto his face. "You're a real sweet girl, y'know."

You smiled up at him, "I could say the same thing about you."

He laughed and hugged you. "We should clean up now that I've successfully trashed your place of work."

You laughed with him and looked around. Yeah this was going to be a nightmare. "We should, but I want to kiss you again."

That was enough said for him, he pulled you right back to him. A calmness settled over his mind. You were exactly what he was craving

You were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted, and he couldn't get enough.

[thedailymichael]

˗ˏˋ PAST EXPOSURE ˎˊ˗

synopsis. In the fresh modern age of 2026, the last thing you'd expect was to get thrown in a Back to the Future plot. You and your totally basic life go haywire during a moment of curiosity when you decide to test out a stubborn retro camera with mixed up dates. What happens when it wasn't just any old camera? What if it had taken you back to the 20th century? And what will you do when you find the chance to change his fate?

starring. multiple eras!michael jackson x time traveller!reader

content warnings. death, sexual content later in the story, tobacco, alcohol, mental and physical abuse, michael's childhood, and many more content labels yet to come! muahaha

MASTERLIST

(total episode count has not been determined yet)

—episode 1 | Say cheese!

—episode 2 | This is far out!

—episode 3 | Oh, dear child...

—episode 4 | Funky 21st century girl!

—episode 5 | ...

—episode 6 | ...

—episode 7 | ...

—episode 8 | ...

—episode 9 | ...

—episode 10 | ...

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[faiology]

my distant lover | michael jackson

you and michael have been in a relationship for months. suddenly, he becomes distant and cold, and there’s only one explanation: the diana ross.

my first michael fic & she’s really long :) also, my dms & asks are finally back open! so ask/suggest away, i hope yall enjoy!

the first time you met michael, was insane. he looked at you like he already knew you. not in a cocky way. not flirtatious, either.

it was softer than that. curious, one might say.

you were standing off to the side at a music industry party you barely even wanted to attend, holding a sweating glass of cranberry juice and vodka, wishing your friend would hurry up so you could leave. the room was packed shoulder to shoulder with celebrities, producers, photographers, assistants. expensive perfume floated through the air thick enough to choke on.

and yet somehow, when michael walked in, everything shifted. people parted for him naturally. heads turned immediately. conversations stopped and restarted in excited whispers.

but michael himself looked uncomfortable underneath it all.

his shoulders curled inward slightly as security escorted him through the room, dark curls brushing against his forehead while flashes from cameras bounced off the gold trim of his jacket.

you looked away quickly. you didn’t want to stare. but you couldn’t help yourself. every woman in the room already was.

your friend eventually returned to your side breathless.

“oh my god,” she whispered, gripping your arm. “that’s michael!”

“i know who michael jackson is.”

“girl, fix your face.” she said as she slapped your shoulder. she had pulled some big strings to get the both of you into the function.

you rolled your eyes, fighting a laugh.

“i’m tired.”

“well wake up because he keeps lookin’ over here.”

“girl, please.”

“i’m serious.”

you turned slightly then and your stomach dropped. because he was. not dramatically. not intensely.

just… watching.

the second your eyes met his, he smiled.

small.

shy.

beautiful.

you looked away first. you had to. he gave you all kids of butterflies you didn’t even know existed.

later that same night, you found yourself trapped near the balcony doors while waiting for valet. you were checking your purse when you heard a soft voice behind you.

“leaving so soon? was the party as boring for you as it was for me?”

you jumped slightly.

michael stood there alone now, hands tucked into the pockets of his black slacks, expression amused.

up close, he looked even prettier somehow. soft brown eyes. long lashes. that smile.

oh that smile.

you blinked.

“i’m sorry?”

“at the party,” he clarified. “you looked bored.”

you laughed before you could stop yourself. “maybe because i was.”

his grin widened.

there was something disarming about him immediately. something warm. michael didn’t talk to you like you were some beautiful mystery to conquer. he spoke carefully, gently, like he genuinely wanted to know what you thought.

you ended up talking with him near those balcony doors for almost an hour. about music, movies, random memories.

he told stories with his entire body, animated hands moving constantly while he spoke. every few minutes he’d laugh suddenly and grab your arm instinctively like he couldn’t help touching you.

and god, his laugh.

soft and bright and completely contagious.

at one point you teased him about a movie he liked, and he looked so fake offended you nearly cried laughing.

“you are mean,” he accused dramatically.

“you have terrible taste.”

“no i don’t.”

“you absolutely do.”

after that night, the two of you became inseparable.

being loved by michael felt intoxicating in the beginning. not because he was famous but because he noticed things. even the little things.

he remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. he noticed when your mood shifted before you even spoke. if you mentioned liking something casually in conversation, weeks later he’d somehow surprise you with it.

he adored making you laugh most of all.

sometimes you’d catch him staring at you while you talked, smiling to himself like he couldn’t believe you were real.

those moments ruined you. because michael loved in such a tender way when he allowed himself to.

he’d call late at night just to hear your voice.

“what’re you doin’?” he’d ask softly.

“trying to sleep.” you joked.

“oh.”

“…why do you sound sad?”

“i miss you.”

simple. honest. and devastating.

sometimes he’d sneak over to your apartment wearing baseball caps and oversized jackets trying desperately not to be recognized, only to end up curled across your couch stealing all your blankets within an hour.

you remembered one rainy afternoon especially vividly.

the temptations played softly from your record player while thunder rolled outside your windows. michael lay stretched across your bed with his head in your lap while you absentmindedly played in his curls.

“you spoil me,” he mumbled sleepily.

“you’re dramatic.”

“no, i’m serious.” his eyes stayed closed. “nobody takes care of me like you.”

your fingers paused briefly. you looked down at him carefully.

“and who takes care of you, michael?”

his eyes opened and for a second, something deeply sad flashed across his face before disappearing.

“nobody,” he said quietly.

your chest ached instantly. you bent down and kissed his forehead without thinking. you wanted him to know that he deserved the world. your sweet boy.

and michael melted.

actually melted.

he grabbed your wrist gently afterward, pressing his lips against the inside of your palm while staring up at you with those soft dark eyes.

you felt yourself falling in love right there.

hard. irreversibly hard.

but even during the good moments, there was always another presence lingering quietly between you both.

diana.

sometimes it was subtle, sometimes it wasn’t. michael talked about her constantly. stories from childhood. memories. phone calls. advice she’d given him.

he lit up differently whenever her name came up. you noticed it immediately, though you tried not to. at first you told yourself you were overthinking.

everybody knew michael loved diana. the entire world knew. but loving someone and being in love with them were supposed to be different things.

right?

still, there were moments that sat wrong with you. like the time you both attended an event together and diana arrived late.

michael had been relaxed all evening beforehand, sitting close beside you with his hand resting against your knee underneath the table.

then she walked in and he changed instantly. his entire face brightened.

“diana!” he breathed.

you’d never heard your name leave his mouth sounding like that.

he stood immediately, already moving toward her before you could even process it. she hugged him tightly and he hugged her tighter.

suddenly you felt invisible.

later that night, after the event ended, michael noticed your silence in the car.

“what’s wrong?”

“nothing.”

“baby.”

you just stared out the window and blamed it on you being tired.

the second time you realized something was wrong, it was quiet. not dramatic. not explosive. just… quiet.

two weeks of quiet to be exact.

two weeks of staring at your phone every night. two weeks of hearing his voice everywhere else except where it mattered. interviews. recordings. rehearsals. television appearances.

everybody else could reach the michael jackson, except you.

and somehow that hurt worse than if he’d just told you outright that he didn’t want you anymore.

you sat cross-legged on your bed one night with your journal balanced against your thighs, tears burning behind your eyes while the television muttered softly in the background.

your pen pressed so hard into the paper it nearly tore through it.

i just get so irritated and i feel so crazy every time i think about this. like it’s just no way. you went TWO whole weeks without talking to me. okay cool. i expressed to you how i was kinda upset about it, not even kinda i WAS upset and i really missed you. then when i do reach out to you to reconcile you just act like i was the issue??? a couple days ago you said that i was annoying you and i turned you off, well THIS is annoying and turning me off. like this disappearing act is so weird. and you calling me annoying actually really hurt my feelings. is there a deeper issue here that i’m not understanding?

your breathing became shaky halfway through. because deep down, you already knew the deeper issue.

her.

always her.

you remembered the exact moment you were writing about in grave detail.

you’d been sitting in your kitchen making yourself a snack at nearly midnight when the television host smiled and mentioned diana’s recent accident that left her slightly injured. nothing too serious.

“and michael was sweet enough to come check on you personally, right?” the interviewer asked.

diana laughed softly.

“of course, he’s always had a real and true love for me.”

real and true love.

you stared at the television so long you’d abandoned your food. because michael had looked you dead in your eyes weeks prior and told you there was nothing going on.

“she’s family to me,” he’d said gently. “that’s all.”

“family.”

but family didn’t make him disappear for weeks while ignoring your messages. family didn’t make his eyes soften that way whenever her name came up. family didn’t make you feel like you were competing with a someone you could never beat.

when things were good with michael, they were embarrassingly good.

that was the problem. he loved softly. dangerously softly.

he’d kiss your forehead while humming unfinished melodies under his breath. he’d tug you into his lap absentmindedly during studio sessions. he’d laugh at your jokes so hard he’d wheeze and cover his face.

and god, his smile. his smile ruined you.

there was one night in particular you kept replaying even after the breakup.

you’d both snuck out onto the balcony of his hotel suite in new york. it was freezing outside, your fingers stiff from the cold, but michael insisted on staying.

“look,” he whispered excitedly, pointing toward the city lights.

you laughed. “baby, it’s literally traffic.”

“no,” he grinned. “it looks like stars.”

you looked over at him instead. the city reflected in his eyes. his curls falling around his face. that stupid beautiful smile. he literally invented the word whimsical. that was him.

your sweet boy.

and he caught you staring.

“what?” he asked shyly.

“nothing.”

“you’re lookin’ at me like i’m crazy.”

“maybe you are crazy.” you joked.

he gasped dramatically. “see? this is why i keep you around. you humble me.”

you laughed so hard you nearly snorted. and michael lit up. completely lit up.

he pulled you against him under his coat, chin resting on top of your head.

“you know i adore you, right?”

your chest physically hurt remembering that now. because maybe he did adore you. just not enough.

but it was the fight that ended everything happened in his living room. you arrived already exhausted. already angry. already heartbroken. nevertheless, you went to see him anyway.

michael sat curled into the corner of the couch in gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt, looking nervous the second he saw your face.

“hey,” he said quietly.

“hey.”

he stood slowly. “you okay?”

you almost laughed.

“am i okay?”

his shoulders tensed.

“i’ve been worried about you,” he murmured.

“worried about me?” you repeated. “michael, you disappeared.”

“I didn’t disappear—”

“you did.”

his jaw tightened immediately.

“i been busy.”

“busy enough to ignore me for two weeks?”

he sighed heavily, already irritated. and somehow that hurt more.

“why’re you makin’ this into somethin’ bigger than it is?”

your eyes widened.

“because it IS bigger than it is!”

“see?” he snapped suddenly. “this is what i mean. you keep pushin’ and pushin’ and it’s annoyin’.”

the room went silent. because there it was. annoying.

you stared at him like he’d slapped you. and the second the word registered on your face, michael regretted it.

you could see it immediately.

“baby—”

“don’t, michael.”

his voice softened instantly. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“then how did you mean it?”

he rubbed his face hard.

“i just… i got a lot goin’ on.”

“so do i but i find the time to show up for you, michael. i find the time to show up for us!”

“i know that.”

“no,” you whispered, tears rising. “i don’t think you do.”

michael looked exhausted now. cornered.

“what do you want me to say?”

the question broke something in you. because if he loved you the way you loved him, he would’ve known.

you swallowed hard.

“i want to know why she matters more.”

his eyes flickered immediately. there it was again. that hesitation. that tiny tiny pause that told you everything.

“she doesn’t,” he said quietly.

you nodded slowly.

“okay.”

“i’m serious.”

“i said okay.”

“why won’t you believe me?”

your voice cracked. “because you’re lying to me, michael. you abandon me and go out of your way for her. you answer her every call. you never tell her no. there aren’t any boundaries.”

his face hardened defensively.

“that’s diana.”

“exactly.”

silence. thick silence.

you stared at him with tears slipping down your cheeks while he stood frozen across from you. and suddenly you felt tired. not angry. not dramatic.

just tired.

“i can’t do this anymore,” you whispered.

michael blinked.

“…what?”

“i can’t compete with a woman you’ve loved your whole life.”

his face immediately crumbled.

“baby—”

“don’t call me that right now.”

“please.”

his voice cracked so softly it nearly made you fold. he stepped toward you carefully.

“you know how much i care about you.”

“that’s the problem,” you whispered. “you care about me.”

not love. care.

you saw the exact second he realized what you meant.

his lips parted. but no words came out. because what could he say? that he loved you more?

you weren’t sure he did. and he wasn’t sure either. you grabbed your bag before you could change your mind.

michael followed you all the way to the door.

“please don’t leave mad.”

you laughed bitterly through tears.

“that’s the thing, michael. i’m not even mad anymore.”

that terrified him more than yelling would’ve.

“we can fix this.”

you looked at him one last time.

beautiful.

sad.

confused.

still somehow the boy you loved more than yourself. and that made this even worse.

“we can’t fix this, michael.” you breathed harshly. this was hurting you more than it hurt him, “i wish you the best lovey. i really do.”

his eyes watered instantly and you almost stayed.

almost.

but then you remembered the interview. real and true love.

and you walked away.

the breakup destroyed you in ways nobody noticed. because technically, nothing dramatic happened. no cheating scandal. no screaming. no public humiliation.

just grief.

private grief.

the kind that sat heavy in your chest at three in the morning.

you stopped answering friends. stopped going out. marvin gaye songs became unbearable. everything reminded you of him. his laugh. his hands. the way he’d randomly grab your wrist just to kiss your palm absentmindedly while talking.

you wrote instead.

constantly.

you do not care for me in the same way that i care for you. i’m slowly realizing that. well i did know that, i just didn’t want to acknowledge it. i won’t say i didn’t love you, but i cared for you so much and i still do. i’m so hurt & i miss you. i miss your presence. the way you made me laugh. your touch. i miss everything.

your tears smeared the ink.

i just want to scream and blow up your house phone asking why her over me. i want to cry until i can’t anymore. but i wont. i’m better than that.

you paused there.

because were you?

you slept with his sweatshirt every night for nearly a month afterward. sometimes you’d reach for the phone before stopping yourself. sometimes you swore you could still smell his cologne in your apartment.

and the worst part? a tiny cruel part of you wondered if he was hurting too.

are you acting nonchalant or did you cry a million times too?

months later, he still haunted you.

in grocery stores. on radios. on magazine covers.

you’d see a sequined glove in a storefront and your chest would tighten instantly. you hated how deeply he stayed embedded inside you.

one night, unable to sleep again, you opened your journal once more.

hi again. i miss you. a lot.

your breathing shook.

i shouldn’t but i do. i really really do.

outside, rain tapped softly against your window.

i can’t stop thinking about you. i wish i didn’t think about you. i wish i didn’t want you as bad as i do when you’re clearly over me.

you shut your eyes hard. because that was the worst part.

the idea that he’d moved on easier than you.

that maybe you were just another woman he cared for while still secretly loving diana ross forever.

that can’t be true. i refuse to believe this and that’s exactly my problem. i can’t register this in my brain.

your throat tightened painfully.

i’m simply a girl who cared for a boy. things didn’t work out and that’s okay. but i miss you. i think of you every time i hear marvin gaye. i think of you walking to class. i think of you before going to bed. i thought i would be over you by now. but i’m not. i miss you deeply.

my lovey, my michael, my superstar.

then came the worst night of all.

the night he called.

you almost didn’t answer.

almost. but the second you heard his voice, your knees weakened.

