The flight from Los Angeles to New York had been chaotic from the moment it began.
Seated beside Eléa was Walter Yetnikoff, the President and CEO of CBS Records Group, while directly across from her sat Ron Alexenburg, Senior Vice President and General Manager of Epic Records. Both men had spent the better part of the flight buried in paperwork, exchanging frustrated looks and speaking in hushed tones that grew increasingly tense as the hours passed.
Eléa pretended not to listen.
She had learned long ago that people often spoke more freely when they believed no one was paying attention.
Instead, she sat quietly in her seat, reviewing schedules for what felt like the hundredth time that day. A yellow legal pad rested on her lap, filled with handwritten notes, reminders, and last-minute adjustments. While most people would have taken advantage of the flight to rest, Eléa was already planning for the week ahead. Every meeting, every phone call, and every potential problem was carefully organized in her notes.
Walter had once jokingly told her that she worked enough for three employees.
Eléa had simply taken it as a compliment.
The steady hum of the jet filled the cabin as she turned another page, occasionally glancing out the window before returning her attention to the task at hand.
"Three albums," Walter muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. "Three albums and we still don't have a release date."
Ron sighed heavily.
"Give them time."
"We've given them time."
Eléa lowered her eyes back to her notes, though her attention remained fixed on the conversation.
For the past year, everyone at Epic Records seemed to be talking about the same thing.
The Jacksons.
After years of success under Motown Records, the group had left the label following disputes regarding creative control and royalties. The move had been considered one of the biggest stories in the music industry. Unfortunately, leaving Motown also meant leaving behind the iconic Jackson 5 name, forcing the brothers to reinvent themselves as The Jacksons under Epic Records.
The problem was that reinvention took time.
And record executives hated waiting.
The brothers had spent months writing and recording new material, but progress had been slower than expected. Between scheduling conflicts, creative disagreements, and individual projects, very little had gone according to plan.
One individual project in particular.
Michael Jackson.
At only nineteen years old, Michael had already spent most of his life in the spotlight. While his brothers focused on the group's future, Michael had accepted a role in an upcoming film adaptation of The Wiz, a reimagining of the beloved Broadway musical.
The opportunity was massive.
It was also the reason everyone currently found themselves thousands of feet above the country.
Production for the film had begun in New York just over a month earlier, requiring Michael to relocate for filming. As one of Epic's most valuable artists, the label had decided to maintain a close relationship with the young performer during the project.
Which, somehow, had led to Eléa finding herself on a private jet headed straight for New York City.
She glanced down at the itinerary resting beside her.
Meetings.
Studio visits.
Production schedules.
Enough work to keep her occupied for weeks.
Exactly the way she liked it.
What she didn't know was that this trip was about to change the course of her life forever.
Michael stepped out of the elevator and onto the eighteenth floor of the CBS Records building in New York City.
He was running on fumes.
The past few weeks had been a blur of long days and even longer nights. The previous evening, he had managed barely two hours of sleep before dragging himself out of bed before sunrise. First came line rehearsals for The Wiz. Then dance rehearsals. Then hours spent sitting in a makeup chair before filming scenes that seemed to take forever to perfect.
And when filming ended?
The work didn't stop.
There were lyrics to write. Melodies to tweak. Ideas for The Jacksons' upcoming album scribbled onto scraps of paper that littered his apartment. Every spare moment seemed to be dedicated to music.
Music had always been the one thing worth losing sleep over.
Still, exhaustion was beginning to catch up with him.
As he walked down the hallway, he adjusted the collar of his jacket and suppressed a yawn.
Lately, it felt as though everyone wanted something from him.
Fans wanted photographs.
Reporters wanted interviews.
Directors wanted perfection.
Choreographers wanted another take.
Photographers wanted another smile.
And now record executives wanted meetings.
The list never seemed to end.
By the time he reached the conference room door, Michael paused for a moment and released a slow breath. Just one more meeting. Then maybe he'd have a chance to sit down for five minutes.
Maybe.
Plastering on the polite smile he had perfected years ago, Michael pushed open the door.
The conversation inside immediately stopped.
Every head in the room turned toward him.
Walter Yetnikoff, Ron Alexenburg, and several other executives rose from their seats almost instantly.
"Michael!" Walter exclaimed.
The older man crossed the room with surprising speed and extended his hand.
"Hey, Mikey. Long time no see. How's New York treating you?"
Michael accepted the handshake and offered a warm smile.
It was the same smile he had been giving interviewers, executives, reporters, and fans for years.
Effortless.
Polite.
Reliable.
Even when he was exhausted.
"It's been good," Michael replied. "Busy, but good."
Walter laughed.
"I'd be worried if you weren't busy."
A few of the executives chuckled.
Michael smiled again, though his attention briefly drifted around the room.
The conference table was covered with folders, schedules, and paperwork. Several executives were already returning to their seats.
Then his eyes landed on someone he didn't recognize.
A young woman sat quietly near the end of the table, a yellow legal pad resting in front of her.
Unlike everyone else, she hadn't rushed over to greet him.
She hadn't stared.
She hadn't asked for an autograph.
In fact, she seemed far more interested in the notes she was reviewing than in the fact that Michael Jackson had just entered the room.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he found himself looking at her a second longer than necessary.
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 (a surprise to no one.)
SUMMARY: For ten years of his life, Michael Jackson has known and loved her. An on / off again relationship which a year ago lead him waiting an the altar to commit his life to another. In what felt like forever in the shaky life he had built for himself, he finally felt stability. It's 1992 and the demand for kids was a huge deal breaker for him. The couple wasted no time in trying, but after a year of failed attempts, they worried something might be wrong. Doctors confirmed his worst fears when they announced his wife to be infertile. Desperate for children of his own, Michael jumped the gun by asking a friend to carry his child only two weeks after the diagnosis. When he brings this conversation up to his wife, emotions run high and he might have just lost the best thing that ever happened to him.
WARNINGS: Angst, infertility, heavy argument, swearing. (I think that's it.)
WORD COUNT: 8.6k (My attempt at short. Sorry.)
Mourning something you'd never had proved itself to be an impossible cruelty. The kind that tormented the soul deep into the night and refused to give back the part of yourself you hadn't realised you'd lost until you suddenly found yourself grieving it so deeply, time slips away.
In some ways, it felt like trying to catch snow in your bare hads only to have it melt the moment the icy substance makes contact with your warm flesh.
Realistically, she knew it was okay to feel the intense loss that she'd encountered fourteen days ago, but there was something in the back of her mind telling her she didn't have the right. It wasn't like something had been taken from her. She never had it to begin with.
But that's the thing about hope, it clings to your body like an uninvited shadow and makes a fool out of optimism.
The hours seemed to drag along. While her days hadn't really changed in the grand scheme of things, it now felt like the lights had been dimmed, as though the sun was taunting her from outside the world she lived. Things she thought she knew suddenly made no sense, plans she had made fell flat and in an instant, the future she'd envisioned for herself no longer existed.
Motherhood wouldn't have been the only factor in life she'd define herself with, but God, had she wanted it. The thought of growing her baby, keeping it safe within herself until it was ready to show the world the beauty it would bring had been her dream for so long, she couldn't have imagined a life where it didn't happen.
Years prior, when she was only a child heself, she was that little girl, the one who would carefully carry a baby doll around in her arms at all times and care for it as though it was real. Older generations would look at her and smile, giving a condescending, "aww, she'll be a great mom when she's old enough."
At the time, it felt harmless. Now when she thought about it, her insides ached with a pain she had never known existed.
She wanted to be a mother so bad, it physically hurt.
When she started dating Michael, back in 1982, she's never imagined life would turn out this way.
For a start, she hadn't known his fame would sky rocket the way it had. She'd known him to be talented and expected great things, but being the most famous person to exist, second to Jesus Christ himself, felt like a huge reach, but it was true.
His name rang across the globe. He didn't just have fans, he had subjects, people who were willing to do anything and everything for him just to spend a moment in his company.
Their realtionship was deep and complex. They understood one another in ways others didn't. She saw beyond the fame and got down to the man behind the curtain. He saw a women who had so much to offer the world and encouraged her to spread her wings. The first few years of knowing each other, things had been turbulent. Their paths intertwined and then veered off path, only to circle back around until they found each other once again.
A delicate balance of on and off until a year an a half ago when Micharl had decided he couldn't do it anymore. So scared of losing her and despising the idea of living a life without her, he had gotten down on one knee in the flower gardens of Neverland and asked her to take his surname and become his wife. No more breaks, no more, "when the time is right."
They'd gotten married shortly after and it had been the best decision she had ever made. Loving Michael came easily. He was everything she every wanted. Kind, driven, loyal, but above all else, he loved children just as much as she did. So when he requested they start trying for a baby on their honeymoon, she'd immediately agreed, eager to begin a family with the man she loved.
Envisioning a child with his eyes and smile, there was nothing she craved more. She hadn't even flinched when he droned on and on about the huge family he wanted. She wanted it too and for a while, it felt as though that dream was in reach.
The then waiting came.
One week. A month. Two. Six. A year.
Something wasn't right. It didn't matter what they did, how many times he had buried himself her, what position they laid in or what old wives tales they tried, every single test came back negative and with each negative result they recieved, a piece of her heart broke along with it.
Unable to live without answers, they'd both taken the medical route, subjecting themselves to rigorous testing for any fertility issues and holding one another at night, whispering soft echoes of reassurances to each others ears to rid themselves of any negative thoughts before the results came through.
Then it dropped.
The bomb that dismantled her from the inside out.
Asked to return back to the medical facility, the couple held hands as they were told the cause of their problems. Michael was perfectly okay. On paper, he could and should be able to do his part in crafting life.
She was the issue.
The words sank in at an alarming rate, so much so that even a fortnight later, she would still recite them in her darkest nightmares.
"Missus Jackson, your infertility issues appear to be linked to several factors." The doctor has spoken in a cool, matter of fact tone. "The scans suggest polycystic ovary syndrome, this is something that can disrupt ovulation, and there is evidence of scarring in one fallopian tube from a past infection. We also found small uterine fibroid that may also be affecting implantation."
The world fell silent in that moment, the air that had once been warm and inviting suddenly fell into a icy chill. If it wasn't for Michael's hand clutching desperately onto her own, she wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't have broken into a thousand tiny shards.
The doctor had continued to talk, but after that diagnosis, nothing else sank in. She caught the back end off the conversation before they left.
Basically, they could keep trying, but with everything stacked against her, it was incredibly unlikely she would ever be able to conceive children of her own.
Returning home that night had been particularly odd.
For a while, neither of them said a word. Then, seemingly out of no where, the silence had been broken by a deverstaing roar of tears.
Michael sat on the sofa, sobbing a deverstatingly painful cry into her lap, clinging onto her like he would lose her if he'd dare to let go. The hope of the future they both thought they'd have was suddenly so different and so she comforted him through the tears, unable to process the news herself as she sat there completely numb.
In bed that night, he held her tight, like he was terrified at any moment someone would rip her from is grasp or as though his love alone could somehow change their fate and they'd wake up the next day to hear from the doctor that they'd mixed up the results and she actually could carry children.
Obviously, that hadn't happen.
When they woke up the next morning, the same outcome greeted them.
Two weeks later and not much had changed.
They hadn't spoken about it. Not really.
Moments of sadness lingered, where they would look at each other on occasion and remember the crux of their problems. Neither knew how to address it, so they simply didn't.
Standing in the full length mirror of her closet, looking back at the reflection that reminded her so much of a women who was once blinded with a sense of hopefullness, now she only saw a void. A faux expression forced upon her face so no one could see the cracks beneath.
She hadn't told anyone. No one other than Michael and he's supported her. So much of their lives had been sensationalised by the greedy media. This couldn't be something they let slip. Not right now.
Closing the clasp on the dainty gold necklace around her throat, she had failed to notice the bedroom door opening. Completely in her own world as she flattened the metallic pendant against her collarbones, she was only alerted to another presence in the room when she heard the familiar dip of the mattress springs.
In the mirror, tired eyes lifted to the sight behind her. Michael, already dressed in some fine collared shirt, the gold and red detailing against the dark obsidian of the base material giving him a regale elegance she would find pretentious in any other man, yet for him fit perfectly.
Their eyes met and he offered her a small, soft smile, the kind that told her everything would be okay and like always, she felt compelled to believe it.
They'd gotten his far, hadn't they?
His knees parted, arms held wide and with a small crook of his fingers, he requested her presence.
"Baby, come here." He spoke, less like a demand and more like a plea. "I want to talk to you about something."
With no reason to object, she gave one last glance at her reflection, sighing at the dull sight that greeted her and then crossed the carpeted floor towards him.
Michael didn't hesitate one bit. The moment she stepped into his orbit, his arms fell around her waist and tugged her closer until her hands fell against his shoulder. They hadn't been intimate since the news, but the affectionate way he looked up towards her as her gaze flickered down hadn't changed.
"Is everything okay?" She asked, not all too worried when he was looking at her that way.
Embarking on his Dangerous world tour in less than a month, her assumptions quickly fell to the technicalities that regarded such planning.
While true he loved his fans, Michael absolutely detested touring and it was no secret to those that surrounded him.
After the Bad tour reached it's conclusion, he'd been insistent that he would never tour again. It wss too much. The travel, the sleepless nights, the energy and perfomances. Not to mention fans fainting every night, the lack of stability and perfectionist in him screaming in his mind when one simple thing didn't go right.
He couldn't subject himself to that again.
Then one day, he decided he absolutely would.
Not for himself, but to raise money for disadvantaged children.
Every cent he earned from the Dangerous world tour would go straight into his Heal The World foundation to help people across the globe.
Naturally, her mind ran to that. With the opening night fast approaching, she assumed his nerves had started to surface and with an gently stroke of her fingers against his broad shoulders, she attempted to sooth his aching muscles.
"You can tell me anything." She assured after a moments silence.
Brown doe eyes fell towards the plush carpet before he dared look back at her and when he did, his hold on her waist tightened a fraction.
"I've been speaking to Debbie Rowe." He began, noting the confusion on her face. "You know, she said she'd be willing to help."
Head tilted downward, she strained to hear his voice. The more he spoke, the less things made sense. Brows pinched together, mouth opened in a subtle act of perplexity.
She knew the name. She'd met the women. But what the hell did she have to do with touring?
"Debbie Rowe..." she spoke, her words lingering in the air around them. "your nurse?"
"Yeah."
"Willing to help with what exactly?"
His gaze softened, his fingers leaving smoothing patterns beneath the knitt, blue sweater she'd stolen from his closet earlier than morning.
"You know... our problem."
His eyes widened a fraction and thought it was a blink and you'll miss it moment, she noticed the way his gaze subtlety dropped to her stomach making this whole conversation much clearer than any words he used.
A wave of nausea washed over her and immediately her own hands fell from his body.
This wasn't a simple conversation. This was torture on a level she had never imagined he would subject her to.
"What do you mean? You've been talking to your nurse about this?" Hardly able to believe the words that left his mouth, she stepped back and as she did, his touch fell from her waist, leaving only coldness where his hands had been.
His face fell, lips curved downwards into a frown the second she rejected his grasp, like he had physically burnt her skin with the palm of his hands.
"I mean, she's a friend too and I was just looking for someone to talk to, you know?" His words fast in pace, in a quick attempt at rationalising what he'd uttered. "Air out my frustrations and-"
"Your frustrations?" She cut him off, scoffing at the lack of empathy in which he chose to show.
"Yeah... you know, about the whole... infertility thing."
A firey ring of anger bubbled in her stomach, rising up as his words settled around her. Suddenly, any fraction of rationality escaped her mind and pure outrage took its place.
It felt like an insult, like he was mad at her for something she had no control over.
"You're frustrated I'm infertile?"
The venomous way she spat the words hit him square in the heart and his eyes widened once again, mouth dropped with words he wanted to say but failed to reach his tongue.
Michael had realised the error in the way he approached the conversation, he never had been good at explaining himself, but it was too late now. They were in too deep and he needed to get this off his chest.
"I didn't mean it like that. I meant it like... I'm sad."
Any other time he used that excruciatingly deverstating tone, she would have bucked and rushed right over to console him. She'd only ever wanted things to work out for them, but now she felt the cracks in the ice they stood on starting to form and it was only time before they were plunged into the frigid depths below.
She laughed, actually laughed out loud, but there was no humour in the sound as it reverberated off the walls of their home.
"You were sad." She repeated, rolling her eyes like she was amused by the situation. "So what? You're trying to find some miracle cure here?"
"No." Running a large hand over his face, Michael tried hard to stay calm. "But Debbie... she'd be willing to have my kids."
"What?" She exploded, eyes narrowed in disbelief, her entire body frozen in shock.
"Not how your thinking! No! Nothing like that. Never!" Michael rushed to his feet, hands falling to her upper arms, seemingly almost repulsed by the insinuation. "You know, through a doctors office. She'd be a surrogate."
She wanted to scream until her voice gave out. She wanted to throw herself on the floor like a stubborn toddler, kicking and screaming until she got her own way.
How could he have done this to her?
Breathing heavy, her vision began to cloud through the sheen of tears she swallowed back.
This couldn't be happening.
He looked at her with so much hope in his eyes, willing her to answer so they could start the process and he could finally have everything he wanted. His body so close to her usually only providing her with comfort, but now his presence repulsed her.
Time was relative, but she thought that even he would realise how much of a sore spot this would be for her.
"It's been only been two weeks..."
Her voice soft quite, she hadn't known if he'd heard. The only sound she could hear was the fast pace thumping of her pluse in her ears. His touch lingered, but she no longer felt any peace with it.
"What?"
"Two weeks ago, I found out I can't have children." She uttered in debelif, shaking her head like she still couldn't believe it and stepping back once again, only to watch as his arms fell to his sides.
"Baby-"
Michael tried to reach for her again, but she recoiled, talking over him and trying hard not to sob over his stupid decisions.
"I haven't even processed it properly yet." Voice weak, as though the conversation was physically draining the energy from her with ever word spoke.
"I know."
"I haven't told my family."
"I know." He repeated.
Each 'I know' doing little to sooth the terrible ache rushing through her body.
"...and you're already planning happy families with another women."
The realisation hit her like a bullet to the back. So cruel and sudden, she practically stumbled on her from the impact.
She didn't care that they wouldn't be intimate in order to conceive. She cared that he hadn't even taken her into consideration before asking another women he was seemingly too close with, to carry the children that up until a fortnight ago, she thought would be hers.
"That's not true!" Michael's voice raised, rushed with an effort to assure her that wasn't even close to what he wanted. He loved her. "We'd still be together."
"Together?" She laughed, running a frustrated hand through her hair and huffing in irritation as strands tangled around the diamond of her engagement ring.
"Yes."
"While another women is pregnant with your child."
"It won't change anything." His answer automatically, like he'd already planned this conversation.
For the first time since he dropped the bomb on her, she forced her eyes to meet his. An almost vulnerable look looming within the darkest depths of his gaze and she didn't know if he was actually dumb enough to believe what he had just said, or was simply hoping she was.
"You're not that naive." Stepping into his personal space, she didn't once break eye contact. Not until he looked down at the floor and forced her hand. "A baby changes everything!"
"Why does that have to be a bad thing?"
He didn't understand and why would he? It wasn't him awake throughout the night, cursing the very body he was born with for failing to give him the one thing he so desperately desired. He wasn't questioning his worth as a human being or as a partner.
A piercing gaze spared her way. Now that he was no longer sitting, he no longer had to look up at her in order to see her face. Part of her wanted to run and hide, but she'd vowed for better or worse and this was easily her at rock bottom.
"I know your family." The murmur of her voice broke through the silence, arms folded over her chest with a hand resting against her jaw. It was all getting a little too much now.
Furrowing his brows, Michael tilted his head and shuffled carefully on his feet. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, I know you've separated yourself from the Jehovah's Witness lifestyle, but your folks haven't." She sighed heavily, feeling the searing heat of his gaze. "We both know your parents want you to be married to the women carrying your children."
She'd been there when Michael struggled through the guilt of leaving that faith behind. While his belief in God never swayed, his thoughts on that particular practice did have him questioning life.
Still, she saw how it still plagued him, how he made decisions based off the life he was raised in. It's why he still hadn't celebrated Christmas and why he'd yelled at her when she'd splashed out on a particularly fancy watch for his thirtieth birthday.
It wasn't a lack of effort that kept him going back, it was the guilt that threatened to swallow him whole every time he tried to dip a toe into something he'd been taught to believe to be a sin.
Where his siblings had managed to break free, Michael was still somewhat attached.
"That won't matter..." he tried, voice trailing off. "It's surrogacy."
"You don't believe that and I don't believe that it'll just be surrogacy."
She willed him to see reason, to understand where she was coming from, but Michael shook his head in return. Stubborn in nature and used to getting what he wanted, he couldn't let this fall through.
"That's just your mind playing tricks on you." He insisted, burying his hands into the pockets of his black slacks.
"Okay, so tell me this." She began, gaze unwavering in an attempt to decipher every micro expression sitting so pretty across his face. "When Debbie is carrying your baby and your mother is holding the ultrasound pictures... who do you think she's going to call the mother?"
Katherine Jackson was an absolute saint of a women. If heaven was a real place, she was surely an angel sent down to Earth to protect one of God's greatest creations. She absolutely adored the women and always looked to her for guidance.
All this aside, Katherine was of a certain generation, one set in their ways. She wouldn't mean to cause harm, but the moment she heard someone else would be carrying her grandchildren, things would be different.
"No. She wouldn't. I'll tell her-"
With a wave of her hand, she didn't allow Michael to finish. "And once she's pregnant, you'll have Debbie move in..."
"Well, of course." He nodded like it was obvious, like she was foolish for even needing clarification. "I'll have to keep a close eye on her."
She didn't know what he meant by that and she didn't want to find out.
Sharing her space with the women who could do the one thing for her husband she couldn't, all the while knowing it's the only he thing he really wanted would deversate her.
"And that changes things!" She yelled.
"Girl, you're talking crazy."
She's never been a violent woman, but in that moment, she seriously considered lunging forward and strangling him right then and there.
Pacing the floor back and fourth, wearing the carpet thin and bitting down so hard on her lower lip, the blood rushed forward. Every thought in her mind begged for this to be a mistake.
Maybe she was still dreaming or perhaps she had misheard.
Stepping forward, Michael pressed a large grounding hand to her shoulder to stop her steps. Slowly she turned to face him and only then did she see a wash of disappointment paint the sharp contours of his face.
"I need to be a dad!" He admitted, leaving no room for argument.
"I know." She had never wanted to deny him of that.
"No, I don't think you do." It was his turn to get angry. Michael scoffed, stepping away and turning his back to her only to face her again, this time his cheeks red with irritation. "That's all I've ever wanted. For as long as I can remember, that's been the only thing that kept me going. I'm going through with this! There is no other reality for me!"
He didn't shout. He didn't have to. Michael had the ability to speak perfectly calm with authority and when he did, he became the most terrifying person in the room. He wasn't aggressive nor violent, but he knew how to scare people.
The heavy weight of his words lingered in the air and she was forced to confront them, because right now, he wasn't giving her an option. He was demanding something she no longer felt like she was a part of.
"So then, what am I?" Boardering on a whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Huh?" His face screwed up in confusion, not understanding the gravity of the question she's thrown his way. "What?"
"What am I if I can't give you that."
The clarity hit harder than he imagined and with a distinct huff, his hands fell against his narrow hips. "You're my wife."
"Am I?" Voice high pitched, eyes wide in debelif. "It sure as hell doesn't feel that way. You're planning on moving another women in without so much as consulting me."
"Stop putting words in my mouth. You know I love you."
"No, actually, I don't." She saw the way his face dropped at the admission, but couldn't allow herself the luxery of stopping long enough to care. "You couldn't even give me a month to wrap my head around this. You instantly found someone else to replace me with and what, I'm supposed to be fine with it."
"You're acting like I'm betraying you."
"You are." She spat, not once feeling sorry for it.
If he'd been wise enough to leave his dark curls down, she knew he would have been hiding his face behind the curtain of black. Unfortunately for Michael, he'd used one of her hair ties this morning and created a low hanging ponytail of sorts. Soft tendrils had fallen loose, but certainly not enough to disguise his expressions.
"No, I'm not." He fought back, hating the accusations thrown at him. Hands moving between them in a frustrated motion. "I'm finally doing something I want."
"Why her?" Unable to hold the question on any longer, it had been plaguing her the moment he uttered those words.
Because that was the thing, Debbie wasn't just another women. She was someone he'd let in. Someone he's gotten close to and trusted.
There weren't many people Michael had in life that he could consider a real companion, someone to guard his secrets and share part of his soul with. Maybe she'd been naive not to question her place in his life. Had she known Debbie had shifted from a nurse into something much more threatening to their marriage, she would have acted sooner.
"What?" Michael almost laughed.
"Why Debbie?" She snapped, no longer dancing around the situation.
Throwing his hands up, it was his turn to start pacing now. "Why does that matter?"
"Because out of every women in the world, you picked her."
"I didn't pick her." He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose between elegant fingers.
"Yes, you did." She spat through gritted teeth. "Plenty of women would offer to have your babies. You're Michael Jackson for crying out loud."
She wasn't saying it was a good idea, God no. If surrogacy was a route they would ever go down, there would be a lot more planning than picking a random fan off the street, but this wasn't a rational conversation and she had a point to prove.
"I know."
"You went to her. You cried to her, told her things you should've been telling me." Heart heavy with the reality crushing their realtionship, holding back tears had never felt so hard. "You've been talking to her about our marriage."
"I wasn't talking about our marriage."
"You were talking about me! My diagnosis!"
And somehow, that was worse because it wasn't about confiding a secret to a friend. It was complaining about a medical mishap, something she couldn't control that had changed their lives forever without her permission.
Not just that, but the women he'd so carelessly trusted with her secret was a women she didn't know and the realisation that he had gone to someone else rather than approach his own wife wouldn't be something she could easily forget.
"That's different." But even he knew that was a weak excuse.
"No." She sniffed. "It really isn't."
"She's my friend." He muttered through a shaky breath. "I need someone to talk to."
And that was it, wasn't it? In his time of need, he hadn't seeked her out, but rather looked for the comfort of another women. It didn't matter if they were intimate or not, because all it proved was that he no longer trusted her to be cautious with his emotions.
She couldn't shake the idea off. The series of events that lead him into the arms of someone that wasn't her. The thought of him crying against someone else's shoulder, clinging to them with flushed cheeks and tear filled eyes as this other women rubbed his back and soothed him until he calmed down. The image made her sick.
"You had a wife! I'm right here." She whispered, her voice barley there.
"You haven't exactly been easy to communicate with."
Time stilled.
Physically, the world continued to spin, but here in the shared space of their home, in the bedroom they had spent so much time loving one another, everything froze.
Her lungs no longer held any purpose, breathless from the cynical spite he'd thrown her way and the worst part is, part of her believed it.
"Wow." She muttered, no longer able to fight back the single tear that left a damp trail along the curve of her cheek.
"I didn't mean-"
"No." For what felt like the tenth time that night, she cut him off. Eyes sharp as a knife and focused in his direction. "Please, don't take it back now. Let me hear it."
"Baby-"
"Tell me, Michael!" She insisted through the heartbreak, slamming her foot down in a demand for answers.
Seeing the torment on her face and her need to actually hear his side of things, he couldn't deny it, no matter how bad he had felt saying it out loud.
"You shut down." He sighed, head in hand. "I tried... you wouldn't talk about it."
Conveniently, it seemed as though he'd forgotten about the night they recieved the news, how she latched onto him and allowed him to cry desperately in her arms for hours while still trying to process the reality of their situation herself.
She knew she wasn't perfect. Maybe he really had tried to speak to her about these things and she had dismissed him. A vague image flickered in her mind two days after the results. He'd cornered her in the kitchen, his arms wrapping around her waist as he mentioned something about starting a family anyway. She'd tuned out. It felt too sudden.
Though she understood Michael was sensitive. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it. Now she realised he probably saw it as a rejection she hadn't intended on giving.
Anger returned.
"I got told I could never carry a child!" She reminded her husband, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. "Forgive me for needing a while to come to terms with that."
"Yeah, well I was told I'd never be a father."
That wasn't the case at all and he knew it, but Michael wasn't beyond manipulation in order to get what he wanted and what he wanted was to start a family, by any means necessary.
Throwing her hands up in the air, she scoffed in defeat, eyes trained to the ceiling, like she was praying for answers she would never get. "I can't believe this."
"What now?" Michael sighed, kicking the carpet beneath his sock covered feet.
"You think this happened to you." She accused with a subtle understanding laced within each syllable.
"It did happen to me!" He snapped.
"No! It happened to us!" She practically screamed, needing him to see that he wasn't the only one feeling lost. "We could have dealt with it together, given us space and time to come to terms with it and then, maybe we could've looked into adoption or surrogacy... we could've done it together." Without permission, a sob broke through her lips. "But somehow, you've made yourself the victim here."
"I lost something too, you know!" The vulnerability in his words had him shudder.
"What did you lose?" She asked, at a loss with this conversation.
"My children."
"You don't have children." She huffed, rolling her eyes at the poor excuse he conjured up.
"You know what I mean."
It felt as though they were going around in circles, neither person understanding the others point of view and her heart cracked at his ability to be so unknowingly cruel.
"No, actually, I don't think I do." She breathed out a silent cry, wrapping her arms around her stomach like she could physically hold herself from falling apart in front of him. Her pride would never recover. "Because from where I'm standing, the only thing you've actually lost is your faith in me."
"What's that supposed to mean?" He enquired, eyes softening with how utterly defenceless she appeared.
"It means, two weeks ago, I recieved a news from a doctors office that broke my heart. " She laughs though the conversation was void of any humour. "Five minutes ago, my husband did the exact same thing before he let me recover from the first injury."
"Stop making me the bad guy." Michael pleaded, wanting to reach out and hold her, but knowing better.
"Then stop acting like one."
"I'm trying to fix this!' He insisted, eyes widening a fraction.
"Fix this?" She questioned, eyebrows arched and mouth settled into a solid line.
"Yes."
"I'm not fucking broken, Michael!" She yelled, holding herself tigher as the pieces threatened to fall. "I'm a person with thoughts and feelings and you're so quick to replace m-"
"I'm not replacing you." He insisted through a heavy breath, tangling his fingers in his tied up hair.
"The second you found out I was infertile, you started imagining another women pregnant with your baby."
"That's not what happened." He shook his head.
"Then tell me how it started."
He said nothing. Not a single word and somehow, that was worse. A look of guilt etched against the soft features his face, something he could probably mask from anyone else, but she had spent ten years loving him. She knew every face and up until now, this one had never really been directed towards her.
Like a stone sinking in her gut, dread filled her from the inside out. He didn't have to say a word. She knew.
"Oh my God." She gasped, hand falling to her mouth. "I'm an idiot."
"What? Don't say that." His voice dropping in tone, quiet and sympathic in a way it hadn't been the entire conversation. "You're not."
The room fell silent for a moment, until she found the courage to speak up.
"You were talking to her before the diagnosis, weren't you?"
The heavy weight of her words only paralleled by the heavy ache in her heart. Her lips quivered and all the while, she watched as he refused eye contact, looking anywhere but at her.
"W-what?" He stuttered. "Of course not."
"Don't stand there and lie to me!"
"I just..." The words trailed off, he couldn't finish the sentence.
