Mggffhmmmβ¦Riding Michael while he still has his fedora onβ¦ every now and then, his hand comes up to straighten it, only for it to end up crooked again from the way youβre rolling your hips on top of him. The motion has him wincing, letting out soft whimpers against your chest. βOh mama s-slow downβ his voice breaks. His whimpers fueling your arousal even more, causing you to grind harder on to him. Your plush lips finding his as you deepen the kiss, he lets out soft cries into your mouth.
If I sit and ruminate about Michael for too long I get extremely depressed and sad like my heart starts hurting not even because heβs dead but because of everything he went through and how the whole world treated him and the WAY he died and how young he was he was robbed of everythinggggg his whole life was taken away from him I could go on and on for hours on this topic omfg i just hope and pray that he is at peace now and heβs happy frolicking in beautiful fields with Tito and Elizabeth Taylor and Bill Bray ππ» I hope he knows that there are millions and millions of people that know heβs an innocent man and sees him for who he truly was and feels alllllllll of the love and support β€οΈ
I hate the fact that mjtok is going out of their way to harass people on a completely SEPARATE APP. Like for all you bitches who keep harassing ppl, I hope something genuinely irreversibly abhorrent happens to you, same goes for racists, you niggas just should be ERADICATED genuinely wiped off the face of the fucking earth holy shit KICK THE CHAIR OMG
β Pairing: offthewall!Michael x black!popstar!reader
β Summary: You visit Michael at Hayvenhurst, but you notice his reaction to the simple presence of his father nearby. So you comfort him and spend the afternoon talking and play-fighting, with a tickle war in between, which eventually leads him to confide in you things he had never admitted to anyone before. And at last, he finds the thing he has yearned for so long: a friend.
β Content/warnings: sfw, fluff, angst, loneliness, sad Michael, mention of Joe, comfort, nerdy Michael and reader, reader being scared of spiders, Michael teasing reader for it, play fight, tickle war
β Word Count: 3.9k
PREVIOUS.
β’ββ’β’β’ββ’
January 1981.
It has been a year since you and Michael met at the Warner Bros AMAs after-party. Although you both expressed interest in working together, it was a lot easier said than done. Being the biggest star, Michael was booked and busy, juggling his solo career with The Jacksons. They had just released a new album a few months back, and he was multiplying TV appearances with his brothers. Or alone, increasing his popularity every day.
In the meantime, you never stayed in one place too long, either. Your label ensured the momentum you had gained from your debut album and stellar performance at the AMAs would not go to waste. You had starred in a sold-out Broadway musical, held a four-night residency in Vegas, modeled for several brands, and graced the cover of a fashion magazine that had sold out so rapidly it earned you an invitation to Paris's fashion week, all the while working on your new album. It was still in the early stages of development, but you were back in the studio, working so much that you were starting to forget what it was like to sleep on a regular schedule.
So you and Michael couldn't meet properly. Seeing each other on the same TV set did not count. Surrounded by cameras, a live audience, and the technical crew, neither of you could behave the way you wished. One look, one mundane word spoken, and a rumor would spread like fire on gas.
Just like the morning after the American Music Awards. Your face was plastered on every tabloid's front page, and whole pages were devoted to a single moment. A picture of Michael hiding his flustered face behind his hand, blushing.
[Michael Jackson was enamored after rising star (Y/N) picked him out in the crowd. New Romance?]
They even reported that he had attended the Warner Bros. after-party, despite not being signed to the label. Luckily, no paparazzi were allowed inside. Had they known Michael and you spent the rest of the party talking and sipping champagne, you wouldn't have heard the end of it.
But though you could not meet for long periods, you both still made up for it with late-night phone calls. Past midnight was the only slot the two of you were certain the other would pick up, as neither of your schedules ever aligned.
Until today.
"Just wait for a sec, I'm almost done," Michael said and hurried to press a few buttons on the console of his home studio.
"Take your time, Mike," you reassured. "It's fine."