“…hey.”

silence.

you sat down slowly on the edge of your bed.

“hi, michael.”

he sounded exhausted. small. “i didn’t know if you’d pick up.”

“i almost didn’t.” you said truthfully.

a quiet breath.

“that’s fair.”

you closed your eyes. his voice still felt like home and that was the tragedy.

“why are you callin’, mike?”

there was a long silence. then quietly he said,

“i miss you.”

your chest caved in. you covered your mouth instantly. because hearing it out loud nearly destroyed every ounce of healing you’d managed.

“don’t,” you whispered shakily.

“i do, baby.”

“please don’t do this to me.” you begged.

“i think about you all the time,” michael continued, “i miss everything about you.”

you laughed bitterly through tears.

“that’s funny.”

“why’s that funny?”

“because i’ve spent months thinkin’ i meant nothing to you.”

“you never meant nothing to me.” his voice sounded horrified.

you wiped your face aggressively.

“then why did you make me feel like i had to compete for you?”

silence again.

heavy silence.

and suddenly michael sounded heartbreakingly honest.

“…because i was confused. i was obsessed with the version of diana i’d created in my head. what i didn’t realize is that i had what i was looking for in front of me the entire time.”

you inhaled sharply.

“that’s not fair.”

“i know.”

“you don’t get to love me halfway because you can’t figure yourself out.”

“I know.” his voice cracked. “I know, baby.”

the tears began to flow even harder. baby. you’d missed that. so so much.

you could hear it. the regret.

real regret all in his voice.

“did you love her?” you whispered.

he took forever to answer.

“…yes.”

your heart shattered all over again.

but then—

“but i loved you too.”

too.

not more.

but too.

and somehow that tiny word told you everything you’d feared from the beginning.

you squeezed your eyes shut.

“that’s the problem, michael.”

he started crying quietly on the other end. actual crying. soft sniffles he was trying to hide.

and god, that hurt too. because part of you wanted to comfort him anyway.

even now. especially now.

“i never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered.

“but you did, mike.”

“I know.”

you pressed the phone against your forehead.

“michael, i’m trying to do this. trying to sit here on the phone with you. trying to be there for you,” you admitted quietly. “i really am, lovey.”

he stayed silent.

“but i can’t.”

his breathing hitched.

“because i don’t want friendship from you.” you cried softly into the receiver. “i wanted you. all of you.”

the silence afterward was devastating. because both of you knew love existed there.

real love.

just not the right kind.

not the complete kind.

and incomplete love destroys people too.

[princessrosalia]

the lady in his life ──── michael jackson ♡

otw!era michael jackson x 𝒇!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ✦ w.c. 8.2k

𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 ╱ .✦ ݁˖ childhood best friends to lovers trope. a lil bit of angst to begin with, but most of all, so much fluff that i hope your heart will melt! including a cute makeout in his bed.. p.s. just pretend michael adopted bubbles four years earlier because i altered reality a little here lol.. also pretend michael actually did write she’s out of my life, ok!!

michael hasn’t seen his childhood best friend in seven years, but by no fault of his own, for he was never the type to leave behind anybody who mattered to him. their distance had been initiated by his father, who believed the fourteen year old girl would be nothing but a bad influence on her best friend, therefore her proximity would allegedly pose a disturbance to his promising career. her family left LA for new york not long afterward, and she’d spent the following years experiencing michael only through the medium of music and television. but in 1979, the two now fully grown and michael flourishing with his solo career, they find each other again at a toy store in encino, and michael takes her to hayvenhurst to play twister—just like the old days.

⟡ ۫ . ✉️ — in the winter of '69, eleven year old michael jackson met his darling wife, the mother of his children, on his first day at gardner street elementary school. in the sandbox during recess was where he first laid eyes on the beautiful girl he would go on to call his own.

the girl in question hadn't noticed him at first, partly because michael was always very shy and quiet outside the stage, but also because she—our sweet, ditsy reader—was lost in her own world. as that happy little child, you often didn't notice the people around you when you were busy with something.

then when you did look to the side, you began your very first conversation with the boy who had been observing you. shy little michael thanked the heavens that you'd been the one to say something, because even at first glance he thought you looked really pretty, and while his mother had brought up the sweet boy to be a confident gentleman with the ladies, his shyness often overwhelmed the ability to spark conversation—especially with such an angelic girl as yourself.

you thought he was very cute—but in that boyish, adorable sort of way, not bearing the burden of those fluttery butterflies that michael was dealing with upon first sight. at eleven years old, and without really having had such jittery feelings for anyone before, he wasn't quite sure how to understand said feelings. all he knew was that he had been placed beside a very beautiful girl, and that made him very happy.

once you'd started talking, he was determined to lengthen and drag out whatever it was that you ended up discussing, because he quickly realised that he would happily listen to you talk forever, and because he worried that if your conversation ended, you would walk away and he'd have to restart an instigation of your friendship all over again.

but that first conversation took you both all the way to next period, a class that luckily you shared, and beyond that to lunch, where by the end of the day it became clear that two sweet, doe-eyed children were entering a dear friendship, one that was sure to extend past the four walls of the classroom.

a few months later, michael eventually left in favour of being homeschooled, but you lived close by, and your relationship happily blossomed. you were the only one who saw him for who he really was—not the cute pop star everyone wanted to say that they knew, but the caring little boy, who you were of course so privileged to say that you knew, but who mattered so much more than a claim to fame. while many around you and in the media were beginning to judge michael as he grew into his adolescence through misunderstanding his personality, his best friend knew everything about him, and there was nobody he felt safer with.

however, as you both turned fourteen, the forceful nature of michael's circumstances triggered a turn for the worse. you were growing up in two very different households. where michael's was strict and absent of care, yours was much more relaxed and loving. you could pretty much do whatever you wanted, within generous limits—staying out at night with friends as long as you were back in time for curfew, spending your own allocated hours on studying rather than being forced to do so on your parents' terms.

michael, however, experienced the exact opposite, controlled by his father, joseph jackson, and there had been multiple nights initially where you had gone over to his house with the intention of either inviting him out or asking if he wanted to hang with you in his bedroom, but despite how covert you attempted to be, joseph was constantly on alert, where he always saw and heard everything. especially late at night, when the house was at its quietest. many times he shunned you away, and you knew he wasn't to be messed with, so you never retaliated or protested.

sometimes you were in fact lucky enough to make it inside without anyone other than michael and katherine noticing—katherine who always supported your presence and kept it a secret from her husband—but one night, where you had been so certain that nobody else was aware, joseph found you at the top of the stairs as you headed to the bathroom. sinister and cruel as he always was, he now forced you to leave, and for good this time, making it clear to you that you would never be seeing michael again. you had been at a loss for words, utterly dumbfounded at why on earth his resort to this was supposedly necessary, but joseph only told you that nothing in the world mattered to him more than his son's career, ever-promising now that his voice was beginning to bloom into its youth, and therefore there could be no distraction. you wanted to go out and have fun with your best friend, or if not at least have the same harmless sleepovers you'd always had, but joseph was explicitly certain that you would prove to be nothing but a needless distraction from michael's focus on his craft.

at the time, you hadn't understood exactly how your presence and his career were linked—other than joseph's extreme over-protection of said career, which you eventually had to accept as the sole explanation—but you would find out the depth of it all eventually.

seven dreadfully long years went by without your very best friend. you hadn't even said goodbye to him, and it pained you both equally. joseph had felt no concern when he informed michael of what he'd told you, and if the boy hadn't already been certain of his father's relentless cruelty, this was now a whole other level of evil. joseph had taken away the one person who truly understood him, and at that he cried all night.

from that point on, sometimes you would see each other in the street—like the times where you'd be hanging with your friends directly opposite the entrance to the recording studio, supposedly coincidentally, but more accurately wanting to get a glimpse of the boy you missed dearly. it hurt so much to look at each other, knowing that three years of friendship had been forced to come to an end all because michael had been cursed with such a horrible father. he had influence and control in every part of michael's life, somehow always there in his presence, so it wasn't even like you could be sneaky and meet up in secret. attempted secrecy was what had caused the trouble in the first place.

you each wondered if things might be different in a few years. you were four away from turning eighteen, and while it seemed like a lifetime until adulthood would begin, there was slight hope in that things might be different when that time came. surely michael wouldn't still be under the oppression of joseph's constraints?

but eighteen came and went. two years prior you had moved with your family to new york, so meeting up with michael in los angeles was incredibly unlikely, and because it had been so long since you last saw each other, you began to feel awkward if you even suggested to your mother the opportunity to fly out to see him. what if he no longer cared about you? what if you hadn't even entered his mind in that time? after all, you had only been friends for three, and michael was a busy man in an even busier industry. surely he must have copious amounts of friends by now. you knew he'd struggled to attain them as a child, but the boy had always been incredibly charming, so certainly he must have better friends than you at this stage in his efflorescing career. perhaps he even had a girlfriend. weirdly, you found yourself searching for the answer to that question in the newspapers more often than you'd like to admit.

you were experiencing him only through the medium of music and television, always eagerly waiting for his next live TV appearance, buying each jackson 5 album as soon as they were released. you couldn't believe your horrible luck—that this beautifully talented young man had been your person, for three straight years, only to be stripped from you without warning.

the jacksons visited new york multiple times on tour, and every one of those times you purposely avoided attending, despite how much you craved to see michael in person again. you believed it would hurt too much, and that he might see you and... well, what would he think of you? would he be emotional to see you, as you would be to see him? or would he think you were using the night as a way to creep back into his life, to use him like everyone else wished to? you weren't even sure whether or not joseph had told him the truth. he had, but the possibility that michael had completely misunderstood your departure nagged at you anxiously. there were too many reasons not to be faced with him after all that time.

but your worry couldn’t have been more baseless, because michael missed you painfully. he felt he had never experienced such a loss as great as the day you disappeared, and while you may have guessed that he'd forgotten about your mere existence, the exact opposite was true. michael loved deeply and thoroughly, so not a day had passed where he hadn't thought of your name and your face. he owed great thanks to the existence of photography, because without it he wouldn't have the three pictures of you that always rested safely in his bedroom, those pictures that kept you with him no matter how far you were in reality. he often sat and wondered if you still looked the same, if you wore a different hairstyle now or sported a different fashion. he always wondered about you, and whenever he was in new york, he looked for you in every crowd. you never appeared, but he held strong hope that one day you would. he considered if perhaps he hadn't scanned the crowd with enough focus, and you'd been there all along.

in your desolate little bubbles, so stuck in melancholy over a friendship lost, neither of you could have predicted that soon enough—after some more painfully patient waiting—time would bring you back together, and elevate your once platonic love to define the two of you as forever sweethearts.

september, 1979 ♡

it was late afternoon in encino—the sweet sunlight of early autumn painting the greenery, its familiar warmth coating the air—when you stepped out into your hometown for the first time in five years. everything still looked the same, for it hadn't really been that long in the grand scheme of things. but for a girl who'd left at sixteen, those years had been experienced as akin to a lifetime. this place was where you were born, where you'd done everything for the first time, and now as an adult you were reentering what had birthed you.

your reason for returning was that your aunt was gravely ill, and you had been instructed to take care of her children while she was in hospital. initially, you had been so panicked for her that you hadn't felt the rush of second-thought that you usually had whenever the suggestion of returning to encino was brought up. you'd wanted to visit for so long—of course you had—but that uncertainty over michael and over joseph had consistently deterred you. you had essentially resorted to hoping that fate would bring you and michael together again, because you wished to absolve yourself of any responsibility in the matter. there had been opportunities, and you had chosen not to take any of them.

and still you wondered—if he was merely your best friend, why did it matter so much what he might say if you were to visit him? why did the thought of him rejecting your visit or misjudging your departure hurt you so badly you felt like you might throw up?

ironically, it seemed fate had now in fact intervened. through negative familial circumstances, you now had a reason to return to your hometown, the neighbourhood in which michael still inhabited—albeit with the same man who had forced you away. it deeply confused you how michael had now reached twenty one without yet escaping from joseph's control, but then again that family were always the most tight-knit group there ever was, and you knew michael was likely very afraid to get up and leave.

you also knew that he had released his debut solo album one month ago, and you'd bought it instantly—listened to it close to a hundred times, in complete awe of his talent. off the wall was so different to the sound produced of the jackson 5, and you'd hoped that with this venture into a solo career, he wouldn't be far off from separating himself from his father entirely. you always kept up to date on the latest news surrounding the family, hoping tirelessly that such separation would be soon, but still it seemed michael was trapped under joseph's power.

from the moment you stepped foot into encino, you couldn't stop thinking about him. the thought of his existence consumed you even more than it had done all these years, because now there was a very likely chance the two of you might run into each other. perhaps you wouldn't, but you couldn't be so pessimistic.

you needed to buy some new toys for your cousins who you were taking care of, and so you ventured off into the nearest toy store. it was big enough to have a worthy selection.

you scanned the aisles, walking up and down with a basket and dropping various teddybears and games into it as you went. you hummed in content, for the store was mostly empty at this time on a weekday, and you appreciated the calm.

and then all of a sudden, something mildly hard hit your shoulder, seemingly from out of nowhere. immediately you furrowed your eyebrows and whipped your head around to see who the culprit was. something had been shot at you from the barrel of a toy gun, and you chuckled to yourself, assuming it must have been a kid messing around.

as you turned back, you noticed a man beside you, smiling apologetically. the man was bald, in his fifties—incredibly familiar, although you couldn't pinpoint a name. "excuse me, ma'am. he was aiming at me."

you laughed again. growing up in a big, boisterous family, you knew how kids were. "oh, don't worry about it. at least he's having fun."

and then a head poked around the corner of the aisle, shooting a teasing smile at the man beside you, and what you saw certainly wasn't the face of any kid.

it was michael.

michael joseph jackson, the boy you'd been estranged from for the better part of the 1970s, was standing right at the corner of a random toy store in encino. your mouth widened in shock, but then you realised—of course michael was in a random toy store in encino. dressed in a plaid long sleeve and jeans, he still wore the same essence of the boy you knew, now enhanced by a visible maturity. and you’d seen him a lot over your years of distance, even if only on a screen or in pictures, but to see him now in person only affirmed just how handsome he was. you had always told him so, even before you were both teenagers, but he'd always shrugged off each compliment. now girls were desperate for his attention, and you always wondered how he was handling it.

he was still smiling at the bald man, toy gun held in his hands, and in an instant you recalled who that man was. bill bray—michael's bodyguard. joseph had assigned him to be of michael's assistance when he was thirteen, and you had to admit he was a great choice. how heartwarming that eight years on, here he was, still shopping for toys with that young boy, now a man.

bill didn't recognise you. it had been too long, and if you hadn't instantly recognised someone as distinctive as bill, it would've been a miracle for him to have done so of you.

you both stood together as michael's glance flicked from his bodyguard to the girl standing opposite him. it was a natural subtle movement of his eyeballs, but immediately upon the alteration he took a fast double-take, mouth opening as if to say something, but his vocal cords found no words.