"You just what, Michael?" She snapped, tears falling freely now and she had no intentions of wiping them away. He could see exactly what he'd done to her. "Finish the sentence."
Here, he looked less like the legendary pop star the world had come to know and more like a scared little boy, hiding from the bad things that go bump in the night.
Only, he wasn't a child anymore. He was her husband and she could hardly look at him without seeing an act of betrayal as it played out so plainly in front of her.
With a heavy sigh of defeat, he gave in. Tired eyes lifted and the look of anguish on her face was enough to steal the breath from his lungs.
He stepped forward, knowing that if she just let him hold her, he could fix this, but with every step he took upwards her, she took one back. No longer wanting to feel like a predator hunting its prey, he stood still and answered with a guilty nod.
"I was worried, okay?" And he had been, it was just never meant to go this far. "We'd been trying for over a year and the tests... they all came back negative."
A year of failed attempts was enough to exhaust anyone, that she understood. What she would never understand was rushing off to a friend the moment things get bad and planning a whole other life so carelessly.
Her heart cracked inside her chest, breathing became a difficult task. She'd never imagined the person she loved the most would be the one the ruin her so deeply.
"So you already had a backup plan?" She spat.
"No!" Michael combed his fingers through his hair, groaning in frustration.
"You already had her!" She yelled and with a look of shame, neither of them could deny it anymore. The color drained from her face and with the last of her energy, she managed to whisper. "You did."
He knew what he'd done was wrong, but some part of him refused to acknowledge it. Michael wasn't dumb, there was a reason why up until now he'd kept this whole thing under wraps, but it wasn't how she was thinking.
"It wasn't like that." He spoke, eyes locking into hers, just willing her to take a leap of faith and believe in him. "I just needed to know this could happen for me... that I could have children."
"Yeah..." She whispered into the void, wishing for nothing more than to wake up from this nightmare. "you had her waiting in the wings, preparing for the perfect moment to spring this on me."
"Stop."
His usually soft eyed look had hardened. He couldn't take this anymore. The constant back and fourth was enough to drive anyone to the brink of insanity. Every second that moved between them, he could feel the agonising weight of their love story resting on his shoulder. Shallow breathing falling from his rounded lips just to keep him from toppling over and falling to the ground.
"While I was praying." She started, her voice cracking with sadness bleeding into her words.
"Stop!" He repeated, only this was a painfully curated plea more than a soft request.
"Hoping... sitting in waiting rooms." She continued, only torturing herself more as the conversation lingered like dead weight in the air.
"Please, baby..."
"And it only took you two fucking weeks to picture a different women carrying your child." If something heavy had been sitting near by, she would have thrown it across the room just to rid herself of the anger she felt bubbling to the surface. "You couldn't even give me a month."
Scratching the back of his neck, Michael felt the moment his cheeks flushed as embarrassment began to rise to the surface. "That's not fair."
"A fucking month!" She continued, in that same aggressive tone. Frustration lingering like an unwanted compainion, threatening to break free and destroy all that they had built between them.
"Baby-" His fingers flexed on instinct, reaching for her hand and then deciding against it.
Staring at nothing in particular, feet planted to the floor. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, chewing on the delicate flesh, unable to process the absolute mess that had become of them.
Worry flooded Michael. Seeing her angry, that was something he could work with. At least then, he knew what she was thinking, how she was feeling and could give her space until she calmed down enough to talk rationality about whatever issues were clouding her judgement.
"Ten years." The words left her mouth, but she barley registered it. All the fight leaving her body now she'd been presented with all the facts.
"What?" Genuinely perplexed, brows furrowed and mouth downturned into a deep frown.
"I've loved you for ten years." She clarified, chest heaving and voice wrecked from the earlier shouting. Utterly defeated as she thought back to a simpler time in life when she truly believed they could get through anything so long as they stayed united. "Yeah, it took us some time to get here, but I thought once we got married, that would be it. We were bound together. Ten years in the making..." crying felt redundant, but she had nothing more to give. "and it took you fourteen days to imagine a future without me in it."
Panic began to set in as he watched the women he'd vowed to protect crumble before him. Her nose pink, eyes unfocused, like if she chanced a glance in his direction, she'd fail to exist within the scrutiny of his gaze.
"I never imagined a future without you." His voice barley that of a whisper, but his eyes urged her to look back and show some sign that she understood his point of view.
"No?" She let out a small laugh, fingers wrapped around the golden pendant sat between collarbones. "Just one where another women plays the part I can't."
Michael physcially recoiled like she's burnt him. He hadn't meant to make her feel like she was easy to replace, but it was obvious he had. Intentions didn't matter when the person you cared for the most suddenly began to look at you like you were a stranger.
"I still want you." He confessed, struggling to understand why she wouldn't see reason.
"No!" She shook her head in protest. "You'll tolerate me. You want the kids more."
"That's not true." But even as he said it, he knew it to be a lie.
"And if Debbie disappeared tomorrow... or I didn't want to go through with surrogacy or adoption. If children were completely off the table forever..." stepping forward, she could finally feel the heat of his body. So close, she could touch him, but couldn't convince herself she should. "would you still choose me?"
The question hung between them and suddenly the air started to feel stale. Her eyes finally found his, his lack of communication prolonging a hefty silence between them.
She didn't need him to say anything. Funnily enough, the words he didn't say communicated more than he ever could.
"Oh." The word fell from her lips without permission and she recoiled, creating more distance between them as she stepped back because finally, she understood.
This wasn't going to work.
As he stood, partially paralysed, watching the life leave her eyes. He knew she was only seconds away from allowing his dumb need to always control the world around ruin everything they'd built in the past decade of life.
"Baby, don't-"
"You're acting liie this is something I want." She scoffed, arms winding around her waist, eyes cast down to the floor.
"I did this for us!" Michael snapped, though his anger was completely misplaced. His desperation to keep her near provoking a side of himself he never wanted to show.
"No." She didn't yell. Her voice perfectly still. "You did this for you."
"Why does it matter? You want kids to. You've always said you couldn't wait to be a mom." Each word spoke with perfect diction, clear and precise. Hands held outwardly to get his point across further and desperation clinging to him like a second skin. "Why are you making this an issue now?"
"Because I needed time to heal... to understand what's going on with me and how to move forward." She wasn't even angry more, crying for the life thought she'd be living instead of the hell she was faced with. "I wanted some input into these huge, life altering decision. I get to decide what's right for me, for our marriage and you just... fuck." A sob broke free and cracked her open. "You took that away from me and maybe it wouldn't hurt as much if you'd been thinking about surrogacy with a stranger, but Debbie?"
"Come on." Michael sighed, tired of repeating himself. "It's not like that."
She said nothing, she barley flinched at the harsh tone of his voice. The world moved around her, but she didn't notice. Feeling like a ghost in her own home, she could no longer deny the distance between them.
Two weeks might has well have been two decades. He didn't see her the way he used to. She wasn't some new, shiny thing he saw for himself in the future. She was something worn down and broken that he was willing to drag along.
For a second, she remained perfectly still, hand held out in front of her and eyes fixed on the beautiful rings decorating her finger. Two bands that had once made her feel so warm and cared for now felt foreign on her skin, a reminder of all the things she could no longer have and the lengths her husband would go to in order to continue living the live he envisioned for himself.
They weren't a unit anymore. They hadn't been the moment he stepped back and discussed plans of impregnating another women behind her back, long before either of them had been tested for any infertility issues.
Having been with him through the good and the bad, she'd seen him at his lowest, sobbing over the vindictive rumours tabloids so carelessly threw his way. She'd seen him overjoyed, his beaming grin so bright it rivaled the light of the sun. She'd held him when he was lonely and cried with him when he was sad. His victories had become her own and his losses hurt her soul so deeply, you'd have thought they were one.
Now standing in front of him, listening to his act of betrayal, she no longer felt like they were bound as man and wife. Physcially, he was in reach. If was wanted to, she could push forward and hold his hand. Emotionally, he'd never felt so distant.
A heavy sigh of defeat past her lips and with a decision made, she watched herself slide the gold engagement and wedding band off her finger.
"No." Michael gasped in a panic, eyes wide and heart thumping frantically in his chest. "No! Don't do that."
"I can't do this." She whispered, placing the rings in his plam, flinching subtly as their fingers made contact and pulling away fast like his touch had scolded her flesh.
"Put them back on." He urged, trying to hand them back, but she moved away, backing herself into a corner just to prevent any further touch. His face fell, crippled with an emotion he couldn't name.
"I can't stay married to a man who makes decisions like this without me." She insisted, her voice so matter of fact, it scared him.
Michael's eyebrows raised high, teeth worrying his lower lip. "I wasn't making a decision. I was enquiring with a friend."
"You found a surrogate... you're planning on having a baby with a women who knows you intimately." She scoffed, eyes wet and unfocused.
"You're making it sound dirty. I'm not trying to hurt you." And he sounded so sincere, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it anymore.
Crossing the line into her personal space, Michael no longer cared about valuing her comfort as he desperately pulled her arm up and placed the wedding band back into her hand.
"Don't do this. Put it on." He persisted, eyes wild and voice raw. "Don't leave."
"Take it back." She uttered.
"No. I don't want it." Michael argued, holding her fingers over the ring in a desperate act to make her reconsider. "I brought this for you. To show you what you mean to me, to show the world you're mine... in every way that matters."
"That's doesn't mean anything right now."
Michael felt the wetness on his cheek before he realised what it was. Crying at the thought of losing her and aching because he knew on some level, he already had.
"It should." His voice cracked, doe eyes wide with terror. "You're my wife."
"I was your wife." She corrected, pulling her wrist from his grasp, the weight of the rings feeling heavier than ever.
Michael's eyes pooled with tears, mouth opened in horror at the subtle correction. He could feel his heart giving out, the loss of physical contact no longer the only barrier between them.
"No." He shook his head, breathing heavy and crying right alongside her. "Please. No. Don't- don't do this to me."
Ignoring his request, she continued to talk as though those particular words hadn't left his lips at all.
"You know what hurts the most?" She asked, but didn't want for answers. "Not that you talked to Debbie, or that you even found a surrogate. It's the fact that it never, not once, occurred to you to ask me. You didn't come up to me and ask 'what should we do now.' You just decided what you wanted and thought I'd go along with it."
"I thought I knew best." He whispered, staring at her face under the florescent bedroom lighting.
"That's your problem... you always think you know what's right, but you never stop before you jump ahead."
"We can still start a family." Michael desperately clinging to the dream had to try just once more.
She laughed bitterly, wiping under her eyes with the back of her plam. "Listen to yourself." She mocked. "This isn't working."
"I love you." He uttered in blind hope that it might make her stay.
"Stop saying that like it's going to fix anything." She spoke, eyes rimmed red and irritated from the steady flow of tears.
"I made a mistake." He finally admitted with a firm nod. "I understand that."
"A mistake is forgetting our anniversary, or forgetting to call while you're on the road." She clarified, refusing to be moved by those big Bambi eyes looking at her in fear. "You made an active choice here and it's not something easy to forgive."
"I can fix it." He promised, taking her hand and watching as it fell limp in his desperate hold. "I'll tell Debbie we're not doing it. I'll stop talking to her all together if that's what you want... just tell me what to do."
His pleas were earth shattering and part of her wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him everything would be okay, they could figure this out together. They'd been through a lot in their realtionship and this was just another obstacle life had thrown there way.
But it wasn't that easy. It wasn't a vase he'd broke, but her trust and that was an entirely different conversation he wasn't ready to have.
"You can't undo this." She ignored the soft whisper of her name as it fell from his lips, looking over at where his hand clutched her own in a move of solid desperation, her skin sunken in from his harsh grasp.
"After my diagnosis..." she began, looking him straight in the eye even if it hurt to do so. "I looked over at you in the doctors office. It killed me, but I thought to myself, 'at least I have Michael.' Turns out, you weren't thinking that way about me, because if you were, you would've held my hand and let me grieve, you would've asked me what I wanted."
"I know." His shoulders slumped and he wiped his face as a result of the onslaught of tears. "I was wrong, but please don't go."
"I have to." She told him straight, not wanting to prolong this painful heartbreak further.
"We can get through this." Michael promised, squeezing her hand with his own.
"Maybe." She watched as hope flashed across his face, but she couldn't focus on that while pulling her hand out of his tight hold. "But not today."
His face crumpled, awful and pale like he was about to throw up if she took another step from him. For her own sanity, she had to.
Stepping away, she ignored his cries as she crossed the room, placing the rings he'd tried to give her back on the nightstand beside the lamp he used for some late night reading.
She didn't look back, she couldn't. She considered herself to be a strong women, but for Michael, she was weak as a kitten. If she chanced a glance over her shoulder, she ran the risk of turning back and allowing him the victory of winning her back.
Wasting no time, she left the room with the door closing tight behind her.
Michael stood, head in his hand, sobbing over his own mistakes and wondering if he would ever be able to make this up to her or if he really had just lost the only women he'd ever truly loved.
hi everyone. sorry for not having posted anything for the past few days. i've been busy at work and helping my sister paint her nursery (she's having her first child.) but i'm back and plan on posting more regularly. i already have plans for more fics to come.
that said, i realised i really need work on my taglist since a few people have asked to be included. my next fic will be dropping tomorrow (here's a short overview when it was nothing more than a thought in my mind) and it seemed appropriate now to ask if anyone else wanted to be added to my permanent taglist before i post.
in addition, i will be adding my current taglist under the cut in case anyone has decided they no longer want to read my fics. if this is the case, no hard feelings. happy reading.
hi everyone. sorry for not having posted anything for the past few days. i've been busy at work and helping my sister paint her nursery (she's having her first child.) but i'm back and plan on posting more regularly. i already have plans for more fics to come.
that said, i realised i really need work on my taglist since a few people have asked to be included. my next fic will be dropping tomorrow (here's a short overview when it was nothing more than a thought in my mind) and it seemed appropriate now to ask if anyone else wanted to be added to my permanent taglist before i post.
in addition, i will be adding my current taglist under the cut in case anyone has decided they no longer want to read my fics. if this is the case, no hard feelings. happy reading.
synopsis: you and Michael have a secret relationship; in order to make you feel loved, Michael sneakily finds ways to show his affections towards you, even if in public.
cw: none.
a/n: this is the longest I've written for Michael I think? There's one thing or another that I'm 100% not satisfied with, but I decided to stop tweaking it and just post it already! This was written with the format of those 5 + 1 fanfictions, so if you're familiar with these you may recognize a pattern.
words: 3.5k+
masterlist || dividers.
Everybody had secrets, big or small. It was completely normal, and frankly you didn't think it was something to be frowned upon. But still, some secrets were harder to keep than others.
And keeping your relationship with Michael a secret was one of the hardest things you could do.
It had been a few months since you started dating, and you both came to the conclusion that, for now, it was better to keep it all under wraps.
Michael had the whole world with its eyes on him, and the last thing he wanted was to bring unnecessary attention and scrutiny to you.
So, you kept it low-key.
Bill would drive him to your home or vice versa. You would share brief conversations in passing, always keeping your distance from one another. Phone calls were always your best friend... And of course, the disguises Michael so adored were constantly being used.
It was funny in a way, to see the lengths the man would go to keep your peace.
"And then," Michael continued tiredlessly, his hands stroking your shoulder as you rested onto him. "He completely messed up my order. I asked for something so simple but he still messed it up."
"Ain't that terrifying?" You joked as you kept working on filing your nails. Michael clicked his tongue, taking the nail file away from your hands so you'd look at him. "Michael!"
"Baby, I've missed you throughout the whole day." He sulked as you playfully rolled your eyes. "And you're here ignoring me? Did you not miss me at all?"
"Of course I did, you dummy." You gave him a small peck, but as Michael tried to lean in for another kiss, you put your hand on his mouth. "My nail file, if you please?"
Michael kissed your palm and you laughed as you retracted your hand. He gave you back your file but you didn't mind it anymore; you gave him a kiss as compensation.
"See?" You joked against his mouth, Michael chuckled at your antics. "That wasn't that hard, was it?"
"Michael?" Bill's voice came from outside your apartment. It was late at night, and your 30 minutes together were already over. "We ought to head out now."
"Coming!" With a sigh, Michael looked at you one last time, kissing your cheek with so much care, one would think you were made of glass. "I promise to call you when I get back, 'kay?"
"Okay." You nodded, forcing a smile. It was always hard when Michael had to go back home. "I love you, Mike."
He grinned at you.
"Love you more."
And he left. Suddenly, your whole apartment felt cold.
It was a reoccurring thing, but it was never easy. Almost everyday, Michael would come to you and he'd be fully yours for 30 minutes – but no longer than that.
No, after that he was Michael Jackson, the global superstar.
You tried not to dwell on it though. One day or another a decision about your relationship would need to be made but... Not right now. Now, you wanted to share the moments you had with him.
"What is it you want to show me so badly?" You asked as he led you to the recording room, opening the door for you as you finally took off your mask and hat, realizing you were both alone.
"It's a surprise." Michael's eyes sparkled as he handled the equipment, making sure everything was set up for you. "Come here."
You walked up to your boyfriend, sitting on a chair right beside him. Michael took a deep breath.
"Michael, is everything okay?"
"Yeah, uhm– just nervous." He laughed sheepishly.
Finally, he gathered courage to play the song he wanted to show you. His song. You leaned in, trying to pay close attention to the melodies and words. Michael had showed you songs he was making before, wanting your opinion, but this one...
There was something so sweet, so vulnerable about his words. Just hearing him sing made your stomach all fluttery, and your cheeks go red.
You glanced at him for a moment. His eyes were fixated on your every move.
You giggled.
"Is this about me?"
"Yes." Michael's smile went wider than you could've ever imagined. He looked so proud of himself. "What do you think? Do you like it?"
"Like it? Mike, I–" you hid your face in your hands, unable to contain your smile. For a moment, Michael thought he made you upset, but then you started tapping your feet on the ground, a habit you had when you got excited. "I love it."
Your voice was muffled in your hands, but he heard you loud and clear.
Michael grabbed your fingers, taking your hands off your face.
"Then I guess I've done it."
"Done what?"
Michael turned to the side, suddenly a bit embarrassed, like he didn't just make the most romantic gesture for you.
"I made you happy."
You felt your heart hammering in your chest. With a delicate touch, you turned Michael's face back to you, landing a soft kiss on his cheek.
"I love you." Your voice came out almost like a whisper, like a secret (in a way, it was). "You always make me happy, Michael. Whether you're just smiling at me or writing me a song."
He nuzzled his face against yours, holding onto your hand.
"...I love you too, baby." He answered, giving you a gentle peck. Then he kissed your nose, and cheeks, and forehead, and–
"Okay! Michael!" You tried running away from his overly affectionate kisses, but you couldn't escape him.
Not like you really wanted to.
A few weeks later, Michael released that same song to the public in his new album.
Obviously it was a hit.
Radio stations played it nonstop, fans and casual listeners couldn't stop talking about it, and magazine articles kept wondering about what was the inspiration behind Michael's most romantic song yet.
"Did you hear?" Your co-worker asked you one day. "Michael Jackson's going to be interviewed live today! I already told everyone to not bother me past 6pm!"
You feigned surprise. You knew Michael's schedule front to back, so obviously you knew about that interview. You also hated it, because it was going to take your precious 30 minutes of the day... But you supposed you could wait until tomorrow.
As soon as the time for the interview arrived, you made yourself comfortable on your couch and tuned into the channel.
And there was Michael. Beautiful, polite and kind as always.
You giggled to yourself. If only the world knew that man was yours.
The interview was... Rather shallow, to say the least. Only a few interesting questions here and there, but then, the man suddenly went on a tangent:
"I've heard your new song, by the way. It's really catchy."
"Thank you." Michael nodded, his sunglasses still on.
"Now, this isn't really something I personally care about," you rolled your eyes. It always was, it was their job to get the juiciest information out to the public. "But may I ask the inspiration behind it? Who was it you were thinking about while recording the song?"
You watched as Michael let out a shy chuckle, stroking his cheek. He didn't answer for a while, which made even you nervous, wondering what he'd say.
"Well... There definitely is an inspiration."
"Who?"
Michael laughed again.
"I'd rather keep it private."
Your cheeks went red.
"Oh," the interviewer got closer, knowing something was behind his closed off demeanor. "Is it a girl? A lover, maybe?"
"As I said, that's a private matter." He nodded, taking his glasses off for a moment. His eyes looked directly into the camera for just a second, and you felt like he was looking straight at you. "It's a secret between us."
A giddy grin tugged at your lips, and you felt your heart race a mile per minute. He was so, so silly. He knew exactly what he was doing, sending you a sweet, secret message like that.
It made you love Michael even more.
"Mike, you could've been caught!"
"But I wasn't." He playfully answered, now at his home, his telephone against his ear as he heard you laugh at the other end of the line.
"Seriously... You gotta be more careful."
"Trust me." He reassured you, voice soft. "I know what I'm doing. And besides," you could almost hear the way he was smirking. "Don't act like you didn't like what I said."
"I'm gonna hang up on you."
"No, no, no, I was kidding!"
It was a day like any other, or so it would seem. You and Michael would eventually meet later that day, once you were done with work and he was done with rehearsals.
He has been especially hard on himself lately, working too much and apologizing way too many times for the lack of attention he's been giving you. It's not like you didn't miss him, you did, dearly. But you understood why he was pushing himself so much, and didn't fully had it in you to tell him to be with you more when he was preparing for a tour.
"I have an idea." He started, his head still lay on your lap as you softly messed with his curls. "Why don't you come with me?"
You let out a laugh.
"I'm serious!"
"Mike, I can't drop my job to go with you on tour."
"Okay, maybe not on the whole tour," he sat up, turning to look you deep in the eyes. He was determined to not let the subject die. "But maybe just for one concert, hm? I'll give you vip tickets. You'll be in the best section and can even come see me after I perform."
"Michael." You warned him, but couldn't help a small smile on your face. You loved how he tried to include you, even when he was so busy.
"Please, it'll be fun." His hand made its way to your face, stroking your cheek. "Just for one night, hm? And you can come back home later. Please?"
You stared at his doe eyes for a while, but you knew you couldn't say no to him. Not when he was so expectant to have you around him for at least one concert.
He'd asked you time and time again to come with him on tour, and every time you denied it, saying it was too risky.
It would be fine to indulge him just this once, no?
And so, here you were, on the VIP section of his first concert, watching him give a masterful performance on stage.
It was like he was one with music, his body moving in a way no one else could, his voice so strong you were sure it could be heard through thunder. Your chest filled with warmth as the song died down, the last lyrics being whispered into the mic.
And then, a familiar beat started.
"This one," his voice came out weak, tired of moving around so much. "It's very dear to me. Very, very dear."
Michael turned around.
His eyes found yours among the sea of fans.
His voice filled the air around the stadium.
There was shouting and screaming everywhere around you, but your focus was only on Michael. How he kept looking at you, glancing at your direction.
Your pulse quickened at the lyrics, how he seemed to mean each and every word. And you knew he was serious about it.
In this very public space, somehow, Michael managed to tell you he loved you.
He even blew a kiss to you – or to the fans, for the bystanders watching.
After the show ended, you were taken backstage by Bill, who helped you hide from the general public and even staff members. And once you reached Michael's dressing room, you couldn't help it.
Your arms were around him immediately.
Bill quickly closed the door behind you two.
"You're so sappy." You mocked, still extremely flustered. Michael laughed, sweaty, tired, but happy nonetheless. "Is that why you wanted me to come so badly? So you could serenate me?"
"Serenate! 'course not, you're imagining things." His voice carried mischief with him as he leaned into your touch. "But if you liked it..." He pampered you with kisses all over your face, only stopping when you pushed his face away, palms holding his cheeks.
"Your ridiculously cheesy."
Michael giggled.
"But you like it!"
After Michael's dedicated song to you, along with his sneaky message in his interview, the media had started speculating even more about Michael's love life.
He never answered things too deeply, too intimately. He was used to sending you signals but only in ways that no one else would notice, but it was starting to become a problem.
For example, this week's magazine started claiming he was dating another celebrity.
"Baby, you know I would never." He insisted, sitting next to you as you frowned at the magazine in your hands. He sighed, taking it from you and getting up to throw it in the trash. "They just want attention. I don't have the least interest in her."
You bit your lip. You knew that.
But the rest of the world didn't.
You clicked your tongue, looking to the side. Michael kneeled in front of you, his fingers gently moving your face towards him.
"Baby, do you trust me?"
You inhaled deeply. "...of course."
"Then why are you so upset?"
"I just–" you stopped yourself, as if worried you might say something wrong, but Michael just sat there, waiting. "I hate that... That I can't do anything about it."
Silence settled between you two after that.
Michael kissed both your hands quietly, and reassured you: "Please don't stress that pretty head of yours, alright? I'll fix everything."
And so, later that week, there was a news report about Michael making a public statement.
"Me and her are not together." He simply said. "I deeply admire her work, and I see her as a good friend. Nothing more or less."
Reporters went crazy, and one even pointed her mic at him, insisting: "Michael, is there someone you're seeing? Who's the lady you dedicated your song to?"
Michael stayed quiet for a moment, and you, who was still at work, tightened your grip on the report in your hands.
"That's private." He started. "But my heart already belongs to someone."
And the press went crazy. So did your co-workers.
For a brief moment, you felt yourself smiling.
Michael was always caring. Always sweet.
But still...
You teared your eyes off the TV, turning back to your report, a small frown forming on your features.
Stupid tabloids.
You tried not thinking much about the rumors regarding Michael's love life. You didn't believe any of it, you knew wholeheartedly Michael would never betray you like this.
But you hated feeling powerless.
While Michael was out there, discrediting rumors, and accidentally making even more of a mess by consistently admiting he had someone he loved, but refused to disclose who she was... You just stayed quiet.
At your work. At your home. Silent. Unable to speak on your relationship and how upset these rumors made you.
Unable to tell the world how in love you were.
So... You didn't. You smiled, and pretended to be fine when Michael came around your home, or when he invited you to a private date.
You didn't want to bother him. After all, he was the target of unashamed gossip, not you.
"There's going to be a performance this Friday," Michael began after he finished eating a bowl of popcorn you had prepared for your weekly movie session. "I really want you to watch it."
"Friday?" You turned your head, putting the soda can back on your coffee table, intrigued. "Is it for that charity event?"
"Yes, to raise money for a local hospital." He explained. "I want you to watch me perform."
You blinked.
"I always watch you perform, Michael."
"Yes, but," he sighed. It was like there was something he wanted to tell you, but couldn't. "Just promise me you'll watch it for certain? No ifs, ands or buts?"
"Well... If it means that much to you, then sure." You nodded, still not fully understanding. But there wasn't any harm in it, you always liked to watch him perform.
And so, on Friday, at the exact time, you arrived at the place. Bill made sure to help get you to a comfortable and close enough position to the stage, and so it began.
It was a show like any other Michael pulled off: impeccable dancing, beautiful and raw singing and the sheer force of his talent being felt amongst the crowd.
Towards the very end, Michael started a speech about the charity, and you felt your heart warm. It made you happy to know how beautiful of a human being he was, using his platform for something like this.
But then, there was a small tangent.
"I don't want to make this about my own personal problems," Michael started, his voice suddenly heavy with guilt. "But I feel like I must address this issue as soon as possible."
The crowd went silent for a moment and you felt your heart drop.
What did he mean by problems?
"There have been a lot of rumors about me. There always have been. But lately, I've noticed that it hasn't only affected me, but the people around me." His voice failed, and his head turned to the part of the crowd where you were located. His eyes locked with yours. "It's been hurting the one I love."
Your eyes widened as whispers and murmurs began around you.
"I am not together with any of those celebrities the media insists on. I do not hold any romantic feelings towards any of them." Michael paused, looking away from you for a moment and inhaled deeply. "I already have a girlfriend." His words went soft, a smile tugging on his lips. "And I love her very much."
The fans went crazy. You were sure the reporters around to cover the event were already talking about it to their expectators.
But none of it mattered.
"These stories have been making her upset and sad. So please, stop."
Your eyes stung with unshed tears, and you were glad it was considered normal for people to have such strong emotional reactions to Michael. At least, you could hide under the disguise of being a disillusioned fan.
Michael had just told the world he was already someone else's.
He was yours.
"Thank you for listening. And thank you for showing up to the event." He ended his speech, a worried look landing on you. "Please, respect our privacy. Her privacy."
And with that, the event ended.
You were brought back to Michael's car, with a mask on just in case any paparazzi or the like would notice another presence inside his vehicle.
Once Michael entered the car, you hugged him immediately.
"Thank you." You whispered, voice shaky as you tried to not cry.
Michael cradled your head with one of his hands, the other moving up and down your back as he kissed your head.
"It's the least I could do." He nuzzled his face against you. "When you're ready, we can take it to the public if you want, 'kay?"
"Okay."
There was an award ceremony coming up, and as one of the nominees, Michael was obviously going.
Usually, you helped him get ready if he asked you for help, and watched the whole thing through TV. Michael would always find a way to make you smile in his speeches, sneakily mentioning you.
You were used to enjoying everything hidden.
But this time, Michael specifically asked for your company.
"You... You want me to go with you?" You repeated the question, stopping your knife mid air, the vegetables for your meal not fully cut. Michael chuckled at your reaction.
"If you want. I would love to have you as my plus one, finally." He admitted, leaning against the kitchen counter. "But only if you're okay with it."
You stayed quiet for a minute. You remembered in the past when Michael would show up with his exes at award shows and different events, and when you started dating him, although terrified of the attention, you always wondered what would it feel to be so publicly in love with him.
To not care about what anyone would say.
"I... Are you sure?"
"A thousand percent."
"I don't... I don't know if I have the right clothes."
"We can go shopping."
"What if they ask me strange questions?"
"I'll tell them to stop."
"Wha–"
"Baby." You stopped, biting your own tongue as Michael stared at you. "Do you want to go or not?"
"...yes."
He smiled, kissing your forehead.
"Then I promise I'll make it the best night for you."
The days up until the award night were very nerve-wracking to you. You obsessed over clothes and etiquette, and if you weren't so stressed Michael would've it was all hilarious. But instead, he helped soothe your worries by complimenting you and reminding you that he'd be right by your side.
When the day came, you didn't feel any better. You smoothed out your dress while in Michael's car thousands of times, and tried to breathe slowly to force your brain to calm down.
The car stopped. A crowd of fans and reporters waited outside the venue. You gulped.
"Remember, just be yourself." Michael held your hand tightly, squeezing it ever so slightly. You nodded.
Getting out of the vehicle and into the venue was already hard enough. All eyes on you and Michael, the cameras and reporters turned to you immediately, but Michael refused to answer any questions.
You sat down on a table, Michael gave you a glass of water.
"Are you alright?"
You sipped on your drink, humming to your boyfriend. Still, you tapped on your cup anxiously, and Michael frowned a little bit.
"...I'm sorry." He started, catching your attention. "I didn't want to force you to do something you don't want to do."
"What? No! Michael, you didn't force me to do anything." It was your turn to hold his hand reassuringly. "I came here because I wanted to."
"Are you sure? You just... You look nervous."
"Of course I'm nervous. This is my first time." Your voice went soft as your fingers began stroking his skin. "Michael, I want to do this. I want to be able to love you publicly, to not be afraid to tell the world I love you." You paused, your hand moving up to cup his cheek. "I'm nervous, yes... But I want to do this for us."
Michael couldn't argue with that, so he let the subject die. But you noticed how he made an effort to never stay away from you for too long, often holding your arm or hand.