You were sitting next to him as Bubbles slept in your arms. It was your first time in Encino, and though you had heard stories about the place, it still exceeded your expectations. A llama, two giraffes, and a chimpanzee. And it was only those you had seen. There were deer, and Michael had told you about his boa constrictor, but he did not introduce it to you; you were scared of snakes. You could tell he was a little disappointed, but he did not insist.
"I have a few demos I think you'll like," he said when everything was ready. "I was thinking rock would suit your voice well, but a ballad would showcase your range. Shows everyone you're versatile."
He stood up and fetched a box full of tapes. Calling Michael a genius would not do justice to the hard work he had put into studying and understanding the functioning of the music industry. He wanted this feature, if it ever works out, to not only answer his own artistic needs, but to benefit you, too. You were not just a pop star. Any genre, you could do.
He passed a tired hand over his face and rummaged through the box, muttering to himself as he could not find what he was looking for. You had noticed it the moment he had welcomed you; the skin below his eyes was a bit darker, despite the makeup to try to conceal it.
He sighed. "I think I took the wrong box..."
He appeared a little too frustrated for such a trivial mistake.
"It's fine," you reassured as you stood up. "Let's go get the right one."
He beamed an apologetic smile and took the box. You both headed to his room. Bubbles needed a proper bed to sleep anyway.
Once the chimpanzee was in his own corner, you let your eyes wander around the room as Michael looked for the right tapes. Some Off The Wall records were still piled in a corner, toys scattered on the floor, books filling shelves, and board games stacked everywhere. You could not help but smile at the sight. You could sense serenity in every millimeter of this room, as if it was a little bubble protected from the world.
It had been a surprise finding out about Michael's love for board games and wild animals--or rather, friends, like he preferred to call them. But when most would call him childish, you found it endearing that he did not let life force him to give up on what brought him joy. There was no age limit to happiness and hobbies.
Or perhaps it all made sense. It was because he never had a normal childhood that he was catching up on everything he had missed. That thought broke your heart. No one should debut at such a young age.
"Ah! Found it!" He exclaimed with a toothy smile. The box was propped on his hip and below his arm. He headed back to the door, but froze on the doorstep before closing it. Not all the way, however.
You frowned as you watched him practically hide behind the door. His grip was tight on the doorknob, and his lips pressed into a thin line; his eyebrows furrowed.
"Is everything all right?" You asked.
"Hm? Uh, yes, yes." He glanced at the door, then back at the floor. "Let's just wait for a minute."
Michael inhaled a shaky breath as the wood of the staircase creaked. You peered into the gap, and that was when you saw him. Joseph Jackson. You had never met him officially, but he was an intimidating man; there was no doubt.
You looked back at Michael. And your stomach twisted. His eyes were glued to the floor, almost glossy. You were not certain you had ever seen anyone so fearful. True, genuine fear. One would think some armed burglar had broken into the property and threatened the inhabitants' lives with how scared he looked. His hand was trembling, his grasp so tight his knuckles were white.
But it was his father. His father's presence put him in that state.
You walked up to him and rested your hand on his before gently closing the door.
Michael looked at you, confused.
"We don't have to work today," you said with a soft smile. "We can just play board games."
He blinked at you. "We've been having so much trouble meeting for this. Are you sure?"
"Do you want to work?" You asked back. "You seem pretty tired to me."
He looked away, guilty. He had believed he had done a good job hiding it.
"You flew all the way here for the feature," he reasoned. "It's not the first time I've worked exhausted."
"Well, that's a bad thing." You retrieved the box from his hand and put it back where he first got it. And before he could complain, you added, "Besides, won't it be better if we know each other better?" You sat on the floor. "It will make making the song easier."
"I told you everything over the phone already." He came to sit with you. "All about my friends and my music."
"Yeah, but we've never really talked face to face." He froze at your words. You continued, "We always speak on the phone, but it's often about work. Do you have a favorite cartoon? I used to be so obsessed with Woody Woodpecker growing up."
Michael remained silent, observing you as if you had uttered the most far-fetched of requests.
"You really want to know?" He asked. You nodded.