"mikey..." you whispered, that long-lost nickname falling so instinctively from your lips.

michael’s eyes had lit up, but his expression still held a reflection of shock. you were really here—right in front of him.

"wh…” he started to speak, slowly as if trying to work out whether he was hallucinating or not. had he entered the stage of grief where he was seeing things that weren’t really there?

but his countenance only grew happier as he took in your appearance. you really were right in front of him—finally, after all these years.

“applehead…” he grinned, but still standing at the corner of the aisle in disbelief.

you chuckled at the familiar nickname, it sounding so silly after so long, but your heart warmed incredibly so. he still saw you in that way. he still saw you as his childhood best friend. as silly as it sounded to bill, to michael you were still his applehead, even at twenty one years old, seven years distanced.

smiles spread across both of your faces, and bill watched with fondness as he remembered exactly who you were. michael had never possessed many friends, and as his closest, you were the most memorable. it also helped that he had continuously mentioned you over the years. so much reminded him of you—things he saw, media he consumed, things that made him wonder if you might have liked them too, or perhaps you were watching the same thing as him at the same time…

michael often spoke his thoughts out loud with people he was comfortable with, so indeed bill had heard a lot about you.

now, the heart of the man opposite you was quite literally jumping up and down in his chest. this moment was what he’d wanted for so long, and by the look on your face, it relieved him to realise just how much you’d clearly missed him too.

he took a few steps forward, passing the toy to bill, a wide smile decorating his handsome face.

your smile mirrored his, and without another word, the two of you still unsure exactly what to say after all this time, michael initiated what you always used to greet each other with.

“c’mere, honey…” he sighed happily, enveloping you into a hug, his arms wrapping tight around your waist. honey? he’d never called you that before, and you felt something strange in your chest at the sound of the word from his lips.

with no hesitation, your arms threw themselves around his neck as you smiled against his warm chest, and the two of you giggled in pure glee. you each had missed this just as much, and michael’s hugs were truly special. how had you survived seven years without them?

“i missed you,” you both said in unison, chuckling again at the synchronicity. your words muffled against his chest as he spoke his into the crown of your head, taking in the scent of your hair.

“god, you have no idea…” he sighed, before pressing a warm kiss to your forehead and pulling away to look at you. bill was of course still standing there, but michael seemed to have forgotten about him altogether.

you both looked at each other in silence for a few moments, bright smiles on your faces that said everything without the need for words. your smiles somehow equally spoke of the sadness of years past, and the happiness of such a long time ago, with the beautiful relief of the current moment.

"so what are you doin’ here?” he asked in delighted disbelief. “i thought i might never see you again…”

"oh, i'm here to take care of my cousins for a little while," you explained, still beaming with joy. "just shopping for some toys. i really think fate brought us here. i can’t believe i’m looking at you right now."

the pretty smile ahead of you grew evermore. michael tugged you back into his embrace with playful aggression, and you squealed as you fell forward into his warmth again.

“mikey—” you laughed, but it wasn’t a real protest. you felt so safe in his arms, how he now held you to his chest. “you have somebody waiting, remember?”

“i have somebody right here, i know,” he said softly, still smiling and still holding you so tight, rocking you in his arms. his voice had always been so soft and gentle, but in this moment you realised it now seemed even more so.

you allowed him to hold onto you for a little longer, and despite michael being the one to initiate the hug, you really had no issues with being held in the warmth you’d missed so much. you’d be glad to live in this one moment forever.

“would’ya come to my place?” he whispered, still not letting go of you. “like old times?"

“to hayvenhurst?” you asked anxiously, hiding your face in his neck. you knew joseph still lived there.

“yeah, i wanna show you my room,” he smiled, and you could hear the smile in his tone, as you always could. he had always been such a happy, curious boy, but who simultaneously carried so much sadness. you hoped life had been better to him in recent years.

“it’s a lil different now. i have a pet monkey. his name’s bubbles.”

at that you pulled back in surprise, laughing as you did. “a pet monkey? and he stays in your room?”

he nodded as if it was a given that he’d share his living space with a monkey. but truthfully, when it came to him you should’ve predicted nothing less.

“michael…” you shook your head in amusement.

“so, d’you wanna come?” he raised a brow, a little shyly.

you almost visibly hesitated, but didn’t want to give him any impression that you weren’t interested in spending time with him. your reaction to seeing him had made that clear enough, but michael had seemed slightly shy to ask twice, as if he’d read your anxieties.

"yeah, of course—i'd love to mikey." you smiled to mask your worry.

but he could see through you well enough, the same way he always had. he furrowed his brows, and then almost immediately understood what was wrong.

"are you nervous about joseph?" he asked, weaving his long fingers between yours seamlessly.

you took a deep breath, looking at where you were interlocked, then looking back up again. "mhm. i know we're adults now but... it's his home, and—y'know... he did kick me out and tell me to never come back again."

"repeat that first part," michael said with that beautiful, reassuring smile. "you said it yourself: we're adults now. he can't hurt you."

you smiled sadly. "so does that mean he's stopped hurting you?"

michael squinted and squeezed your hand. "i fired him. as my manager."

your eyes widened. "for real?"

"yeah..." he chuckled under his breath. "i couldn't say it to his face, but we got it done in the end. yeah, he still lives with us an' all, but he's not in control anymore."

"are you sure?" you asked, still a little nervous at the prospect of a supposedly dismissed joseph still living in the same space as michael, that same space he would be taking you.

michael nodded again, opening his mouth to respond, but all of a sudden there was the happy shout of a child nearby.

"michael jackson?" the voice of a young girl called out.

you laughed happily and tapped his chest. "i'll let you deal with that."

michael turned back to wave at the fan, then gestured to her that he'd be one moment, before turning back to you.

"and yes," you added sincerely, "i'll come back to your place. you can give me a room tour."

your best friend's face lit up again, and you felt a strange twinge of emotion for the second time in two minutes.

"d'you wanna play twister? i'm just buyin' it here. my brothers don’t play w’me no more." he chuckled under his breath, but he held up the game in bill's cart with so much light in his eyes it strangely made you want to cry. and oh, poor bill was still standing there, waiting patiently for this standstill to end.

"i'd love to, mikey," you grinned, squeezing his hand that you noticed you were still holding.

after the little girl wanting his attention, there were several others—children, teens, adults—and the toy store quickly turned into a meet and greet with the one and only michael jackson. in the meantime, you paid for the toys in your cart, then stood and watched michael interact with the kids, and the smile on your face didn't falter the entire time. he was so lovely and gentle with them, even the ones that were a little boisterous. it was in that moment you knew that fame would never change the sweet boy he was within.

once he was finally done with signing autographs for everybody who had lined up, bill took the two of you home to hayvenhurst. michael sat in the back of the car with you, holding your hand the whole way. it reminded you of how you'd always hold his whenever as kids you'd walk back together anxiously, knowing that joseph's patience threshold was particularly low that day. you'd squeeze his hand as you walked, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles to soothe his nerves much like the way a gentleman might do for his girl—ironically, the very thing michael was doing for you right now. certainly a gentleman, but not yet in possession of a girl to call his.

michael definitely succeeded in soothing you now. neither of you talked much during the ride, mostly because you were too busy taking in the scenery around you, so immersed in the reality that you really were back home again.

and as you entered the all too familiar home, you couldn't have been luckier. joseph was out, and you discovered that he would continue to be until late at night, so you had nothing more to worry about. there was still that underlying concern you had for michael's wellbeing in general, but you had gratitude for the fact that his father at least wouldn't be ruining your reunion. you could have this one day together.

you greeted michael's brothers and sisters, talking with them for a while where michael impatiently waited for you to devote your attention to only him. then you spoke with katherine, his mother, who felt deeply sorry for what had happened, and quite guilty that she didn't attempt to sway joseph in another direction at the time. but you had to forgive her, because you knew that if you had been in her position, you wouldn't have had the courage to stand up for anything against that man.

michael was struggling to hide his frustration by the time you both finally reached his bedroom.

"what is it?" you laughed, nudging his arm. "you've been scowling at everybody for the last thirty minutes."

"it's nothin'," he shrugged, pushing open the door while trying to conceal the smile you always brought to his face. "i want you to myself, silly," he added, now certainly smiling again.

you rolled your eyes playfully. "i haven't seen them in seven years. i think a short conversation per person can be justified."

"whatever, honey," michael sighed.

again, that unfamiliar feeling pressed inside your chest, and now you were certain it was literal butterflies. what the fuck?

but before you had a chance to process what on earth was going on with your emotions, you blinked once and michael had a monkey in his arms. a real life pet monkey. you blinked a few more times to ground yourself in the chaos of the sight before you, and started to giggle.

"this is bubbles," he smiled, and his friend stared up at you with curiosity and intrigue.

you raised a brow, crossing your arms to your chest. "am i seeing things?"

"no," michael laughed softly.

"and what happened to rosie the crusher? she still here somewhere?" you asked in amusement, referring to michael's pet snake from when he was thirteen.

michael set bubbles down, and the latter skipped off into a corner to settle himself again. "well, joseph made me get rid of her a couple years back. i don't know where she is now."

you sighed in dismay, but you were also quite glad that this time you wouldn't be hanging out in a room where a snake was slithering around in the corner. yes, you understood michael more than anybody, but you were never quite sure what had possessed him to want a snake of all things.

over the next hour, you caught up on everything you'd missed of each other's lives over the time you'd been apart. you congratulated michael on his recent album, which really was an incredible work of art, especially considering it was his solo debut. you made sure he understood just how talented he was, and he kept blushing every time you did so—just as he had done those years ago.

then, after a lot of talking, you played twister together—beside bubbles, who kept eagerly trying to join in, so eventually michael had to let him join, and that made for a very humorous afternoon. you played for a long time, because you knew how much michael loved that silly game, and it made you so happy to see him having so much fun—for there was an underlying anxiety surrounding your best friend in the back of your mind.

being a famous musician could often bring more horror than happiness, and even though michael was flourishing now, you saw the innocence in him, the sweet angel desperate to experience a childhood that you lived and he didn't. the world could hurt this caring angel, and if that did happen, there was nothing you could do to stop it. so, as you played together you couldn't help but feel quite sad—despite the genuine smiles and laughter—because michael wanted to live in true freedom and a complete, child-like paradise, but you seriously feared that the world wouldn't understand that. the media already nitpicked at him, and you knew how deeply insecure he was as a result of his father's comments and abuse—no matter what you said to try to console his thoughts about himself—so your anxiety about what the future might hold made you want to freeze time.

perhaps you'd be wrong. perhaps the whole world would see him as you do, and therefore show him nothing but love and care. you would never infantilise michael, but he was a sensitive soul, and even as teenagers you knew that he had a gift, but with such gifts often came sacrifice and pain.

now, you shook your head of the thoughts, but something else tugged at you—something physical now, a pain building in your lower abdomen.

your period. fuck.

you grimaced with the pain, and despite how much fun michael was having, he quickly noticed the change in you.

"y'okay?" he asked, concern written in his eyes.

"um, yeah," you murmured, but the look on your face said otherwise. "cramps coming on, y'know..."

his brows raised automatically in response. "oh, is it—?"

"yeah, and i'm... not exactly prepared either."

god, this was fucking embarrassing. but you'd known michael for years, and he'd always cuddled you and done anything he could to soothe you whenever it was that time of the month—as opposed to how much of a taboo subject everyone else treated it. it had been the early '70s, and those things just weren't talked about, but michael never understood the need for anybody to suffer in silence.

"hey, don't worry," he said in that beautifully soft tone of his. "i'll go to latoya's room."

you smiled to yourself despite the pain, so in awe of how gentle he had always been (while busying yourself with watching bubbles mess around in his designated corner) but your smile quickly shifted into an expression of cringe when you looked down and saw a splotch of blood seeping through your jeans. thankfully, they were a dark blue denim, although the stain was still visible despite that.

you cursed to yourself, but then michael was back in the room, holding a pair of lounge pants, with panties and a sanitary pad underneath.

"here," he smiled, handing them to you.

"are these latoya's?" you smiled back, but you still felt very embarrassed. "thank you so much, michael... and remind me to thank her later before i leave."

michael nodded, then got settled under the comforter, while you went into the bathroom and changed. then quietly you got under the comforter too, turning on your side facing away from him, already knowing that he would spoon you, because this position had been custom whenever you were suffering with cramps in his presence.

"i'm sorry for ruining the afternoon," you sighed. sure, you'd had a great time so far, but you knew michael would have had all sorts of games planned, especially for the friend he hadn't seen in years, and now you were both instead confined to his bed.

"shh," he whispered, weaving his arms around your waist as you got settled, your head cosy against the pillows. "you've ruined nothin'. get some rest, and if you fall asleep, i'll be here when you wake up."

content in his embrace, you did fall asleep pretty quickly, and the ache miraculously subsided in order for you to do so. michael stayed resting against your back the entire time, and when you woke, you had almost forgotten where you were.

it took you a moment, but you remembered as soon as you opened your eyes. "michael?" you muttered sleepily, turning around to face him.

"hey, sleepyhead," he grinned, stroking your hair.

"how long was i asleep?"

"uh, like an hour? i don't know, i fell asleep too at one point."

you yawned, still so tired, and still feeling a little guilty about what your afternoon had turned into. you remembered your cousins, and how you needed to have arrived by tonight, but it was a relief that there were still a few hours left of the afternoon.

"i need to tell you somethin'..." michael said all of a sudden.

"yeah?"

there was more quiet, as he seemingly hesitated to say what he'd intended to, and then the words fell out.

"i wrote she's out of my life about you," he said all of a sudden, breaking the silence.

you whipped your head up to look at him. “what? seriously?”

“yeah…” he turned away shyly, but you held his jaw to guide his face back to you.

“michael… i know you write some of your own songs but i never…” you paused, running a hand over your face. “i love that song but i never even thought for a second that you would write something about me. let alone something so beautiful.”

there was more silence, where michael was glad he’d told you but he was so shy now that his cheeks were burning up.