But Michael had to leave you for a moment, when they were presenting the winner of a specific category.
And Michael won. As usual.
Before he left to the stage, crowds cheering and screaming, he kissed your hand and whispered he'd be back with his award. You let him go with a warm smile, ignoring the cameras that seemed to catch both him and you.
The focus was directed to Michael as soon as he went up the stage, thanked the host and held his award.
"Thank you, thank you..." He began, his sweet and melodic voice echoing throughout the place. "First of all, I'd like to thank God, who makes all things possible."
Michael began his usual speech, kind as he was, thanking his team, friends, family and fans... And then, he paused, as if thinking about something.
"I'd also like to thank a very dear person to me." His eyes landed on you, and you felt your pulse quickening. He smiled. "She's with me today, my girlfriend." As he said your name, the cameras seemed to turn to you for a moment, to catch your reaction to his words. But your focus was fully on Michael. "I know staying with me, hidden from the public, was really hard for you, baby. Thank you for staying on my side, and believing in me always."
You chuckled, hiding your mouth with your hand as you laughed. Michael grinned.
"You're the love of my life, thank you for your support."
The crowd erupted into applause, but all you could focus on was him walking offstage to you. As he found you, he showed you the award like a kid showing someone their drawing.
You couldn't help but laugh.
"Congratulations, Mike."
"I should be saying that to you." He answered, sitting beside you and ignoring the watchful eyes of the others, even as the host continued with the awards.
You tilted your head at his words.
"Why? I didn't do anything worth congratulating."
"'course you did!" He smiled, handing you his award, as if you were the one being celebrated. "You had the courage to come here and face the whole world. Congratulations, baby."
You felt your eyes sting at that, but refused to let any tears drop. With a smile, you held onto his award, looking at every detail.
But then you turned, watching Michael. His big dark brown eyes, angelic little curls and warm smile.
"Well, then, thank you."
"You're very welcome!"
You both laughed, ignoring the world around you for once.
Everybody had secrets, but one way or another, they'll always come to light.
context: you’re an up and coming actress hired to be the leading lady in one of Michael’s short films 🎥 It’s the final day of filming, and you think you’ve been imagining the energy between you two. Except, you haven’t. And the time has come for Michael to make a move before it's too late...
content warnings: graphic sexual descriptions. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.
• video and year will remain unspecified. Imagine the main character as you wish. This is a 1st person style story. So you’ll be reading as if “you” are telling the story •
enjoy! xx
It’s the final day of filming, and the director shouted “cut!” for the last time about a half hour ago.
I go back to my trailer, a pit in my stomach, set to just relax for a bit before I head home, even as the rest of the crew and cast mingle. I just feel a little strange doing so. They all know each other so well, and I’m just there. I haven’t even made any friends on set besides, I guess, Michael. If he can count.
I grab a water from the counter top and take a seat, taking slow sips. Maybe I should’ve said something to Michael. Said goodbye, or perhaps asked about this little thing between us. The lingering looks, the soft compliments murmured to me during takes. “You’re doing great,” he’d smiled, rubbing my back.
It was unprofessional of me to take it so seriously. But it was like every time he touched me, electricity would zip up my spine. My skin would tingle. Butterflies erupting everywhere.
I sigh, shaking my head. How am I meant to make it as an actress if I can’t keep my heart out of these things?
I sip more water and debate on calling my agent, when there’s a knock on the trailer’s door. “Yeah?” I say.
“It’s me.” His voice makes my heart lurch. I stand, fixing my hair and adjusting my clothes before I say he can come in. The door clicks open, and he climbs the few steps up from the outside. He’s still in the costume from shooting, the bright red jacket, and slim dark pants. He smiles warmly, gently biting his lip as he takes me in. “You just disappeared.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt,” I say.
“Everyone’s waitin’ to celebrate,” he replies, so soft spoken it kind of slips me into a daze. “you don’t wanna join?”
“I’d love to.” I rush out.
“Well, come on then.” He chuckles, waving me forwards. I’m walking towards him, little heels clicking over the linoleum floor. He keeps smiling, gaze flicking over me, motions for me to go first down the stairs. I wait for him outside, and he clicks the door of my trailer shut. We walk together quietly, glancing at each other a few times as we head back onto set, back into the building. It’s dark out, super late at night, but the skies are clear.
“Pretty moon,” Michael comments. I glance up at the full moon, glowing amongst the stars. I hum and nod. “Nervous or something?”
He holds the door to the large warehouse open, where inside there’s music playing, talking and soft laughter.
“No,” I say lightly, even if I am just a little bit. He smiles, showing his teeth. He obviously doesn’t believe me, and lets me go first into the warehouse. We step inside and the cast and crew are all hanging out, sitting around on any surface that will allow it, beers in hand.
“Can I get you something?” Michael murmurs to me as we near, hand resting on my back. My cheeks flush, and I’m mumbling that anything will be fine, too focussed on where his hand is to really think about what I want.
I end up with a chilled beer, and Michael guides me to sit beside him on an equipment trunk. I sip quietly as he talks with everyone, laughing and enjoying himself, sipping his beer. I’m not much of a talker outside of acting, so I just observe, answering any questions when I’m asked.
It starts getting super late, and although I’m not sleepy, I am tipsy. I glance at my watch. I can't drive back to my hotel since I've had too much to drink. And I should probably get going before I start overthinking the way Michael is sitting so close to me that our shoulders and thighs keep brushing. I can smell his cologne, and it's messing with me.
The energy is there again, humming between us despite us not speaking directly to each other. At first I thought I was imagining it entirely, but a few of the crew keep glancing between us, then looking to each other with knowing smirks, hiding it behind their beers. Perhaps I've made it insanely obvious that I think he's crazy attractive and that I'm into him. Maybe it's all over my damn face.
"I should probably get going," I murmur, putting down my half finished beer. I'm embarrassed. My career is just starting, I've only done a few movies, and even though they're doing well, I still feel like I'm a rookie. Developing a crush on a co-star is humiliating, and the fact everyone can see it is even worse.
Michael glances up at me as I stand, "thanks for the beer, and for everything else," I smile, wobbling a bit in my kitten heels. Okay, perhaps I'm more than tipsy. "Bye everyone!" I say, waving at the rest of the crew. Some have already left, but most of the dancers and stuff have stayed, drinking and talking, making plans to take this party out on the town, to some bars or clubs. I'm walking away as I get a few calls of goodbye and thanks, heading for the warehouse door.
I can't drive to my hotel since I'm way over the limit, but perhaps I can find a payphone and call a cab.
"wait," Michael jogs after me, "you don't want to go out?" he asks, stepping ahead of me so I stop walking.
"are you?" I ask.
"No," he huffs, smiling, his eyes are a little dazed. He's had just as many beers as I have. Maybe he's tipsy too. "I... uh..." he trails off, then rubs the back of his neck. "I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out." he looks down at me, doe eyes earnest. "With, um, just me."
"Right now?" I ask.
"Sure," he nods, "unless... you don't want to. That's okay, too."
"It's almost midnight," I murmur, but like I said before, I'm not exactly tired. The opposite. My mind and body are completely wide awake. "where would we go?"
"we could take a walk."
I laugh, blushing hard. this is so... but I find myself agreeing anyway. He grins big, cheeks pinking, then tips his head towards the door. "Alright," he nods, "we'll take that walk."
I giggle as he shows me the way. We step out into the night air, cool breeze wafting over us. I adjust the short dress I'm wearing, pulling down the hem. Michael immediately slides off his red jacket and offers it to me, leaving him in just a white t-shirt. "Thanks," I smile, sliding it on. It smells like him, and my head spins as I take a deep breath. My body warms, and I try to ignore it.
"So," Michael begins as he tucks his big hands into his pants pockets. "You're an actress."
"Yes," I laugh softly. He already knows this about me. We walk slowly, close together.
"I saw your latest film," he continues, "amazing. You're very talented."
"Thanks," I beam.
"You like doing horror?" he asks. "I haven't seen you in anything else."
"It's my preferred niche," I reply, "I've got the scream for it." I add, giggling softly and glancing at him. He's smiling, but his eyes are gliding down over me. I look away before he sees that I saw him do that.
"Yeah, it's why I asked for you, actually."
"My scream?"
"Yes, but, uh, you have very expressive eyes," he explains softly, "and a nice face, too. You look great on camera. Very pretty." he adds, speaking just a little quieter. He doesn't look at me, and gently bites his lip, squinting one eye, like he's trying not to cringe at himself.
I don't know what to say. I just smile, feeling pleased with myself and bashful all at the same time. I'd been told the casting was random. I'd auditioned, I'd waited for a casting call back. This whole time he'd asked for me specifically. "Thank you," I say finally, after a few seconds of quiet. "This is a massive opportunity for me. I'm really grateful."
He smiles, and our eyes meet. It's there again, that humming energy, the one that makes my whole body feel like it's being pulled towards him whilst tingling all over.
We're doing a small loop of the studio grounds that the video was being shot in. There are multiple warehouses, most are empty or being prepped for a movie or something. But because of the crazy late hour, it's silent, and very dark, aside from the singular lamps hanging over the main doors to get into each separate building.
I glance at Michael's lips, then back to his eyes. I'm definitely not imagining it. His pupils are swollen, even in the low light as we pass one of those spotlights over the doors, I can see it. "You wanna take a look inside?" he asks, nodding to one of the doors. His voice has lowered and rasped a little. My core clenches around nothing, startling me slightly.
"Is it open?" I ask, breathlessly.
He smiles slyly, stepping around me, but still keeps close enough that he brushes behind me. His hand then takes mine, gently pulling me behind him. He tries the door, and surprisingly, it's unlocked. Though I guess it doesn't really matter. Even just to get onto the property you need to get through the gate and there's security patrolling everywhere.
We slip inside, and Michael feels the wall for the main light switches. They wink on, electricity humming. I gasp, taking in the sight before us. A whole sci-fi ship, one half completely open, obviously so they can film, but it looks insanely real. Seats, wall panels, even the desks that house the fake computers for navigating. "Oh my god, look at this!"
I hurry forwards. I want to touch everything, but I keep my hands to myself as Michael trails behind me, hands in his pockets again.
"I wonder what film this is for," I say, glancing back at him. He's got his head cocked, dark eyes on me. He shrugs with a soft smile, brows flicking up. My eyes stick to him, that heat coming back. We're alone, tipsy, it's late... we've spent the last two weeks pretending to flirt for the camera.
There are only a few lights on inside here, so the majority of the room is still in shadow. I glance at Michael again, then turn, hoping I'm reading into this right as I send a coy look over my shoulder, and walk through a doorway towards the back of this spaceship, where it's darker. His smile widens, and he follows.
The set continues to another room. It's slightly separate from the bridge, and looks more like an office space. It has those futuristic panels, so I know it's still meant to be part of the ship. There's a low white sofa that curves around two walls, a coffee table with a fake window that has a green screen on the outside. Here, the main lights only just reach, casting most of this room in shadows. It's intimate, and quiet.
I turn towards Michael again, looking at him through my lashes.
It's now or never.
And I want it to be now.
He swallows, moves towards me, glancing me over slowly, taking me in. "been going crazy this last week," he murmurs in that gentle, soft spoken voice.
"Yeah?"
He nods, "couldn't figure out if you were into me or not."
I exhale whilst licking my lips. He's close to me now, watching me intently.
"Me too," I whisper.
His brows lift, then he's smiling a little, looking from my lips to my eyes. He bites his lip again, dragging his teeth over the soft flesh before he grins. "Good," he murmurs, eyes fixed on my lips now. "so we feel the same way."
I know he's going to kiss me. He steps forward, and I step back. All that bashfulness leaving him, and in its wake, is a man with a mission. It's thrilling, seeing him like this. And very sexy. He steps closer, and I shift back again, playing shy.
My heart's pounding against my ribs as he nears me again, focus intensifying. I've excited him, and this time I don't step back. I let him reach for my hips and touch me, bring me closer to him. He's gentle, but firm, those big hands staying on me as he dips his head.
He hovers his lips over mine, waiting for me to close the distance. I do a second later, arms sliding up over his shoulders, bring him closer. Then we're kissing, lips locked, hips pressed together. I tilt my head so he can get better access to my mouth. He groans softly, grip on my hips tightening before he slides his palms back over my ass and squeezes. I moan into his mouth, heat building beneath my skin quickly.
When his tongue slides into my mouth, I melt in his arms. He kisses so well. My head's spinning, as he grazes his hands over me, pulling me flush against his body.
He guides us a step back, towards the couch. Then he slowly turns us, breaks the kiss and sits down, eyes never once leaving me. I'm climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs, and he's holding my hips again as I lean back in to kiss him.
It intensifies between us, and Michael's shifting underneath my hips, groaning softly into my mouth as I moan in response, loving how handsy and eager he's being. I break the kiss to breathe, and he moves onto my neck, licking and sucking on the skin until it's so sensitive that it feels erotic.
I reach for his pants, undoing the button and zips. He pauses. I stop. "Do you not want to?" I whisper, lustful daze husking my voice.
"I do," he says, light voice gone and in its place is a completely different one. Lower, raspier. I lean back to look at him. "I don't have anything with me."
"That's okay," I murmur. I don't even know what I'm saying.
"Do you want to stop?"
"No," I breathe, looking into his eyes. I wait for him to be the voice of reason. My whole body is electrified, anticipating having him. But he only glances over me again, gazing at my thigh spread over his lap, the dress having ridden up.
He undoes his pants and excitement surges through me.
I'm already wet, and don't really need any foreplay, but Michael reaches between my thighs anyway, gently caressing my covered slit. Pleasure tingles through me, and I moan breathlessly, arousal seeping out of me intensely. He doesn't say anything, but I glance over his face, drinking in that dazed look as he feels how ready I am.
I reach for his pants again, smoothing my palm over his crotch, feeling his hardness under his boxers. He inhales, and his fingers press into me a little harder, more eager to touch me. I kiss him again, moulding my mouth with his as I pull him free of his boxers, wrap my hand around him.
He shudders, moaning softly as I massage him slowly. He slides my panties to the side, caressing his fingertips through my soaking slit as we kiss, then eases two inside me. I gasp, and he retreats.
"Was that too hard?" he asks quietly, eyes heavy lidded.
"No," I whisper, wanting his hand back. I pump him a little faster, and he shudders again, and slides his fingers back into me. I'm dripping down his hand, body so ready that I can hardly wait. I moan against his mouth, bite his bottom lip. A little warm liquid drips down over my knuckles from his tip and I smile, giggling softly.
"Sorry," he whispers, "excited."
"Me too." I let him go and lick his premium off my hand.
He smiles wide, then is biting his own lip, cheeks flushed deep pink beneath that gorgeous brown skin. Then I'm leaning up, not wanting to wait longer. He holds himself in place, eyes so big and doe like as he watches me intently. I ease down onto him, holding my panties to the side, and breathe out a moan as he slides inside, filling me.
Michael's eyelids flutter, his next groan sends tingles all over. I ride him slowly, holding onto his slim broad shoulders, pleasure coursing wildly through my veins.
I'm moaning in time with my own rhythm, rocking on his lap, grinding him deep inside me. I don't know what's come over me, maybe it's the alcohol or just the fact we've been teasing each other for two weeks shooting his short film without realising it.
Michael moans with me, leaning back fully against the couch, hands on my hips, guiding me back and forth. His gaze slides over me, unable to decide what he wants to watch: my breasts bouncing, still tucked under this tight dress, or my hips, or my pouting lips.
My hips speed up, chasing that feeling rising from my toes. My head tips back, and I'm freely moaning, not caring about being quiet. Michael sits up, and gently pulls down the front of my dress, and presses his face into my cleavage as I ride him, hands holding my breasts to him. "So pretty," he murmurs, voice rasped still from lust.
I giggle, but then my orgasm hits me. I'm trembling on his lap, panting through my moans. "Oh my god," I breathe, heart racing, hips still working as I bring Michael closer and closer to finishing. He pulls back, watching me move, eyelashes fluttering. He's close, and tensing, jaw working.
He groans, hands snapping to my hips, "I'm gonna--" he begins before he cuts himself off, and his whole body twitching in time with how hard he's finishing.
I sigh, riding that high with him, kissing his cheeks, rubbing his shoulders. He's breathing hard, leaning his upper body into me. "That was amazing," he sighs, big hands rubbing my thighs. "'my god."
I smile, wondering how to get up and off him without making a mess, and eventually I figure it out. He sorts himself out before disappearing for a couple minutes, coming back with tissues in hand to help clean me up. It's sweet, and it makes me feel all warm as he murmurs kind things then helps me redress.
He walks me back to where everyone else still seems to be, then asks one of his guys to give me a lift to my hotel, whilst another one of them offers to drive my car behind, and catch a lift back with the other.
"I'll call you, I promise." Michael says softly as I ready myself to leave by the car, feeling a little self conscious wondering if everyone knows we just had sex. I'm still wearing his red jacket, and he's made no effort to take it off me. I try to give it back, but he shakes his head. "Keep it, it's cold tonight."
"Alright," I smile, "well, goodnight," I say quietly, and lean up to kiss his cheek before I slip into the car. He closes it for me, smiling widely, then waits, to watch the car pull away.
I don't expect anything beyond tonight. He's a busy guy, and this was only meant to be work.
I get back, take a shower and crash.
To my surprise though, the next morning... he calls. And the next day, and the day after that...
happy Saturday y'all! this was just a silly little thing, a fun one shot for the thriller era because he's just so cute and scrummy and I wanna bite him. anyway, I have some more fun ideas for Michael's thriller/thrad/bad eras, as one shots, not full fic's like my others, so yeah, if you'd like to see more, let me know! <3
Elizabeth Taylor’s wedding - a love of a lifetime series.
Summary: It’s 1991 and Y/N and Michael host Elizabeth Taylor’s wedding at Neverland Ranch.
Authors note: this might be one of my favourites and she’s a big read… enjoy. P.s I thought Michael looked so beautiful in the wedding photos. It always stuck with me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Santa Barbara, 1991
The phone rang just after breakfast.
Michael glanced at the number and immediately smiled. "Elizabeth." he said in a singsong tone.
Across the kitchen island, Y/N looked up from her coffee. ”Uh oh."
He laughed and answered,"Hello, beautiful."
On the other end, Elizabeth Taylor sighed dramatically, “Darling, I need a favor."
Michael leaned against the counter, "You know I'd do anything for you."
"I know."
The pause was suspicious.
"That's why I'm calling."
Y/N was already grinning.
Michael narrowed his eyes.
"Elizabeth..."
"I want a wedding."
"You are having a wedding."
"A proper wedding."
"Still having one."
"A magnificent wedding."
Michael looked toward Y/N, "Oh no."
~~~~~~~~~
An hour later they were sitting together listening to Elizabeth explain her vision.
Gardens, flowers, white roses, string quartets, crystal chandeliers hanging from trees and enough candles to be seen from space.
"I want romance, I want magic" Elizabeth declared.
Michael glanced out the window toward the sprawling grounds of Neverland.
Then he looked back at Y/N.
A slow smile appeared.
"Oh."
Elizabeth immediately caught it.
"Oh?"
"You could have it here."
Silence.
Then an absolutely delighted gasp.
"Darling."
"Neverland."
"Darling!"
Michael laughed. "The gardens are perfect."
"They are!"
"The lake."
"Yes!"
"The train."
"YES!"
By now Elizabeth was practically shrieking.
Then Michael paused, "Need to ask my wife first."
Elizabeth groaned, "Oh for heaven's sake."
Michael covered the receiver.
"Baby?"
Y/N looked horrified, "Michael, it's Elizabeth."
"And?"
"You could ask me if she wants my kidney and I'd probably say yes."
Elizabeth's cackle echoed through the phone. "I HEARD THAT."
"Good."
~~~~~~~~~
Three months later Neverland looked like a fairytale.
Construction crews were everywhere, florists occupied half the estate and the guest list was approaching terrifying levels.
And Michael was causing problems.
Again.
Y/N walked into his dressing room carrying a garment bag.
Michael stood in front of a mirror.
The outfit was magnificent.
Black silk, silver embroidery and structured shoulders.
A tailored jacket inspired by Renaissance nobility, he looked like he'd stepped out of a painting from the 1400s.
Y/N stopped, "Okay."
Michael smirked,"Okay?"
"You look ridiculous."
His smile vanished.
She continued,"The good kind."
The smile returned immediately, “Thank you, girl"
Then she noticed something, a very specific something.
Her eyes narrowed, "Michael Joseph."
He froze,"Yes?"
"Is that a sword?"
"What?"
"A sword."
His expression became entirely too innocent, "What sword?"
"Michael."
"What sword?"
The telephone rang, both of them looked at it and then at each other.
Michael answered, "Hello?"
Elizabeth didn't even say hello,"No swords you little shit."
Michael looked offended, "I didn't even say anything."
"I know you and your designer told me."
"I'm won’t carry a sword."
"Liar."
"I'm not."
Y/N snorted.
Elizabeth continued, "Michael Jackson, if you turn my wedding into the Crusades I swear to God—"
"I wasn't—"
"NO SWORDS."
Click.
She hung up.
Michael stared at the receiver.
"Well that's rude."
Y/N was laughing too hard to answer.
~~~~~~~~~
A few hours later Michael was searching the room.
Frowning.
Eventually he went to find Y/N, "Where is it?"
She looked up from her magazine, "Where is what?"
"My sword."
"What sword?"
"My wedding sword."
"You don't have a wedding sword."
"I do."
"You shouldn't."
"I do."
"You don't."
Michael pointed accusingly, "You hid it."
She smiled sweetly, “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
The sword was currently locked inside a storage room three buildings away.
Michael would not find it until two weeks after the wedding.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later that evening they sat together reviewing the final wedding plans.
One item remained unresolved.
Photographers.
Michael looked thoughtful, "Elizabeth wants to sell the ceremony photographs."
Y/N nodded,"Okay."
"All proceeds go to her AIDS foundation."
That immediately softened her expression.
Elizabeth had worked tirelessly for years supporting AIDS charities and research.
Y/N admired her enormously for it, "Then absolutely."
Michael squeezed her hand, "I thought you'd say yes."
"But."
Michael laughed, "There it is."
She pointed at the paperwork, “Wedding ceremony only."
"Only?"
"Only."
"No reception?"
"No."
"No dinner?"
"No."
"No dancing?"
"No."
"No guests having fun?"
She laughed.
"Michael."
His eyes sparkled,"I'm listening."
"The vows, the ceremony, the official wedding photographs and that's it."
He nodded.
"That’s fair, baby"
"Elizabeth deserves her fundraiser, but everyone else deserves privacy."
Michael smiled,"That's exactly what I told them."
Her eyebrows lifted,"You already agreed with me before asking?"
"I've been married to you long enough.”
She rolled her eyes.
Then he leaned over and kissed her, softly and tenderly, the way he always did when nobody else was watching.
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For loving her like I do"
Y/N's expression softened.
Elizabeth wasn't just his friend, she was family and family mattered.
"Of course I do."
Michael smiled.
Then glanced toward the dressing room.
Toward the hidden sword, toward dreams already forming.
"I still think a sword would've looked nice."
"Michael."
"Just a little sword."
"Michael."
"A ceremonial sword."
"MICHAEL."
"...Elizabeth put you up to this."
~~~~~~~~~~~~ Neverland Ranch glittered like a dream.
Every pathway had been lined in white roses and candles tucked into glass lanterns that flickered gold against the dusk. Strings of tiny crystal lights hung through the trees like fallen stars, and beyond the gardens the Ferris wheel glowed softly against the darkening California hills. Music drifted through the cool evening air, violins, piano, laughter, champagne glasses chiming together.
And in the middle of it all stood Michael, looking almost painfully beautiful.
Y/N had seen him in thousands of forms over the years; Exhausted after rehearsals, barefaced and sleepy at three in the morning curled against her chest while thunderstorms rattled the windows at Hayvenhurst. Glorious under stadium lights.
But this version of him always ruined her a little.
The jacket came together perfectly and his silver boots gleamed beneath him, sharp and dramatic against the white stone path. His curls brushed softly against his cheeks, and tonight his makeup had been kept minimal, just enough around his eyes to sharpen their shape without hiding how warm and boyish he looked.
Happy looked good on Michael.
He stood beneath an enormous archway of flowers speaking quietly with Elizabeth, listening to her with complete adoration written across his face. He looked proud to be hosting this for her. Proud in the purest way. Like a child who had managed to make something magical for someone he loved.
And every few seconds, his eyes searched for Y/N.
Every single time, he found her.
Across the garden beside the fountain, Y/N lifted her champagne glass slightly toward him.
Michael smiled instantly.
God.
That smile still hit her directly in the chest after ten years.
She wore silver tonight too, a liquid silk gown that clung softly to her body and shimmered under the lights every time she moved. Tiny crystals had been stitched into the fabric so she looked almost illuminated beneath the sky. Her hair spilled over one shoulder in soft curls, diamonds at her ears and wrists catching the sunlight. Her wedding rings on full display.
When Michael had first seen her coming down the staircase earlier that afternoon, he had genuinely felt his heart stop.
“Baby…” he’d breathed.
And then quieter, “You look like starlight and magic.”
Now, standing beneath the wedding flowers with guests swirling around them, he kept glancing at her like he still couldn’t quite believe she was real and his.
Someone near Y/N murmured softly, “They really are disgustingly in love, aren’t they?”
Another voice laughed. “I don’t think they know anybody else is here.”
Honestly, they didn’t.
Not really.
~~~~~~~~~~
The ceremony began just as sunset melted into twilight.
Guests settled into their seats while Michael moved beside the floral arch to stand with Elizabeth, elegant and attentive and glowing with emotion.
Y/N watched him carefully from the front row, unable to stop smiling every time he reached up nervously to adjust one of the silver cuffs on his jacket.
He always got emotional at weddings now.
Especially after theirs.
And she could tell exactly when his thoughts drifted there.
It happened during the vows.
Michael’s expression softened suddenly, his eyes losing focus for just a second before drifting toward Y/N again.
She knew that look.
He was remembering.
The tiny chapel in the middle of nowhere.
Her trembling hands in his.
Michael crying before she even reached the altar, his voice cracking when he’d promised forever.
The way he’d held onto her afterward like he was terrified somebody would wake him up from it.
Even now, after a decade of marriage, he still sometimes looked at her with that same stunned disbelief.
Like she had chosen him yesterday.
When the ceremony ended and applause rose around the gardens, Michael immediately crossed through the crowd toward her.
Straight toward her.
Always.
“There you are” he said softly as soon as he reached her, sliding a hand around her waist.
Y/N laughed. “I’ve been sitting in the same chair for thirty minutes.”
“I know.” He leaned close enough for his nose to brush hers. “I kept lookin’ at you.”
“You were supposed to be paying attention.”
“I was multitasking.”
She grinned. “Terribly.”
Michael’s eyes dropped over her face again, warm and impossibly affectionate.
“You’re so pretty tonight” he murmured.
“You’ve told me twenty times.”
“I’m gonna tell you a hundred.”
He kissed her despite the crowd around them.
Guests noticed, of course they did.
There was always something startling about seeing Michael Jackson the biggest star in the world, melt entirely for one woman. No performance. No mystery. Just softness.
He held her hand constantly, looked for her constantly and smiled differently when she entered a room.
It humanized him in a way people rarely got to witness.
~~~~~~~~~~~
At the reception, the atmosphere shifted into something lush and glittering. Music swelled across the marquee while guests danced beneath chandeliers and strings of white roses hanging from the ceiling beams.
Michael stayed attached to Y/N almost the entire evening.
One arm around her waist.
Fingers tangled with hers.
Whispering jokes into her ear until she laughed hard enough to hide her face against his shoulder.
At one point, Elizabeth walked past their table and smirked knowingly.
“You two are positively revolting.”
Michael looked delighted. “Thank you, Liz”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes affectionately. “Ten years and still acting like newlyweds.”
“That’s because I actually like my first husband” Y/N replied cheekily sipping champagne.
Elizabeth threw her head back in laughter as she walked away. “Gosh you are a cheeky thing.”
Michael looked ridiculously pleased until he proceeded the first part. “First husband?!” he gasped pulling Y/N closer to him, horrified. “Only husband!” He shrilled while kissing Y/N all over her face as she giggled.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The reception was in full swing when Elizabeth rose from her seat and tapped her champagne glass.
Conversations quieted, music softened and guests gradually turned toward the bride.
Michael, standing beside Y/N near the edge of the dance floor, smiled immediately.
Uh oh.
That smile usually meant Elizabeth was about to cause trouble.
"My darling guests" Elizabeth announced, earning a cheer from the room. "Before this evening continues, there are two people I'd like to thank."
Y/N immediately shook her head,"No."
Elizabeth pointed at her.
"Oh yes."
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
"Y/N, darling. Come here please."
The applause grew as Y/N reluctantly made her way toward the bride.
Michael watched her go, smiling to himself.
The way he always did.
Like he couldn't quite believe she was real.
Elizabeth took Y/N's hand and squeezed it.
"This woman helped make today possible."
"Oh stop, Elizabeth!"
"No."
More laughter.
"She has spent months helping me organize this wedding. She has listened to me discuss flowers for entirely too many hours."
"I'll admit the flowers got a little excessive."
"A little?" Michael called from across the room.
The guests laughed.
Elizabeth ignored him.
"And because she won't tell you herself, I'll tell you. She is one of the kindest people I've ever known."
The room applauded warmly.
Y/N looked embarrassed.
Michael looked impossibly proud.
Then Elizabeth turned.
"Michael."
The crowd erupted.
Cheers. Whistles. Applause.
Michael immediately pointed at himself.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
"I didn't do anything."
"You gave me Neverland."
The room applauded again as Michael finally joined them on the dance floor.
Elizabeth took one of Y/N's hands and one of Michael's and placed them together.
A collective "aww" swept through the reception.
Then Elizabeth's expression softened, genuinely softened.
The playful bride disappeared for a moment and was replaced by the woman who loved them both dearly.
"You know, I've been fortunate enough to witness some extraordinary love stories."
She looked between them,"But this one has always been my favorite."
Michael immediately looked down and Y/N immediately squeezed his hand.
Elizabeth smiled.
"Most of you know these two are together."
Nods spread throughout the room.
That wasn't exactly a secret.
"However..." she continued.
The room grew quiet.
"Most of you don't know they've been married for ten years."
The silence lasted all of two seconds.
Then the room exploded.
"What?!"
"No way!"
"Ten years?"
"You're kidding!"
Michael covered his face while Y/N started laughing in disbelief.
"Oh my god, Elizabeth!."
"I've been keeping that secret for a decade," Elizabeth informed the room proudly.
Several guests looked personally betrayed.
"TEN YEARS?" someone shouted.
The bride looked delighted by the chaos she'd caused and eventually she lifted a hand for quiet.
When the room settled, her voice became gentler.
"Ten years of choosing each other."
She looked at Michael and Y/N.
"Ten years of friendship, ten years of loyalty and ten years of love." her violet eyes shimmered.
"And do you know what has always bothered me?"
The couple exchanged a glance, neither trusted where this was going.
"You never had a first dance."
The room immediately went silent again.
This time for an entirely different reason.
Michael blinked, as Y/N's eyes widened.
Elizabeth smiled softly.
"When the two of you got married, you did it quietly. Privately. The way you wanted."
She squeezed their hands.
"But every bride and groom deserve a first dance."
Oh no.
The tears arrived instantly.