Truth be told, though your AMA's performance prompted him to ask for collaboration, a part of him remained closed off. Not because he didn't trust you, or because he didn't want to be part of your inner circle--God, how he wanted that. But he recalled too clearly the many individuals who got closer to him to get a story out of him, or to sleep with him, or to enjoy fame through him; then disappearing when he did not want to play along, inevitably breaking his trust a little more each time.
That deep-seated fear of abandonment prevented him from attempting anything--though he wanted to--only reinforcing the loneliness that he despised so much. That solitude that was eating him from the inside.
Quite ironic, wasn't it? He longed for a friend, for someone to talk to. Yet he was afraid that you only took an interest in him for his status. He was afraid that you'd vanish the moment that feature was done. A part of him was relieved that neither of your schedules matched, for it meant your paths would never part ways.
But sitting here, seeing you being actually curious about him, not searching for something to use against him or make money off of, but because you genuinely wanted to know him--the real him--filled his heart with relief. It was akin to finally finding slumber listening to the rain after many sleepless nights and waking up to a sunny day, fully rested.
"I quite like the Bugs Bunny Show," Michael confessed. He spoke as if it were a forbidden thing to do, already expecting disappointment.
But you smiled. "The Looney Tunes? Oh, yes, it's a classic. He's the reason I like carrots."
Michael frowned. "What?"
"I hated carrots as a child," you explained with a chuckle. "But Bugs Bunny was always eating a carrot, so I tried, and I liked it."
Michael's shoulders shook as he laughed, bringing a smile to your lips.
"Did you watch the Pink Panther?" you then asked.
His face lit up. "Yes! I used to hum the song!"
"Me too! I used to think panthers were truly pink. I was so disappointed when I found out they weren't."
Michael let out such a hearty laugh that his head hung back.
"You were easily fooled," he teased. "So gullible."
You rolled your eyes. "I prefer to say I have a great imagination."
His laughter was akin to a soft melody, the kind that would melt any worry away, and his smile was so bright it put the sun to shame. Michael was a very handsome man with a delicacy that only embellished him more.
It was then that you realized it was the very first time you had seen him in casual attire. No suit, no groomed hair, but a simple shirt beneath a teal cardigan that complemented his skin so well. It made him approachable and reinforced that gentle air that always surrounded him. It was almost confusing how he could be so intimidating when performing yet so sweet in everyday life. Neither of both were roles he played. It was who he was, which was all the more mind-blowing.
As the conversation continued--you sharing anecdotes about your childhood, he about the game nights he used to have with his siblings--Michael gathered all his comic issues to introduce you to the world of superheroes. The only things you knew were surface-level knowledge about Marvel and DC, with a Spider-Man cartoon you used to watch diligently as a teenager.
Michael was so passionate about it. He was passionate about everything he endeavored in, which made it so easy to follow his lead. He was in the middle of explaining all the X-Men powers, detailing Morph's more than the others, as he was his favorite, when you gasped and quickly scurried on all four to hide behind him.
"What is it?" Michael asked, amused.
"I saw a spider!" You said, pointing at a corner. "A big, hairy, awful spider!"
He giggled. "Don't worry, he's my friend too."
You frowned. "You didn't tell me you had a pet spider!"
"Well, I didn't really adopt him. I just found him in my room. I let him stay."
You were about to rant on the dangerousness of such an animal, of the lethality of their venom, but you cringed and used Michael as a human shield when the eight-legged arachnid came into sight again.
You whined, "No, no, I can't, I can't, I can't!"
Michael laughed again. You were able to retain your cool in front of a horde of paparazzi and hundreds of fans screaming at you, but completely lost composure at the mere sight of a spider.
"Didn't you say you liked Spider-Man?" He asked.
You scoffed. "That's not the same!"
"He has spider powers!"
"But he's still human!"
Michael shook his head with a smile. "My spider doesn't bite. He's kind."
"Of course, he bites! That's what spiders do!" You exclaimed. "Then they lay eggs in your body, and you die!"
Michael burst into laughter again, falling to the floor holding his stomach. You tried to pull him back up for protection, but he was in such a fit of laughter that he could hardly budge. You winced at the sight of the arachnid moving in your direction.
"Come on, Michael, please, put it away," you begged.