“mikey, stop looking away from me,” you gently urged, cupping his jaw again.

his beautiful brown eyes looked into yours, the orbs shining under the filter of sunlight through the window, and suddenly, crazily, you understood everything you were feeling.

you were beginning to fall for your best friend. hell, perhaps you’d already fallen.

“how long have you felt this way?” you asked quietly, fingers still delicately playing with his soft hair as he now shuffled downward to lay his head on your chest. it felt so intimate, as though it was your very first cuddle in this position despite having laid this way together many times in the old days. but the intimacy arose from how different everything was now. the subtext of romance had emerged out of nowhere, and neither of you knew how to feel. in fact, the very purpose of michael sliding down to meet your chest was so that you couldn’t see his expressions of pure embarrassment.

but you didn’t care one bit. he was opening his heart to you about something he’d clearly spent so long harbouring inside himself, and even though he’d had to wait so long, now was the perfect time—because you were beginning to realise that you felt the same.

strangely, it didn’t feel to you like the beginning of falling. more accurately it was the start of an understanding of what you’d been experiencing for much longer than you realised. michael’s brothers would always tease the two of you because they claimed to be certain that you were both in love, and the comments had always made you feel a certain way. not genuine irritation at everybody being so wrong in what they said, but rather a jittery sensation that wondered if there was some truth in their remarks. it was always difficult for one to analyse those sort of feelings as a young child, especially if the feelings surrounded somebody who they were sure they only attached platonic love to. for example, sometimes you would play fight, and you’d feel all giddy and notice the butterflies jumping in your stomach, but that had been the product of adrenaline from the playfight itself, you’d assumed.

you had always brushed off all those little things, and only now was all of it catching up to you, as you looked down at that boy’s pretty head resting on your chest. he still hadn’t answered your question.

“michael,” you whispered.

“yeah?” he still wouldn’t look up.

“please answer me.”

“sorry, what was the question again?”

“i said how long have you felt this way about me? in the song you write that you kept your love for the girl locked deep inside. that’s really about me?” your voice faded a little, cracking with emotion.

“honey, i’ve always felt this way,” michael murmured against your skin, toying with the strap of your shirt.

your eyes widened in shock. “always?”

he nodded. “since the day we met. i just remember noticin’ the pretty girl beside me and thinkin’… i hope she talks to me.”

and joseph jackson had been very aware of those feelings, so he hadn't exactly been wrong in what he assumed. incredibly wrong in his response, but correct in believing that michael would become distracted by you. he had always been distracted by you, but what a beautiful distraction to have. you inspired his writing, so that could only be a positive.

“mikey…” you began, completely stunned at this revelation. “why didn’t you tell me? it’s been so long…”

“well, i had a lot to lose. i could see y’ just wanted to be my friend and nothin’ more, so i didn’t wanna ruin what we had. it’s really difficult, y’know, to feel so in love with your best friend. and—like i said in the song, it really did cut like a knife. i thought you were never comin’ back to me.”

“so your brothers were right…” you shook your head in disbelief, still coming to terms with everything.

“well, not entirely. half right. they always said you felt the same.”

you froze at that, and michael felt the restraint where he was attached to your body. he looked up a little as you tried to maintain a neutral demeanour, then he looked back down again. you had to tell him now.

“i do,” you blurted out. your hands were fiddling with his hair like a stim toy, trying desperately to act normal despite your anxiety. but really, there was nothing to be anxious about, because now you knew for certain that he felt the same way.

“you—?” michael looked up again in confusion, brows furrowed as he moved to sit up against the headboard beside you.

“feel the same way. yeah," you said slowly, shuffling a little where you laid. “but i didn’t even realise that’s what i’d been feeling until today, actually. and i don’t know when it first started but… i do remember getting butterflies around you sometimes… when we were younger. i just didn’t know what they meant, so i ignored them.”

michael started to smile, and so did you. this was the best possible conclusion to the separation you’d both had to endure. here you’d been, each assuming that the other might have lost interest, but the exact opposite was true. that morning you would’ve never predicted that by afternoon you’d reunite with the man you’d wanted to see for seven years, let alone that you’d be confessing your love to each other in the bed you used to playfight in as kids.

“c’mere, baby," he said to break the short silence.

“baby?” you raised a brow.

“yeah, that’s what guys call their girls.”

“have you had a girl before?”

“no, uh,” he laughed shyly. “you’d be my first.”

“and who says i want to be your girl, michael jackson?” you teased.

“oh i think you wanna,” he smirked. “you’re blushin’ right now, sweetheart.”

"no, i'm not," you protested, but weakly, and you hid your face in embarrassment.

"shh," michael whispered, dragging your hand away before pulling you down so that you both lay on your sides facing each other.

you squealed softly as he pulled you to him, and his eye contact was so strong that you grew impossibly shyer. "mikey, stop it..."

"stop what?" he grinned even more, running his hand up and down your waist. since when did he get so confident? perhaps it was because it was you he was with, but you were experiencing the opposite, where because it was michael, this all made you so ridiculously anxious.

you shut your eyes tight, a playful smile on your lips, and gently he tapped one of your eyelids. "hey," he whispered. "look at me, 'm serious."

you opened your eyes again—sort of reluctantly because the way he was looking at you was still too much to handle, especially because all of this had suddenly happened so soon, with no room for preparation.

"y'gonna kiss me?" you asked sweetly, noticing the way his brown eyes kept shifting their attention from your eyes to your lips.

he nodded quickly, and you giggled, turning your own attention to one of the teddybears beside you.

"c'mon, don't try tellin' me you never kissed anybody before," michael said, the happiness on his face impossible to wipe away. "i know you have."

you looked at him properly. "no, i've never kissed my best friend before. that's what's happening here."

michael bit his lip, chuckling at you. "don't think about it too much, sweetheart."

your heart fluttered like crazy. "you're really enjoying these pet names, huh?"

he only nodded again, this time so enamoured of the thought of kissing you that he had no need to say anything else. and his heart was aching at how beautiful you looked, so cosy and shy in his bed, beaming because of him. so much time had passed since you were teens, but to you both it felt like no time at all as you laid there together.

and then finally, he cupped your cheek and leaned in. your warm smiles collapsed into each other as his lips touched yours, and you couldn't believe this was really happening. you kissed softly and sweetly, mouths moving in a slow rhythm, and instinctively you interlocked his fingers with yours. it had just felt right to do so.

you kissed for about fifteen seconds, before you were the one to pull away. you needed to take a minute to process what had just happened. "that was weird," you giggled.

michael furrowed his brows.

"no," you squeezed his hand, "not a bad kind of weird. very good, actually..." you smiled wide, still blushing. "it's just... we're best friends, y'know?"

"but can't we be both lovers and friends, baby?" he asked, a teasing smile on his lips each time he called you one of those names.

you pulled a playful scowl. "you're doing that on purpose."

"doing what?" he tugged you even closer, and started to play with your hair while his other hand still held yours.

"calling me baby, honey, sweetheart..."

"course i'm doin' it on purpose, applehead." he messed with your hair, and you ruffled his in turn. he always hated anyone else touching his hair but you, and even with you he squinted at the touch. "now here's another one..." he kissed your nose. "my pretty dove."

it was almost as if everything he'd ever wished to intimately address you as was now coming into fruition.

"okay," you spoke against his lips—to disguise how that new pet name sent shockwaves of butterflies through your body—the softness of his lips touching your own now as you prepared to initiate another kiss. you pecked his lips once and spoke again. "i like how the words sound coming from you."

you both fell into another slow kiss, this time with slightly more passion, but mostly just gentle and a little messy, while you both practiced trying to make this feel normal. but as soon as your lips had met the first time, you both knew that this was what home felt like. what a waste all those years had been without this very feeling.

"you're a good kisser, michael," you giggled, playing with his fingers.

"yeah?" he smiled brightly.

you responded with more kisses, soft ones to his waiting mouth.

"and such a sweet talker..." you added.

"well, i'm not tryin' to be."

"oh i know," you said quietly. "but you do have such a pretty voice. not just when you're singing."

"yeah?" his face lit up even more, apparently not expecting you to think that of him. "how come y'never told me?"

"i thought it might get you all flustered. like right now," you laughed, squeezing his cheek before he playfully smacked your hand away.

"i mean, i'm a little flustered already, honey," he admitted.

now you decided you'd contribute to your side of the intimacy too, aside the handholding you'd initiated. "i can see that, baby."

"baby," michael repeated with a smirk. "are you tryna tease me?"

"maybe," you giggled. so did he, and again you resumed your kisses that soon spiralled into a gentle makeout.

"i love kissin' you, sweetheart. i've been wantin' this for so long, you really have no idea..." michael whispered against your cheek as he peppered kisses up and down your face.

"i love kissing you too, mikey... so much..."

it must have been at least an hour that the two of you continued to make out, so peaceful in the quiet of michael's bedroom, aside from those two minutes where marlon and jackie came in and teased the hell out of you both. they begged for confirmation that you were finally in a relationship, and without hesitation, michael declared that you were, while you covered your face again in shyness.

your time in encino was supposed to last for only a few weeks, but soon those initial weeks turned into months, which then turned into a whole year. michael had been right—joseph no longer had control over what he did in his personal life, therefore as much as he resented you, he surprisingly left you alone.

after your aunt recovered and could be back with her children, to her it seemed there was no longer a reason for you to stay in the area, but you told her that you'd actually be moving back into your childhood home, just a few miles from the jackson compound. she was pleasantly surprised to find that you had fallen in love with the boy she'd been so certain you'd marry while she watched you play as children. your mother had always agreed too, and you later found out that so had katherine.

michael won his first grammy in the year that followed, and he thanked you in his speech—his 'beautiful lady'—despite how you hadn't even been in contact with him when he'd made the song he won the award for. to him that didn't matter, because you'd been in his mind the entire time, and you meant more to him than anybody else, therefore you must share the achievement.

your love only continued to blossom as you grew into adulthood together, and by the mid eighties, you were a married couple, away from hayvenhurst and in your own little bubble elsewhere in california, eventually with three sweet children of your own. you might have suffered for seven years of adolescence, but perhaps that suffering had been a blessing in disguise, because everything panned out how it needed to, and you would forever be grateful that michael jackson, your sweetest friend, was the man you were indebted to for the rest of your life.

i’m sleepy as hell posting this so i hope there were no typos! :3 it also took me almost a whole week to write because i’ve been so busy but god i adore childhood friends to lovers so much…

tag list ˚˖𓍢ִ໋✴︎˚ @enzo6ekiii @cinnamoncunt @kpheliaox @lov3lylxvender @honey-dip-24 @calicopetal @vheavxly @thrillhernight @iadoreyourdiioorr @ilovetyriqq @imsoborediwannadie @honeygl0ws @mbafi @starliqhtsworld @uh444 @shessuchawerido @cndybliss @melaninjoys @imnameiya @blasianboiwwhitegurlswag @ebonymuse @eternalau6ust @k-offrecord @ainahaslottosay @sxrcqst1cc @pixieelixer-24 @hutaomaiin @amoravelee @whateverisnothing @weepingwillow12344 @kye1aaazene @aerangi @superlegend216 @sweeterners @jaafarscmslt @saintwrld @choc0ch1ps @naomii444 @ze02ke20 @graysislosingit @cherrybabesstuff @sunsetfreedom05 @kiz1x @rockurwurld @thuggahworkz @babygguk98 @plantsofdeath @ssamanthasaenz @daniiibananiii @prinxessylvia

[michaelsmelodie]

𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏 ㅤ..ㅤ 𑣲ㅤ Michael fell for you the moment he saw you in the conference room. Since then, he’s been serenading you with letters. 𝗪𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗰𝗰𝗲𝗽𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 , 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗷𝗲𝗰𝘁 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲. 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗸𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁? see──masterlist.

info. ꨄ︎ 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗮𝗱 / 𝗯𝗮𝗱 𝗲𝗿𝗮 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝗼𝗻 × 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝗳!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝙬𝙘. 𝟯𝟱𝟮. & michael serenades you a lot & is basically head over heels. 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖻𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝖼.

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ read part one.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 the photographer notices you both standing together—your stomach drops.

Not because you’re doing anything wrong, but because it looks wrong.

Michael leaning casually against the hallway wall too close to you. Your notebook clutched tightly against your chest. The way his entire attention stays fixed on your face despite people constantly moving around him.

“Oh—sorry,” the photographer says quickly while adjusting his camera strap. “Private interview?”

Your heart nearly stops. Before you can even answer, Michael smoothly smiles.“Somethin’ like that.”

Idiot.

Your eyes widen instantly toward him. The photographer nods casually, completely unsuspecting thankfully. “Got it. Sorry for interrupting.” Then he walks away. You exhale so hard your chest hurts. Michael, meanwhile, looks entirely too calm. “You cannot say things like that,” you hiss quietly.

His eyebrows lift innocently. “What? He asked.”

“You’re unbelievable.” A soft laugh leaves him. And somehow that only makes your nerves worse. Because the photographer may not have noticed—but if Michael keeps looking at you like this, eventually somebody will.

You take a quick step backward immediately.“This is exactly what I mean,” you whisper urgently. “People are gonna start noticing.” Michael’s expression softens slightly after that.

Realizing.. But even then, his eyes still drift toward your mouth for half a second too long.

“We weren’t doing anything,” he murmurs softly.“That’s the problem.” Your voice comes out breathless now. “It already looks like we are.”

Silence. The hallway suddenly feels too close. Michael studies your face carefully before speaking quieter: “You scared of headlines or scared of me?”

That lands directly in your chest. You hate that question. Because you don’t fully know the answer yourself anymore. You glance away quickly first.

Big mistake.

Michael notices immediately, Of course he does. His voice lowers softly. “There she go.” Your pulse jumps. “No.” You shake your head quickly. “Nope. I’m leaving.”

“Mhm.” He says in disbelief. “I mean it.” But you already sound nervous instead of convincing. Michael watches you step backward again, eyes filled with something dangerously close to affection. And that somehow panics you more than flirting would’ve.

“Good evening, Michael.”

You turn quickly before he can answer and walk down the hallway too fast, heels clicking sharply against the floor while your heart pounds embarrassingly hard. You can still feel him watching you leave.

That’s the worst part.. You don’t look back.

But somehow—you know he’s smiling.

— . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The next letter arrives two days later slipped beneath your apartment door.

No envelope again. Just folded cream paper. You already know better than to open it immediately.

You still do anyway.

This time the handwriting looks messier somehow.

Less careful.. Like he wrote it late.

—

You walked away from me so fast backstage I almost laughed. You get nervous real easy for somebody who’s supposed to be interviewing celebrities. And before you get irritated—yes, I noticed your hands shaking. You should know somethin’. When that photographer walked up, I almost told him the truth.

Your stomach flips. You keep reading immediately.

—

Not the whole truth. Just the part where I keep thinking about you after interviews end.

The part where I know exactly which heels are yours by sound now.The part where I still look for you first every time I walk into a room.That part. You looked scared when you left. I didn’t like that. I know this situation unfair to you. Probably selfish too. But every time I try stop writing these letters, I end up thinking about your face during conferences and then I start another one. So now this your fault somehow.