Y/N pressed a hand over her mouth and Michael looked suspiciously emotional himself.
"Elizabeth..." he whispered.
"So tonight" she said firmly, "I'm fixing that."
The band leader smiled and gave a signal.
A moment later the opening notes of Can't Help Falling in Love floated through the reception.
The entire room melted as Elizabeth nudged them both toward the center of the dance floor.
"Now go."
Michael laughed through a shaky breath.
"You planned this."
"Obviously."
"For how long?"
"Months."
Y/N shook her head.
"You are impossible."
"I know."
Then Elizabeth's voice softened.
"And I love you both very much." As she kissed their entwined hands.
That was what finally broke them.
Michael wrapped an arm around Y/N shoulders and kissed her temple.
For a second neither of them moved.
Because suddenly they weren't standing at Elizabeth's wedding anymore.
They were remembering ten years.
Ten years of loving each other.
Slowly, Michael turned toward her and held out his hand.
Even now.
Even after all this time.
Like asking still mattered.
"May I have this dance, Mrs Jackson?"
Y/N laughed through her tears.
"You still asking, after ten years?"
He smiled.
"Just checking."
She slipped her hand into his.
"Always."
The room disappeared as he drew her close.
One hand settled at her waist, the other held hers.
And together they swayed to the music they should have danced to years ago.
Michael rested his forehead against hers.
His voice was barely audible.
"You know..."
"What?"
"I would've given you a proper wedding."
The words made her heart ache.
Because she knew he meant it.
She smiled and brushed away a tear.
"You gave me you."
His eyes immediately filled again.
"Baby..."
"And that's all I’ve ever wanted."
For a moment he couldn't speak.
Could only hold her tighter as the music played around them.
Near the edge of the dance floor, Elizabeth discreetly dabbed at her eyes.
Someone caught her crying.
The bride immediately pointed at them.
"Don't you dare tell anyone."
The guest laughed.
Elizabeth looked toward the dance floor where Michael and Y/N were dancing like they were the only two people in the world.
Watching them finally get the first dance they'd missed ten years earlier was her favorite part.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Later after drinks, long speeches and dancing, Michael quietly stole her away from the reception.
Typical.
One second she’d been speaking to guests.
The next she felt familiar fingers curl around hers.
“Come outside with me.”
“Michael—”
“Just for a minute, girl.”
He was already tugging her toward the gardens.
The night air wrapped around them cool and fragrant as they slipped out beneath the glowing trees. Music from the reception floated faintly behind them while the ranch stretched wide and silent under moonlight.
Michael guided her toward the flower arch from the ceremony, now empty beneath the stars.
Candles still flickered there, white petals scattered softly across the ground.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Michael just looked at her.
Really looked at her.
Then he exhaled quietly, almost overwhelmed.
“What?”
He shook his head slowly.
“Nothin’.”
“That’s not true, applehead”
His hands slid around her waist, pulling her close until the silver embroidery on his jacket brushed against her gown.
“I was rememberin’ our wedding.”
Her expression softened instantly.
Michael smiled faintly, eyes shining.
“You know what I remember most?”
“What?”
“The way you looked at me.”
She laughed softly. “That’s what you remember?”
“Mhm.” He nodded. “The priest and Bill was watchin’ you but you kept lookin’ at me like… like I was the only thing there.”
“Well” Y/N teased gently, “you were the groom, felt important to include you.”
Michael groaned dramatically.
“You’re impossible.”
“You adore me.”
“I really do.”
He traced his fingers over her wedding rings, the honesty in his voice made her chest ache.
Michael rested his forehead against hers, his curls brushing her temple in the breeze.
“Best thing I ever did” he whispered.
“What?”
“Marry you.”
Y/N’s smile turned softer then, more private the smile only reserved for Michael.
Ten years.
Ten years of surviving tabloids, tours, loneliness, impossible schedules and public scrutiny and all the strange distortions fame inflicted on love.
And somehow they were still here.
Still giggling in gardens.
Still sneaking kisses at parties.
Still desperately in love.
She touched the side of his face gently and whispered conspiringly “We’re doing better than Elizabeth.”
Michael burst out laughing.
“Oh my God.”
“What?” Y/N shrugged innocently. “I’m just saying, statistically speaking….”
“You are awful, we are literally at her wedding.”
“She’s on husband number eight, Michael.”
“Don’t joke like that.”
“What? maybe I’m ready to move onto husband number two like I mentioned earlier.”
Michael’s entire face changed instantly.
Not angry.
Horrified.
“Absolutely not.”
She laughed harder. “You should see your face.”
“No.” He tightened his arms around her possessively. “No, no, no. There’s no husband number two.”
“Well, maybe if one presents himself.”
Michael stared at her in genuine offense.
“Baby.”
“I’m kidding.”
“You better be.”
“I don’t know…” she teased. “Maybe somebody taller…who can’t dance”
Michael kissed her before she could finish.
Firm.
Immediate.
Y/N dissolved into laughter against his mouth while he kept kissing her anyway, one hand sliding into her hair.
“Mine, forever” he muttered dramatically between kisses.
“Oh my God.”
“Mine for eternity.”
“You sound insane.”
“I am insane about you, baby.”
That shut her up for a second.
Because he meant it.
He always meant it.
Michael pulled back just enough to look at her again, moonlight catching in his dark eyes.
“I’d marry you a hundred times” he said quietly. “In every life.”
And suddenly the joking faded.
Because there it was again.
That unbearable sincerity he carried only for her. Y/N touched his jaw gently, her voice softening. “And I’d find you in every life time too.”
Michael’s expression crumpled into something almost shy with emotion.
Then, because he could never survive vulnerability for too long without turning sweetly ridiculous, he whispered “Good. ‘cause I already planned our vow renewal.”
Her eyes widened. “You what, excuse me?”
“At Disneyland.”
“Michael.”
“With fireworks.”
“Michael.”
“And a carousel ride with Minnie Mouse”
She laughed so hard she had to hide her face against his chest while he grinned triumphantly above her, holding her close beneath the wedding flowers while music drifted through Neverland and the lights glittered around them like stars.
~~~~~~~~~~
Authors note: I hope Michael and Elizabeth are having a wonderful time together in the clouds. I’ve always adored their friendship. 🤍
summary: michael is exhausted and tired of everyone making decisions for him, so he decides to make a decision on his own. marrying you!
themes: fluff, hopelessly in love michael, secret wedding, smut
author's note: reposted from my wattpad & ao3.
1978
hayvenhurst / vegas
You're sitting on Michael's bed with your legs tucked beneath you, your sketchbook balanced in your lap, pencil moving in soft, absent strokes as the quiet of his room wraps around you. It's one of the few places that ever feels still for him, and by extension, for you too.
The door opens, and the shift in the air is immediate.
You look up before he even says anything, your chest tightening the second you see him.
Michael looks exhausted. Not just tired, not just worn down, but drained in a way that settles deep into his bones. His shoulders are tight, pulled upward like he's been bracing himself all day, but they still slump under the weight of it. His eyes don't carry that usual softness, that light that always seems to find you, no matter how chaotic everything else is. Instead, they're heavy, crestfallen, like something in him is just... worn thin.
Your pencil stills in your hand. He doesn't say anything as he walks further into the room, and you don't ask. You can read it all over him.
When he reaches the bed, he doesn't ease himself down: he just drops, the mattress dipping under the sudden weight of him as he flops onto his back beside you. The movement is careless, unguarded, like he doesn't have the energy to be anything else.
You don't hesitate. You set your sketchbook aside without a second thought, forgotten on the bed as your attention shifts completely to him. And almost immediately, like it's instinct, like it's the only place he knows how to go when he's like this, Michael turns into you.
He lowers his head into your lap, letting it rest there as he lets out a deep breath that feels like it's been sitting in his chest all day.
Your fingers slip gently into his curls, slow and careful, moving in that familiar rhythm you've learned over time, the one that always seems to quiet something inside him. You don't speak. You just let your touch say what words don't need to.
For a moment, the room settles into silence.
You can feel how tense he still is at first, the tightness in his shoulders beneath your hands, the way his body holds onto everything he's been carrying. But you stay steady, your fingers moving through his hair, your touch grounding, patient.
And slowly, piece by piece, he starts to let it go.
The tension in his shoulders begins to ease, the stiffness softening under your presence. His breathing, once uneven and shallow, starts to deepen, to slow, to find a steady rhythm again. His eyes slip closed, his lashes resting against his cheeks, and his arms wrap loosely around your legs like he needs to anchor himself there, like this is the one place he knows he can finally stop holding everything together.
You don't move, you just stay there with him, letting him take what he needs.
It's only been a week since he and his brothers got back from the Goin' Places tour, and already, they've been thrown straight back into the studio, working on their new album, Destiny. And on top of that, he's been writing for his own solo album too, something you know means everything to him, something he's been quietly pouring himself into whenever he can find a second to breathe.
But there hasn't been much time to breathe at all.
You've seen it in the way his days blur together, in the way he comes back to Hayvenhurst looking like he's been pulled apart and stitched back together just enough to keep going.
There are nights when he walks through this same door and barely even looks up before heading straight to the shower, and by the time he comes back out, he's already half-asleep. He'll collapse into bed before you can even ask him how his day was, before you can even get more than a quiet "hi" out of him.
Other nights, when you stay over, you don't even see him come in. You're already asleep by the time he finally gets back from the studio, and the only sign he was there at all is the warmth beside you when you wake up.
And when you're not here, when you're at your home, he still tries. He always calls before you go to bed. Even on the nights when you can hear it in his voice, how heavy it is, how he's forcing himself to stay awake just a little longer, just enough to talk to you because he doesn't want to let you down. You can hear the exhaustion in every word, the way his sentences start to slow, to trail off.
Those calls usually end the same way.
His voice faded mid-sentence, his breathing evened out on the other end of the line as he fell asleep without even realizing it, and you never hang up.
You stay there, listening to him breathe, letting that quiet, steady sound settle something in you, too. Knowing he's finally resting, that he's finally getting even a little bit of sleep, helps ease the worry that's been sitting in your chest all day. Eventually, it lulls you to sleep too, the phone still pressed close, like it's the closest thing to being beside him.
There are nights he's so exhausted he forgets to call at all, but even then, he never lets it go.
The next morning, without fail, your phone rings first thing, his voice soft and apologetic as soon as you answer. He always says he's sorry, even when you've told him over and over again that he doesn't need to be, that you understand, that it isn't his fault.
You know exactly where the pressure is coming from. You know how Joseph pulls him and his brothers in every direction he wants, without stopping to consider how much it's costing them, how much it's costing him.
And sitting here now, with his head resting in your lap, his body finally starting to relax under your touch, you feel that ache settle deeper in your chest. You hate what it's doing to him. You hate how much of himself he's having to give away, piece by piece, just to keep everything running.
So you don't say anything, you just keep your fingers in his hair, gentle, steady, letting him have this moment, letting him have you, because right now, it's the only place he gets just to be Michael.
"You okay, baby?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers continue their slow, steady movement through his curls.
Michael opens his eyes, already facing you from where his head rests in your lap, and a soft smile comes onto his face when he looks at you, the kind that isn't forced or performed, just quiet and real, like seeing you is enough to ease something in him, even if it doesn't fix everything.
"You always make things better," he says, and you smile at him, your hand never leaving his hair, but when he sighs, the sound is heavier than before, lingering in the space between you. You slightly frown because you can tell something is on his mind.
"What's going on?" you ask.
"It's just Joseph," he says with a heavy sigh, and you frown immediately, the name settling in your chest with a familiar weight. You're no stranger to Joseph Jackson and his treatment of his kids. You've been friends with LaToya since primary school; you've grown up with and around them, so you're no stranger to Joseph's cruelty, to the way his presence alone can shift the atmosphere of a room, to the way Michael carries it even when he's not there.
"What's he doing now, besides working you and your brothers to the ground?" you ask, your tone still gentle but edged now with something protective, and Michael sighs again, your fingers still moving through his hair as he holds onto your legs a little tighter, like he needs something to steady himself.
"He gave 'permission' for me to work on my solo album, but I still have to do things with the Jacksons, and I love my brothers, you know I do. But I have so many ideas in my head for songs that I want to be my own songs, not songs of the Jacksons," he says, and you frown, not because you think he's wrong but because you hate the pressure he's under.
The way that one word, permission, sits so wrong, because something that belongs to him so deeply shouldn't have to be approved by anyone else, and you hate that he feels like he can't express himself creatively and separately from the group without it.
Music lived in Michael; you've seen that since the day you met him, seen it in the way he disappears into it completely, like it's the only place he's fully himself. And you love the way he gets when he's writing songs. The way he's completely focused, humming melodies under his breath without realizing it, writing like a man running out of time, like the ideas won't wait for him, and you've always been in awe of his process, of how natural it is for him, how alive he looks in those moments.
"That makes sense. You've been performing with your brothers for the last... 15 years, so of course you want to do your own thing," you say, your voice soft but certain, and Michael sighs again, the sound quieter this time but still heavy.
"I'm not a little kid in a band anymore. I've grown up, and I want to be able to express myself creatively," he says, and you nod without hesitation, because he's right, and you lean down to press a kiss against his temple, letting your lips linger there for a second, your hand still in his hair, grounding him in something steady, something that isn't asking anything from him.
"The first step to that is firing Joseph as your manager, baby... which I know is easier said than done, but that's the only way you're going to be able to manage your own career and not be dictated to do things a certain way," you say, your voice gentle but honest, because you won't lie to him just to make it easier.
Michael sighs, snuggling more against you, and you feel it in the way he shifts closer, pressing into your lap like he's trying to stay right here, in this moment, where things are simple, where he doesn't have to make decisions that feel impossible.
He knows you're right, but as you said, it's much easier said than done, and although Michael tries not to show it around you, he's terrified of Joseph. You've seen glimpses of it before: in the way his voice lowers, in the way he chooses his words more carefully, in the way his shoulders tense in a completely different way than they do now.
"I can't do that," he whispers, his voice softer than before, almost fragile, and you nod, not wanting to push because you understand why Michael wouldn't be able to do that on his own. Firing Joseph isn't just firing a manager; he's still Michael's father, and that adds a complicated layer to things that doesn't just go away because it should.
"Whatever you decide to do, Michael... I love you, and I support you no matter what," you say, your voice steady, unwavering, because that part is simple, even if everything else isn't.
Michael lifts his head at your words, sitting up to look fully at you, and he grabs your hands, his fingers wrapping around yours like he needs to hold onto you for what comes next. You can see it in his eyes; he has something to say. His eyes are still soft, they always are when he looks at you, but there's something else there now too, something more serious sitting just beneath it.
"Marry me," he says, and your eyes widen when his words register in your head, the moment stretching in a way that feels almost unreal, like your mind is trying to catch up to something your heart hasn't even had time to process yet.
"W—What?" you ask in shock, and Michael nods, his hands still holding yours, steady, grounding, like he's completely certain even as you're trying to find your footing.
"You're the one thing that's constant in my life. The one person I'm sure about. I love you," Michael says as he gently rubs your knuckles with his thumbs, the motion slow, absent, but intentional, like he needs to keep that contact with you while he says it.
You can see it in his eyes; he does mean it, there's no hesitation there, no doubt, and that's what shocks you even more, the certainty of it, the way he's looking at you like this isn't a question for him, it's already decided.
"I love you too, Michael, but—" he softly cuts you off.
"We've talked about marriage before," he says, and you laugh a little, in disbelief, the sound coming out lighter than how it actually feels in your chest, because you had talked about marriage before, but it was before you two were officially together, when Michael had still just seen you as 'LaToya's best friend,' before feelings got involved, before any of this became real.
"Yes, before we got together and you asked me what type of man I saw myself married to... which in hindsight, I pretty much described you without realizing it," you say with a laugh, and Michael squeezes your hand as he smiles, his fingers tightening around yours just slightly, like he's holding onto that moment, onto you.
"I want to make a decision that is completely my own, my choice... and it's you I'm choosing," he says, and the words settle heavy in your chest, not overwhelming, but significant, like you can feel how much this means to him beyond just the question itself. You take a deep breath as you gently squeeze his hands back, trying to steady yourself, trying to slow everything down just enough to think.
"Michael... marriage is a big deal, we can't just rush into something like this," you say, and Michael shakes his head immediately, the movement small but firm.
"I'm not rushing. I've been thinking about this for years, and even more so when you said you'd be my girl two years ago," he says, and you feel your face getting hot as your cheeks flush, the memory hitting you all at once, how long this has been building for him without you fully realizing it.
"What about your family?" you ask, because that thought comes just as quickly, just as heavy, and he shrugs like it doesn't carry the same weight for him in this moment.
"What about them?" he asks.
"We can't just run off and get married and then what? Keep it a secret?" you ask, your voice soft but grounded, trying to make sense of something that suddenly feels like it's moving too fast and not fast enough all at once, and Michael shakes his head again.
"Not a secret, just ours. We don't have to tell anybody anything," he says, and you look at him, really look at him this time, searching his face for any sign that this is impulsive, that he hasn't thought this through, but you don't find it. His eyes are determined, steady in a way that doesn't waver, but still with that same softness behind them, the same warmth that's always there when he looks at you. He gently squeezes your hand again, and you take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle around you.
"Where are we going to live, Michael? Married couples normally live together," you say, your thoughts trying to catch up, trying to make this practical, real, something you can hold onto, and Michael chuckles softly.
"Baby, we can live here," he says, and you give him a look, because it's not that simple, not really.
"And what would you tell your parents? You're a Jehovah's Witness, I'm sure Momma Katie wouldn't appreciate me randomly moving in here... and what would I tell my parents?" you ask, and Michael sighs as he moves one of his hands from yours and cups your jaw, his touch gentle but steady, guiding your attention back to him, back to this moment instead of everything that comes after it.
"Baby... we can figure all that stuff out later... what I know for certain right now is that I love you, and I want you to be my wife," Michael says. The way he says it, so simple, so sure, makes your chest tighten, because there's no confusion in him, no hesitation, just clarity.
You let out another breath, your thoughts still spinning, your heart caught somewhere between the weight of what this means and the certainty of how you feel about him. It's not that you don't want to marry Michael; you do, you've felt that in quiet moments, in the way you already choose him every day, but you don't want him to decide this impulsively, don't want this to be something he regrets when everything else comes crashing back in.
"I love you, Michael..." you say, and he nods, like that alone is enough to keep him steady. He squeezes your hand, grounding you, and his other hand is still resting on your cheek, warm and familiar, anchoring you in place.
"Marry me, baby... just you and me. I love you so much, and I never want to be without you... marry me," Michael says again, gently kissing your knuckles, and something in you gives at that, the sincerity of it, the way he's asking you not out of pressure but out of love, out of certainty. You feel your eyes watering, the emotion rising faster than you can contain it, and you nod.
"Yes, Michael," you whisper, and the second the words leave your lips, his face lights up, his smile wide and immediate, relief and happiness mixing together as he leans in and kisses you, cupping your jaw as he pulls you close. His arms wrap around your waist, firm and certain, and he pulls you onto his lap without breaking the kiss, holding you there like he never wants to let you go.
Your arms go around his neck as a warmth spreads throughout you, his hands still firm at your waist, holding you close like he's afraid to put any space between you now that you've said yes. The kiss lingers, soft but certain, and you can feel the way everything is shifting all at once, settling and unraveling at the same time.
Were you really going to do this? Getting married spontaneously?
The thought moves through you quickly, not sharp enough to stop you, but present enough to make your chest tighten just a little. It's not that you didn't want to marry Michael; you do. He's the love of your life, and you know that for a fact. There's no hesitation in that, no doubt when it comes to him. But you're both still young; he's 20, you're 22, and his career is still growing, still becoming something bigger every day, something that already pulls at him from every direction.
But even with all of that sitting there, pressing at the edges of your thoughts, one thing stays steady: you know you want this. You want him, now and forever.
When you pull away, it's slow, like neither of you really wants to be the one to break the moment, and Michael follows you just slightly before letting his forehead rest against yours. The contact is grounding, intimate, your breaths still a little uneven as they begin to settle into something calmer, something shared.
"I'll have Bill quietly arrange everything. We can leave tomorrow night," Michael says.
The words are so simple, said like it's already decided, like there's no space for doubt in him at all. Your throat tightens as you swallow, the reality of it landing fully now, how fast this is moving, how real it already is, but you nod anyway, because even with the nerves, even with everything you're thinking, you're not pulling away.
"I love you so much," he says. The softness in his voice wraps around you, and you can feel it, the sincerity of it, the way he means every word without hesitation, and it steadies you more than anything else.
"I love you more, Michael," you whisper. He presses another quick kiss to your lips, light but affectionate, like he can't help himself, before his attention shifts, his eyes flicking toward your sketchbook where it still rests on the bed beside you.
"What were you working on?" he asks.
You smile, a little shy now as you bite your lip, your gaze dropping briefly before you look back at him.
"Just sketching you from memory," you say.
Michael bites down on his lip, that familiar shyness surfacing immediately, the way it always does when the attention turns to him, when you say something like that so easily, like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Baby," he says. There's a softness to it, a quiet disbelief that makes your smile widen just a little as you reach for your sketchbook and place it in his hands. You watch him as he looks down at the page, and the reaction is immediate.
His eyes widen slightly, taking in the lines, the details. The way you've defined his face, his brown eyes, soft and warm, his curly afro: it's all there, captured in a way that feels too real, too honest. You can see it hit him, the way his cheeks start to warm, color rising under his skin as a wide smile spreads across his face, unguarded and bright.
He looks up at you, and his eyes soften even more. "This is amazing," he says.
"Well, my muse is always very beautiful," you say.
The words come out light, teasing, but there's truth in them, and it lands on him immediately. Michael flushes again, his gaze dropping as he bites his lip, that same bashful reaction you've seen so many times, and it pulls a quiet giggle out of you. You reach up, gently lifting his head so he has to look at you again, your fingers light against his chin.
"We're really gonna do this?" you ask. There's a softness to the question, but it's real. A final moment of checking, of making sure you're both standing in the same place before everything changes.
Michael nods without hesitation.
"I can't wait to be your husband," Michael says as he kisses you again. The words settle into you differently this time, deeper, more permanent, and you smile as you kiss him back, your hands still resting at his neck, holding onto him as the reality of it sinks in fully.
By this time tomorrow, you're going to be Michael's wife.
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By the next night, you and Michael were in Vegas.
Everything about it feels unreal in a way that hasn't quite settled yet. One day, you were sitting in his room at Hayvenhurst, and now you're here, a hotel room miles away from everything familiar, with a few hours standing between you and becoming his wife.
Joseph never really questioned much when Michael left with Bill. Michael never said where the two of you were going, just that you would be gone for the weekend. That part almost makes it feel easier and harder at the same time. Easier because there were no questions, no obstacles at the moment. Harder because you know what's waiting when you go back.
You were nervous, really nervous.
The kind of nervous that doesn't sit in one place. It settles in your chest, then your stomach, then back again. You didn't know how you were going to tell people... his family and yours. You were worried that his family would think you manipulated him into it since you're older than he is. The thought alone makes your chest tighten, because you know how much he's fought for his own voice, how much this decision means to him. You were worried your mom might have a heart attack, since you got married and she wasn't there to see it, the image of her reaction flashing through your mind in quick, uneasy waves.
"What are you thinking about, pretty girl?"
Michael's soft voice breaks through everything, close enough that you feel it more than just hear it, and you look up from where you're sitting on the bed in your hotel. You and Michael had already obtained your marriage license, and the ceremony was in a few hours, and the reality of that sits between you as you meet his eyes.
"You changing your mind?" he asks.
There's something in his voice he tries to hide, but you hear it anyway. Fear. Worry. The quiet possibility that maybe this is too much, too fast, that maybe you don't want this anymore.
"No, baby, of course not," you say, reaching your hand out for him without hesitation.
Michael moves toward you immediately, like he doesn't want to waste even a second of that reassurance, taking your hand as soon as he's close enough. You pull him down next to you, needing him close, needing that contact just as much as he does.
"I love you," you say. Michael leans over and kisses your temple, the gesture soft and familiar, grounding in a way that makes everything else fade just a little.
"I love you more," he says, and then he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just slightly as his eyes stay on your face. "But I can tell you're thinking about something," he continues.
You turn to him and smile, your gaze softening as you really look at him, letting yourself take him in fully for a moment.
His afro is perfectly curly and fluffed, shaped in that effortless way that somehow still feels intentional, like every detail about him carries its own kind of care. He's wearing a white suit, clean and sharp, with a light pink button-up shirt underneath, the color soft against his skin, warm and gentle in a way that suits him completely. There's something about seeing him like this, knowing what this moment means, that makes your chest tighten all over again, but this time it's not nerves, it's something deeper.
Your hand comes up to rest against his jaw, your thumb brushing lightly against his skin as you hold his gaze.
"I'm just worried about how your family is going to react... and I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you... I just don't want Joseph to..." You trail off, shaking your head because you don't want to think of it, don't want to put words to something that already feels heavy enough.
"Rebbie and Marlon got married when they were 18, Jermaine got married at 19, and my parents were fine. I'm 20," Michael says.
You nod, because you knew that. You've always known the stories, the patterns, the way things have unfolded in his family before. But you also know something else.
Michael isn't treated the same as his siblings. He never has been, and he's sometimes had rebellious streaks against Joe, ever since he was little.
You remember Katherine telling you the story of how Michael threw one of his bottles with perfect precision at Joseph when he was a baby, a story told with a softness that didn't quite hide the tension beneath it. His brothers told you how he used to run from Joseph, how quick he was, how sometimes Joseph didn't catch him. You remember the way they laughed when they said it, but you also remember the look in Michael's eyes when he listened.
"I know, baby... but you know Joseph sees you differently than your brothers... he sees you as—"
"The money maker," Michael says, cutting you off. The words land harder coming from him than they ever could from you, flat and certain, like something he's accepted even if it hurts.
You frown immediately, your hand still resting against his jaw, your thumb stilling for just a second before moving again. Michael has expressed to you multiple times that he knows Joseph only sees him as a paycheck, and he said before, when he was younger, back when he and his brothers first became The Jackson 5, he would perform so hard and try to make sure everything was perfect, because he felt that if he were perfect, maybe Joseph would show him even the tiniest slither of love and fatherly affection, but he never did.
"You're so much more than that, Michael... you know that, right?" you ask. Michael shrugs, his gaze dropping slightly, going quiet like he normally does when the conversation gets hard, like he's retreating into himself just a little.
You don't let him stay there. You gently turn his face, guiding him back to you, making sure he looks at you, really looks.
"Michael... you're more than what Joseph says you are. You're kind, genuine, funny, beautiful... and I love you so much," you say. Michael bites down on his lip as he shyly smiles, the reaction immediate, almost automatic, like he doesn't quite know what to do with being seen like that, with being told something so certain and so different from what he's been given before.
"You really think so?" Michael asks.
The question is soft, almost careful, like part of him still expects the answer to change. You smile at him, your expression steady, unwavering.
"If I told you everything now, I wouldn't have anything left to say in my vows," you say.
Michael laughs at that, the sound lighter, freer, and he pulls you closer to his side, his arm wrapping around you as he presses another kiss to your temple, lingering just slightly like he needs that closeness.
"You ready?" Michael asks.
You nod, even though your heart is still racing, even though everything about this moment feels big and overwhelming and right all at once.
He looks you over again, and this time you feel it, the weight of his gaze as he takes you in fully.
Since you're getting married in Vegas and not having a big wedding ceremony, you chose an ivory colored dress, knee-length. The fabric is soft and light, the skirt falling gently, the sleeves sheer and delicate, catching the light every time you move. It's simple compared to what a wedding is "supposed" to be, but standing here now, it feels exactly right.
Michael smiles again, his heart feeling full; he couldn't believe this was happening. You can see it in the way his expression softens, in the way his eyes linger on you like he's trying to memorize every detail.
"You look so beautiful," he says.
And the way he says it: quiet, certain, and completely in awe, makes everything else fall away for just a moment, until it's just you and him, standing on the edge of something that's about to change everything.
"So do you," you say, and Michael bites down on his lip, that familiar, shy reaction surfacing again as the compliment settles into him, his smile soft but full as you both stand up from the bed. His hand finds yours immediately, your fingers locking together as if grounding each other before everything shifts.
You walk toward the door together, side by side, and when it opens, Bill is already waiting just on the outside, calm and steady as always, ready to take you to the chapel. You take a deep breath as you both step out, the air outside the room feeling different, heavier somehow now that this is really happening, and Michael nods at Bill, quiet but certain.
Bill escorts you both to the elevator, his presence reassuring without being overwhelming, giving you space while still being right there. The ride down feels quicker than it should, like time is moving faster now, and before you can fully sit with it, he's guiding you both out through the back private entrance where the car is waiting.
Once you two are in and settled, Bill starts the drive.
The movement of the car is smooth and steady, but your thoughts aren't. They drift, pulling you back to the first time you met him. When LaToya had invited you over after school once to hang out, and Bill had been there, watching quietly, observing in that way he does. He had assessed you without making it obvious, making sure you weren't a crazy fan girl using her to get to her brothers. You hadn't even realized it at the time, not fully, but looking back now, it makes sense.
He's always been like this: quiet, steady, observant, and safe.
You love how much he supports and cares for Michael, how he's always been there in a way that's calm and consistent, never demanding, never overwhelming. He's the real father that Michael deserves, and you're glad that Bill is here, especially tonight, to keep Michael balanced by being the opposite of how Joseph is.
"You two ready for this?" Bill asks.
His voice is even, grounded, and there's no judgment in it, not even a hint. He's not questioning your decision; he's checking in. Making sure this is what you both want, because he understands what this means. Marriage isn't small; it isn't something to take lightly, and he cares about both of you too much not to ask.
"I am... this is what I want," Michael says as he looks at you.
His words are steady, but it's the way he looks at you that makes your chest tighten, like everything else fades just for a second, and it's only the two of you in this moment. You smile back at him, the nerves still there but softened by the certainty in his gaze.
"Me too," you say.
Michael leans over and kisses the top of your head, the gesture gentle and grounding, like he's sealing something between you without needing anything more than that. Bill nods from the front, saying nothing else, but you feel his support.
It settles quietly around you both, something unspoken but clear, and you're grateful for it, especially knowing what's coming. Because this isn't something that can stay hidden forever. Eventually, Michael's family will find out, and when they do... You don't know how it will go. But knowing Bill is on your side, on both of your sides, makes it feel just a little less overwhelming.
The car pulls up to the chapel, and everything sharpens again.
Bill escorts you both in through the back, moving carefully, intentionally. The last thing you need is for paparazzi and cameras to spot Michael Jackson walking into a wedding chapel. This moment is yours, and he's making sure it stays that way.
Inside, it's quieter than you expected.
Bill was going to be serving as your witness, and the weight of that sits gently but firmly in the back of your mind as you and Michael sit down to wait for your turn. Your hands are still intertwined, fingers laced together like neither of you wants to let go, and Michael's thumb moves slowly against your palm, a soft, repetitive motion that tells you everything he's not saying out loud.
He can feel your nerves, and he's trying to soothe them the only way he knows how.
He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple before squeezing your hand, the contact warm and reassuring. When you turn to look at him, something in you settles, the nervous energy easing just a little as you take him in again.
You're about to marry the love of your life.
The thought lands differently this time, less overwhelming, more grounding, and you smile at him, the emotion soft but steady in your chest. Michael smiles back, his eyes warm, certain, as your names are called.