He calmed, hearing the waver in your voice, and sat up at the glossiness of your eyes. It was no mere dislike of spiders. It was real dread. He felt quite bad, now, for finding your previous reaction amusing. You had been so kind to him, and he laughed at you.
So he quickly scooped the spider into his hands. "I'll put him in another room."
Having that eight-legged thing meters away from you, you were finally able to relax. But not entirely. What if there were other spiders here? You could already feel them crawling over your body. A shudder passed through your body as you repressed a gag.
Michael returned and returned to his spot beside you. Having him close was reassuring. His lack of fear regarding any kind of animal was admirable, a bit reckless, but also reassuring. If there were other uninvited arachnid friends around, he'd scoop them away for you.
You heard him giggle beside you as he piled up his comic issues. "Sorry, I just recalled the way you hid behind me."
You rolled your eyes. "Don't make fun."
"I'm not making fun, it was cute."
"That was definitely an it was funny laugh, not an it was cute one."
Michael didn't answer. He looked away, and his lips pressed together, suppressing a chuckle.
You gasped, offended. "I knew it!" You gently slapped his shoulder. "You were laughing at me!"
"No, I wasn't! I swear!" He defended, but the grin on his face was betraying him.
"You liar!"
You attempted to playfully push him, but he grabbed both your arms. Mixed with his laughter, both your voices overlapped as you bickered while you still tried to take revenge on him. Unable to keep you away, too lost in hilarity, Michael fell back on the floor, giving you enough time to pinch his side.
"No, wait!" He laughed. "I'm ticklish!"
That only put a smirk on your face. He tried to defend himself from your attacks, but he guffawed, tears in his eyes, and coughed from the lack of air. To allow himself a respite, he managed to enclose your waist in his arms to lay you beside him. Before you could sit up, your body jerked away as giggles escaped your lips.
"Now you know what it feels like!" Michael said as he tickled you.
It was now your turn to lose yourself in a fit of laughter, trying to get away, only to fall back on the floor cackling.
"Ok, wait, wait, wait!" You held your hands up. "Truce?"
Michael stopped. He stared at you for a moment, debating whether or not he should abide. He lay back beside you. "Ok, truce."
One would tend to think he had grown used to attention as Michael grew up in front of a camera, yet shyness was perhaps his main characteristic. Even with you, at times. So it was a first that you saw him so relaxed. You've had many conversations with him on the phone, but it wasn't the same. He'd tell you about his day, you'd tell him about yours, then you'd discuss some trivial things you saw on TV. A lot was said, but also not so much. He seemed close, yet so far. So you wanted to know him. The person he was deep down, and he did you.
"I'm glad you came," Michael confessed. "I've forgotten how it felt to have fun."
It had been so long since the last time he had had such a good time. For an instant, he had been lost in the moment, as if nothing mattered in the world. As if everything was just perfect, devoid of madness. As if time was suspended. It was pleasant. He didn't want it to end.
"You should take a break," you replied innocently. "Spend time with your friends. If you keep working, you'll lose sight of why you're doing this in the first place."
Nothing was said for a moment.
"I don't have friends," Michael then admitted.
You looked at him. "You're not friends with Q?"
"Yeah, but..." he sighed. "It's not the same. I can't really do all of this with him." He motioned to all the board games and books around him. "The people around me aren't really interested in any of it."
His voice was quiet. Not the soft tone he would use to protect it, but the kind used when one talked while keeping their emotions at bay. It was a loneliness you were too familiar with. Lying in your house in utter silence, gazing at the city below. So great, and yet so lonely. No one to talk to, no one to return to, no one to meet with. You'd just lie there, listening to the soft hum of the appliances.
"When I meet someone, it feels like they aren't here for me but for what they can get from me," Michael continued. "Sometimes I stroll around the neighbourhood, hoping to run into someone. Anyone. Just a friend, you know. But every time, I return home. On my own."
One would think Michael had everything. A huge mansion, fancy cars, expensive clothes, enough money that he could swim in it. And yet it felt like he had nothing, for he was missing the very things all humans craved: bonds. Relationships. Community. A friend. Just one.