A small unwilling smile pulls at your mouth.

Insane man.

Then your eyes catch the final lines near the bottom. And immediately your breath catches.

—

You never answer me back. Maybe talking easier. If you want to yell at me properly instead of pretending you don’t feel this too—here.

And beneath it—a phone number. His personal line.

Your heart pounds so hard it physically hurts now. At the very bottom, squeezed smaller

beneath everything else:

Call me after midnight. That’s when I miss you worst.

— M

But you didn’t call.. Because now it’s becoming a habit. And habits are dangerous.

Especially ones involving Michael Jackson writing you secret letters like some lovesick poet while you pretend your entire career isn’t balancing on a cliff edge.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Four days later. You see another letter tucked into your bag, You pick it up slowly. Your name is written across the front again in his handwriting.

Your chest aches before you even open it.

That can’t be good.

You sit at your kitchen table unfolding the paper. The letter smells faintly like his cologne this time. That almost ruins you instantly.

Then you start reading.

—

I tried not writing this one. Didn’t work.

Every time I decide leave you alone, somethin’ reminds me of you and suddenly I’m thinkin’ about your face again. Today it was a reporter askin’ me a question too fast. You always slow down before important questions. Like you care about the answer. Ain’t nobody ever done that for me before.

Your stomach twists softly.

You keep reading.

—

I saw your article this morning.You wrote about everybody except yourself like always. But I noticed the line where you called me “difficult to understand.”

That made me laugh. You understand me fine. Probably more than you should.

Your fingers tighten around the paper. Because yes. That’s exactly the problem. Michael keeps seeing things he shouldn’t.

—

You looked pretty in blue again yesterday.That color becoming a real issue for me. And before you get annoyed yes, I know I’m flirtin’. I’m trying make you smile.

The corner of your mouth lifts against your will.

fuck.

You hate this. You hate how easy he gets into your chest. Then the next lines hit harder.

—

Sometimes after conferences I sit in my hotel room thinkin’ about callin’ you. I usually don’t. Mostly because I know if I hear your voice too long I’m gonna say somethin’ reckless. And I think maybe I already crossed enough lines with you.

Your heartbeat starts speeding up now.The rain outside grows louder.

You continue reading anyway.

—

You know what scares me? I think about you during songs now. That probably bad. Real bad actually. Yesterday during rehearsal somebody asked why I kept smiling during baby be mine and I almost told them it’s because I remembered the way you looked at me backstage. You got this habit of lookin’ at me like I’m just a person. I don’t think you understand what that does to me.

Your throat tightens painfully. Because suddenly this doesn’t feel playful anymore.

It feels real. Too real. You stare at the paper for a long second before forcing yourself lower.

The last paragraph is written messier than the rest.

Like maybe he hesitated while writing it.

—

I know you’re gonna tell me stop eventually. You should. This whole thing unfair to you. And maybe I’m selfish because every time I imagine you really walkin’ away for good, I end up writin’ another letter instead. But I need you know somethin’ before you do.

I haven’t looked forward to seeing anybody this much in years. And I think I’m getting in trouble over you. Real trouble.

The room goes completely silent around you.

Only rain against the windows now. You lower the paper slowly into your lap.

Your chest hurts so much now.

Because somewhere between secret letters and backstage conversations and the way Michael always looks for you first—this stopped feeling harmless. And worse?

You don’t think you want it to stop anymore. That realization terrifies you immediately.

You stand from the kitchen table too quickly, pacing once through your apartment while the letter stays clutched tightly in your hand.

No. No, this is bad. Very bad.

You’re supposed to end this. Tomorrow maybe. At the next conference.

You’ll tell him no more letters.

No more lingering conversations.

No more looking at you like that in crowded rooms.

You’ll do it.You have to.

Because if you don’t—your career will implode. People will talk.

And somewhere in the middle of all that mess… you think you might actually be falling in love with him.

The thought hits so hard you stop walking entirely. Outside, thunder rumbles softly over the city.

Then—another slip of paper falls from inside the folded letter onto your kitchen floor.

Your stomach drops. Slowly, you bend down and pick it up. Smaller handwriting this time.

One sentence only.

—

Wear blue tomorrow if you still want me writing you.

— M

© 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚

[applehead-archive]

don't leave me

❛ michael jackson 𝑥 female !reader ❜ ....✉︎ an extremely overworked, sleep deprived, and substance dependent michael and worried girlfriend reader. ....✎ tw: implied substance abuse. mention of medication. angst. sad. fluff if you squint

“you need to stop doing this to yourself, michael"

the concern in your voice brings michael back to reality. he glances back at the television and swears you just put the movie on. how is it playing the end credits already?

"i'm getting worried about you..." your robe flows in the air as you stride toward him from the living room doorway. he doesn't remember you changing into a nightgown.

you stood in front of him blocking his vision from the screen. and he just looks up at you, eyebrows knit together, mouth agape – trying to find the words to say. it's rare that he's rendered speechless.

as you look into his eyes, a nauseating wave of sadness washes over you. he just seems so...exhausted. without any of his usual makeup, you can clearly see the weight of the world on him. his usually bright doe eyes looked cloudy, lost, and confused. you can barely recognize him with his eyes sunken and red.

it's clear to you that he hasn't been getting sleep again. and it made you want to cry because he's still trying so so so hard for you. you don't know why he said yes to a movie night with you when it's obvious that he hasn't slept in days. pushing himself to spend time with you on his only free day.

but that's just the kind of person michael jackson is. he will do what he wants, even at the cost of himself.

with that, you let out a deep sigh as you knelt in front of him. he leans forward to meet your forehead, and he closes his eyes at the feeling of your palm resting against his jaw. relishing in the comfort that you were providing as you held his face in your hands.

“you didn't even notice you fell asleep, michael" you try to sound stern.

as a response, he takes your hand and softly presses his lips against your palm. "you worry about me too much, baby" he reassures. or tries to.

"i'm your girlfriend. it's my job to fuss over you"

he smiles at you, pulling you up from the floor and into his lap. your arms wrap around his neck as you plant yourself atop his legs.

“baby i swear i'm okay, just a little loopy. that's it."

you're not convinced. and how could you be? he just finished a tour with his brothers, and here he was again, knee deep into making another hit album. not to mention, still recovering from an accident all those months ago. you can't tell which of his medications are doctor or self-prescribed.

truthfully, his passion is one of the reasons why you fell in love with him in the first place. his hunger for greatness is one of the reasons why he’ll continue to insist that everything is fine. that he is fine. but michael is anything but okay, and everyone around him knows that. you're just the only one who cares enough to stop him.

“sorry I fell asleep baby, I really didn’t mean to”

he must think you're mad at him for falling asleep on your date because he sounds defeated. he searches your eyes for a response, but you don't think he'll remember any of this. you simply pull him tighter and press a small kiss on his forehead, making sure he feels loved instead. 

“don’t beat yourself up over it, mike” you're up on your feet as you take his hand, urging him to follow suit to your shared bed. you have him change into comfier pyjamas before you make him drink a melatonin tea.

as you both lay down in bed, duvet engulfing your bodies, he asks you one last question.

"you're not sick of me yet, are you?" his voice cracks at the slightest, and your heart breaks. you turn to face him, and your eyes soften as you trace the baby hairs that frame his face.

“of course not, silly goose. i love you too much. i'm here forever” you force out a smile, but your brows dip in worry.

he's too tired to respond, so he just nods repeatedly. ultimately relieved to hear you say that. this time, he pulls you closer and engulfs you into his arms, head resting atop yours. you can hear his heartbeat as you rest your ear to his chest. when it slows down, you suspect he's finally asleep.

so you let yourself cry a little, soft sobs escaping your mouth as you try to hold in your tears. but your emotions betray you, and soon enough, a part of michael's shirt dampens with your tears.

but michael wasn't asleep just yet. and he can tell he wasn't meant to hear this part.

"i'm here for as long as you're here...so i swear to god michael, you better not leave me alone on this earth" he knows what you mean – what you're silently begging for, what your grief-stricken tears are about.

so right there and then, he promises to be better starting tomorrow. he wants to be here with you for a long, long time.

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

author's note: i must love pain because what the hell.

[visualsbyaina]

MICHAEL JACKSON IN COME TOGETHER - MV (1988) (I had to make that third gif, I just couldn't hold myself, blame me i guess)

[lollipoplies]

sidelines — chapter 11

type: series

pairing: michael jackson x reader

genre(s): romance, angst

wc: 1.3k

tags: bad era!michael, female!reader, workplace romance

tw!!: abuse (mentioned), substance abuse (mentioned)

summary: as a professional makeup artist, you've had your fair share of celebrity clientele. never in a million years would you have expected to work for michael jackson, though.

disclaimer: this story is a work of fiction. every element of this work is used in a ficticious manner, including all names, characters, places, and events, and is not an accurate portrayal of real-life people, dead or alive. any resemblance to actual persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental due to the author's creative writing.

tag list (dm to be tagged): @ohmysoultakemysoul @deadpool15 @h-emima8 @dragonflyaf @annizzenn @healthenature @lia-pitchiner @funkaoverwar @sweatycoups @darkgreengrl @thebiggestvanhalenlover @brxxss @armageddonofthebrain @osugahunnyicedtea @a-dal7490 @kamisama1kiss @fluffybunbunxo @izluvsyou @kordulka @devilslittlehelper @keylawnduh @lelewright1234 @hawkeye1p @lov3lylxvender

The moment the hotel room door was shut and locked, she heaved a sigh and plopped down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. It had been a long day, and all she wanted to do was sleep.

Michael was silent in the car the entire way back from the awards ceremony. He'd stuck a pair of sunglasses on his face and stared out the car window, and went straight to his hotel room—which was across from hers—the second the car was parked.

She felt bad for him.

She rolled over to her side and closed her eyes, not bothering to change out of the dress she'd worn all night. She tried to sleep, tried not to think about his soft lips on her hand, tried not to think about the way he looked at her on that stage.

Just when she started drifting into unconsciousness, a knock sounded at the door.

She sat up, not sure if she'd heard correctly.

A moment later, and a second knock confirmed what she'd heard.

Peering through the peephole, Michael stood on the other side of the door, holding the kangaroo plushie she'd given him months ago.

She unlocked the door and turned the knob.

"Hi."

He, too, was wearing the same clothes he'd been in all night.

"Hey, Michael." She paused, noticing the glassy tears in his eyes. Concern washed over her face. "What's wrong?"

He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, um," She hesitated for a moment. "Of course." She opened the door wider, allowing entrance to her room.

A quick shut and lock of the door left the two of them in silence.

Michael began crying.

Shock took over her body. He had never showed this kind of vulnerability in front of her before, and for a moment, she wasn't sure what to do.

Slowly, she stepped closer to him, and at the same time, he sank onto the edge of her bed.

Wiping the sweat from her palms, she takes a deep inhale and holds his hand, sitting next to him.

Her heart fluttered at the contact, pulse no doubt rising, but that didn't matter to her right now. What mattered was the fact that Michael was upset.

"Michael?" She says gently.

He continued sobbing, and her stomach nearly fell out of her ass when he hid his face on her shoulder.

She squeezed his hand and patted his back as he cried and cried and cried, until it seemed like he wouldn't stop.

Eventually, he lifted his head.

He'd cried most of his makeup off, eyeliner smudged under his eyes and vitiligo on display.

"I didn't win anything." He says so softly that she barely heard him. "I worked on this album for years and won nothing."

She wasn't sure what to say. She felt pity for him, but was that all he was really crying about?

"I'm sorry, Michael."

He looks at her, a fresh wave of tears burning his eyes.

She clears her throat. "Do you want me to call Tatiana?"

An immediate "No." leaves his lips.

"I want-" He takes a deep breath and swallows. "I don't want to bother her. It's late."

She lets go of his hand and reaches for the phone on the nightstand, dial tone filling her ear. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind–"

He grabs the phone from her hand and slams it back on the receiver. "I said no."

Heart racing, she lowers her hand to her lap. "Alright."

Silence and tension consumes the air surrounding them. Was his face always this close to hers?

He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacket, paying no mind to the box of tissues on the nightstand. Black makeup smudged the red fabric.

He chuckles. "This jacket costs thousands."

Not following, she waits for him to continue.

"I have more than enough money anyone could ever want." He says matter-of-factly. "Yet I feel like the loneliest person on the planet."

Oh.

"I'm sorry–"

"My father used to beat me."

She shuts her mouth, the audible sound of her teeth snapping closed filling her ears.

He looks down, playing with the tail of the kangaroo. "Every pitchy note, every wrong step. Any and everything I did wrong, I was beat for it."

She grabs his hand again, squeezing it, a sad frown stretching across her face.

Hesitating for just a moment, and deciding to do so before thinking better of it, she wraps her arms around his neck.

It was his turn to be shocked.

"I'm so sorry, truly I am."

He buries his face in her neck, placing his hands on her back.

Her back burns under his fingertips, a heat flushing her skin at the physical contact. She was painfully aware of his hot breath on her neck. She wondered if he could feel the pulse in her flesh, how quick it was.

"My father wasn't that great either." She catches herself saying.

He pulls back, big brown eyes staring into her soul.

Her breath hitches, though she continues. "He was an alcoholic. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen him sober." She chuckles.

"He used to hit me. And my mom. It was only a handful of times, but I remember it well. My mom refused to put up with it and had the police remove him from the house. I haven't seen him since."

"I'm sorry." He reaches for her hand, and she allows him to take it.

"Oh please, it's nothing compared to what you've dealt with." She stares at the way their hands mold together perfectly.

"What about your mother?"

She closes her eyes and sighs. "She's dead."

Her blunt answer made Michael flinch, and she dropped his hand, opening the locket around her neck.

"She died three years ago from breast cancer." She looks at him as he looks at the silver locket around her neck. "It's just me and my grandmother now."

Sympathy paints his face. "I'm sorry." He repeats the same words from earlier.

"Anyways, that's enough sob story for today."

She grabs the plushie from his lap, flashing a smile. "Have you given her a name yet?"

"No I haven't." He wipes the dried tears from his face and chuckles. "Got any ideas?"

"Hmm," She taps on her chin. "What about Alice?"

Michael bites his lip, smiling. "I love it, it's very fitting for her."

His face had been inching closer to hers, and she only noticed it when she could smell the mint on his hot breath.

No, no, no.

Everything in her wanted to lean forward, wanted to feel his lips on hers. God, she wanted it desperately, dreaming about this very moment for months.

But she knew it was wrong.

So she cleared her throat and put some distance between them.

"I'm not a homewrecker." She states plainly.

Michael shifts and fidgets with the kangaroo plushie again, mentally cursing himself.

"I think it's time for you to go." She stands up and heads to the door, hand on the doorknob, when he stops her in her tracks.

"I don't love her."

She stares at the door, refusing to turn around, refusing to acknowledge what he'd said.

"Did you hear me? I said I don't love her."