The sound pulls you both to your feet, and together, you, Michael, and Bill make your way into the chapel, where the minister is already waiting at the altar. The space feels small, intimate, like it was made for moments like this, quiet and personal.
Michael gently squeezes your hand again as you walk down the aisle, each step bringing the reality closer, making it more real with every second. You can feel it in the way his grip tightens just slightly, not out of doubt, but out of presence, like he's fully here with you in this moment.
He squeezes your hand again as you get in front of the minister, and you present your marriage license, the paper suddenly feeling more significant than it did before, like it holds everything you're about to become.
The minister asks about a witness, and Bill stands without hesitation, his presence steadying both you and Michael in a quiet, reassuring way. He's here; you're not alone in this.
The minister does his introduction, his voice calm and practiced, before turning it over to you and Michael for your vows. Michael smiles, soft and encouraging, gesturing for you to go first.
You take a deep breath, your fingers tightening around his just slightly as you feel everything settle into this one moment.
"Michael... I remember the first time I met you, when LaToya had gotten permission for me to spend the night after a weekend at school, and you were this adorable, shy little boy. We've grown up together, and you're still adorable and shy, but I've also seen you come into your own person, and I'm so proud of you, I'm so proud to be with you. You're such a light in this world and in my life, and there's so much magic in you. I can't wait to see where you go next, and I'm honored that you've chosen me to be by your side during it. I'll always be by your side. I love you, Michael," you say.
Your voice holds steady longer than you expect it to, but the emotion is there, threaded through every word, sitting just beneath the surface. As you speak, the memories move through you just as vividly as the moment itself, him younger, quieter, watching from a distance, and now standing in front of you, holding your hands like he never wants to let go. By the time you finish, your chest feels tight with it, your grip on his hands just a little firmer.
Michael has tears running down his face.
They slip down slowly, quietly, like he's not even fully aware of them at first. His eyes don't leave yours, wide and soft and completely open, and it pulls something deeper out of you, your own vision blurring as tears gather and fall down your cheeks too.
And you know you're going to cry harder when Michael gets to his vows.
"I also remember that first time we met, and I remember thinking, ' Wow, she has to be an angel in disguise, but she probably only sees me as LaToya's little brother,' and for a while, you did," he says, and there's a small, breathy laugh between you, the sound breaking through the emotion just enough to let you breathe as you both laugh while you squeeze his hands.
"But somewhere along the way, in all the time we've spent together, getting to know you outside of being my older sister's friend, I gave my heart over to you. I couldn't help but fall in love with you, and every day I fall more in love with you. I know we're young, but I also know this is meant to be, and together we can do anything. I love you," he says.
His voice isn't perfectly steady, but it doesn't waver in meaning, in certainty. It's all there in the way he looks at you, like there's no version of his life where you aren't standing right here with him.
He reaches up, his hand gentle as he wipes the tears from your cheeks, his thumb brushing under your eyes with so much care, even as tears are still falling from his own. He doesn't try to hide them. He doesn't pull away from them. He just stays right there with you, open and vulnerable in a way that feels rare and real.
The minister takes you through the rest of the ceremony, his voice guiding you both forward, grounding the moment in something official, something binding. The exchanging of rings feels heavier than the metal itself, the promises spoken carrying more weight now that they're being sealed, made real in front of someone else, in front of the life you're stepping into.
And then it happens: he pronounces you both husband and wife. The words settle into the air, into your chest, into everything, and for a second it feels like time pauses just long enough for you to feel it fully.
He tells Michael he can kiss his bride.
Michael smiles immediately, wide and bright despite the tears still clinging to his lashes, and he pulls you to him without hesitation, one hand coming up to cup your jaw as he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is warm and sure, filled with everything that's just been said and everything that hasn't needed to be.
You smile into it as you kiss him back, your hands finding him just as quickly, holding onto him as the feeling settles deep inside of you, wrapping around your chest, your ribs, your entire being with a warmth that feels steady and real.
You're officially his wife.
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When you and Michael get back to Hayvenhurst, you feel giddy and a little nervous all at once, the emotions sitting side by side in your chest in a way that makes it hard to separate one from the other. The drive back feels like it passed too quickly and too slowly at the same time, and now that you're here, standing just outside the front door, the reality of it settles in again.
You get back early in the morning and hope that nobody is awake.
When you walk into the house, you're met by quiet, the kind that feels almost protective, like the walls themselves are giving you this moment, and you let out a breath of relief you didn't even realize you were holding. Michael's hand is still in yours, his grip firm but warm, like he's feeling the same mix of anticipation and nerves.
You and Michael go up to his bedroom, your steps instinctively quieter now, careful against the stillness of the house. He reaches for the door and quietly opens it, and when he steps inside, he pauses for just a second before turning back to you, a soft smile spreading across his face.
"What?" you ask, tilting your head slightly, curiosity flickering through you at the look on his face.
"Isn't it a tradition that I have to carry my wife over the threshold?" he says.
The word hits you again, wife, and your cheeks warm instantly as you start blushing, a quiet laugh slipping out of you, light and a little breathless.
"You goof," you say.
Michael just smiles wider at that, his eyes bright with something playful and affectionate as he steps closer, reaching down without hesitation and lifting you into his arms. The movement is gentle but sure, like he's been waiting to do it, like he's been holding onto that thought the whole way back.
Your arms wrap around his neck automatically, holding onto him as you let out another soft laugh, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. He carries you into the bedroom, steady and careful, his presence grounding even in something as simple as this.
He softly closes the door with his foot behind him, the quiet click sealing you both inside, away from everything else, and carries you over to the bed. He lowers you down gently, like he's placing something precious, taking his time before straightening up and walking over to the record player.
You watch him as he flips through the records with familiar ease before settling on your favorite album, Songs in the Key of Life by Stevie Wonder. Something is comforting about that, about how naturally he reaches for something that belongs to you, too. The music starts low and quiet, filling the room just enough without disturbing the stillness of the house.
Michael walks back over to you, and you steady your breath as you sit on the bed and wait for him, your fingers smoothing absentmindedly over the fabric of your dress, your heartbeat just a little faster now.
Instead of sitting beside you, he hovers over you, his movements slow and unhurried, like time has stretched just for the two of you, like there's nowhere else he needs to be, nowhere else he wants to be. The look in his eyes softens into something warm and deeply affectionate, something that makes your chest tighten in the best way as he leans down and kisses you.
At that exact moment, the record in the room shifts.
The gentle opening notes of Knocks Me Off My Feet begin to drift through the room, soft and soulful and almost eerily perfectly timed, like the music itself understands the way the air between you has changed.
The kiss isn't rushed or urgent; it's warm and searching and full of quiet feeling, like he's trying to memorize you, like he's holding onto this moment as something that belongs entirely to the two of you.
You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, kissing him back just as slowly, just as deeply, drawing him closer until the steady warmth of his body settles fully against yours. His presence is familiar, comforting, but there's something new layered into it now, too, something deeper that comes with the weight of what you've just become to each other.
Stevie's voice begins to float through the space, and the entire room seems to narrow down to this bed, this moment, this man... your husband in your arms.
Michael's hands slide gently to the hem of your dress, his touch careful, unhurried, his fingers slipping underneath the fabric and brushing softly against your bare skin in slow, reverent passes. There's no rush in him, no urgency, just a quiet, steady closeness, like even this moment is something he wants to take his time with, something he wants to feel fully.
And the way he touches you, the way he holds you, says everything he hasn't needed to put into words.
Michael gently cups your breasts in his hands, gently squeezing them and teasing your nipples with his fingers, which makes you moan in his mouth as your back arches slightly, pushing your breasts further into his hands. You've always loved how big his hands are, for moments like this, how they can cup you fully.
Michael momentarily breaks the kiss, his voice gently telling you to turn around. You feel his hand on your shoulder as he slowly unzips your dress, sliding the fabric from your shoulders and letting it pool at your waist before sliding it down and carefully discarding it to the ground.
Then he turns you around and leans back down to kiss you again. Your hands run down his chest. You slide his jacket off his shoulders and slowly undo the rest of his buttons on his shirt. Your hands roam again, slowing at his torso as you mess with the waistband of his pants. You can already feel the growing length beneath your palm, and he's pulsing, just like you're throbbing.
Michael slides his shirt from his body as your unbuckling his belt to help him out of his pants. The kiss never breaks as you two slowly undress each other. Michael unclasps your bra and lets it fall, his hands roaming down your body as your hands stop at the waistband of his boxers once his pants are off.
He kisses you deeper when he feels you pulling his boxers down, his length coming free from their constraints, and you immediately grab him. You feel his breath hitch against you, but his kisses don't slow; instead, they get heavier, a bit quicker as you stroke him with your hand. You feel his breathing get heavier through your kiss as your hand moves slowly against him, drawing out the feeling.
One of Michael's hands trails down your body until he's cupping you outside of your panties. Your breath slightly hitches, but neither of you stops kissing the other. Michael moves the bottom of your panties aside, giving himself enough room to rub his thumb over your clit. At his movements, your hand starts moving faster against him, making him groan.
"Baby," he mumbles roughly against your lips, but neither of you stops. Michael pushes a finger inside of you while your hand still pumps him, alternating between moving quicker and slower. You moan into his mouth, and he slightly speeds up his thumb against your clit and his finger moving inside of you.
"Michael," your moan comes out as a slight whimper, and his breathing is rough against your neck. He peppers kisses across your neck as your thumb slides over his tip, and you feel him slightly shudder. You spread the precum you feel, using it to slide your hand back down his length again to the base, and you feel his fingers moving quicker. Your hips buck and grind, matching the pace of his thrusts, and you lean your head back into the pillow as you moan louder.
"I love seeing you like this," Michael murmurs as he presses a kiss to your throat, right where he can feel your pulse quickening, but he does love seeing you come apart under him. He loves seeing you pleased and making sure you reach pleasure before he does. You feel yourself getting closer, and Michael groans again when your grip tightens against him as his fingers speed up in you.
Your thighs start shaking as your orgasm comes, you cry out Michael's name, and he kisses you, deeply, his tongue immediately slipping its way inside as you ride out the wave of your orgasm. When Michael pulls his fingers out of you, they're slick with your release, and you feel your face flushing.
Michael brings his fingers to his lips and licks them clean before kissing you again. You can taste yourself on him, but still taste him in his kiss. You're the one to pull away, still gripping him in your hand. You let go and use your hands to push Michael to sit, and then you get on your knees in front of him, between his legs.
You grip him at the base again before leaning in. Your lips slide down the outside of his length, your tongue slowly licking at him, and Michael's breath hitches. He had already been close, just when you were using your hand, now he felt he was going to explode. When your tongue slowly trails back up, you stop at the head, seeing the pre cum sitting at the tip, and you rub it with your thumb to spread it before taking him into your mouth.
Michael's body shudders on contact, and he moans when he feels your tongue glide over the tip, lapping up the precum. His fingers immediately go to your hair; he doesn't pull it, he just grips it, tighter as you move. You take more of him slowly into your mouth, inch by inch, leaving your hand at the base, stroking what won't fit inside.
"You always feel so good," Michael chokes out between his moans as your pace quickens. His hands grip your hair tighter, but not enough to hurt, as you take him deeper, until you feel him closer to the back of your throat. You pause for a minute to breathe before slowly sliding back up his length, slower this time to draw it out, and Michael shudders. You feel him twitching inside of your mouth as you move again, knowing he's close.
"I need to be inside of you, baby, please," Michael says as he pulls you up from him. You're slightly gasping for breath, your chest heavy as it rises and falls. Michael lays you down, sliding your panties down your legs until they're off, and then he spreads your legs apart as he comes between you. His body flushes against yours as he lines himself up to you.
He pushes inside of your slickness with one long thrust, making you both moan at the contact. Your legs wrap around his waist, squeezing him closer. He leans down and kisses you as he moves, pushing himself into you inch by inch until your bodies press together. Your body stretches for him, like it knows that he's exactly where he belongs. Then his hips begin to roll, his strokes pushing slowly and deep.
He didn't want to just fuck you; he wanted to make love to you.
He wanted to show you how much he loved you, show you how much you mean to him, how happy he is that you're his wife. He wanted you to feel his love in ways he was still discovering how deeply it ran, and ever since the two of you said 'I do,' he'd been wanting to be buried deep inside of you for hours.
Michael's lips attach to your neck and collarbone as he presses warm, open-mouthed kisses against your flushed skin. Knocks Me off My Feet by Stevie is still playing in the background, and Michael leans towards your ear. "Oh, but I love you, I love you, I love you," he sings that specific part just for you, as you let out another moan.
"I–I love you... more," you choke out between your moans. You feel it coming, the pressure building until it explodes. The orgasm rips through you, making you shake and slightly convulse under him. Michael gently grips your hips to keep you still, as his thrusts get slower, but remain as deep.
Michael's voice stays soft against your ear as he guides you through the fading waves, his hands steady on your hips while your body trembles beneath him.
"Stay with me... Baby, stay with me," he whispers as he brings you through it.
Your legs are still shaking, muscles fluttering helplessly, your body giving those small, involuntary jolts that come after something overwhelming and all-consuming. Michael's name keeps spilling from your lips in breathless repetition, like you can't quite hold it in, like the sound of him is the only thing anchoring you back down.
You feel the subtle twitch inside you before the warmth follows, and soon he releases too, your name coming out quietly like both a cry and a prayer from his lips as he fills you.
You lift your head just enough to catch his mouth, kissing him while he slowly rolls his hips, the movement gentle now, grounding rather than urgent, easing both of you down from the edge together. Your breaths are heavy and tangled, mingling in the small space between you as your foreheads come to rest together, skin damp and warm and completely spent.
Michael leans down to kiss you again, slower this time, more tender than before, as his arms pull your body fully against his. When he finally pulls back, his fingers move with familiar care, smoothing your hair back behind your ear before he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
He gently lets you go, settling you back against the pillows before slipping off the bed and heading into the bathroom. The quiet domestic rhythm that has always been second nature between you unfolds easily, the sound of running water, the soft rustle of fabric, and when he returns, the warm cloth in his hand is just the right temperature as he carefully cleans you up the way he always does, unhurried and attentive, and so gentle it makes your chest ache a little.
He takes care of himself next, efficiently but quietly, before discarding the used towels and reaching for a fresh pair of boxers. When he pulls them on, he leaves his chest bare, familiar and comforting, and then he grabs one of his t-shirts and brings it back to you.
You slip it over your head, the soft cotton falling around you, and you inhale instinctively, eyes closing as his scent surrounds you, warm and comforting and so unmistakably him.
Michael walks back to the bed and gathers you into his arms without hesitation, pulling you into the steady heat of his body. You melt into him easily, your arms circling his torso as you settle your head against his chest, right over his heart. You can feel and hear the steadiness of his heartbeat.
"I'm glad we did this," you whisper to him.
"Made love?" he asks, a small tease in his voice, and it pulls a quiet laugh out of you, soft and warm against his skin.
"Well, yes... but, I mean, I'm glad we got married, Michael... whatever your family thinks or reacts... We'll face it together," you say. The words come out softer than you expect, but steadier too, because even with everything waiting on the other side of this moment, you know one thing for certain: you won't be facing it alone.
Michael's expression softens in that quiet way you've come to recognize, the kind that doesn't need to be big to mean everything, and he leans down to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for just a second.
"I'm so glad you're my wife," he whispers.
The word settles differently now... wife.
You press a soft kiss to his bare chest, your eyes still closed, completely at ease as you stay wrapped around each other, your body fitting against his like it always has, like it always will. The steady rhythm of the rain outside blends with the sound of his heartbeat beneath your ear, both of them quiet and constant, wrapping around you in a way that feels safe and full and quietly perfect.
"I love you," you whisper.
"I love you more," Michael responds, his arms tightening around you just slightly, pulling you closer, like even in sleep he won't let you drift too far.
And wrapped in each other's warmth, the world outside held at a distance for just a little while longer, you fall asleep on your wedding night, feeling completely loved and fully safe in each other.
“ in which you pick up where you left off with otw!michael. ”
ᝰ word count: 3.8k
.ᐟ warnings & disclaimers: smut ahead, michael info dumps about philosophy, he gets a handjob, y/n overstimulates him, mutual virginity loss, he’s too big, shy and whiny subby!michael, y/n coaches and talks him thru it, mutual reassurance and comfort
✐ a/n: this is the steamy follow-up to relax your mind!!! y/n finally got her some of that dangalangalang
the pages of the thrifted hardcover book made a sharp scraping sound every time he turned them. for the last twenty minutes, the only sound in the bedroom was the eagerness of michael’s voice as he walked you through his findings of a seventeenth-century philosopher whose ideas you couldn't care less about.
he was lying with his back pressed against your chest and his legs stretched out, using your torso as a human pillow. his weight was a warm presence against your lap. lately, he was reading everything he could get his hands on, desperate to expand his mind, and today he was debating consciousness vs the soul.
as he rambled on about this grand new perspective, you looked down at his occupied face. from your angle, his profile was utterly breathtaking. his eyelashes were impossibly long and naturally curled, brushing against the tops of his slightly flushed cheeks every single time he blinked. his short afro was a halo of perfectly defined, tight curls, and a neat line of natural baby hairs softened the edges of his hairline. he looked so young, so entirely brilliant, and yet so beautiful as he yapped away about things that flew right over your head.
you decided tonight was the night to test the waters again. a couple of months ago, you tried to go down on him, but he was too shy. tonight, though, you were going to seduce him so slowly he wouldn't even realize he was surrendering until it was too late. you’d wait again if he refused your advances, but you sure hope that he doesn’t.
leaning forward slightly, you let your index finger drift down to the side of his throat. your fingertips lightly brushed against the thick, pulsing vein in his neck.
the moment your skin made contact, you saw and felt the vein twitch in a fluttery motion. michael briefly paused mid-sentence, his chest hitching, before his voice stuttered and he forced himself to continue talking about the book. he brushed it off.
you didn't let up.
"michael," you interrupted softly, your voice tickling the tip of his ear.
"hm?" he murmured, keeping his eyes glued to the printed page, though his shoulders had gone noticeably tense against your ribs.
"your eyelashes are so long and pretty," you said, your thumb lightly tracing the high curve of his cheekbone. "it's almost not fair for a guy to have them like this."
before he could answer, you ran your finger lightly across the tips of the dark wispy hairs. michael instinctively closed his eye to keep from getting poked. a deep, dark blush instantly formed across his cheeks.
"thanks, minnie," he mumbled. a shy, breathless giggle escaped his lips as he tried to look back at the text, his mind frantically scrambling to remember what point he was trying to make prior to your distraction.
"now... where was i? he was saying that absolute consciousness..." he started gesticulating to get his point across.
you leaned down further, your lips nearly brushing the shell of his ear as you used two fingers to lightly and playfully tug on the tips of his lashes.
"give them to me. you don't need them!" you grumbled in a silly voice with the vibrations radiating onto his pressed back.
that earned a genuine belly laugh from him. his shoulders shook against you as he closed the book with a soft thud, letting it rest on his stomach. he let out a long, defeated sigh, his head tilting back against your shoulder so he could look up at you upside down.
"you don’t listen," he teased, his big coffee eyes swimming with helpless affection.
"you made me forget exactly what i was about t’say."
"oh. must’ve not been important then, huh?" you whispered.
without giving him a second to retort, you spread your hands out and began dragging the flat, hard backs of your fingernails against the sensitive skin on the sides of his ribcage.
michael immediately squirmed, his entire body reacting to the tickling sensation from your feathery fingers. he let out a squeal, his knees bending as he tried to twist away from the light, torturous friction of your nails.
"y/n! don't do that, you know i'm ticklish right there—"
he was catching on now. the atmosphere in the room completely altered. his breathing was turning shallow, his wide eyes searching yours with a sudden realization that you weren't just playing around anymore.
"continue talkin’ about your stuff," you murmured innocently, your hands migrating away from his ribs but remaining flat against his stomach.
"go on, mike. i'm listenin’."
you weren't listening at all. he squinted his eyes at first but then his eyebrows raised in anticipation and excitement.
testing the waters, you slid one hand down the center of his torso, past the band of his levis. you didn't hesitate. you snaked your palm directly over the length of his growing erection, gripping him firmly through the fabric.
michael’s hips bucked hard against the mattress. your touched earned an involuntary, desperate gasp from the flustered man. his hands flew to the sheets, gripping the material so tightly his knuckles turned ash. he didn't stop you. he didn't pull your hand away or tell you to quit. instead, he just lied there voluntarily trapped.
you slowly undid the fastening of his jeans, the metallic slide of his zipper sounding incredibly loud in the quiet space. sliding your hand right inside his drawls, your bare skin finally made contact with his hot, veiny shaft. he was incredibly hard, a bead of pre-cum already dampening the tip.
as you wrapped your fingers around him, michael completely unraveled.
all the confident, superstar energy he carried on stage was stripped away. he was incredibly sensitive to your touch, his body jumping and twitching at every single upward stroke of your palm.
"oh... oh god, y/n," he whined, his voice breaking into a high, raspy whimper. he slammed his eyes shut, his head thrashing against your shoulder, his slender legs sliding up and down against your legs. he was so embarrassed by how quickly his body surrendered to you, yet he was completely powerless to stop it.
your thumb worked the smooth head of his length, smearing the natural moisture over his skin in a slow, heavy rhythm. every time your palm slid down to the base, lightly pressing against his balls, michael would let out a small, pathetic sob, his toes curling tightly inside his socks as his hips gave little, weak jerks against your hand. he was completely at your mercy, his hands trembling as he brought one arm up to cover his eyes, hiding his face.
"put your arm down, mike," you commanded softly, tightening your grip just a fraction to show him who was in control.
he let out a shaky whine, slowly pulling his arm away from his face. when his eyes opened, they were completely glassy, swimming with a heavy layer of tears and a dark, dilated lust that made his pupils look massive. you craned your neck over his head that was lying against your shoulder to get a glimpse of the picturesque sight. he looked so beautifully undone, his lower lip trembling as he bit down on it to keep from making too much noise.
"is it too much?" you asked, slowing your pace down to a torturous, agonizingly slow crawl.
"no... no, please don't stop," he begged, his voice cracking completely as his hips instinctively followed the movement of your hand, chasing the friction he so desperately needed. "it feels... it feels so good, y/n, please. i-i’m—ngh—sorry i'm being so noisy."
"you don't have to apologize," you whispered, speeding your hand back up, the messy, wet sound of your skin sliding against his filling the air.
michael’s breathing turned into a series of rapid pants, his throat clicking as he swallowed hard, salvia pooling against his teeth. his muscles started locking as the friction brought him closer and closer to the edge. he couldn't handle the intensity; he was so sensitive that every little shift of your fingers made him shudder from head to toe.
"y/n... i'm gonna... i'm gonna mess up," he gasped out, his fingers clawing at your thigh now, holding onto your spare hand for dear life as the pleasure began to blind him. "i'm gonna—y/n, please—"
"do it, michael. right here for me."
with a loud orgasmic cry, michael’s hips bucked sharply into your palm one last time. his entire body locked with his head dug against your chest as his dick repeatedly released his warmth all over your fingers and his own stomach. he shuddered through five long, thick pulses, his chest heaving, leaving him completely spent.
for a long time, the only sound was the uneven sound of his breathing. michael slowly opened his eyes, looking down at the messy reality of his stomach and your covered hand, before turning on his side and hiding his face right into the crook of your neck, his body trembling with sweet, lingering embarrassment as you gently held him close.
the sounds of michael’s breathing slowly began to level out, his chest rising and falling in long, shallow dips against your collarbone. his long arms draped limply over the mattress with his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat under the bedroom’s warm atmosphere. you milked him dry and turned his brain off. his eyes were half-lidded with his curls slightly crushed against your shoulder after his paralyzing orgasm.
but you weren't finished with him yet.
without warning, you slid your slick palm down his stomach and suddenly gripped his softening shaft, squeezing the thick base firmly.
michael’s eyes shot wide open, his pupils dilating instantly as he let out a loud cry—a mix of a gasp and a whimpering shout—his entire torso arching completely off your chest as he quickly turned back on his back. his knees flexed into the mattress, his hips giving a desperate, involuntary jerk away from your hand as the sensitivity of his skin radiated under your touch.
"y/n! oh, god!" he cried out, his voice cracking as he reached down with a trembling, slick hand to weakly grasp your wrist, trying to pull you away without hurting you. he was panting heavily, his chest heaving and his already flushed cheeks growing a deeper shade of red.
"it's too much, it's too sensitive—"
you couldn't help but let out a soft, wicked laugh at the absolute power you held over him. you didn't let go, keeping your fingers loosely coiled around him, and something about the sound of your laughter at his expense made his shaft twitch firmly right inside your palm, hardening slightly all over again.
you let out a faux, exaggerated aww, pouting your lips into a puppy-dog face as you looked down at his stunned face.
"what do you mean you can't take anymore, mike? you can't be tapped out already. i thought we were just gettin’ started."
michael’s throat clicked as he swallowed hard, his large boba eyes searching your face with a mixture of raw, helpless lust and total bewilderment. you leaned down, your lips hovering just inches from his nose.
"what are you gonna do about me next, michael?"
he knew exactly what you meant. the question hung heavily in the warm air between you, but he never crossed that line before. the reality of what it meant to actually penetrate a woman, to lose his virginity after twenty-one years of strict religious restraint and performing nonstop made his stomach flip. he gulped, his eyes instantly dropping down to the sheets as his natural.
you had never done it either, but the shared inexperience wasn't going to deter you tonight. you came too far to let him slip back into his shell.
reaching up with your free hand, you gently but firmly caught his chin, forcing his head up so his eyes had no choice but to lock back onto yours.
"look at me, mike," you whispered, your voice softening into a deeply reassuring, tender tone.
"i'm a virgin too. we're in the exact same place."
he didn't have to say it for you to know; the beating of his heart against your ribs and the innocent hesitation in his touch already told you everything. but hearing you voice the truth and seeing the desire in your eyes gave him a small boost of motivation and courage.
slowly, michael shifted his weight. he pushed himself up from your chest as he turned toward you. he sat back on his knees between your thighs. his jeans were completely ruined, pushed down around his hips, and his shirt hung completely open, exposing the smooth, muscular definition of his chest and abdomen.
"i just... i don't wanna mess up, y/n," he confessed softly, his voice trembling. his large hands rested flat on his own thighs, his knuckles tense.
"i want it to be perfect for you. i don't want to hurt you."
you reached forward, resting your palms against his warm and broad thumping chest.
"you can't mess up, michael," you told him, holding his gaze. "just... pretend you're like yourself on stage. confident. worry-free. just let yourself go."
the advice seemed to strike a chord deep within the entertainer inside him. michael closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to steady the trembling in his limbs. when he opened his eyes again, the panic receded significantly and was replaced with a sense of clarity and a surge of confidence—even if it was only temporary.
"take my clothes off, michael," you commanded gently.
he obeyed immediately. he reached for the hem of your top. he took his time, but there was no hesitation left in his hands. he slid the fabric up over your head, his eyes glued to the perkiness od your rounded breasts. his hand ghosted over your nipple hesitantly as you gave him a gentle nod.
he softly gripped your underboob as he ran his thumb across the sensitive bud, earning a lip bite from you
his large palms smoothed down the curves of your waist, gently sliding your remaining undergarments down your legs until you were lying completely bare beneath his heavy gaze. his hands were shaking again seeing your nude body up close and personal. you were as gorgeous as he imagined you to be. your neatly trimmed bush had a thick, glistening glob of precum smeared on top of it and surrounding your anus; your arousal for him was very evident, which made his shaft jerk. your pussy lips were just barely parted, giving him a glimpse into your taffy labia. his own precum was leaking from his reddish brown tip ever so slowly.
michael hovered over you, his shoulders blocking out the rest of the view as he slowly crawled between your thighs. the size of his dick was staggering as he aligned himself against your entrance. the thick head of his length brushed against your slick, natural moisture, opening it further. you jerked upward, your stomach clenched as your hands flew up to his forearms to brace yourself. your heart was beating wildly; this was the moment you’ve been waiting for. he let out a low, shaky exhale, his body trembling as he slowly began to push his way inside you. he quietly whispered a prayer to himself.
"ah—wait, mike, stop," you suddenly gasped out, your fingers digging deep into the muscles of his forearms.
he froze instantly, his chest heaving as he held himself perfectly still. you had to have him stop a few times right at the beginning; his length and thickness were entirely too much for your body to accommodate all at once. the foreign, stretching pressure sent a sharp, stinging sensation through you, causing your tight walls to pulsate frantically, squeezing down around his shaft in tight waves as your body tried to adapt to the intrusion.
“you’re too big...” you mumble shifting your weight to try and adjust. you felt the way it pulsed inside of you from what you said.
michael tried his absolute best to play it cool, keeping his jaw clenched and his face composed, but that crushing sensation of your walls devouring him was driving him wild inside. his forehead broke out in a fresh layer of sweat, his teeth sinking deeply into his plush lower lip as he fought the desperate urge to just thrust deep into your warmth. he knew right then and there that he wasn't going to last long—you were so incredibly warm, extremely tight, and so beautifully wet that every single fraction of an inch pushed deeper into you felt like torture.
"you okay, pretty girl?" he forced out, his voice incredibly raspy, thick with the effort it took to hold himself back.
"i'm going slow. i promise."
you nodded weakly, taking deep breaths as the initial sting began to dissolve, replaced by a deep ache of pure pleasure. eventually, your tight hole adapted to his size, yielding to his presence. feeling the tension ease, michael slowly began to stroke you, burying his full length delicately inside your walls, establishing a slow cadence that made the mattress creak softly beneath you.
at first, your moans were barely audible—just tiny, breathless whimpers from your ajar lips as you adjusted to the consuming fullness of him. but as he continued to slide in and out, his large hips started driving forward with a steady momentum. the pleasure began to override your vocal reluctance. your moans grew louder, echoing clearly in the quiet space of the bedroom.
hearing those sounds unleashed something in him. a beautiful smile cut across his features, his deep dimples carving into his cheeks. to michael, your moans were the sweetest, cutest and most magnificent noise he had ever heard in his entire life. he couldn't stop looking at you. he kept his eyes locked onto your face, completely captivated by the way your eyes were rolled back, your lips parted as you nibbled on your index finger to soothe yourself. you looked so incredibly small, so entirely vulnerable and precious underneath him completely surrendered to his touch.
needing more, you reached down between your bodies, your fingers trembling as you grabbed his large hand and dragged it down to the swollen, hyper-sensitive knot of your clit.
"mike... touch it," you panted, your hip bones stuttering against his.
"like this?" he asked softly. he adjusted his grip, using the large, pad of his thumb to softly stroke the sensitive bundle of nerves.
the reaction was instantaneous. you let out a loud whimper and a mmm, your back arching off the bed and your legs spreading wider. your tight walls clamped down around his shaft like a vice.
michael let out a low grunt at the sudden squeeze, slowly losing his control. he reached down and hooked his arms underneath your knees, pulling you up flush against his chest. the new angle drove him impossibly deeper inside you, hitting your sweet spot with brutal accuracy. he picked up his pace, his thrusts turning faster, harder, and far more urgent.
“you’re so good mich—god!” you exclaim, boosting his confidence with your verbal confirmation.
he intertwined his long fingers with yours, pinning your hands to the sheets on either side of your head. he tried his absolute best to hold back his own moans, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep the sounds trapped in his chest, his shyness still making him want to remain quiet. tears were starting to well in his eyes from the intense pleasure.
you pulled your head back against the pillow, your eyes half-closed and glassy as you found your words through the haze of pleasure.