"You can talk to me," you said.
He looked at you, his eyes glimmering with hope mingled with apprehension, as if already fearing the moment it would end.
"Tell me all about the X-Men, but keep your spiders and boa constrictor away from me."
He giggled. "Won't it bore you?"
You shook your head. "I find it very interesting. Besides." You nudged him. "I could use a friend, too."
His eyes widened. "You don't have any?"
"Don't sound so shocked," you joked. "I used to have friends, but, you know, after high school, we all lost sight of each other. They're doing their things; I do mine. I moved out, and my parents are away. My siblings have their own families and projects to take care of, so I don't see many people. Just my manager. It's quiet at home, so I really like it when you call at two in the morning."
"Really? I was worried it was exhausting you."
You smiled. "It's the highlight of my day."
His lips curled up softly, and he lay on his side to face you. "I talk a lot when I like something," he warned.
You moved to your side as well. "It's fine, I like it. I can be a blabbermouth too."
The grin on his lips grew even wider, but soon faded away as the light in his eyes slowly died.
"It'll be difficult to meet again," he then said. "I'm going on tour with my brothers later this year."
You frowned. "Aren't you preparing for your next album?"
"Yeah." His jaw clenched. "I don't want to do it. The tour, I mean. I wanna go solo. Like... fully."
"Can't you do just that?" You asked. "Your last album was a success. I'm pretty sure that's what your label wants you to do."
"That's not the label, the problem." He had spoken in a murmur, as if afraid someone would hear him.
It didn't take you much to understand what he meant. His reaction to his father was enough of an answer. He looked like he was about to pass out. You didn't need the details to guess what could cause a son to dread his own father to that extent.
"Do you regret it sometimes?" you asked. "Being a singer."
Michael thought about it for a second. "No, I like it. Making music makes me happy." He paused, his eyebrows knitting. "But I do wonder, sometimes, what my life could have been like had I had a normal childhood. All I know is to sing and dance, but what if I had found another passion? I never got to figure out by myself what I wanted to do. Couldn't this have happened without..." he pursed his lips. "Couldn't this have been achieved differently? I think about that sometimes."
You would never be able to fully understand his life. Whatever you'd imagined, it would be a thousand times worse. Still, you had an idea of how awful it could be. For such a gentle soul, it was unfair.
You took his hand in yours. "You could fire him. Move out."
He tensed up. "I'm not ready for that..."
The simple thought of what Joseph's reaction could be like made his stomach twist and his skin crawl.
You did not really know what to say or what to do. Should you just listen? Should you cheer him up? Was it what he needed?
You rubbed your thumb on the back of his hand. "One day, you'll be able to do whatever you wanna do. Not because you're the biggest star in the world, but because it's your right. It's your life, so only you can decide what to do with it. And if he doesn't like it, then fuck him."
Michael's eyes widened as he gasped.
You laughed. "Don't act like you've never cursed."
He chuckled. "I've never cursed."
"Liar."
You both stared at each other again and burst into yet another fit of laughter.
This was something Michael had longed for. To hear that he was not being selfish for wanting to go solo. To hear he was not crazy for wanting a life of his own. To hear he was not entitled to resent some aspect of his life. What truly eased his fears was the fact that you truly meant your words. You did not say what he wanted to hear to please him, but because you believed them. You were truthful, like a real friend should be. And it meant more than anything he had ever possessed.
Yeah.
Coming to that after-party uninvited was definitely the best decision he had made.
Hi Mike!! very happy to see you active. before anything else, I love you so much and care so much about you so I hope you are taking care of yourself. secondly, what I'm about to say might make you feel embarrassed but it has to be said: you're the sexiest man to set foot on this earth, I'm so serious mwaaaah
Jeez, I don't know what to say... Thank you for being you, so kind, sweet, gentle and apologetic before admiting what you want to say. I wish I was like that but I can't and I admire you for it, like a lot!! Thank you once more for worrying about me and for making me blushing!! Have a lovely week, enjoy the summer, cause I can't and eat ice cream too!! Take care dear!! I love you!
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