Oh she heard him. Loud and clear. That doesn't change the fact that she nearly kissed her boss.

Slow, heavy footsteps walked up behind her, stopping way too close for comfort.

"I tried to love her, I really did. I thought if we were together long enough that I would get there one day, but–"

A sharp ring of the telephone cuts him off.

She lets it ring once, twice, then finally pushes past Michael to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Thank God you picked up." Teresa's voice was panicked.

"Hey, Teresa, what's going on?" The panic in her voice started to rub off on her "Is everything okay?"

"It's your grandmother."

《 chapter 10

[cupcakeprincezz]

off the wall!michael x reader having a pool party + sleepover at Michael’s house in Encino but michael gets jealous when he spots his brothers trying to hit on reader

oooo jealous michael i lovvveee !!!! hope you enjoy angel ଘ( ᴗ͈ ᴗ͈)ഒ (sorry for making everyone who requested wait so long > < feel free to request more since i'm all done with my final exams !!! ＼(^o^)／

jealous michael (hehe)

michael’s pool day and sleep over gets chaotic when he sees his brothers flirting with you and suddenly gets way too jealous to hide it. off the wall michael x fem!reader

AUGUST 18, 1979

the moment you step out of the car, the late afternoon sun settles over you like a soft blanket, warm enough to make your skin glow but gentle enough that it doesn’t feel overwhelming, and you take a slow breath as you look up at the jackson family home, the big white house standing quietly against the bright california sky. the driveway feels familiar beneath your feet, the scent of the neighborhood drifting around you in a mix of jasmine, sun‑warmed pavement, and the faintest hint of chlorine from the backyard. you shift your overnight bag higher on your shoulder, feeling the strap press into your skin as you take a moment to steady yourself, not from nerves but from the strange flutter that always comes with stepping into michael’s world, a world that is loud and loving and full of movement in a way that contrasts with the calm you feel whenever you’re alone with him. you smooth your hand over your clothes even though you already checked yourself in the mirror before getting out of the car, and then you start walking up the driveway, each step slow and steady as the house grows larger in front of you.

you knock lightly even though you know you don’t need to, and before your knuckles even leave the door it swings open to reveal marlon standing there with a towel thrown over his shoulder, his hair damp and his grin wide enough to make you laugh under your breath. he steps aside immediately, waving you in with a dramatic sweep of his arm as he says "you’re here, finally, everyone’s out back" in a voice that’s already buzzing with energy. the cool air of the house washes over you as you step inside, the familiar scent of the jackson home wrapping around you in a way that makes your shoulders relax. you hear voices drifting from deeper in the house, laughter echoing faintly against the walls, and somewhere in the mix you catch the soft sound of michael’s voice, not loud enough to make out the words but enough to make your chest warm. you adjust your grip on your bag and follow marlon down the hallway, your footsteps soft on the polished floor as he leads you toward the backyard.

the moment you step outside, the brightness hits you again, sunlight bouncing off the pool in shimmering ripples that dance across the patio and the walls of the house. the backyard is alive with noise, the kind of playful chaos that only happens when all the brothers are together, and you take a moment to take it all in. towels are scattered across lounge chairs, floaties drift lazily across the water, and someone’s music is playing from a speaker near the sliding door, the beat soft and steady beneath the sound of splashing and laughter. tito is sitting at the edge of the pool with his feet in the water, talking to randy, who’s floating on his back with his eyes closed like he’s pretending to be asleep. jackie is near the grill, flipping something that smells good enough to make your stomach tighten with hunger, and he glances up when he hears you, giving you a warm smile before turning back to what he’s doing.

you set your bag down on one of the lounge chairs, the fabric warm from the sun, and you take a moment to settle yourself, brushing your hair back from your face as you look around the yard. everything feels familiar but still a little overwhelming, the noise and movement swirling around you in a way that makes you feel both welcomed and slightly out of place, the way you always feel when you first arrive before you’ve had a chance to settle into the rhythm of the house. you slip off your shoes and place them neatly beside your bag, letting your toes sink into the warm concrete as you stretch your shoulders, the sun settling comfortably across your back. you can feel the tension of the drive slowly melting away, replaced by the easy comfort of being somewhere you’ve been countless times before, somewhere that feels safe even when it’s loud.

you’re still taking everything in when you hear footsteps behind you, softer than the others, familiar in a way that makes your heart lift without you even turning around. you don’t need to look to know it’s michael, the quiet presence that always seems to move differently from everyone else, and when you finally turn your head he’s already there, standing a few feet away with his dark curls slightly damp and his eyes warm in the sunlight. he’s wearing a simple white tank top and loose shorts, nothing flashy, just him in the most natural way, and the sight of him makes something inside you settle completely. he gives you a soft smile, the kind that feels like a greeting only meant for you, and he says "hi baby, you got here okay?" in a voice that’s gentle and warm, the kind of tone he only uses when he’s talking to you. he doesn’t rush toward you or pull you into anything, he just stands there for a moment, letting you arrive, letting you breathe, letting you settle into the space before anything else happens.

you walk toward him slowly, your steps steady and unhurried, and he tilts his head slightly as he looks at you, his eyes soft and full of quiet affection. "i put some towels out for you already" he says, nodding toward the lounge chairs, "and there’s food if you’re hungry, jackie’s been cooking all afternoon". his voice is calm, steady, familiar, and the way he speaks to you makes your chest feel warm, not from excitement but from the comfort of being with someone who knows you well enough to make everything feel easy. you nod, giving him a small smile, and he reaches out to brush a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch light and gentle before he steps back to give you space again.

you take another slow breath, letting the atmosphere settle around you, the noise of the brothers fading slightly as you focus on the feeling of being here, being with michael, being in a place that feels like a second home. you sit down on the lounge chair, the fabric warm beneath you, and michael sitting down on the chair next to yours, close enough that you can feel his presence but not so close that it feels overwhelming. he leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him, and he glances at you with a soft smile that makes your shoulders relax completely. "take your time" he says quietly, his voice barely above the sound of the water, "we’re not doing anything yet, just hanging out". and with that, the last bit of tension leaves your body, replaced by the calm certainty that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

you sit there for a moment, letting the warmth of the sun soak into your skin as the noise of the backyard swirls around you in a way that feels distant and gentle, like background music instead of something demanding your attention. michael stays beside you, quiet and steady, his presence grounding you more than anything else could. he doesn’t rush you or pull you into the chaos of the pool party, he just sits there with his hands resting loosely on his knees, his curls catching the sunlight in soft glints of gold. every so often he glances at you, not to check on you in a worried way but in that calm, familiar way he always does, like he’s making sure you’re settling in at your own pace. you breathe in slowly, feeling the tension from the drive fade completely as the atmosphere of the house wraps around you, warm and lived in and full of the kind of comfort that only comes from being somewhere you’ve been welcomed into again and again.

after a few minutes, michael leans slightly toward you, his voice soft as he says "your stuff can go in my room whenever you want, i cleared space for you", and the simple thoughtfulness of it makes your chest warm. he says it casually, like it’s nothing, but you know he must have done it earlier in the day, probably before the party even started, making sure there was room for your bag, your clothes, the little things you always bring when you stay over. you nod, giving him a small smile, and he returns it with one of his own, gentle and warm, before standing up and offering you his hand. you take it, your fingers slipping easily into his, and he helps you up from the lounge chair with a soft steadiness that makes you feel even more at ease. he picks up your bag with his free hand, holding it effortlessly as he leads you toward the sliding door that opens back into the house.

the moment you step inside, the cool air brushes over your skin again, a welcome contrast to the heat outside, and the familiar scent of the house settles around you like a quiet reminder that this place has become something close to a second home. michael walks ahead of you down the hallway, his steps light and unhurried, and you follow him past framed photos on the walls, old awards, and little pieces of the family’s history that you’ve seen so many times they feel almost comforting. he pushes open his bedroom door with his shoulder, the hinges creaking softly, and the room looks exactly like you remember it, warm and tidy with soft sunlight spilling through the window and landing across the bed in a golden stripe. he sets your bag gently on the edge of the mattress, turning to you with that same soft expression he always gets when you’re in his space, like having you here makes the room feel more complete.

you take a moment to look around, letting your eyes move over the familiar details, the neatly stacked records, the books on his nightstand, the jacket draped over the back of his chair, and the small things that make the room feel like him. you place your shoes beside your bag and smooth your hands over the bedspread, feeling the soft fabric beneath your palms as you settle into the space. michael stands near the dresser, watching you with a quiet fondness that isn’t overwhelming, just steady and warm, and he says "you can change in here if you want, i’ll wait outside" in a tone that’s gentle and respectful, giving you space without making a big deal out of it. you nod, and he gives you a small smile before stepping out of the room, pulling the door almost closed behind him but leaving it open just enough that you can still hear the faint sounds of the backyard drifting through the house.

you open your bag and pull out your swim clothes, laying them neatly on the bed before changing at your own pace, the quiet of the room giving you a moment to breathe and settle fully into the day. the fabric is cool against your skin as you slip into it, and when you’re done you fold your regular clothes and place them carefully on the chair beside the dresser. you take a moment to look at yourself in the mirror, adjusting your hair and smoothing your hands over your bikini top and shorts before stepping back into the noise of the backyard. the sunlight catches on your skin, making everything look soft and warm, and for a moment you just stand there, letting the calm of the room settle into your bones.

when you finally open the door, michael is leaning against the wall across from his room, his arms loosely crossed and his head tilted slightly as he looks up at you. his eyes soften immediately, not in a dramatic way but in that quiet, familiar way he always looks at you, like he’s happy you’re here and nothing else matters. he pushes off the wall and walks toward you, his voice warm as he says "you look pretty", and the simplicity of the compliment makes you smile. he reaches out to take your hand again, his fingers curling gently around yours, and together you walk back down the hallway toward the backyard, the sound of laughter growing louder with each step.

when you step outside again, the brightness hits you just like before, but this time it feels easier, like you’ve already settled into the rhythm of the house. the brothers are still scattered around the pool, talking and splashing and teasing each other in the way they always do, and the moment they see you and michael walking out together, the noise shifts slightly, not in a dramatic way but in a warm, welcoming one. marlon waves at you from the water, tito gives you a nod from the edge of the pool, and jackie lifts the lid of the grill to check on the food, glancing over his shoulder to say "you two hungry yet" with a smile that’s easy and familiar. you squeeze michael’s hand gently, and he squeezes back, guiding you toward the lounge chairs again as the afternoon settles into something calm and comfortable, the kind of atmosphere that makes you feel like you can breathe deeply and stay as long as you want.

the brothers are still scattered around the pool, their voices rising and falling in bursts of laughter and playful teasing, but none of it feels directed at you or demanding your attention. it’s just the background noise of a family that’s used to being loud together, and you let it wash over you as you settle deeper into the lounge chair. jackie flips something on the grill, the smell drifting across the yard in a warm wave that makes your stomach tighten with hunger, and he calls out "food’s almost ready" without even looking up, his voice carrying easily over the water. tito dips his feet back into the pool, humming along to the music playing from the speaker, and randy floats lazily on his back, drifting in slow circles like he’s perfectly content to stay there forever. everything feels unhurried, like the whole afternoon has stretched itself out just for you to settle into it.

michael turns his head toward you, his curls brushing lightly against his forehead as he studies your face with that quiet attentiveness he always has. "you okay, baby?" he asks softly, his voice low enough that it doesn’t carry beyond the two of you, and the way he says it isn’t worried or pressing, just gentle and warm, like he wants to make sure you’re easing into the day in your own time. you nod, giving him a small smile, and he returns it with one of his own, the corners of his mouth lifting in that soft, familiar way that always makes your chest feel lighter. he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly against your knee, a simple touch that feels grounding rather than demanding, and then he leans back again, letting you breathe and take everything in without rushing you into anything.

you take a slow breath, letting the warmth of the sun settle across your shoulders as you watch the water ripple in the pool, the light catching on the surface in shimmering patterns that dance across the patio. the breeze lifts your hair gently, brushing it across your cheek, and you tuck it behind your ear as you let your eyes wander across the yard. everything feels peaceful in a way that’s rare when the whole family is together.

after a while, he shifts slightly, turning his body toward you a little more as he says "if you want, we can sit by the pool instead", his voice soft and thoughtful, like he’s offering you an option rather than a suggestion. you nod again, appreciating how he always seems to know exactly how to move at your pace, and he stands up slowly, offering you his hand once more. you take it, your fingers slipping into his easily, and he helps you up from the lounge chair with that same gentle steadiness as before. together, you walk toward the edge of the pool, the concrete warm beneath your feet, and you sit down beside him, letting your legs dangle over the edge as the cool water laps softly against your skin.

the brothers barely glance over, too caught up in their own conversations and games to pay much attention, and the lack of focus on you feels strangely comforting. you dip your toes deeper into the water, the coolness spreading slowly up your legs, and michael sits beside you with his hands resting on the edge of the pool, his posture relaxed and open. he looks out at the water for a moment before turning his head toward you again, his eyes soft and warm in the sunlight. "i’m glad you’re here" he says quietly as he kisses the back of your hand, the words simple but full of meaning, and the way he says it makes your chest feel full in a slow, gentle way that settles deep inside you.

michael leans slightly toward you, brushing his shoulder against yours as he murmurs "i’m gonna run inside for a second, i’ll be right back", his voice warm and casual, and you nod, giving him a small smile as he stands up. he squeezes your hand gently before stepping away, disappearing into the cool quiet of the house. you stay where you are, letting your feet sway gently in the water as you watch the sunlight dance across the pool, the warmth of the afternoon settling comfortably around you. the breeze lifts your hair again as you glance around the yard. everything feels peaceful, unhurried, familiar. you lean back on your hands, stretching your legs a little deeper into the water, and for a moment it feels like the whole world has slowed down just enough for you to breathe. but then you hear footsteps approaching, light and quick across the concrete, and when you look up you see jermaine walking toward you with a grin that’s a little too bright, his hair still dripping from the pool as he pushes it back from his forehead. he stops beside you, planting his hands on his hips as he tilts his head and says "you’re awfully quiet over here", his tone playful but edged with something else you can’t quite place. you smile politely, not thinking much of it, and he drops down onto the concrete beside you, letting his feet slip into the water with a splash that sends cool droplets across your legs. he leans back on his hands, turning his head toward you with a grin that feels a little too focused. "you know, you always look so calm when you’re here" he says, his voice softer now, and you nod, keeping your expression neutral as you look back at the water.