"michael... your voice," you breathlessly panted, looking up at his sweating face. "don't be quiet. it's so beautiful... let me hear you."
slowly, michael began to quietly whimper, letting out soft, airy moans alongside yours as he buried his face directly into the crook of your neck and shoulder. his hot, rapid breath tickled your neck, sending shivers down your spine, before his lips suddenly pressed against your skin. he began to suck on the sensitive flesh of your throat—needing something, anything, to soothe the agonizing fact that his balls were about to completely explode.
he pulled you even tighter against him, his broad chest crushing your breasts as his hips drove into yours with a frantic, uncoordinated speed. the sudden, deep and sharp penetration caused you to shout out
"y/n... oh, god, y/n," he whined into your shoulder, his body shaking from head to toe as his muscles locked up. his thrusts turned shallow and frantic.
"i can't—i can't hold it anymore! i'm sorry... i'm about to mess up. i'm coming, baby, i'm coming—"
he began apologizing and spewing out straight nonsense as he shut his eyes.
with a final, deep plunge, michael completely lost control. he began coming inside you like a fountain, his length throbbing violently, repeatedly in your swollen hole as he released his warmth deep within you. he shivered against you, his voice breaking into a series of high, breathless cries as he buried his face in your hair.
the intense, throbbing sensation of his release was the exact trigger your body needed. you came immediately after him, your tight, exhausted walls convulsing in an intense spasm that devoured his shaft, milking him for every single drop he had left. you let out a long curling moan, your fingers gripping the skin of his back as your own climax took you through it. your bodies were slippery from the sweat now.
slowly, michael gathered the strength to move. he pushed himself up onto his elbows, looking down at you with a gaze that was so entirely soft that it made your chest ache. he leaned in, his lips parted as he weakly, tenderly pressed a wet, lingering kiss to your mouth.
michael carefully, slowly slid his length out of your body, a soft, involuntary whine escaping his lips at the loss of your warmth.
like clockwork, his shyness came right back as he watched your hole expand to push out his thick, hot cum repeatedly. he quickly pulled the heavy comforter up over both of your bodies, tucking you in as if trying to hide the evidence of what he just did.
"i'm sorry," he whispered automatically, his voice incredibly small as he refused to look you directly in the eye. he rubbed the back of his neck.
"i... i ruined you. are you okay? did i hurt you too much?"
you couldn't help but smile, reaching out from beneath the sheets to take his hand.
"michael, look at me. you didn't hurt me. it was perfect."
hearing your reassurance, his shoulders visibly relaxed. he shifted closer to you, pulling you into his arms and tucking your head underneath his chin. his large, warm hand began to slowly rub your back in soothing circles, his touch incredibly light as he quietly held you. you two didn’t say anything else for a while. you smiled to yourself knowing you finally got him where you want him.
Summary: Michael never believed in love at first sight until that night at the carnival.
Warnings: None.
Content: Fluff, post!otw & pre!thriller mike, reader uses she/her, i was too lazy to change into “you”, she is called “the girl”, as a mike girlaholic i approve, no use of y/n, reader is filipina-coded if u squint, u can read her however you want, the jacksons being bros
AO3 🔗 <- read it on ao3!
Word Count: 8.3k
A/N: HE IS SO BEAUTIFUL IM LITERALLY CRASHING OUT?!? haha no but seriously yall keep gatekeeping this song. i love it so much. this was supposed to be multipart but i kinda just wrote everything down. i love michael in all his eras but him at this time is just very special to me. also this is not super historically accurate or timeline bound but this is my page and i do what i want :) let’s also suspend belief that this would happen irl… and that they all got away without being noticed… because in my head this is real!!! enjoy. like reblog comment u know how it is. xo ♡
Summer of 1980, Los Angeles
In the middle of July, the Southern Californian heat is relentless. Even as sunset approaches, Michael still feels the warmth from outside the car settle under his skin and wrap around his bones. He stretches his left hand outside the window, moving it against the wind, as if conducting the air around him. He looks out across the mountain range, sunlight washing over the hills and valleys in a brilliant orange hue.
Michael sees brighter lights twinkle in the distance and homes in on the carnival nestled in the valley, fast approaching. His heart skips a beat at the sight. Adrenaline pumps through his body, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm on his thigh. Giddiness rises in his chest; he’s been looking forward to this all week.
After the success of Off the Wall, the past year has been a whirlwind of promotions, interviews, and various performances across the country. In between his solo work, Michael, as always, is constantly pulled in a million directions. Demands from Joseph and the music bigwigs swirl over him to get back in the studio or dance until his legs feel like jello. He loves what he does, but he’s barely had a chance to breathe in what feels like forever.
Tonight is a rare night off. Michael managed to convince his brothers to come along with him to the town’s annual carnival. Since they moved to Encino, they’ve never had the chance to go. Michael’s never even been to one, and tonight he’s determined to make the first time a memorable one.
It took a little pushing, but eventually they all climbed into the family truck and drove off. Jackie and Marlon are in the front, Jackie driving and humming along to the radio while Marlon fiddles with the tuning. The rest of the brothers are squeezed in the back. Michael’s frame lets him easily fit on the side, but he can’t help but get jostled every now and then with Tito, Jermaine, and Randy arguing over nothing the whole ride.
“Yo, can you stop messing with the radio, Marlon?” Randy complains, shifting forward to grab the passenger seat and swat Marlon’s arm.
Marlon shoves him back, yelling incoherently. Michael glances towards them and rolls his eyes before looking back out again. He’s not about to get involved in that.
The two men start mildly tussing, causing the truck to shake. Jackie swerves slightly, the truck swaying back and forth in an abrupt motion, and his voice booms over the commotion.
“Man, cut that out, I’m driving!”
Marlon and Randy immediately stop, but not before Marlon swats Randy’s head one more time. Tito and Jermaine burst out laughing. Michael can’t help but chuckle too, a warm feeling buzzing in his chest seeing everyone together.
Tito glances at Michael and shoves his shoulder slightly. “So Mike, what rides do you wanna go on?”
Michael peels his attention away from outside and looks at his brother. He thinks for a moment before saying, “The Ferris wheel looks fun. Or the carousel.”
Jermaine ticks his tongue. “Man, those are kid rides. I’m tryin’ to catch the ladies by the games, if you know what I mean.”
He and Randy turn to each other for a handshake, clapping their hands together and laughing. Michael rolls his eyes again, annoyance flaring.
“They are not just for kids. Besides… there’s probably girls there too.”
Michael’s voice trails off and turns into the mumble at the end. He feels his cheeks heat the moment he finishes that sentence, not realizing exactly what he said until he said it.
The car fills with jeering and whistles. Michael shakes his head, his face burning as Tito shoves him again playfully, this time a little rougher. Michael scowls at him, rubbing his arm.
“Y’all cut it out now.” He grumbles.
Jermaine cackles at the sight of Michael folding into himself. “Did you hear that, brothers? Mike’s tryna get himself a girl tonight!”
Michael shakes his head more assertively, eyes widening as his brothers continue to tease him.
“No, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m just tryna have a good time!”
“Buuut it would be an even better time if you met a nice girl, riiight?” Marlon drawls, glancing back at Michael with a wicked grin.
Michael crosses his arms, huffing out a breath while avoiding his brother’s piercing gaze.
“You guys are such buttheads,” Michael mumbles. He’s sure his face is red as a tomato now.
The car fills with hoots and hollers as they pull into the carnival’s lot. Jackie hushes everyone while also laughing as he turns to pay at the gate. Michael’s annoyance quickly fades as he gazes with awe outside the window.
Music and laughter travel across the open clearing as the car pulls into the lot. The lights from the carnival rides are nearly blinding, sparkling in Michael’s vision. His eyes dance across smiling faces, families passing by, and children running around, shrieking in joy with cotton candy half their size gripped in their hands like a vice.
Michael smiles gleefully at the sight. And—he just can’t help it—his attention turns to the swaths of girls grouped together, arms linked and traveling in twos or threes, flitting from one place to the next.
Now, he wouldn’t think much else about the matter, past the fact that there are a lot of pretty ones tonight. He’s been around girls and women all his life, touring all over the country, seeing the fans and folks in the industry. But the conversation with his brothers just now can’t seem to leave his head. He tries to brush it off as he hops out of the car, but he feels the familiar flush creep up his cheeks.
Michael shoves his hands in his light jacket, pulling out a baseball cap to fit over his head while waiting for the rest of his brothers to climb out of the car. His curls fall softly over his eyes. His brothers follow suit, putting on hats to sit low on their faces. They are poor disguises, but the men aren’t exactly trying to hide, despite Bill’s objections to going out with no security. The Jacksons just want to have some fun, with little to no surveillance or hovering from their team.
Michael’s sure they were at least trailed by someone Bill sent to follow them, but he doesn’t really mind. As long as they don’t interfere tonight and he’s free to do as he pleases, within reason.
“Alright,” Tito claps his hands together and faces the group. The brothers huddle close together, as if it’s right before a performance. “Randy and I are gonna eat some overpriced food. Where are y’all headed?”
“I’m gonna go to the haunted house,” Jermaine says. He tugs on Marlon’s sleeve. “You’re coming with me.”
Marlon’s expression sours. “You know I don’t like being spooked.”
“Exactly,” Jermaine grins, then turns to his eldest brother. “Jackie, you too?”
Jackie glances at Michael, then back at Jermaine. Michael tries to keep a straight face, but Jackie must have seen the slightly desperate look he has on. His older brother steps closer to sling an arm around his shoulders and ruffle Michael’s cap.
“Nah, I’ll chaperone our little bro over here.”
Michael groans at the disheveling and lightly pushes Jackie away to fix himself again. A wave of relief washes over him anyway as he offers Jackie a small smile. He nods quietly as everyone disperses to their activities.
The two men remain quiet for some time, walking aimlessly around the carnival. Michael can’t seem to focus on one thing, whipping his head back and forth to glance at every attraction in the area. He sees makeshift game booths set up, small groups of people crowded around them to cheer on the players. He sees couples standing in lines close together, sharing secret conversations. And he laughs whenever children push past their legs, running away from their parents who yell after them.
“So Mike,” Jackie breaks the silence first. “Where do you want to go first?”
“Oh, um…” Michael trails off, stuck, before glancing to the side and seeing the carousel a short distance away. He lights up, pointing in that direction.
“Can we go to the carousel?”
Jackie laughs. “Sure, Mike, you can do whatever you want.”
Michael smiles shyly, rubbing his neck while leading them to the carousel. “I’m sorry, I know this is childish. You don’t have to ride with me.”
“S’okay, Mike,” Jackie reassures him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I sure as hell am not riding it, but I’ll watch. You have fun.”
Michael nods, settling in another comfortable silence before speaking again. “Um, thanks for joining me anyway. You really didn’t have to.”
“Well, Bill would’ve killed me if we left you alone,” Jackie jokes, which elicits a laugh from Michael. “Besides, no biggie. It’s good to see you having fun.”
Michael’s smile grows, feeling grateful for his older brother’s kindness. It causes his cheeks to flare again, heat rising slightly in his face. They continue walking, the carousel’s music traveling across the air to them.
Michael looks up in awe at the twinkling lights. He sees the various horses and other animals rise up and down as the carousel makes its slow turn. Chattering from the line and the attraction mixes in with the music, settling in a loud but steady noise. It drums in Michael’s ears as he stands in line for tickets. He pays, not quite looking at the attendant’s face, keeping his hat brim low as he murmurs a thank you and walks toward the carousel line.
“Alright, Mike, I’ll wait in line with you and leave once you go on.”
He nods, glancing up to pay attention to where he’s walking. He almost runs into the path of a trio of girls headed in the same direction. They breeze past the men, voices ringing like bells with laughter. It happens in almost a split second, but Michael catches the face of the girl closest to him and freezes as she walks past.
Michael stays rooted in place, just a few feet from the carousel line. As she walks past, Michael catches a whiff of her perfume, a sweet mixture of vanilla and honey. He tries not to stare as he watches her, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. His feet twitch in place as his eyes try and fail to look anywhere else.
The girl falls in line with her friends, turning to face Michael’s direction as she continues to talk to them. She speaks animatedly, gesturing in wide motions with her hands and laughing brightly. Michael scans her up and down. She wears high-top sneakers and medium-length shorts that hug her legs—if she turns at just the right angle, he can tell they frame her backside figure perfectly.
Michael’s face burns, shame prickling the top of his head. He continues to observe the girl. She’s wearing a light blue UCLA cropped sweater, revealing a small line of her stomach. Michael’s jaw opens slightly at the glint of jewelry that flashes on her navel. He closes it just as quickly, face fully on fire.
His eyes travel back up to her face. The girl’s dark hair is tied up messily in a high ponytail, long waves falling out of a secure yellow scrunchie. She’s stopped talking, eyes trained on her friend who is now speaking. The girl nods every now and then, chewing her lip with intense focus. Then her serious expression breaks into a big teasing grin as she pushes her friend. She laughs at something in their conversation, eyes twinkling and mouth revealing a line of straight, pearly teeth.
Michael’s still frozen in place. He’s not sure how, but he knows he’s never seen a more perfect girl.
He’s fully staring, barely realizing that this perfect girl has glanced his way and is now staring back, a curious yet playful glint catching in her own eyes.
Michael jolts awake, careening towards Jackie, who grabs his arm.
“Yo, are you okay, Michael? I didn’t even realize I left you behind. I come back and you’re looking off somewhere like a lost puppy.”
Michael’s mouth opens and closes shut like a fish out of water. He glances back at the carousel line, which has filled with a few more people. The girl is closer to the entrance, but he sees her look once towards him again, smiling, before looking back at her friends.
“Hello? Earth to Mike?” Jackie waves his hands in front of his face. “Are we gonna fall in line or what?”
“Um, yes, yeah, sorry, let’s go.” Michael mumbles, not trusting his voice. He keeps his head down as he enters the line.
Michael keeps his eyes trained to the ground for a moment before stealing a glance upward. He peeks past his curls and almost immediately finds the girl, who seems even closer as the line winds back and forth in a zigzag, a thin rope keeping the rows barely apart. She and her friends are all now looking at him, giggling. She looks at them and shakes her head, laughing, while she continues to steal glances back at him.
Michael steps closer to Jackie, trying to hide himself as the line continues moving forward. Jackie looks at him, completely confused, following his eyes.
“Mike, who the hell are you—” He cuts himself off as he sees the group of girls. Jackie takes a moment to look back and forth between the ponytailed girl and Michael, who are both still not-so-subtly looking at each other.
“Ohh. She’s who you’re making eyes at.”
Jackie’s teasing voice seems to boom outward and carry over the line. The trio of girls burst into louder giggles as Michael shoves him a little harder than necessary, cheeks burning.
“Shut up, Jackie!”
The brother covers his mouth, shoulders shaking in laughter. He cackles as Michael continues to push him as they walk forward. Jackie hits Michael’s arm.
“Well, there’s your girl for the night. You gonna talk to her?”
“I— well—.” Michael struggles to form words as he ducks his face shyly. He keeps looking at the girl, whose back is now turned to him. She glances over her shoulder and catches his eye once more, still smiling, before turning away.
“I don’t know, I mean, what if she’s just making fun of me?” Michael mumbles.
Jackie rolls his eyes. “Dude, trust me, she’s making eyes at you too. You’re smitten, just go talk to her.”
Michael shakes his head firmly as the last group before him goes on the carousel. They will be on the same ride, and the knowledge of that causes Michael’s heartbeat to thump dangerously in his ears.
“No, I don’t even know how—”
“Mike.” Jackie grabs his shoulders to look him straight in the eyes. Michael forces himself to hold his brother’s gaze, face on fire. “Talk to the girl. The worst that will happen is she doesn’t talk back. You got this.”
Jackie claps hard on Michael’s shoulders, causing him to jump. Michael nods sheepishly, trying to hype himself up. The carousel ride turns agonizingly slow. After what seems like forever, the attraction stops as one group heads off and Michael’s group is welcomed on.
“Go get her, Mikey.” Jackie salutes him as he heads for the exit.
Michael offers a weak grin before turning back to the girls. He follows close behind them as they make their way around the carousel. Two of the girls climb up to sit in one of the loveseat benches and glance his way. Michael stops in his tracks for a split second, dumbfounded, before nodding at them and hurries away to continue pursuing their ponytailed friend. Their giggles reach his burning ears as he sees her yellow scrunchie disappear behind a horse.
Michael catches up around the curve and sees the girl on the carousel, hiking upwards to sit on a seahorse. His eyes travel up her toned legs and straight-backed body. Her fingers wrap around the pole, steadying herself as she glances down at him with a small grin.
“You comin’ up to join me, cowboy?”
Her voice is light and teasing, causing Michael’s heart to skip a beat. He takes off his hat and shoves it in his pocket. He ruffles his hair quickly before scrambling up the carousel, mounting himself on the horse beside the girl less than gracefully. He turns towards her slowly, catching her biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“Real smooth.”
Michael looks away for a moment, shy, before his eyes flit back to her. “Thanks.”
The girl laughs, and Michael thinks it’s the most wonderful sound he’s ever heard. The carousel starts up a moment after, the bright music filling his ears. They both move up and down as the carousel gradually speeds up at a comfortable turning pace.
“Have I seen you before?” She asks him over the music. She searches Michael’s face, curious. If there’s any glimmer of recognition for who he really is, Michael can’t tell right away.
“Um, no, I don’t think.” He replies, his voice timid. He mentally hits himself on the head for his conversational abilities at this moment.
The girl doesn’t seem phased by it. She smiles and tells him her name. “What’s yours?”
Michael blinks, his mind blank for a moment. Then he stammers out, “Michael.”
“Hi Michael, it’s nice to meet you.”
Her smile grows wider with every word, dazzling. Michael blinks a few times, at a loss for words. She giggles, leaning her head against the pole and stares at him for a second before speaking again.
“So how are you liking the carnival so far?”
Michael clears his throat. He looks away for a moment, noticing his knuckles are white with how hard he’s gripping the pole in front of him. He loosens his grip before looking back at the girl.
“It’s fun, I guess. I just got here with my brothers. How about you?”
“Same. I dragged my girlfriends here with me. They thought we were too old for this, but I told them we’ll never be too old for a carousel ride.”
She begins to wave her hands dramatically in the air like Michael saw earlier in the line. He starts to smile, feeling the anxious knot in his belly loosen. The girl notices and matches his smile, leaning back and letting go of the pole. She releases a loud whoop, her arms stretched out in the air, head thrown back and eyes closed.
“This is amazing!” She yells. Michael gazes at her in wonder. She is the epitome of ecstasy. Michael glances around, shaking off his nerves and copying her gesture.
He laughs loudly. “This is awesome!”
The two of them burst into giggles. The girl wraps her arms around her belly, her face turning red from laughter. Michael laughs along, ducking his head out of habit to hide his face before glancing to the side at her again.
They share a look, and the world seems to slow down, stretching into infinite moments. Michael really tries to look at her—warm brown skin, cheeks tinged pink from the summer heat. Pretty brown eyes that crinkle when she smiles. He notices a mole underneath her left one. She has a nose stud on her right nostril. Her lips are full and flush, framing that big, gorgeous smile that she always seems to have on.
Michael blinks, and the moment passes. The girl ducks her head away, seeming shy, still laughing. Before he knows it, the carousel slows to a stop. The two of them stay in their seats watching each other, both not wanting to get down. When people start climbing onto the platform, they finally move to get off, chuckling in mild embarrassment.
Michael trails behind her short frame as he follows her outside the exit. She’s more than a head shorter than him, which makes Michael giddy. He doesn’t notice that he walks straight past Jackie, who doesn’t even bother trying to snap his brother out of his dazed state. He just continues to watch Michael follow the girl absentmindedly, his arms crossed and head shaking as he leans against the railing.
Michael keeps his eyes trained on the girl’s scrunchie, her ponytail swaying back and forth. He’s not sure what else he wants to do now other than follow her. He sees her greet her friends, who are waiting by a tree nearby. Michael slows, realizes what he’s doing, and comes to an abrupt stop. He stands there for a few moments, just watching the girl talking to her friends. They keep glancing over at him, and Michael tries to busy himself by putting his cap back on, adjusting his jacket, and looking around.
He doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing. He thinks it’s too bold to walk up to them and equally as rude to take her away from her friends. Michael feels naked and unprotected without his brothers surrounding him. Jackie’s somewhere, probably silently egging him on to move, but Michael just can’t seem to do it. His face starts to heat up again in embarrassment, feeling stupid, but then he sees the girl say bye to her friends and walk back towards him.
She smiles and waves, approaching quickly. Michael’s frozen, just as dumbfounded as he first laid eyes on her 30 minutes ago. The girl stops just a few feet in front of him, arms crossed behind her back. She rocks back and forth on her feet, head tilted to the side. She studies him for a few moments, eyes shaking with laughter. Then she clears her throat, shaking herself out of it.
“My friends and I have to leave by 9. It’s like 7 now; wanna go explore?”
She points to the side with her thumb and flashes him an inviting smile. Michael’s jaw drops slightly. He swallows, his throat dry, and also clears his throat.
“Oh! Um, well…”
He trails off and glances around, searching for his brother. He spots Jackie still by the carousel and waves awkwardly. The eldest Jackson waves him off, turning to walk away with a smile. Then he turns again to shout at Michael, walking backwards into the crowd.
“Meet at the front by 9! Don’t have too much fun now!”
Jackie whistles, cackling, before disappearing to find the rest of his brothers. Michael visibly winces, head ducking low as he hears the girl laugh out loud. He gives her a sheepish grin.
“One of your brothers, I take it?”
“Yes,” He replies, his voice shy. “That’s Jackie. The rest… Let’s just say I’m fine with you just meeting him tonight.”
The girl laughs. “Right. Well, maybe next time you’ll introduce me to all of them.”
She winks as she turns away, leading him through the crowd. Michael follows, laughing, and feels his cheeks heat up at her words. He falls into step with her, matching her pace as he looks around and then back at her.
The girl surveys her surroundings, eyes dancing in the lights. Michael eventually gives up looking around and just watches her, still wondering if she’s real. She glances up at him and chuckles before looking back in front of her. He thinks he sees her cheeks flush a deeper pink.
He opens his mouth to break their comfortable silence when she gasps, pointing at something in the distance. Michael follows her finger and sees a line of water guns below a row of giant stuffed animals. He stares at the sight for a moment when he feels something warm and small slip into his hand. Michael glances down in surprise, and his eyes widen when he sees that she’s taken his hand.
Michael feels his cheeks burn as she tugs him along towards the game stand. He nearly trips over his two feet, but quickly falls into step again as she gushes about the game. His palms feel clammy, and he prays that she doesn’t notice. They come to a stop just a few feet away, waiting for open seats. Michael notices that she doesn’t let go of his hand.
“Oh my gosh, I love this game! Have you ever played?”
She looks back up at him, eyes twinkling. Michael looks down, melting at the sight of her joy. He forces himself to speak, feeling tongue-tied and dizzy.
“Y-yes, I have, but it’s been a while.”
“Well,” She muses, slipping her hand out of his and walking towards an open seat. Michael reaches for her instinctively, then puts his arm down, face aflame. She looks back at him with mirth.
“I’m very competitive and determined to win one of those.”
She points up at a gigantic stuffed panda. Her face takes on a grave expression, and Michael covers his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
“Well, even if I win, I’d still win one for you.”
He takes a seat next to her, eyes trained ahead at the target dot and fill meter line above it. Michael misses the way she follows his every move, mouth shaped in a surprised O, her face flushing an even deeper pink. She composes herself as Michael turns to smile at her, and she smirks back at him.
“Game on, Mikey.”
Michael preens at the unexpected nickname, happiness washing over him, as he wraps his hands around the gun triggers and the game starts.
Growing up in a house with ten siblings, he was very much as competitive as the girl, if not more so. A wild flame ignites in his chest as he keeps glancing to the side, seeing their meters rise neck by neck. Michael almost pushes harder, but loosens his fingers at the last second for her to reach the end first.
The meter dings loudly, and the girl throws her hands in the air, cheering. She turns toward Michael and beams at him, face flush and eyes shining. Michael laughs, touched by the sight, and gets up to trail behind her as she bounces towards the employee in excitement.
“Can I get that one, please?” She points at the giant panda above her head.
The employee pulls out a ladder to retrieve it and hands it to the girl. She snatches it out of her arms and hugs it tight, squealing.
“It’s so cute! Look, Mike, isn’t it so cute?”
She stares at the panda in wonder, bundling it in her arms. Michael holds in a laugh, amused at how it’s nearly half her size. The girl glances at him sheepishly.
“Sorry, can I call you that? Mike? Or even Mikey?”
Michael smiles, bashful. “Of course, either one is fine.”
“Okay.” She smiles back brightly and turns to walk away. She adjusts the panda in her arms, firmly holding it. Michael walks up to her and gently tugs at its arm.
“Let me hold it,” He says softly. Michael practically has to pry it out of her arms as she whines for a moment.
He chuckles. “It’s about to swallow you whole, girl. I got it.”
She rolls her eyes, cheeks pink, and pouts as she reluctantly lets go. Her eyes track Michael as he comfortably moves it to his side, securing it under his right arm. She crosses her arms and turns her head dramatically with a “humph.”
“Thanks, I guess,” She grumbles. Michael detects a hint of amusement under her resigned tone and chuckles.
They walk for a few more minutes before he speaks again.
“You know I let you win that one.”
The girl side-eyes him, hard. Michael belly laughs, holding his stomach as he keels to the side. Her mouth forms into a pout, to which he glances down at her lips for a second too long before looking away, feeling warm.
“I won fair and square, doo-doo head.” She sticks her tongue out and struts away toward a food stand. Michael follows, shaking his head and chuckling to himself.
The girl points to a large funnel cake picture on the side of the makeshift food stand. “Do you wanna share?”
Michael peers at the picture and grins. It’s a large, fluffy cake filled with oozing chocolate and whipped cream dollops spread across the top.
“You got it.”
After a few minutes arguing back and forth, Michael insists that he’ll pay for the food. He waits by the stand as the order is made, pulling his cap down a bit lower. As the night grows closer, he’s noticed more people glance and point his way. He always nervously checks if the girl has even noticed the extra attention, but if she did, she’s always been lost in her own world so far.
Michael smiles a little at that. It’s like here, he can totally escape with her, just for a short while. He glances towards where the girl sat down earlier on a bench table near a large oak tree.
She adjusts the panda next to her, sitting its back against the tabletop so it won’t fall to the ground. She smooths down its hair, booping its nose and patting its head with a smile on her face. The girl tightens her ponytail and sits up straighter, eyes wandering the milling crowd before catching Michael. She starts a little, then grins mischievously. She waves and makes a silly face, sticking her tongue out and crossing her eyes. Michael laughs, shaking his head in amusement.
“Order for Mike!”
He turns towards the stand to grab the heaping pile of funnel cake. Michael says a soft thank you, grabs some utensils and napkins, and makes his way to the girl. Her eyes are just about to pop out of her head as he sets down the cake and swings his legs over the bench to sit across from her.
“Oh my god, that looks heavenly.”
Michael snorts while also grinning. “It looks like diabetes on a plate.”
The girl rolls her eyes, snatching a fork and napkin from his hands. “Well, I need that in me, now.”
Michael blushes at her cheeky words, ducking his head as he picks up a piece with his fork and eats it. The cake feels thick and gooey in his mouth, the chocolate melting on his tongue. A sound of ecstasy leaves the girl’s mouth, groaning and resting her forehead against the back of her hand. Michael feels his cheeks heat more, turning to hide a smile appearing on his face as he chews.
“That’s amazing. My god, thank you so much, Michael.”
He laughs, chewing for a few seconds longer and swallowing before he replies. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it! This has literally been the best night ever.”
She smiles sweetly, a teasing glint in her eyes, and Michael has to look away again, face fully on fire. The girl laughs, the sound ringing in the summer breeze, and Michael glances back at her in astonished wonder.
Her frame is illuminated by the warm lights around the carnival, growing brighter by the second as night falls. Her eyes twinkle under the moonlight, shining with curiosity and audaciousness and charm. She moves in her seat to the faint music in the distance while everyone else is stoic. She looks happy to be alive—Michael wishes he could capture this moment in a freeze frame, a painting to admire and revere for the rest of his days.
“Michael, you’re staring.”
He blinks, coming back to himself. He blushes, ducking his head as he takes another bite.
“Sorry,” He mumbles after chewing. “I don’t stare. Or at least, I try not to.”
The girl laughs in slight disbelief, eyes shining. “Sure, like you weren’t staring at me in the carousel line earlier?”
Michael feels the blush creep up to his ears. He doesn’t say anything, and she laughs louder.
“You’re so cute,” She says while tilting her head. She takes another bite as Michael looks at her, dumbfounded. She called me cute. He feels giddy all over, like he was back in high school with a schoolboy crush.
“So Mikey,” The girl muses. She gives him a once-over and eats another piece of funnel cake. “What brings you to the fair tonight?”
“Oh…” Michael picks at the cake on his side of the plate. “My brothers and I have never been. They really didn’t want to go… I haven’t seen them all night, besides Jackie. I really hope they haven’t left me behind.”
He laughs, then glances around. He might be joking, but a small part of him doubts that he might have actually been stranded.
Michael shakes the thought away as the girl gasps, clutching her chest dramatically. He laughs while she shakes her head in disbelief.
“Never? This is an LA staple!” She tilts her head the other way, squinting at him. “Did you grow up here?”
He shakes his head. “Technically no. We moved here when I was a teenager. We grew up… busy, is all, with school and everything.”
The girl didn’t notice his small slip up and just nodded her head. “I get it. Well, better late than never, right?”
“Yeah.” Michael pauses, contemplating his next words. “How about you? Is Los Angeles home?”
She nods again. “Burbank born and raised, baby.” She flashes him that award winning smile, causing Michael to flush once again. “Where’d you grow up?”
“Gary, Indiana. Lived in a tiny house with 10 siblings.”
The girl gawks and Michael almost laughs again at her expression. “Wow. That must have been an experience.”
He shrugs, continuing to pick at his food. “That’s one way to put it. We made do. Encino’s a nice upgrade.”
“Oh, so you live over there! That’s cool. Do you go to school around here?”
Michael glanced away and then back at her. He struggled for a moment to find the right words again, without sounding shady or avoidant. “No. My brothers and I… We’re… musicians. Um, we’re in a band, of sorts.”
The girl brightens. She abandons her fork on the plate and rests her chin in her hands, mouth shaped in an O.
“That’s amazing! Have I heard your stuff before?”
Michael tries not to shrink into himself. He scratches his head, still avoiding her intense gaze, feeling a blush creep up his neck. He shoves his hands in his pockets and mumbles an incoherent reply.
She looks at him for a moment, confused. Then, like the flip of a light switch, she sits up straight, eyes sparkling. The girl puts up her hands to frame Michael in a makeshift camera lens. Recognition dawns on her face. He sees it like the sunrise in the morning—gradual, then all of a sudden there.
Instinctively, he stiffens. He’s been performing long enough to expect a few kinds of reactions when people spot him out in public. He genuinely loves his fans and interacting with them. But everyone always approaches him at arms length, like they’re scared he’s not real or worship him like a god.
Humans, no matter how good they are, always end up expecting something from him. Somehow, he’s learned to accept that reality this far into his career, but acknowledging it doesn’t sting less. It more so dulls over time, scabbing over a scar that won’t ever heal.
For a split second, he was afraid that this girl would turn out to be just like everyone else. That the moment she discovers he’s really Michael Jackson, she too would revere him at a distance, putting him on a pedestal like this otherworldly being. But that moment never comes.
Instead, as soon as Michael spots her moment of clarity, she doubles over laughing. She’s full out cackling, holding her belly and brushing away tears in her eyes. People around their table start to look over, confused at the sudden sound. Michael ducks his head down, shushing her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” The girl wheezes out. She wipes away another tear as her laughter softens. She looks at him, cheeks flushed atop a wide grin. Despite his lingering doubt, Michael still thinks she’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
“It’s just—,” She pauses again to take a deep gulp in. The girl grips the table with both hands and leans in conspiratorially.
“I realized why my friends were freaking out earlier when they saw you. They weren’t exactly sure, but they kept saying who you were.”
She stops to take a look around and leans in closer. Michael can’t help but lean in too, their faces now inches apart. His eyes flit all over hers, singling out the mole under her left eye again. He thinks it’s the cutest thing.
“Mallory said she has your vinyl. And most of your records too with your brothers.” The girl grins. “For some reason, I just refused to believe her. But now, it all makes sense.”
Michael leans back, crossing his arms. He searches her face, trying to see if she’s playing him. But he could only see genuine truth in her expression, mixed with that light, playful amusement she always seems to have.
“You really didn’t recognize me?” He asks.
The girl also leans back, taking one more bite of the funnel cake before pushing the plate off to the side. She chews for a moment while nodding vigorously. When she finishes, she opens her mouth to reply.
“I think part of me did, but didn’t want to believe it. Does that make sense?” She plays with the hems of her sleeves. “I know your music, and I love it, like everyone else. But I genuinely just wanted to know who you were. No titles, no masks. Just a cute, shy boy I met at the carnival.”
Michael smiles softly at that, feeling himself blush again. “That’s nice.”
The girl sighs, placing her hands in her lap. “I hope that wasn’t presumptuous of me. I basically pretended I didn’t know anything about you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay, really. I do appreciate you taking the time to know me. You could’ve went back with your friends, but you chose to be with me.”
“I could have gone back to them, sure. But we always go here every year. Something was telling me to go with you. And I don’t regret it.”
Michael searches her face again and sees a faint blush tinged pink on her cheeks. She looks nervous, searching him too, and Michael just smiles.
“I don’t regret it either.”
The two smile at each other, dumbstruck for a moment, before falling into a fit of laughter.
They spend the rest of the night talking and strolling the grounds. He learns a bit more about her. She’s an incoming junior at UCLA studying English. She wants to be a writer. She spends five minutes straight talking about her thesis, which she’s not even starting until her senior year. Michael couldn’t resist drinking in her features as she spoke, glancing at her so often that he almost ran into someone in his path twice. Her hands animated in the air like always and smile twinkling in the night. He could watch her forever, not saying a word, and he’d be the happiest man alive.
Darkness falls, and the carnival is in full swing around them. Warm yellow lights bounce off of smiling faces. Laughter and music ring in the air. And in a quiet corner near the entrance, Michael and the girl sit again on a bench, now side by side, her panda on Michael’s left. He glances down at their hands resting on the seat. Their fingers are close enough to touch, if one of them made a slight move.
The girl’s looking up at the sky, eyes shining with wonder. Michael follows her gaze and sees faint spots of light in the gray sky.
“I think a lot about how small we are.”
Her voice echoes in the night, strong and clear. Michael looks down at her. Her head is still tilted up as she keeps speaking.
“We’re just a tiny speck of dust in the universe.” She laughs. “That is so annoyingly cliché.” She glances at Michael with a smirk before looking back up again.
“But it’s true. I feel so small sometimes, so insignificant. But then sometimes, or a lot of the time I guess, the most important things happen in our lives that feel so big. Even the times we’ll look back and laugh at feel so significant and bigger than they really are at the moment.”
She looks down at her feet, scraping her shoes in the dirt. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s nights like this where I’m just so happy to be alive. To experience living and breathing and connecting with other people. And, you know, I just hope that everyone I meet is lucky enough to hold onto that feeling and guard it with their soul.”
The girl finally turns to Michael with questioning eyes. “Does that make sense?”
Michael stares at her for a few moments, speechless. The only thing he can come up with is, “Are you sure you’re real?”
The girl’s mouth falls open before she throws her head back laughing. She lightly shoves Michael, who grins along with her, and her hand lingers on his arm. He follows her hand as it travels down and lightly grazes over his fingers, sending a shiver down his spine. She rests her hand on his, an invitation, and he opens his palms up so she can intertwine her fingers with his.
“Oh yes, Michael,” She whispers. She looks up with him through her lashes. “I’m real. Are you?”
Her face is even closer than Michael realizes. He releases a shaky breath. Michael’s heartbeat picks up, thundering in his ears as he swallows. His eyes flit down to her plump lips, glossy and inviting. He looks back up at her eyes, gazing in deep pools of brown. He breathes fast, inhaling the crisp night air like a lifeline.
“I’m real, too. Promise.”
He’s not sure who leans in first, but their lips are mere centimeters apart when Michael hears a shrill yell a few feet behind the bench.
“Yo, Mike, we’re leaving now!”
She and Michael jump apart and look at each other for a few moments. Michael then turns slowly behind him, glaring murder. He sees Marlon waving, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Michael feels his eye twitch.
“Are you serious, Marlon?” He nearly shrieks.
Marlon doubles over laughing, which only causes Michael’s glare to harden.
“Come on, Mike, we gotta go! Say bye to your lady friend.”
He winks at the girl, which causes her to blush and smile shyly back. Michael feels a twinge of jealously hot in his chest, but annoyance quickly stamps it down as he continues to stare daggers at his brother.
“Just give me a second.” He yells half heartedly back, feeling his ears burn.
Marlon’s laughter echoes in his ears as he gets up. The girl follows and they just stand facing each other, feet shuffling on the ground and avoiding each other’s eyes. The panda still sits on the bench, waiting patiently.
“So I was thinking—”
“I’m sorry about—”
They stop as they speak at the same time. She laughs softly, playing with the hem of her shirt while looking away shyly. Michael adjusts his cap, equally as shy, but still keeping his eyes trained on her face. Her eyes flit nervously back and forth before settling on him, gaze shaky.
“What were you going to say?” She asks, voice quiet.
“Oh um…” Michael rubs the back of his neck. “Just, that was another brother of mine, Marlon. Sorry about him.”
“I get the feeling you apologize a lot for your brothers.” She smiles. “I get it. But you don’t have to for me.”
Michael flushes and nods. He plays with his jacket zipper, nerves coursing through his entire body like fire. He nearly jumps in place as he musters the courage to say his next words.
“Can I see you again?”
He gulps, ready to melt into the floor. The girl’s mouth parts in an “o” shape. Michael stares at her lips for a split second and then back up again at her eyes.
She tilts her head, as if pondering, then reaches into the small bag slung around her shoulder. She pulls out a pen and a piece of paper and scribbles something onto it. The girl takes a few steps forward and reaches for his hands. She takes them into hers, cupping them close as she slides something into his right palm.
Michael’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he looks down at her. She looks up at him with mirth, eyes reflecting the carnival lights around them.
“Call me.”
Then, she lets go of his hands and reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him flush to her. It’s a gentle hug, but Michael feels his knees go weak as he wraps her close. He keeps his palm closed on the paper like a vice, afraid he’ll drop it and lose her forever. His arms engulf her body as he breathes her in. He smells coconut shampoo in her hair that mixes with her perfume, a scent that causes his head to spin in a delightful way.
His body hums as she speaks into his ear.
“I had a wonderful night, Mikey.”
Michael chuckles. “I did too, girl.”
They pull apart reluctantly, yet she still keeps her arms wrapped around his. Michael stares into her eyes, feeling the urge to close the distance, but she beats him to it. All she does is lean upwards to give him a short kiss on the cheek. When she pulls away, her face is a brighter shade of red as she giggles shyly. Michael feels her lips linger on his skin, which is on fire. He ducks his head, laughing, and turns to grab the panda and hand it to her.
He tries his best to keep eye contact, shyness nearly toppling him over. “Get home safe. I’ll call you soon.”
She smiles, brilliant and dazzling. “You too.”
Then she turns and walks away, arms engulfed with the panda’s body. She turns every now and then to wave at Michael. He waves back, watching her until she disappears into the crowd.
Michael returns to Jackie’s car with the biggest grin on his face. The whole ride home, his brothers jostle and tease him relentlessly, but he barely pays them any mind. He keeps the window open, leaning his arms against the car and staring up at the sky, thinking of her.
He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Instead, inspiration strikes, and he’s up until the crack of dawn scribbling lyrics in his notebook and recording audio on numerous tapes. He plays back one track, knowing this will make it in.
She's from my world
Of popcorn and candy
Pony rides for a dime
Little children laughing
I'm from the world
Of disappointments and confusions
But I want her to be mine
I started talking
She kept on walking
She disappeared into the crowd…
After breakfast, he buries himself in the home studio for the rest of the day. He’s playing back tracks, looping synthesizers, and making a bootleg demo before tucking a tape into his bag to show to his producers. They’ll polish it in the official studio when Michael returns tomorrow.
He reaches for the piece of paper he’s kept in his pocket since last night. He thought it would be respectful to wait at least wait a few days, but he can’t resist anymore. After turning the paper over in his fingers, he dials the number.
After a few rings, he hears a click. “Hello?”
Michael immediately smiles. “Hi. It’s me.”
He hears a huff, then a playful voice. “Took you long enough.”
“Girl, it hasn’t even been a day.” He laughs.
“And? That’s still a day too long.”
He shakes his head, laughter still shaking his shoulders. Michael chews his lips before saying, “I wrote a song about you.”
Shuffling sounds through the speaker. Then, “Awh, you did? That’s so sweet. Can I hear it?”
“Oh no,” Michael replies adamantly. “It’s not done yet. Honestly, I don’t know if it’ll be done soon, or if it’ll even make it on the next record. I just knew I had to write it, for you.”
Michael can almost see her smile in his mind as she chuckles. “Well, I’d love to hear it when it’s done, or close to done or whenever you want to show it to me. And Michael?”
He hums. “Yes?”
“Even if it doesn’t make it on the record, I’m honored to be your muse.”
Michael grins from ear to ear.
“This song will be just for us,” He says softly. He plays with the cord between his fingers. “And also…”
“Yes, Michael?”
His ears burn as he mumbles out his next words. “I hope you’ll continue being my muse, girl.”
Silence on other end. It stretches out long enough that Michael almost speaks again before belting laughter sounds through the speaker.
“Hey, that’s not funny!” He chides.
“No, no, you’re very sweet, Mikey. I’m just laughing because I still can’t believe you’re real. How did I get so lucky?”
Michael smiles. “Like I said, I’m very real, I promise. And I’m the lucky one here.”
They talk for much longer, Michael settling into the soundproof walls of his studio haven. As another night approaches, he sends gratitude out into the universe for sending a girl like her into his life.
He reaches over to the sound board as she’s speaking on the line, him listening closely, and presses play for another tape still in the system, turning the volume low. He smiles as he envisions her, the girl he most certainly didn’t lose and doesn’t plan to anytime soon.
┊ ♡ ﹒ summary : what happens when someone who has spent his whole life controlled finally has to choose who gets authority over his future?
┊ ♡ ﹒ byi : heavy family conflict and emotional manipulation, discussions of abortion, public humiliation and loss of bodily autonomy, manhandling / being dragged against one's will, gendered power imbalance, generational trauma, intimidation, minor injuries and bleeding (scraped knees, bruising), hurt / comfort, literally j*e jackson being absolutely awful. **9k word count.
┊ ♡ ﹒ part two here!
“I don’t want you around my son.”
Joe points directly at (Name) when Michael opens the front door, his voice loud enough to carry across the driveway before anybody even fully processes what’s even happening.
Chilly air bites against her bare legs beneath the oversized shirt she’d thrown on half awake as morning light spills across the front steps and over the line of cars crammed unevenly outside the house. The engines are still running from how quickly everybody apparently left to get here. She instinctively tightens both hands around Michael’s bicep beside her, pressing herself closer against him while the men of the Jackson family crowd the doorway.
The boys all look they’ve been dragged out of their sleep.
Tito has a jacket thrown over what looks like his pajama pants, hair barely smoothed down while he keeps shooting worried glances between Joe and Michael. He’s already spent the entire drive over trying unsuccessfully to calm this situation before it escalated. Marlon looks uncomfortable as he stands off near the driveway, arms folded awkwardly across himself while he avoids looking directly at (Name) for too long, he’s visibly aware this has already gone way too far. Randy lingers closer to the cars rubbing sleep from his eyes every few seconds, still trying to gather himself because he quite literally got dragged out of REM. Jackie is larger than all of them, fully awake now out of necessity rather than his choice. He’s prepared to stop his father from switching this altercation from verbal to something physical, already on go.
Michael’s hand wraps tightly around the door knob, trying so hard to be brave. But he looks exhausted. Sweatpants thrown on crookedly, curls flattened unevenly from sleep, eyes heavy from being dragged awake too fast. But when Joe points toward (Name) again, something in his expression shifts.
“Josep—” Marlon attempts to speak.
“No,” Joe snaps, cutting directly over him without taking his eyes off her. “I told you all this was gonna happen.”
(Name)’s grip tightens harder around Michael’s arm and she can physically feel her pulse hammering in her throat now. Nobody’s yelling except Joe, but the front porch already feels like too much is happening. There’s many bodies, too much noise. Michael subtly shifts more in front of her without seeming fully conscious he’s doing it, blocking part of Joe’s line of sight while she stays tucked tightly against his side.
“She’s got you missing rehearsals now,” Joe continues, his eyes locking onto Michael’s. “Hour late already. People waiting on you while you up here playing house.”
“It’s still early,” Michael says quietly.
“It ain’t early when there’s work to do.”
Jackie steps a little closer while Tito mutters something low that sounds like “Joe, c’mon.” But Joe barely hears anything but himself and his own thoughts anymore. His attention keeps snapping back toward (Name).
And then he points at her again. “This right here is the problem.”
Michael speaks again but his voice leaves him before he even has time to think about it. And for one brief moment, he wishes it hadn’t. “Get your hand out’ve her face.”
The driveway goes completely still for half a second after he says it. Because Michael almost never speaks to Joe like that and realization settles over him very quickly.
He feels sick—so, so sick. He could vomit right now.
There are certain feelings adulthood never managed to kill. You can become famous, wealthy. You can become the most recognizable person in the world. and build kingdoms out of your talent alone. But then your father looks at you a particular way, and suddenly all of it feels like decoration. Suddenly you’re not a man standing in front of property you pay for your girlfriend to live in. You aren’t a provider. You’re his son again, a boy again. A little boy waiting to see what kind of mood his father is in before deciding what version of himself is allowed to exist that day because everything depended on it.
“Who you talking to, boy?”
The question makes him turn color. He’s spent his entire life knowing this exact question—the verbiage, the tone. It’s not meant to be answered, but to be reacted to. It’s a challenge, a warning and the reminder. The absolute demand to remember where he came from and who made him. Who’s in charge.
Michael hates that his heart is beating so hard. Hates that his palms feel warm. Hates that fear still comes before anger in his heart. Fear first. Always fear first. It embarrasses him in ways he can’t explain. Embarrasses him because he’s standing beside the woman he loves and is supposed to protect as the man in the relationship. It embarrasses him because his brothers are watching. Embarrasses him because some part of him thought he had outgrown this years ago but, deep down even he knew he’d never be able to escape this feeling.
Beside him (Name) feels the shift happen without fully understanding the nuances. She’s seen Michael sad, anxious. Seen him overwhelmed and collapsing into himself under pressure. But this feels different, older somehow. The fear isn't coming from the conversation they’re having now because it’s coming from hundreds of conversations that happened before she was ever in the picture. A hundred moments she wasn’t there to witness or protect him from. The awful history between a father and a son fills up the space around them until it feels impossible to breathe through.
“I said who you talking to?” The question isn’t really a question anymore, it’s an invitation. An opportunity to back down.
An opportunity to apologize and make this easy.
Michael knows that too. Become smaller, submit to his father’s intimidation and make things easy.
But he can feel (Name) beside him. He can feel her holding onto him and through her touch he can feel her fear. Thee choice becomes unbearable because backing down no longer belongs solely to him. If he shrinks now, he leaves her standing there alone and Joe gets to keep treating her like she’s a cancer to the family name instead of his person.
“I’m—I’m talking to you, Joseph..” His voice is quiet. Not brave in the slightest but it is honest. It’s the honesty people stumble into when they’re too exhausted to lie anymore. And Michael is tired.
Something changes in Joe’s face, its recognition. He’s seeing a version of Michael he doesn’t particularly like. A version that belongs to himself and not Joseph Jackson, his father.
Because that’s the thing Joe never seems to understand. Fear and control are not the same thing. Michael is afraid. Everybody standing here can see that he's afraid. But for the first time in a long time, he isn't letting that fear make the decision for him.
The realization seems to irritate Joe almost as much as the answer itself.
“My girl is not the problem.” Michael says it before he can lose his nerve. “So please.. leave her alone.”
The statement simmers between them.
He’s saying he’s not ten anymore, saying he knows what he’s doing. He’s saying he loves her.
Joe never takes his eyes off Michael.
“Oh, that’s where we at now? You gon’ tell me what to do?”
“I’m asking you not to point at her..”
The argument changes speed when Joe looks at (Name) again.
Up until now, it’s been about rehearsal. About Michael being late, Joe being angry. Familiar territory everyone standing in the driveway has seen before in one form or another. But then Joe’s attention settles on her, a cold chill slides down her spine. Before he even opens his mouth, she knows where this is going. She’s spent weeks carrying this secret around like a live wire, convincing herself there would be a better time to tell Michael. A calmer time. A private time. One more day. One more conversation. One more chance to figure out how to say it without watching his entire world collapse around him.
“Did you handle your business yet?”
Michael doesn’t understand the question. It sounds strangely vague to his ears. He glances toward (Name), expecting her to answer immediately, expecting this to be something small and unrelated to him. Instead, she goes completely still, the stillness that comes from panic. The kind that arrives when the lie (by omission) you’ve been telling up and abandons you. Michael feels it instantly—that shift. The fear. The way her grip on his arm changes. And all at once, a terrible feeling begins creeping into his stomach. He’s not understanding, at least not yet. But the sensation that he’s standing at the edge of something he doesn’t know about but should.
The silence stretches far too long and becomes an answer all on its own. Joe watches her without blinking. Waiting. Michael watches her too with his brows pinched in the middle, now aware of how terrified she looks. And now remembering the strange conversations they’ve had over the last few weeks. Every question she never fully answered. Every moment she seemed on the verge of saying something before changing her mind. The pieces aren’t fitting together yet, but they’re moving.
Joe nods slowly.
“I’m gon’ ask one more time.” The driveway feels smaller as all the brothers have gone quiet. Even the morning doves have seemed to have stopped singing as Joe’s voice lowers.
“Did you handle your business yet?”
And when (Name) still can’t answer, when she just stands there staring with tears gathering in her eyes, Michael watches confirmation settle across Joe’s face. The silence told him everything he needed to know. And standing beside her, Michael feels very afraid of whatever conversation everyone seems to be having except him.
(author’s note: hello! stop reading here if you’re particularly sensitive to manhandling and heavy themes! or maybe even take a break! 💗)
Joe’s hand closes around (Name)’s wrist before anybody fully realizes what he’s doing. One second she’s standing beside Michael on the porch, clutching his arm so tightly her fingers cramped, and the next she’s being pulled down the front steps so abruptly she misses two of them entirely. Her foot catches the edge and she stumbles hard, a startled cry tearing from her throat as she nearly goes down. The concrete scrapes across her bare knee when she catches herself. The sting is hot and sharp. By the time she regains her footing, her skin is already scraped raw.
“Joe, let go of me!”
The driveway erupts all at once with Tito and Randy shouting. Jackie moving so fast he nearly collides with Joe trying to intercept him. Somebody keeps saying Joe’s name over and over as if the repetition alone might somehow break through whatever decision he’s already made. None of it matters. Joe keeps walking and dragging her forward with certainty of a man who has already decided he’s right. The more she resists, the more inevitable it feels. Michael’s voice cuts through the chaos somewhere behind her, the panic she hears from him makes her stomach drop. She’s never heard anything quite like that from him before.
“(Name)!”
She digs her heels into the pavement while ger other knee slams against the driveway when she loses her balance again. Pain shoots up her leg and tears flood her eyes. Fear—this is real terror she’s experiencing. The rear passenger door gets yanked open and now this isn’t just an argument anymore.
“Please!” She sobs. “Joe, please don't—”
“Get in the car.”
“No!” She twists violently, trying to wrench herself free, but his grip only tightens. She gets a good look at him, and really sees him. He looks convinced that he’s solving a problem. And she’s the problem.
“I’m taking her to the clinic.”
The statement is thrown out across the driveway and everything stops. The brothers fall silent and even (Name)’s struggling falters. Michael freezes halfway down the driveway, the color draining from his face so quickly it almost looks unreal. Nobody breathes then.
Joe points directly at her. “This girl is pregnant.”
A sound leaves (Name) before she can stop it.
Not a word or even a small cry, really. Just a small, helpless noise that seems to come from somewhere deep inside her chest, its beyond language. The moment Joe says it, the moment the word pregnant is said out loud in the middle of the driveway for everyone to hear, something inside her simply gives way. All the effort she’d spent holding herself together over the last few weeks vanishes at once. The planning. The rehearsing. The constant bargaining with herself that she’d tell Michael tomorrow, or the day after that, or when she found the right moment. Gone. Torn out of her hands before she ever got the chance. Her eyes squeeze shut instinctively, thinking maybe if she can’t see their faces, the humiliation won’t be real. But it is. It’s real, so horribly real.
Her knees nearly buckle beneath her and she thinks she’s actually going to collapse right there in front of everyone. The driveway tilts sickeningly beneath her feet, blood from her scraped knees mixes with fresh tears tracking down her cheeks, and all she can think is not like this. Not in front of his brothers. Not in front of Joe. Not Michael finding out this way. She had imagined so many versions of this moment. Nervous ones. Tearful ones. Maybe even happy ones. Michael sitting beside her, holding her hand. Michael hearing it from her. Instead she’s standing in the middle of a nightmare she can’t wake up from, her secret hanging in the air for everyone to stare at while her body seems to forget how to stay upright. For the first time since this started, she stops fighting Joe entirely too devastated to remember how to.
Joe shakes his head.
Michael genuinely thinks he misheard him.
The driveway feels like its been stretched one hundred feet and muted like somebody stuffed cotton into his ears. He can see mouths moving. See his brothers reacting. See (Name) crying. But everything feels strangely far away as the words register individually. This girl. Pregnant. But they refuse to connect. They hover in the air like separate things while his brain scrambles desperately to make sense of them.
He finds himself staring at (Name) as though the answer might be written somewhere on her face. And every strange moment from the past few weeks begins rearranging itself into something clear in hindsight. The tears she’s tried to hide. The nervousness he could never quite understand. The questions that seemed oddly specific at the time, questions about disappointment and anger and mistakes and whether people could forgive things they hadn’t expected. The way she’d looked at him lately, sometimes opening her mouth like she wanted to say something before thinking better of it. The fear. More than anything, the fear. He sees it all now. Not as separate incidents but as pieces of the same story. A story she’d apparently been carrying while he remained oblivious to it. His stomach hurts—because she knew. She knew.
The hurt sneaks in rearing it’s ugly little head directly into his chest, nearly hidden beneath the shock. It isn’t intense enough to be anger or resentment. It’s something.. honestly way sadder than that. A dull ache that spreads slowly through his chest the longer he stands there looking at her. Because all he can think about is the amount of time that must have passed between finding out and now. Days. Maybe weeks. Countless conversations that feel different in retrospect. Countless opportunities where she could have told him and didn’t. And the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes that what wounds him is a small, ugly part of him wonders why she didn’t trust him enough to come to him.
Pregnant. The word doesn’t even feel real. His entire life just changed between one heartbeat and the next. He’s going to be a father. A dad. He helped create life. This isn’t real life.
She looks at him. And the expression on her face is so devastated, so apologetic, so terrified of what he might be thinking.
The worst part is the fact that she can’t read him right now. Normally she can. Normally she knows exactly what he’s thinking long before he says it. She knows the tiny shifts in his expression, the way his mouth moves when he’s trying not to laugh, the particular look he gets when he’s upset but pretending he isn’t. She knows him. Or at least she thought she did because right now she knows nothing. He’s just staring. And that terrifies her, because the truth is that her fear of Michael being angry has never been entirely rational. It’s actually embarrassingly childish when she really examines it. Michael has never given her a reason to believe he would scream at her or humiliate her or stop loving her over one mistake. Yet she’d spent weeks building these catastrophes inside her own head, convincing herself there was a wrong way to tell him, a wrong time to tell him, a version of this conversation that would make him look at her differently forever.
Now she’s standing in front of him and every ridiculous fear she’s been carrying feels very fucking real because he isn’t saying anything. The silence is unbearable and her mind fills it for him. Maybe he’s angry. Maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s wondering why she hid it. Wondering how long she’s known. Maybe he’s wondering what else she hasn’t told him. The thoughts arrive one after another until she can barely separate reality from imagination anymore. The awful thing is that Michael’s opinion of her matters far more than she’s ever admit out loud. Somewhere along the way, his approval stopped being something nice to have and became something she needed always because loving someone inevitably gives them a certain kind of power over you. The power to hurt you simply by looking disappointed. The power to make your stomach drop with a single expression. The power to make even you feel like you have to prove you’re good enough to be loved.
And right now she feels very young. Very small. Very foolish. Like a child waiting to find out how much trouble they’re in outside the principal’s office. Except Michael isn’t giving her anything and that’s worse. Anger is understandable. Anger can be apologized for. But shock is different, shock means she has no idea where his thoughts are taking him. It means she can’t follow him there. It means that since Joe spoke, she’s completely locked out of the one person whose reaction matters most. So she keeps looking at him. Keeps searching his face. Keeps waiting for something. Anything. A smile. A frown. A shake of his head. Some indication that he is still her Michael and not a stranger standing across the driveway from her. But it never comes. He just keeps staring trying to hold an entire collapsing universe together inside his head. And when fresh tears spill down her cheeks, she realizes the cruel irony of it all. For weeks she’d been terrified of telling him. Now she’s terrified of what happens after he knows.
“I’m not letting her ruin your life.”
“Joe—” Tito starts.
“Stay out of it.” Joe cuts him off before turning back toward Michael.
“You think this is funny? You think this is some game?”
Michael says nothing. He can’t. His mind is moving too fast and not fast enough at the same time.
”How do you even know it’s yours?”
Nobody says anything. Nobody even seems to know what to do with it. The pregnancy is one thing. The screaming is one thing. Joe being angry is one thing. But this? This feels different. Meaner. Like the argument has crossed into territory it never needed to touch. Jackie is the one who finally breaks the silence, letting out a short, disbelieving laugh as he shakes his head.
“Aw, c’mon, Joe. Nah, man.”
Joe turns toward him. “What? You got somethin’ to say to me too?”
“..You know that ain’t right.”
“It ain’t right?”
“No.” Jackie gestures toward Michael and (Name) like the answer should be obvious. His irritation is growing more visible by the second. “They been together how long?” Nobody answers because nobody has to—everybody knows. Everybody standing in that driveway has watched the relationship unfold for years. Through the tours, recording sessions, family gatherings, arguments, reconciliations, and everything in between. “(Name)’s been around since Mike was seventeen. Man, quit it.”
The words seem to irritate Joe almost as much as the pregnancy itself. “That don’t mean nothin’.”
“It mean enough.”
“No, it don’t.”
Jackie runs a hand over the back of his neck and exhales sharply. “You mad? Fine. Be mad.. You wanna get on him ‘bout rehearsal? Fine. But don’t stand here sayin’ stuff like that.” The driveway goes quiet again. Nobody wants to get involved. Nobody wants to make things worse. Yet even the brothers look uncomfortable now because regardless of how anyone feels about the situation, the accusation feels evil and insulting. Not just to (Name). To Michael.
“They love each other, Joe.” He says. “Everybody know they love each other.”
Michael looks up and his eyes flicker toward Jackie, something in the expression nearly breaks the older brother’s spirit. Michael looks devastated—like he’s trying desperately to catch up to a conversation everyone else somehow started without him. The ground beneath him has shifted and he’s still searching for something solid to stand on. Jackie sees it and feels a fresh wave of frustration. Because regardless of whatever happens next, one thing is painfully obvious. Michael didn’t know. Whatever this is, however long (Name) has known, however scared she’s been, Michael is finding out right now. In the middle of a driveway in front of an audience. From his father.
Unfortunately, Joe appears completely uninterested in anybody else’s opinion. He lets Jackie finish, lets his words hang in the air for all of two seconds before dismissing them entirely. Frankly, they’re irrelevant because none of this is actually up for discussion.
“Love,” Joseph laughs a little. “Y’all don’t know the first thing about love.” His grip tightens around (Name)’s wrist and she lets out a small cry, stumbling when he starts moving again. The sudden jerk nearly sends her back to her knees. The scrapes on her legs burn viciously as she tries to keep up, her vision blurred from tears.
“No, please—”
“Get in the car.” The command is flat, final. And that certainty terrifies her more than the yelling ever could.
The rear passenger door is still hanging open. Waiting. The sight of it sends fresh panic crashing through her chest. She can picture it too clearly, all of it. The door closing. The car pulling away. Michael disappearing in the rear window while she screams for him. Her feet plant themselves instinctively against the pavement. She pulls backward with everything she has left.
“No!” The scream tears itself from her throat before she can stop it. Raw and desperate out of genuine fear. It rips straight through the driveway. Straight through Michael.
It triggers something in Michael and he finally moves but Joe is faster.
Before anybody can properly react, before Jackie can get between them or Tito can grab the door, Joe yanks (Name) forward and practically throws her into the back seat. The force of it sends her sprawling awkwardly across the upholstery, her shoulder slamming painfully against the opposite door. The breath leaves her lungs in a startled gasp and she’s too stunned to move and process the fact that she’s actually inside the car. Until panic crashes back in all at once.
“Michael!” The scream tears itself from her throat as she scrambles upright.
Outside, the driveway erupts. Michael reaches the car just as Joe slams the driver’s door shut. The locks drop immediately with a sharp mechanical click that feels horrifying. Michael grabs for the rear passenger handle anyway, yanking so hard the entire vehicle rocks on its suspension.
“Dad!“ His voice cracks with panic. Pure panic.
Inside the car, (Name) throws herself toward the door, fumbling desperately with the handle through blurred vision and shaking hands. Nothing happens. Child lock. She pulls again. Nothing.
“Let me out!”
Joe doesn’t even look at her. “Sit down.”
Outside, Jackie is pounding on the driver’s window. Tito is trying another handle. Randy is shouting. And Marlon looks halfway between furious and terrified. Michael catches sight of (Name) through the glass. Her face. The tears. The absolute terror—fear. Genuine fear.
Then the engine starts and everybody freezes.