before you can respond, marlon appears on your other side, sliding into the space beside you with a smoothness that feels almost rehearsed. he nudges your shoulder lightly with his own, his grin wide and teasing as he says "michael’s lucky, you know that", his tone light but his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your stomach tighten. you shift slightly, not wanting to be rude but feeling the sudden closeness of both brothers pressing in on you. marlon dips his hand into the water, flicking a few droplets toward you with a playful smirk as he adds "if he ever messes up, you know where to find me", and even though he says it like a joke, something about the way he looks at you makes your breath catch. jackie calls out from the grill, his voice carrying easily across the yard as he says "you two leave her alone, she just got here", but he’s smiling as he says it, not realizing how close they’ve gotten, how their attention has shifted in a way that feels different from the usual family teasing. randy leans a little closer, his shoulder brushing yours as he says "we’re just talking, nothing wrong with that", and marlon laughs under his breath, his eyes still fixed on you in a way that makes your pulse quicken. you try to shift away subtly, but the edge of the pool keeps you in place, and the sudden intensity of their attention makes your chest tighten with discomfort. you glance toward the house, hoping to see michael coming back, but the sliding door remains closed, the sunlight reflecting off the glass in a way that hides whatever’s happening inside. jermaine nudges your knee lightly with his own, his grin widening as he says "you should come in the pool with us, we’ll keep you company", and marlon adds "yeah, we’ll take care of you", his voice low and teasing in a way that makes your stomach twist. you force a small smile, trying to keep things polite without encouraging anything, but the closeness of their bodies and the way their eyes linger on you makes it hard to breathe evenly.

and then the sliding door opens.

you don’t hear it at first, but you feel the shift in the air, the sudden quiet that falls over the brothers as their eyes flick upward. you turn your head slowly, your heart thudding in your chest, and there he is. michael stands in the doorway, his hand still on the handle, his hands damp from washing them, his expression frozen in a way you’ve never seen before. his eyes move from jermaine to marlon to the space between them where you’re sitting, and something sharp flickers across his face, something protective and wounded and unmistakably jealous.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he just stands there, his jaw tightening slightly, his eyes darkening as he takes in the scene in front of him. the brothers shift uncomfortably, their earlier confidence fading under the weight of michael’s stare, and the air between all of you thickens in a way that makes your breath catch. michael steps forward slowly, his movements controlled but tense, and the closer he gets, the more you can feel the heat of his jealousy simmering beneath the surface, quiet but powerful, the kind that comes from love rather than anger. he stops right behind you, his eyes softening only when they land on your face, and he says your name quietly, his voice low and steady, but there’s something in it that makes your heart twist. "come here, baby" he murmurs, and even though the words are gentle, the emotion behind them is anything but calm.

he leads you a few steps away from the pool, not far enough to make a scene but far enough that the brothers’ voices fade into the background, replaced by the soft hum of the afternoon and the faint splash of water behind you. he stops near the lounge chairs, turning to face you fully, and for a moment he just looks at you, his eyes searching your face with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. his hand stays wrapped around yours, warm and steady, and he takes a slow breath before speaking, his voice low and controlled but edged with something sharp. "were they bothering you" he asks quietly, and even though the words are soft, the tension beneath them is unmistakable, a quiet storm gathering behind his calm expression.

you shake your head gently, not wanting him to think you were uncomfortable even though the brothers’ closeness had made your stomach twist. michael watches your face carefully, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he reads the truth in your expression, and he steps a little closer, his free hand lifting to brush a damp strand of hair away from your cheek. his touch is gentle, but the emotion behind it is anything but calm, and when he speaks again his voice is even softer, almost a whisper. "i didn’t like how they were looking at you", he murmurs, his eyes flicking briefly toward the pool before returning to yours, "not when i wasn’t out here with you". the honesty in his voice makes your heart twist, not because he’s angry but because he’s hurt, protective in a way that comes from loving you deeply and wanting you to feel safe.

you squeeze his hand gently, grounding him, and he exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a little as he looks at you. the sunlight catches on the curve of his cheek, the soft line of his jaw, and for a moment he looks younger, more vulnerable, like the jealousy surprised him as much as it surprised you. he glances toward the pool again, his eyes darkening when he sees marlon and randy pretending not to look over, and he turns his body slightly, positioning himself between you and them without even thinking about it. "they shouldn’t be crowding you like that" he says quietly, his voice steady but firm, "not when you’re my girl". the words aren’t loud or dramatic, just simple and honest, and the way he says them makes your chest warm in a slow, steady way.

he turns back to you fully, his hand still holding yours, and he steps closer until your bodies are only inches apart, the warmth of him settling around you like a shield. his voice softens again, the tension in it easing as he looks into your eyes. "i’m sorry" he murmurs, "i didn’t mean to leave you out here alone like that". you shake your head gently, and he lets out a breath that sounds like relief, his shoulders loosening as he leans his forehead lightly against yours for a moment, the contact soft and grounding. the noise of the backyard fades around you, replaced by the quiet steadiness of his breathing, and for a moment it feels like the two of you are standing in your own small world, separate from everything else.

when he finally pulls back, his expression is calmer, but the protective edge in his eyes hasn’t faded completely. he glances toward the pool again, his jaw tightening just slightly when he sees the brothers still watching from the corner of their eyes, and he slips his arm around your waist gently, guiding you back toward the lounge chairs with a quiet certainty. "stay with me" he says softly, his voice warm but firm, "i want you close". and as he leads you away from the edge of the pool, the brothers shift awkwardly, their earlier boldness gone, replaced by the unmistakable awareness that michael saw everything.

the air between all of you changes, slow and heavy, and you can feel the tension settling into the afternoon like a quiet storm waiting to break.

the sun has dipped low by the time everyone starts packing up, the warm glow fading into a softer evening light and the moment michael closes the bedroom door behind you, the quiet settles around both of you like a heavy blanket, soft but full of everything he’s been holding in. he doesn’t let go of your hand, not even for a second, his grip warm and firm as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens it. he turns toward you slowly, his expression tight with jealousy and frustration, but underneath it all there’s something vulnerable, something that makes your chest ache. he steps closer, his voice low and warm as he murmurs "i didn’t like what happened out there", and the way he says it tells you he’s been replaying it in his head ever since he walked back outside.

you reach up and touch his cheek gently, your thumb brushing across his skin in a slow, soothing motion. "michael… i’m okay", you say softly, your voice steady and calm, "i wasn’t interested in anything they were doing". he closes his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch like he needs it, his breath leaving him in a slow exhale that sounds like he’s been holding it in for too long. when he opens his eyes again, they’re softer but still full of emotion, and he shakes his head slightly as he whispers "they shouldn’t have been that close to you… not when you’re with me".

you step closer, your hands sliding up his arms until they rest gently on his shoulders, grounding him. "look at me", you say quietly, "i'm here with you... and you're the only one i want". the words hit him instantly. his whole body softens, the tension in his shoulders melting as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. he smiles shyly.

he holds you like that for a long moment, his arms wrapped around you with a quiet intensity that makes your heart flutter. when he finally pulls back, he cups your face gently in both hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in slow, tender strokes. "i love you", he murmurs, his voice soft but full of emotion, "and i don’t ever want you feeling uncomfortable because of them". you place your hands over his, your fingers curling around his wrists as you whisper "i love you too, michael… and i wasn’t uncomfortable because of them".

he lets out a breath that sounds like relief, his shoulders loosening as he pulls you into him again, this time guiding you toward the bed. he sits down first and gently pulls you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist with a quiet desperation that makes your chest warm. he rests his forehead against your shoulder, his voice low and frustrated as he says "i’m still mad at them… they know better", and you can feel the tension in his body as he speaks. you run your fingers slowly along his back, soothing him, and you whisper "michael... i’m right here, and nothing happened to me."

he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that makes your stomach flutter. he cups your cheek again, his touch gentle and warm as he murmurs "you mean everything to me", the words quiet but full of truth. he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there before pulling you closer, his arms tightening around you as he whispers "i’m not letting you go tonight… not after all that".

you giggle softly, his arms wrapping around you with a warmth that feels like home. he shifts you gently, guiding you down onto the bed with him, but he never loosens his hold, keeping you pressed against him as he pulls the blankets over both of you. the room is dim now, the only light coming from the soft glow of the lamp, and the quiet hum of the house fades into the background as michael settles beside you, his body curled around yours protectively.

he tucks his face against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as you turn slightly, his arms tightening around you in a slow, steady squeeze. he presses one last gentle kiss to your temple, his voice barely above a whisper as he murmurs "i love you, baby… so much", and you whisper it back, your words melting into the quiet of the room. and for the rest of the night, he holds you close, his jealousy fading into warmth, his anger fading into softness, his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let you go.

and he doesn’t.

. ۫. ♡ 𐙚 ♡ . ۫.. ۫. ♡ 𐙚 ♡ . ۫.. ۫. ♡ 𐙚 ♡ . ۫.. ۫. ♡ 𐙚 ♡ . ۫.. ۫. ♡ 𐙚 ♡ . ۫.. ۫. ♡ 𐙚 ♡ . ۫.. ۫. ♡ 𐙚 ♡ . ۫.

[urbanfunkchild]

focus on me

michael jackson x reader(or you)

Pairing: Michael Jackson x reader

Summary: You are a staff photographer at Studio 54, working thurs, fri and sat nights. You bump in to the infamous Michael Jackson as the club is in full swing on a Saturday night.

Tags: fluff, meetcute, michael is in his infamous silk shirt, doing press at studio 54, afro and all, he's his shy self, he meets a cute girl and still acts nerdy af, bill is watching from the sidelines with the heaviest side eye

Word Count: 4645

Author’s Note: my first lil ditty, contributing to this awesome tag. i had to give back, bc before the biopic, i had to read fanfics that were 10-15 years old, so thank u for all of ur work!! off to see the movie for the 7th time in imax tomorrow like a freak!

this was originally an OC, hence why it reads the way it does, but if y’all like it I will do a part 2.

If you'd like more, send me an ask ;)

the bass hit different at studio 54.

it wasn't just music, it was a living thing, something that crawled up through the soles of your platform shoes and rewired your whole nervous system before you'd even made it past the velvet rope. you knew this because you'd felt it every thursday, friday, and saturday night for the last eight months, ever since you'd sweet-talked your way into a photography gig with the club's in-house press team.

best decision you'd ever made, bar none.

you pressed your eye to the viewfinder of your canon ae-1 and let the crowd swim into focus. disco light fractured across sequined dresses, wide lapels, feathered hair. a woman in silver lamé threw her head back laughing, a man in a white suit dipped low to the floor, two people in matching gold jumpsuits moved like they'd been choreographed by god himself. you clicked the shutter, click, whirr, and felt the familiar little electric thrill that shot from your fingertip straight to your chest.

you were twenty-three, harlem-born, and you had a camera in your hand in the most electric room on the planet. life, by any reasonable metric, was very, very good.

you wore your hair out tonight, a full, soft cloud of dark brown coils, and had squeezed yourself into a burnt orange halter top and wide-leg tartan trousers that flared satisfyingly at the ankle. a press lanyard hung around your neck, which you hated aesthetically and loved practically, because it meant you could go anywhere. back rooms, the dj booth, the infamous balcony. steve rubell himself had once pointed at your lanyard and given you a thumbs-up as if to say go on, take a shot. you'd taken his photo in return and sent him a print in the mail. he had his assistant send you a written thank you letter, explaining that your work was excellent.

that was the economy of studio 54 and by god, you loved it.

you moved through the crowd the way you always did, fluid, deliberate and grooving. you knew that in a crowd like this, a still body got bumped and a moving one parted the sea.

the dj was deep into his set now, donna summer bleeding into something harder and more insistent. i feel love dissolving at the edges into the opening bars of chic's le freak, and the floor responded like a single organism, hips and shoulders and raised hands all moving with one pulse. you felt it in your sternum. you always did. green, yellow and purple gel lights swirled, casting interesting shadows on vastly interesting people.

you were angling toward the far end of the dance floor, where the lighting did something extraordinary near the mirrored wall. the people there were enveloped in a warm amber haze that made everyone look like they'd stepped out of a renaissance painting. you'd been trying to capture it properly for three weeks, but had consciously kept wasting film. here's to the next attempt, you thought.

you were two steps from your spot when you walked directly into a wall.

except the wall was warm and smelled like sandalwood with a hint of a floral sweetness, and made a very human sound of surprise.

"oh, shoot," you yanked your camera instinctively to your chest by the rainbow patterned strap, protecting the lens, and stumbled back half a step. "i am so sorry, i wasn't —"

you looked up.

then you looked up a little more.

he was tall. that was the first thing your brain logged. tall and lean with shoulders that filled out a dark brown silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to be intentional. he had a face that was almost unreasonably pretty, wide dark doe eyes, a jaw that looked soft but angular and still sincere, a mouth caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. and the hair. lord, the hair. a magnificent afro that seemed to command its own square footage, perfectly round, so lush it had an almost halo effect under the disco lights.

his skin was the colour of warm honey held up to sunlight, smooth and glowing like the room had been lit specifically for him, though you suspected every room felt that way around him without trying.

the second thing your brain logged was that you recognised him.

you'd have to have been living in a cave not to.

"michael jackson, man of the hour," you said. it came out less like a greeting and more sarcastic, given the volume at which you had to shout it for him to hear you.

his expression shifted, the tiniest flicker of something, that particular micro-expression you'd learned to read on famous faces, the brief internal oh, here it comes, before the amusement settled back in, warmer now, almost relieved.

"you're not going to scream, are you?" he said, equally sarcastic. quick-witted, you noted. sharp little mouth.

his voice was softer than you expected, though. a little tentative. but there was a current underneath it, something playful running just below the surface.

"in this room?" you glanced around at studio 54 in full saturday-night effect. "i'd just be contributing to the ambient noise." you shifted your camera strap on your shoulder and tilted your head. "besides, i'm working."

he looked at the canon camera swinging from your side, and something in his face changed. the polite, practiced ease that had surfaced when you said his name, the armour a person builds after fifteen years of being in the spotlight, softened into something more genuine.

"that's a canon ae-1," he said.

you blinked. "...yeah."

"you're shooting with the fifty millimetre?" he shouted over the thrumming bass.

you looked down at your lens, almost involuntarily, then back up at him. "forty. more range in a tight space." you paused. "you know cameras?"

"i know that camera," he said. "i've been looking at one. for a while now."

he was still looking at it the way you looked at a great shot before you took it, with a hunger that was also a kind of reverence. you knew that look intimately.

it was only then that you noticed the man standing about ten feet back.

he was large, not in a threatening way, but in a settled way, like a piece of furniture that had decided where it belonged and wasn't going anywhere. broad-shouldered, somewhere in his fifties, with kind eyes that were nonetheless doing a very thorough and continuous sweep of the immediate area. he wore a dark blazer and looked like he was having fun, professionally. he caught you looking and gave you the smallest nod. not unfriendly. just noting you.

michael followed your gaze and something shifted in his expression. softer. almost boyish.

"that's bill," he said simply. as if that explained everything. as if, somehow, it did.

the dj pivoted again, the opening shimmer of earth, wind and fire's september rolling out across the floor like a wave, and the crowd surged with collective joy around you. someone jostled michael from behind and he stepped closer to you, instinctively ducking his head toward yours so you could hear him.

up close he smelled even better. you noted this the way you noted good light. he smelled expensive, which made a lot of sense.

"could i ask you about it?" the amusement was still there in his eyes, but it had company now. a sincerity that seemed to cost him something to show. he ducked his head slightly when he said it, almost shy, like the question had taken some working up to. "i've been trying to figure out what i actually want before i, there's people around me who'd just go buy me ten cameras if i said i want to try photography, and i don't want that. i want to understand it first."

"you want to talk about my camera," you said slowly, with a smirk.

"i want to talk about photography," he said. there was a slight defensiveness in it, like a correction. like it mattered to him that you understood the distinction. then, quieter, a half-smile appearing at the corner of his mouth: "but you and your camera seem like a package deal, so."

you looked at him for a moment. looked at him the way you looked at the room, properly, with the eye you'd trained over eight months of watching people be themselves in an extraordinary place.

he held your gaze for exactly two seconds before he glanced away, jaw tightening slightly, like he'd surprised himself.

painfully shy, you thought. underneath all of it. every bit of it hard-won.

"there's a spot near the back bar," you said. "better lighting and you can actually hear yourself think." you patted your camera. "and i need to reload some film anyway."

you didn't miss the way he glanced back at bill as you moved. bill gave a small, almost imperceptible lift of his chin, go ahead, and something in michael's shoulders dropped half an inch. like a string cut loose.

the back bar at studio 54 was a relative term. it was still studio 54, still throbbing and gilded and lit like a fever dream, but there were low velvet benches along the wall and the speakers were one degree removed, and you could hold a conversation without lip-reading.

bill stationed himself at a comfortable distance, close enough to matter, far enough to give the illusion of privacy. you noticed michael notice this, and noticed the small, grateful thing that passed over his face before he tucked it away.

michael folded himself onto the bench across from you and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and it struck you suddenly how young he looked like this. not small, he was built long and graceful, but young. unguarded. like he'd stepped out from behind something. his fingers were long, lovely and restless, tapping a loose, unconscious rhythm against his knee, and you had the sudden and very clear understanding that this was a person who was almost never still, and that stillness, for him, had to be chosen rather than stumbled into.

you cracked open the back of the canon with practiced ease and began feeding in a fresh roll of kodak tri-x.

"how long have you been shooting?" he asked.

"since i was sixteen." you threaded the film leader to the take-up spool. "my uncle had a darkroom in his apartment in the bronx. smelled like chemicals and weed so strongly that you'd leave high. loved it though." you clicked the back shut and wound the advance lever twice, firmly. "you?"

"never, really. that's the thing." he was watching your hands work with an attention that felt almost studious. up close, his eyes were extraordinary, very dark, very still, in contrast to those restless fingers. "i write music, i know how to put together a mean string section, and can break a song and put it back together. but a photograph —" he paused. "i took a picture last year. just a disposable camera, nothing fancy. a picture of my brother, marlon, sleeping on the tour bus. just because the light was coming through the window and it looked —" he made a gesture with his hands that you instinctively understood. a gesture that meant it looked like something that deserved to exist.

"and?" you prompted.

"and when i saw it developed, i thought, i made that. i caught something that was gone a half a second later." he shook his head slightly. "i want to learn how to do it properly. how to make it look the way you see it."

you turned the camera over in your hands. "that's the whole game," you said. "that's all photography is. learning to close the gap between what you see and what the film sees." you held the canon out to him, handle first. "here."

he took it with both hands. carefully, the way you'd accept something borrowed and irreplaceable.

"it's heavier than it looks," you told him. "that weight matters, it means something is actually happening inside. you're not just pressing a button, you're opening a little window." you leaned over and tapped the lens gently. "this one sees roughly what your eye sees. no drama, no distortion. it's very honest, nothing like a disposable."

he raised the camera slowly and looked through the viewfinder, and something happened to his posture. a subtle shift, a stillness settling over him. the restless fingers stopped. you recognised it immediately because it was the same thing that happened to you. the world narrowed to a rectangle, and everything inside that rectangle either mattered or it didn't, and the deciding was entirely yours.

"oh," he said quietly.

"yeah," you said.

he lowered the camera and looked at you over the top of it. "how do you know what to take a picture of?"

"what did you see, just now, in the viewfinder?"

he thought about it. actually thought about it, didn't just offer the first available words. you liked that.

"two people dancing," he said. "but they weren't performing it. they were just in it. you could see it on their faces."

"that," you said, "is what you take a picture of."

he smiled then, for the first time properly, a wide, bright smile that changed his whole face, opened it up, and you felt something register in your chest that you had longed to feel for a while.

"what's your name?" he said.

"Y/N." you reclaimed your camera and slung it back over your shoulder. "staff photographer. harlem born and raised. and before you ask, yes, i am a professional, not some fan. i spent eighteen months photographing corporate headshots in midtown, which is exactly as terrible as it sounds."

he laughed, bright and real and uninhibited. a few people nearby glanced over with the usual double-take of recognition, and you watched the shutters come down behind his eyes by reflex. he caught you watching him do it.

"you do that a lot," you said. not unkindly.

"do what?"

"lock the door." you mimed it with your hand, a little click. "when people look."

he was quiet for a moment. the music shifted again, stevie wonder's as unspooling from the speakers like warm honey, the kind of song that made the room breathe slower, and in the slightly softer atmosphere of it, he seemed to consider you, like he was deciding something.

"well, formally, i will introduce myself. my name is michael." he grinned again, holding his hand out, his dextrous fingers shaking slightly. you took it and shook it firmly.

"most people know me as the little eight year old kid that sung abc," he said eventually. "it gets complicated when you try to be anything other than what they expect."

"what are you trying to be now?" you asked. "besides twenty-one and keeping me from my work."

something sparked in his eyes. that current again, running below the surface. "trying to figure that out," he said. "that's kind of why i'm here." then, quieter, almost to himself: "tonight was supposed to be press for my new album. show face, smile at the right people, leave."

"and instead you cornered a photographer."

"and instead," he agreed, with a gravity entirely undermined by the way he was almost smiling, "i cornered a photographer."

you glanced over at bill without meaning to. he was gazing at the middle distance with the practiced neutrality of a man who was absolutely listening to every word and would die before he admitted it. you had the sense, suddenly, that he'd watched michael do this exact calculation, press obligation versus the pull of something real, many times before.

you wondered how often michael won that particular argument with himself.

not often, you thought. looking at the nervous energy still running through him, the way he'd shift his weight slightly and then catch himself, the way he'd meet your eyes and then find somewhere else to look for a half-second before coming back. not very often at all.

"you're trying to flirt with me," you said.

he looked at his own hands. "i'm talking about photography."

"uh huh."

"very seriously." but the smile had reached his eyes now, and he couldn't entirely kill it, and you had the feeling this was what it looked like when michael jackson lost an argument with himself, quietly, incrementally, with considerable charm.

he was quiet for a beat then, the wrestling match playing out almost visibly on his face, before he looked up with a careful, deliberate calm that you could tell had taken some assembling.

"can i take a picture of you?"

you blinked. "you want to —"

"a portrait." he nodded at the canon. "you just told me to shoot what's worth keeping." a pause. the almost-smile was gone now, replaced with something more honest and considerably more exposed. "so."

the room felt, for a moment, smaller. just the two of you and the slow golden spin of the stevie wonder and the amber light off the mirrored wall that you'd been chasing all night and had entirely forgotten about until this moment.

you unlooped the strap from your shoulder and held the camera out.

"don't you dare waste my film," you teased.

he took it, both hands again, that same careful reverence, and this time he held it with more confidence, adjusting his grip the way you'd shown him, getting the weight of it settled. you caught him glance toward bill again, just briefly, a quick sideways flicker, like a kid checking that someone they trusted was still in the room, and bill, without looking directly at him, turned his body a fraction. a subtle shift. i'm here.

michael raised the camera slowly. you sat back against the velvet bench and let yourself be looked at, which was not something you were generally in the habit of doing.

he waited. longer than you expected. you'd thought nerves would rush him, but he was still again, that same quality of attention descending over him. you watched his jaw loosen. watched his breathing slow.

click.

just once. he lowered the camera and looked at it in his hands, then back at you.

"one shot?" you said.

"that was the one," he said simply.

you held out your hand and he gave the camera back, and your fingers overlapped in the handoff, his hand large and warm, the roughness of guitar strings and piano keys worn into his fingertips, and neither of you moved for a beat longer than was necessary.

he cleared his throat quietly. looked at you. looked away. looked back.

"Y/N."

"mm."

"you've made tonight —" he stopped. tried again. "i came here because i had to. that's the honest truth of it. bill had me on a schedule, in and out, back to the hotel by midnight." he glanced toward bill again, that same shy sideways look, and something in it was so unaffected, so genuinely boyish, that it made your chest do something inconvenient. "it's almost one."

"your bill doesn't look particularly alarmed," you observed, giving bill a little wave.

"bill is very patient with me." he said it with a warmth that told you exactly what kind of man bill was, and exactly what he meant to michael. not just a bodyguard. something considerably more than that.

he turned slightly toward you on the bench, his knee almost touching yours. almost. you could feel the nervous energy radiating off him, this specific particular kind of nervousness, the kind that wasn't fear but was the next-door neighbour of it. the nervousness of someone about to do something they almost never do.

"can i kiss you?" he asked.

it came out quiet. careful. like he'd rehearsed it twice and still wasn't sure.

"you're asking," you said.

"i'm asking," he confirmed. his eyes were very steady on your face, which you understood now was what it looked like when he was working hardest. all that restless energy pulled inward, focused down to a point. "i wanted to ask. it's polite. mother taught me to always be a gentleman."

you leaned forward and closed the distance.

he met you halfway, and then, gently, completely, he took over.

his hand came up first, slow and deliberate, curving around your jaw like he'd thought about exactly where it would go. his thumb rested just below your cheekbone and you felt the warmth of his palm against your skin, and then his mouth found yours and it was soft. careful. the way he'd held your camera. that same quality of total attention, like something worth not rushing.

he kissed you softly, once, and pulled back just enough, a breath of space, and you felt him exhale slowly, and then he came back, and this time there was something different underneath the gentleness, something that curled around the softness of it and held on. his other hand found the back of the bench, just behind your shoulder, not quite touching but present, enclosing, and the combination of it, the tenderness and the quiet certainty of him, made something in your chest do a slow, complicated turn.

he was so gentle. and somehow that made it more sensual. you'd never had someone approach you this way and be so sweet about it. he clearly was not in the habit of doing this with strangers, considering his extravagant life.

you'd known him from the press, and of course had grown up with his music. but this was clearly a new side to him that gave you butterflies. of all the incredibly interesting and gorgeous people dancing in studio 54 on this fine saturday evening, he had chosen you.

when he pulled back, his hand stayed at your jaw a moment longer, thumb tracing one slow arc along your cheekbone like he was finishing a thought.

his eyes opened. dark and very still.

"okay," he said quietly. as if confirming something to himself.

"okay?" you said.

"more than okay." he lowered his hand, slowly, in no apparent hurry. "really good, actually."

you looked deliberately across the dance floor, where the crowd was doing extraordinary things to rock with you, which had drifted in at some point without you noticing, slow and warm and gold.

he seemed extremely bashful that his own song was playing, but you paid absolutely no mind to it. what a rare moment, to see someone so shiny and famous and perfect be so completely disarmed.

you raised your camera, more for something to do with your hands than anything else.

"next saturday," you said, keeping your voice even. "i'm here from ten. if you wanted to —"

"i won't be able to come back for a while." he said it quickly, and something flickered across his face, not quite regret, more like true disappointment. "i'm in la by monday. then the tour with my brothers is happening shortly after." he glanced toward bill again, and this time bill was looking back at him, not impatiently, but with a quiet we need to go soon in his expression.

michael turned back to you. "the schedule is unforgiving. it doesn't leave a lot of room for —" he gestured vaguely at the space between you, which you understood encompassed considerably more than just next saturday.

"that's a very diplomatic way to put it," you said, your cheeks burning slightly. he noticed your reaction almost immediately. he was really watching you, and that sent a shiver down your spine.

"i'm working on being honest," he said. "bill says it's a good quality to develop in this business." he said it with a small dry seriousness that made you want to laugh. you didn't, quite.

the music rolled on around you, the opening of something new now, the warm electric glide of don't stop 'til you get enough, and it struck you suddenly as almost funny, the specific absurdity of sitting in studio 54 at one in the morning having this conversation with the singer of that very song, a person who had absolutely not been in your plans for the evening.

it was strange, having had such an intimate moment with someone so enormous. someone who, on a stage, was a completely different creature, possessed by a more thoroughly confident version of himself. here, on this velvet bench, he was just a boy working up the nerve to say what he meant.

you turned to look at him.

"so what are you asking?" you said.

he held your gaze, and this time he didn't look away.

"where's your studio at?"

it landed simply. no performance in it. just a question with a very clear answer underneath it: i want to find you again, and i will make the room in whatever schedule i have, but i need to know where you are.

you studied him for a moment. the honey-warm skin and the extraordinary hair and the restless hands now gone still in his lap. the boy who had been famous since before he could tie his own shoes, sitting on a velvet bench in the most excessive room in new york, asking where you kept your darkroom.

you reached into the small bag at your hip and produced a business card, slightly battered at the edges, your name and number printed in cream stock, and turned it over and wrote an address on the back. west 28th street. third floor. the small, chaotic, light-flooded studio you'd been renting for two years and loved more than any place you'd ever lived.

you held it out.

he took it with both hands, of course he did, and looked at it for a moment, front and back, with the same attention he'd given everything else tonight. then he tucked it into the breast pocket of his silk shirt, close to his chest, and pressed his hand flat against it once, briefly, like he was making sure it was real.

"Y/N," he said, in his shy, soft voice.

"don't lose it," you said, and winked at him.

he looked at you, and for once he didn't look away, and the smile that came was quieter than the others, smaller, and somehow because of that, more intimate.

"i won't," he said.

you stood, straightened your trousers, and looped your camera back over your shoulder. bill had materialised at a slightly closer distance, not pressing, just present, the gentle tide of the schedule beginning to come back in.

michael noticed it too and rose to his feet, unfolding that long graceful height, and for a moment you were standing very close together in the amber light, and the music was doing something beautiful around you, and you were thinking about a photograph you hadn't taken.

you raised the canon, not through the viewfinder, not framed or considered, just turned the lens toward him and pressed the shutter.

click. whirr.

he startled slightly. "was that —"

"that one's mine," you said.

he looked at you for a long moment, something quiet and certain moving behind his eyes.

"yeah," he said softly. "yours."

you held his gaze for one more beat, then turned and walked back into the crowd, back into the noise and the light and the people, back to work, back to the life you'd built in this extraordinary room.

you looked back at him through the crowd.

he was stood, hand on his hip, watching you with his lip caught under his teeth. basically smirking at you across the dancefloor. you'd expected him to have scurried out intensely with his bodyguard, but he truly was taking you in, unbothered and unhurried.

you laughed and turned around, disappearing into the funk of the crowd.

in the breast pocket of michael's black silk shirt, pressed flat against a heartbeat still working slightly harder than usual, a business card with a west 28th street address waited to see what happened next.