Nobody moves because nobody quite believes Joe is actually going to do it. Until he does, and the car lurches into reverse. Jackie jumps back as gravel spits across the driveway and Michael stumbles away from the vehicle as it swings around. And then it’s gone. Down the driveway. Onto the street. Disappearing faster than any of them can process.
There’s a pause in any movement.
“What? Y’all just gonna stand there?” Tito’s voice cuts through the shock.
Everybody is still staring at the road where Joe’s car disappeared, Michael hasn’t moved at all. He’s still standing exactly where he was when the car pulled away, staring after it with an expression that looks almost frighteningly blank.
And Tito doesn’t have the patience for it.
“Get in the damn car, let’s go!” That finally breaks whatever spell has settled over the driveway and everybody moves at once.
Jackie is already heading for his car. Randy nearly trips over himself getting to his. Marlon takes off running. And doors start slamming, engines start turning over. The sudden burst of activity feels frantic and messy and desperate because nobody actually has a plan. They just know Joe has (Name) and every second they’re standing here is another second she's alone with him.
Michael finally blinks, his mind is still somewhere back in the driveway. Still stuck on the look on (Name)’s face through the glass. Still stuck on the word pregnant. Still stuck on the sound of her screaming his name. The thoughts keep colliding with each other until none of them make sense anymore. By the time he reaches Jackie’s car, he barely remembers crossing the distance.
“Mike!” Jackie yanks his door open. “Hurry up!”
Michael practically falls into the passenger seat followed the door slamming.
Tito’s already pulling onto the road ahead of them. Another set of headlights swings out behind them. Gravel sprays beneath the tires as Jackie throws the car into gear and guns it down the street.
The ride to the clinic felt so endless.
The only sounds are from traffic, the occasional turn signal and the shaky breaths she keeps trying and failing to steady. Her wrists and upper arms ache from where he’d grabbed her. Her knees burn every time the car hits a bump, dried blood has begun to crust over her scrapes, pulling uncomfortably against her skin whenever she shifts. She keeps staring out the window because she doesn’t want to look at Joe. But she doesn’t know which is worse, looking at him or catching her own reflection in the glass and barely recognizing herself. Puffy eyes. Tear stained cheeks. Hair falling out of place. She looks exactly how she feels.
Distraught.
The second the car finally pulls into Planned Parenthood’s parking lot, fresh panic surges through her chest.
“Joe..” Her voice comes out weak.
He parks, turns off the engine and opens his door.
“Joe, please. Don’t do this.”
Of course, she gets nothing in response as he gets out.,
A minute later she’s being ushered through the front doors with trembling legs and tears threatening to start all over again. The waiting room smells like coffee and antiseptic, and a slight hint of body spray. People glance up when they enter. A pregnant woman flipping through a magazine. An elderly couple sitting together. A receptionist behind a desk. Normal people having normal days while her entire life feels like it's actively collapsing.
The receptionist looks up with a practiced smile.
“Good morning.”
Joe takes over. ”We need to see somebody.”
The woman glances between them. “..Okay. Is she the patient?”
“Yes.” The receptionist’s eyes settle on her, taking in the red eyes, the scraped knees, the fact that she looks distressed and like she’s been crying for hours.
“Miss? Are you okay?” The receptionist asks and (Name) stares, the simple question almost makes her cry.
Nobody has asked her anything all morning.
Nobody has cared what she wanted.
Before she can answer, Joe does it for her. “She’s pregnant.”
The receptionist blinks, she clearly doesn’t like what’s going on here. “Okay.”
“And she needs to be seen, right the hell now.”
Again, the receptionist looks toward (Name). “Would you like to be seen today, sweetheart?”
Joe’s jaw tightens. “Yes.”
The receptionist doesn’t even acknowledge him as she keeps her attention on (Name). “Honey?"
Before (Name) can answer, the front doors burst open and the entire waiting room turns.
Jackie. Tito. Marlon. Randy.
And Michael.
Michael arrives last, breathless and visibly shaken from sprinting through the parking lot. His hair is disheveled and he looks nothing like the famous pop star Michael Jackson. He looks like a young man who has spent the last twenty minutes terrified. The second his eyes find her, he stops moving.
And she can’t breathe.
Because he’s here. She can’t even look at him because she’s so humiliated.
Unfortunately, Joe notices too.
“We ain’t doin’ this here.”
The receptionist’s smile disappears. ”Sir, what's going on?”
“Family business.”
The woman stares at him. Then at (Name). Then at Michael standing near the entrance looking like he doesn't know whether to run to her or stay where he is. Then back at Joe.
Whatever she sees concerns her very quickly. “Sir, if she’s the patient, I’d like to hear from her directly.”
Joe lets out an irritated breath. “I’m the manager around here and what I say is best for business."
“No, sir.” The correction comes instantly, professional and calm but firm. It’s evidently clear this woman has been doing this for a very long time and will always prioritize and protect every single woman who steps foot into this building. “If she’s an adult, she makes her own medical decisions.”
Joe actually looks caught off guard. “’Scuse me?”
The receptionist folds her hands together. “If she would like an appointment, we can help her. If she would like information, we can help her. If she would like to leave, she can leave.”
“You don’t understan—”
“No, sir.” The woman shakes her head. “I think you don’t understand.” Because this isn’t a family argument anymore. This is reality. It’s paperwork. It’s consent forms. It’s a beautiful stranger with a name tag telling Joe Jackson that he doesn’t actually get to decide what happens next. And that he could go to hell, respectfully.
Then she turns toward (Name). “Is there something you’d like to do today?”
After being dragged out of her home, dragged into a car, dragged into a clinic, and talked about like she isn’t even standing there—let alone a human with feelings, somebody is finally asking what she wants.
And the decision belongs entirely to her.
The receptionist’s words should have ended it. They should have settled the matter the way facts often do, with a simple reminder that reality exists outside the boundaries of family dynamics. Instead, they seem to make Joe angrier. There is something desperate in the way he continues talking, as though volume alone can restore authority that has already begun slipping through his fingers. He isn’t really arguing about the pregnancy anymore. He’s arguing against the idea that there are limits to his control. Against the fact that there are people in this building who don’t know him, don’t fear him, and don’t particularly care what he wants. Every sentence he speaks feels less like an argument and more like a refusal to accept that the world is moving forward without asking his permission first.
”You don’t understand what’s at stake here.”
The statement isn’t directed at anyone in particular. It’s directed at the room—at the entire world for refusing to bend the way Joe thinks it should.
“If people find out my son has a babymama, it’s gon' mess up our product—our brand.”
And that’s when the brothers finally stop trying to keep the peace.
Because there is something uniquely infuriating about watching a grown ass man drag a crying woman into a clinic to force her into an abortion and then continue speaking about her as though she isn’t standing three feet away. Tito’s patience finally snaps first. Jackie, Marlon and Randy follow immediately after. Years of old resentments begin bleeding into the conversation. Old wounds. Old arguments. Old frustrations that have nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with control.
A security guard appears near the front desk and then another. A nurse asks everyone to lower their voices and nobody listens.
For (Name), the noise gradually stops sounding like English. It becomes something shapeless and overwhelming, a wall of sound pressing in from every direction at once. The fluorescent lights overhead seem brighter than they did a few minutes ago and the waiting room very quickly feels too crowded, too exposed, and too public. Everywhere she looks there are strangers witnessing one of the worst moments of her life. A pregnant woman flipping through a magazine. An elderly couple pretending not to stare. Nurses trying to remain professional while an entire family implodes in front of them. People are realizing this is the Jackson family and Michael Jackson’s pregnant girlfriend is here for an abortion. The humiliation crashes over her all over again. She had spent weeks carrying this secret, weeks rehearsing conversations in her head, weeks convincing herself she would find the right moment to tell Michael. Every version had ended with the choice belonging to her. Every version had ended with privacy. Instead, she got a forced trip to a clinic and Joe Jackson announcing he wants her pregnancy terminated. Somewhere, the story stopped belonging to her.
That realization is what finally pushes her over the edge. The loss of ownership of her body, the dehumanization of herself. The feeling that everyone has been discussing her future while she stands screaming at the center of it, reduced to a subject instead of a participant. Her chest begins tightening until each breath feels smaller than the last. Thoughts start colliding faster than she can sort through them. Fear folds into shame. Shame folds into guilt. Guilt folds into the familiar childish terror that Michael is angry with her and she simply can’t tell. She hates how much that possibility matters. Hates that a part of her still wants his approval as desperately as she did when she first fell in love with him when they were seventeen. Hates that, despite everything happening around her the thing she wants most is a sign that he doesn’t look at her differently now.
Michael notices before anyone else.
The argument has long since lost his attention. Her pregnancy is still sitting inside his chest because he hasn’t figured out how to hold it yet. Every attempt he makes to examine it seems to split into ten other thoughts. The shock of finding out. The hurt of being excluded. The realization that she’d been dealing this alone. The image of her in the backseat of Joe's car. The look on her face through the window. It all keeps circling without resolution. But the second he sees the distant look settling into her eyes, every one of those thoughts disappears. He knows this version of her, the difference between crying and panic on her. He’s watched her push herself too far before, watched her try to hold herself together long after she should have stopped trying. What frightens him now is how familiar it looks. Because it looks like him.
The noise of the room continues around them, but Michael doesn’t hear it anymore. The only thing he can focus on is the way her breathing has changed and the fact that she looks like she’s slipping further away from the room with every passing second. His hands find her instinctively, one settling against the back of her head while the other gently covers her ear, creating a small barrier between her and the chaos surrounding them. It’s not a solution by any means and de knows that. But it’s something. A way of saying that she doesn't have to absorb all of it at once. A way of giving her one thing to focus on besides the noise.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, his forehead briefly resting against hers.
The words aren't true. Neither of them are naive enough to believe that. Nothing about today is okay. Their lives have been blown apart in the span of a couple hours. They’re literally standing in a clinic because his father tried to force a situation he had no right to control. There are a hundred conversations waiting for them on the other side of this moment, but his words aren’t really meant to describe reality. They’re meant to communicate something else entirely.
I'm here. You're not alone. You don't have to do this by yourself.
The receptionist notices almost immediately, her attention shifting away from Joe and the growing argument surrounding him. What she sees instead is a young woman on the verge of a panic attack and a young man who looks just as shaken but is trying desperately not to show it, and failing. She sees the way (Name) has folded into him without thinking and the way Michael hasn’t taken his hands off her once. She sees two young people drowning beneath circumstances neither of them had any control over.
“Excuse me, mister Jackson.. are you two.. the couple?”
The question feels oddly intimate amidst everything else. Michael lifts his head, momentarily caught off guard by how simple it is. After all the shouting and accusations and assumptions, his answer is the easiest thing he’s been about to say all day. He nods.
“Yes..”
The receptionist studies them for another moment before her expression softens. “Would you like a private room? Somewhere quiet, away from.. all this?”
The offer feels like a deep cut, it’s the first genuinely compassionate thing anyone has suggested since the morning began. Michael doesn’t hesitate and doesn’t even ask where he just nods again, unable to find the energy for words. The idea of getting (Name) away from this room, away from Joe, away from this noise and the eyes and the prying eyes, feels less like a preference and more like its necessary.
The receptionist smiles gently and motions for them to follow.
The room itself is completely unremarkable. An examination table sitting in the center of the room. Cabinets line the counters, stocked with supplies that all look identical in their sterile blue and white packaging. There’s a sink, a rolling stool, a faded medical chart pinned to the wall. It’s your standard annual check up room and yet the second the door closes behind them, it feels like the safest place either of them has been all morning. There is a door between them and everyone else for the first time this morning.
The silence that settles isn’t awkward though. If anything, it feels overdue. Both of them are exhausted in ways that go beyond simple fatigue. Adrenaline has this cruel habit of keeping people on edge until the danger they perceive passes, and only afterward it allows them to feel the full traumas of what they’ve survived. Michael sits on the rolling stool beside her for a long moment without speaking, his elbows resting against his knees as he studies her. His eyes drift across her face, her eyes are still swollen from crying before he eventually settles on the angry scrapes covering her knees. The sight seems to bother him, perhaps because the cuts are visible. Tangible and a problem with a clear beginning and end. Compared to everything else, scraped skin is refreshingly simple.
Michael can fix that. He can fix that.
He reaches for the supplies sitting in the cabinets.
The avoidance is so obvious neither of them acknowledges it. There are conversations the size of elephants in the room, questions that need answers. But they both ignore it, for now at least.
The alcohol burns the second it touches the raw scrape.
A sharp hiss escapes her before she can stop it, her knee instinctively trying to pull away from the sting. It’s not even particularly painful compared to everything else she’s felt today, but the sensation catches her off guard. Immediately Michael’s head lifts.
”You okay?” The question comes out so soft as he looks up at her from where he’s crouched in front of her, his Bambi doe eyes wide with concern. It’s painfully sweet the way he asks, because the answer genuinely matters to him.
She can’t bring herself to look at him still.
Not when every time she does glance his way, she’s struck by the terrifying realization that he’s.. still Michael. Still gentle and still looking at her the same way he always has—she feels shy.
“Mm,” she murmurs softly, keeping her eyes fixed somewhere over her shoulder. “Just stings a little.”
The concern doesn’t leave his face any time soon and he watches her for another moment, before he returns to cleaning the scrape. The room falls quiet again and its strangely intimate. No one’s watching. No one needs anything from them.
When he finishes cleaning the scrapes, he turns toward one of the drawers and begins searching for bandages. She watches absentmindedly until she notices the subtle shift in his expression.
“What is it..?”
Instead of answering immediately, Michael pulls a small box from the drawer and holds it up.
Disney themed bandaids.
The sight is so absurdly unexpected that a startled giggle escapes before she can stop it and Michael glances between her and the box.
“They have Disney.” He smiles a little.
Carefully, Michael peels some bandages from their wrappers and smooths them over her knees. One ends up slightly crooked. He notices instantly.
His frown deepens.
“..It’s a little crooked.”
“Michael, it’s a bandaid.”
“But it has to be perfect on you..”
Another laugh escapes her when he fixes it and this one comes easier. The tension in the room doesn’t go away, but it is lighter. You could compare it to knot loosening enough to allow circulation back into a limb.
When he’s finally satisfied, Michael smooths the edges down with his fingertips and leaves his hand resting there before something thoughtful settles over his features. The same look she has seen a hundred times before when he becomes lost inside his own head. Before she can ask what he’s thinking, he bends forward and presses a quick kiss against one bandage.
Then the other.
The conversation doesn’t start because either of them is ready for it, every possible distraction has been exhausted. Michael stays seated in front of her, one arm resting loosely across his lap, his gaze occasionally drifting toward the cartoon princesses now stuck to her knees.
“..Can I ask you somethin’..?” He rubs his hands together nervously.
She nods.
“Why didn’t you tell me, dove..?”
There isn’t an accusation hidden in the question, that’s what makes it harder to answer she thinks. He’s not angry, he’s hurt. And hurt simply sits there between them and asks to be acknowledged. (Name) drops her gaze to her hands because the truth is she doesn’t know how to explain it. The answer was never one thing. It was dozens of fears layered together until they became impossible to untangle.
“I was gonna tell you, ’Key..”
”I know.” Because of course he knows. If she’d truly intended to hide it forever, she wouldn't have spent weeks looking fucking haunted. The secret had been leaking out of her in a hundred different ways be just didn’t know what the hell was going on. Michael’s expression softens.
“I think that’s what’s botherin’ me,” he admits quietly. ”You were gonna tell me.. but you were scared to.”
He’s talking about the fact that she’d convinced herself she had to handle this all alone and she’s forced to consider what this morning must have felt like from his side. Finding out he might be a father in the middle of a screaming match. Learning she’d been withholding life changing information from him.
“I didn’t know what to do.. ’m sorry..”
Michael lets out a small breath and looks away for a moment.
“I didn’t know what to do either.. looked like a punk..”
The honesty catches her off guard. She’d spent so much time fearing his reaction that she’d never really considered he might be just as overwhelmed.
The memory of the drive to the clinic rises uninvited. The rearview mirror and Joe’s eyes finding hers every few minutes. The hatred in them. He’d planted these awful doubts in her mind and by the time they’d arrived she’d found herself questioning things she’d never questioned before. Whether she was capable of raising a child. Whether love was enough. Whether wanting something automatically meant she was ready for it. Would Michael get tired of her and leave? Maybe she was only supposed to be a temporary person in his life, a placeholder for someone rich and famous..
“What if we’re not good at this?” She asks like word vomit. “What if I can’t do it?”
Michael takes the question seriously. “Lovey.. I don’t think anybody knows what they’re doin’. I think everybody’s probably scared.”
She studies him for a long moment before asking the question that’s been sitting underneath all the others. “What if you leave?”
Michael’s expression changes, because he understands that that question didn’t appear out of nowhere. It came from weeks of fear, insecurity, and a voice that didn’t belong to her. He reaches for her hand and wraps his fingers around it gently.
“(Name),” he says softly. ”Look at me, please..”
Reluctantly, she does.
His eyes are tired and red around the edges he looks so sure. The most sure than she’s seen him all day.
”I want this.” Michael swallows hard and lets out a small, nervous laugh. “I’m scared. Real scared..”
His thumb brushes across her knuckles. “But I want my baby.”
(Name) feels some of the fear loosen its grip on her chest. They don’t have all the answers. Maybe they never will. But they’re finally found their way back to the same side.
CONTENT: giving off the wall!michael a blowjob, both inexperienced, short but sweet, subby michael if you squint extremely hard, fem!reader
AUTHORS NOTE: Okayy I don’t even go here but michael has been heavy on my mind lately so I had to get this little brabble out. don’t bully me too hard, i hope you enjoy!
you had gotten to hayvenhurts in the late afternoon, with just enough time to soak up the last bit of sun by the pool. you sat on the edge of the pool while michael swam around, entertaining himself in the water, giggling at him every now and then.
when the sun had set beyond the rooftop and trees and michael had tired himself out from the pool, you both decided to move inside.
now you were here, still in your swimsuit laying on your stomach at the foot of his bed, towel wrapped around your shoulders. you had grabbed a magazine off of the night table which you flipped through lazily. sighing as your fingers traced the printed images.
the usual hum of music filled michaels bedroom. as the last bit of sun crept through his windows orange shadows were casted over the carpet.
michael stood in front of his dresser, leaning forward slightly as he dried his hair with a towel. he was shirtless, standing only in his swim trunks, droplets of water running off his body, landing on the plush carpet under his feet.
“you’re soaking wet” you said, chin resting in one hand, eyes wandering across his toned body. you just couldn’t help yourself.
of course you found him attractive, but that was a moral boundary you wouldn’t cross. he was a good friend. only a friend. and you were certain he didn’t see you that way either, so you never got your hopes up.
“yeah…” michael gathered the towel he had been using and draped it over the corner of his dresser, turning to face you, “i should change.”
his eyes traced over your body, your lower half exposed from underneath the towel. As much as he tried to stop them, his eyes wandered over the curve of your hips and over your ass.
your bikini had ridden up just enough to expose a soft tan line, which was enough for michaels breath to hitch. he felt his cock twitch at the sight.
He cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, running his tongue over his bottom lip. he couldn’t help his growing erection and quickly turned his body to face away from you.
“go ahead, I’ll close my eyes.” you dropped your head onto the quilt, holding the magazine up as a barrier between his enticing body and your hungry gaze.
the temptation to sneak a peak at his gorgeous figure grew as you heard him shuffle out of the wet swim trunks.
michael pushed his trunks down over his hardened cock, fabric clinging to his damp skin. he was hard enough at this point that just the small amount of friction caused a high pitched sigh to escape his lips.
your heart fluttered as you heard the pretty sound leave his mouth. the temptation to lower the magazine growing. you wanted to see him. you wanted to touch him. you wanted to feel him.
he wanted to feel you too.
“i-“ he spoke before cutting himself off and clearing his throat again, “can i ask you something?” his voice was soft, gentle as if he was worried someone may hear him.
“yes, michael. anything” you paused, grip tightening on the magazine, the corners of the pages crinkling from your fingers. you waited a beat and when michael didn’t respond you asked him, “what is it?”
“have you ever… done… anything before?” his weight shifted, he grabbed the towel back and wrapped it around his waist.
michael crossed the room and you felt his weight on the edge of the bed next to you. that’s when you dropped the magazine, meeting his gaze.
“what type of anything?” a smile threatened its way onto your lips. you knew what he meant.
“anything… you know..” he looked away from you, breaking eye contact. he was too embarrassed to speak while looking at you, “sexual, with someone?”
your eyes widened, not in judgement, but in excitement. anticipation. wonder.
you shook your head
“no,” you leaned your head close enough to him that he couldn’t break your gaze off again. you knew he hadn’t, but you decided to reciprocate the question, “have you?”
he shook his head no, shifting his weight slightly. his breathing got heavier and his heartbeat got faster.
“no..” there was a short silence, one that allowed unspoken words to flow between the two of you. he swallowed hard, “i think that i want to.”
your heart began to race as your eyes traveled down his body to the bunched up towel that lay over his crotch, ineffective in hiding his boner.
“im sorry” he said quickly, covering himself with his hands. he was visibly embarrassed, cheeks turning a rosey shade of red.
“no,” you laid your hand on his wrist, sitting up to kneel towards him. your towel falling off your shoulders and down your back, pooling around your feet. “don’t be sorry”
his eyes met yours, conveying silent desperation. he needed you, he was just too shy to ask.
“you’re real pretty” he said bashfully, almost at a whisper, turning away looking down at his hands in his lap.
you smiled in response, your checks blushing pink. your heart fluttered as he searched your eyes for words.
you looked down to his hands over his crotch, his eyes following yours. a silent signal for him to lift them for you.
he removed his hands, placing them on either side of his legs.
“michael” you cooed softly, “do you want this?” he nodded, his hands moving to cover his face as he blushed intensely.
“can i?” you asked as you reached closer to the cloth covering him. he nodded, his bottom lip now caught between his teeth.
you carefully removed the towel, revealing his swollen tip, precum already leaking out.
“oh… mikey”
that name made his heart do a flip. he waited impatiently as he felt the heat from your mouth grow closer.
“please” he breathed out, practically begging.
you nearly gawked at this view. michael, ready and waiting. trusting you enough to take care of him well for his first time. you felt the heat pool in your core, repositioning yourself to get closer to him.
it was true, you had never done anything like this before. but in the moment it felt like second nature.
you obliged his needs as you wrapped your fingers around the base of him, squeezing gently and michael moaned in response. you placed a gentle kiss to his fuchsia tip and a soft moan slipped past his lips.
you dipped your head down as you ran your tongue along his length, taking him halfway into your mouth when you reached the top. he was far too big to fit all at once.
his head lulled back and his hands dropped from his face to the top of your head.
he wasn’t guiding your head, just holding you, as if he needed something to ground him back to reality. he fisted a handful of your hair, tugging lightly as you continued working you mouth and started working your hand up and down.
“Oh.. god..” his bottom lip quivered as his eyes rolled back slightly. you looked up to meet his gaze, eyes hooded and glossed with lust. he let his eyes fall closed as his breathing got heavier, “baby..”
you hummed in response, sending a wave of pleasure through him.
“fuck” he sighed leaning back onto his elbows. he shimmied farther up the bed, allowed you room to move between his legs.
he watched you as your worked your mouth, tongue swirling around the tip.
you couldn’t have been great, it was your first time, but the noises that michael was making told a different story. his body writhed beneath you, whines slipping past his lips, gipping onto your shoulders hard enough to make marks.
he never knew something could feel this good, he was experiencing pleasure he couldn’t imagine.
michael whined as he bucked his hips up, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. your mouth was so warm and wet, he almost couldn’t take it.
you took the queue and swallowed around him, gagging as he hit the back of your throat. your own pleasure building as you felt him submit to you.
you looked up to him. his eyes were screwed shut, mouth slightly parted and damp curls clung to his forehead and his head was thrown back.
michael mumbled something between a moan and your name under his breath, but you were too lost in your attempts to please him to figure out what he said.
for a moment you accidentally grazed the underside of his cock with you teeth, but that seemed to only add to his pleasure, shivers running down his spince.
he was getting closer and closer as you bobbed your head at a quicker pace, taking more of him in.
“i’m.. fuck..” he panted out, body twitching beneath you. your gripped his thighs to hold him still, “‘m close” he finally got out.
you hummed in response once more, sucking harder. you had never tasted cum before, but you wanted to taste him. he already tasted so good and you wanted more. you wanted to swallow all of him.
michael tried to push you off of him, warning you that he was going to cum, but you didn’t budge. his hips bucked up and he reached his climax. his hands entangled in your hair as his cum covered your tongue, humming gently, coaxing the last of his orgasm out of him.
when you finally came up for air you pulled off with a lewd pop, his cum coating the corners of your mouth. you smiled, meeting his eyes.
his chest heaved as he panted, coming down from his orgasm. you massaged his thighs as you let him recover. he had seen stars, and was finally coming back to earth.
“was that okay?” you asked sincerely, licking your lips and swallowing the rest of him. he was delicious.
michael nodded, reaching out to grab your chin, gently pulling you onto his chest.
“more than okay,” he said, running his hands down your shoulders and over your body, stopping at your waist, “is this okay?”
you nodded with a smile at his gentleness. you wanted him to touch you. he wanted to repay the favor.
he gently shifted from underneath of you, turning you onto your back as he positioned himself between your legs, a shy smile creeping onto his face.
“can i?” he asked as he leaned closer to your core. you nodded in response.
chapter 2 :p falling in love with this character already!! i hope you guys enjoy, im still making some tweaks and trying to come up with a title for this story </3 and here’s chapter 1 if you missed it :)
1979
manhattan, new york
‧₊ ♪˚⊹
The morning rolled in slowly, the late-summer sun peeking through the curtains, casting a warm apricot glow across the room. Birds chirping outside your window stirred you from your sleep.
You groaned and buried your face deeper into your pillow, trying to ignore the sunlight creeping across your bed.
For a moment, you considered going back to sleep.
The memory of warm brown eyes and an amused smile flashed through your mind.
You immediately groaned and pulled the pillow over your face.
Then you remembered you had a job to get to. A reluctant sigh escaped your lips as you threw back the covers and sat up.
You pushed yourself off the bed and walked towards the bathroom. Standing beneath the warm spray of the shower, you tried to wash away everything from the night before.
The atmosphere.
The music.
The drinks.
The smile.
His smile.
You shook your head, letting out a small laugh. This was ridiculous.
After the shower, you headed to your closet. You pulled a white blouse from the rack and slipped it over your head before choosing a pair of denim trousers to match.
Back in the bathroom, you quickly blow-dried your hair, only then realizing how much time had slipped away.
"Great," you muttered, glancing at the clock.
‧₊ ♪˚⊹
You balanced your camera bag on your shoulder as you stepped into the building, careful not to spill the coffee you picked up on the way. The elevator was already crowded with employees discussing deadlines and upcoming assignments.
By the time you reached your floor, the familiar sounds of ringing phones and clacking typewriters filled the air.
"Morning," someone called as you passed.
You offered a tired smile and headed for your desk, already mentally preparing yourself for another busy day.
Papers scattered your desk–photoshoot appointments, contact sheets, and stacks of photographs from previous shoots that still needed to be sorted and sent to Scott.
With a sigh, you set your coffee down beside the growing pile and dropped into your chair.
So much for easing into the morning.
The last thing you needed was another lecture from Scott about missed deadlines.
You began sorting through negatives from last week's shoot. Fashion shoots weren't exactly your favorite assignment, but they paid the bills.
Your mind was interrupted when the office phone rang. You answered without looking up.
"Hello?"
"So..."
You groaned.
"No."
Stella laughed.
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"Yes, I do." You groaned.
"Then say it."
You sighed, setting down the photographs you'd been sorting.
"You want to talk about Michael Jackson."
"Ding, ding, ding!"
"I'm hanging up."
"Don't you dare."
You couldn't help but smile.
"Stella, I'm at work."
"And?"
"And...some of us have responsibilities."
"You met Michael Jackson."
"I know."
"Michael Jackson came over to talk to you."
"I was there, Stella."
Stella let out a dramatic sigh.
"You're no fun."
You laughed, shaking your head.
"What exactly do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Scream? Faint? Admit you're thinking about him?"
Your smile faltered for half a second.
Unfortunately, half a second was all Stella needed.
"Aha!"
"Don't start."
"You're thinking about him."
"I am not."
"Liar."
You glanced around the office to make sure nobody was paying attention before lowering your voice.
"Okay, maybe a little."
Stella practically squealed through the phone.
"I knew it!"
"Okay! Okay. I'll see you later, Stella," you said, hanging up the phone.
Turning your attention back to the photographs, you let out a sigh. The quicker you worked, the quicker you could go home.
It was supposed to be your day off, but when Scott had asked if you could come in and help organize the upcoming shoots, you'd agreed before he could even finish asking.
At the time, it hadn't sounded so bad. Now, staring at the endless stacks of contact sheets covering your desk, you weren't so sure.
"Glad to see you're actually working."
You looked up to find Scott standing beside your desk, a folder tucked under one arm.
"I was wondering how long it'd take for you to show up."
"Good morning to you too," he replied.
For a moment, the only sound between you was the rustling of papers and the distant ringing of telephones.
"I came down to tell you about an assignment I have for you."
You narrowed your eyes.
"Should I be excited or concerned?"
Scott laughed.
"A little of both."
That was never a reassuring answer.
Scott set the folder on your desk.
"Macy's fall catalog."
You stared at him.
"You're joking."
"I wish I was."
"Scott."
"The client specifically requested you."
You groaned and let your head fall into your hands.
"Out of everyone in this office, they requested me?"
"You're surprised?"
"I'm offended."
Scott rolled his eyes.
"You're one of the best photographers I have."
"Then why am I photographing sweaters?"
"Because photographing sweaters pays your rent."
You flipped open the folder and skimmed through the pages. Models. Department store displays. Autumn fashion trends, though it was still summer.
Exciting.
"Try to contain your enthusiasm," Scott said dryly.
You glanced up at him as you continued flipping through the folder.
"Do this one for me, and I'll keep you in mind for something bigger."
You paused.
"Bigger how?"
Scott shrugged.
"Travel. Features. Something that isn't fashion."
Now he had your attention.
Travel.
Features.
The kind of assignments you'd actually dreamed about when you first picked up a camera.
You glanced down at the Macy's folder again.
It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't exciting.
But if it got you one step closer to something bigger, you could survive a weekend of photographing sweaters.
"Fine," you said with a sigh.
Scott smirked.
"That's the spirit."
You rolled your eyes and reached for your coffee.
Your weekend had just become a lot busier. And you’d no longer see Stella later.
But at least it would give you something to think about besides a certain pop star.
Judging by the smile that immediately tugged at your lips, that plant wasn't going to work.
If you’re taking requests, may I request a thriller era Mike x wife reader. Mike and reader have been married for a year and she’s newly pregnant and only they know. He takes her with him to his iconic grammy win night, he’s just doting on her and protective. Also is a horndog the whole night though he’s shy but not for his wife. touching and kissing her. Ends with smut!!! Srry if this is a dumb request.
a/n: thought i got a little carried away but then remembered he broke a bed
t/w: smut, 18+ mdni, p in v, fingering, oral (f! and m! receiving), overstimulation
statement on ai
“Are you sure?”
You rolled your eyes from the bed, “yes, I’m sure. I’m only five weeks. It’ll be perfectly fine.”
Michael bit at the inside of his cheek as he adjusted his belt, looking over at you through the mirror.
Ever since you had told him you were pregnant it was like the entire world was all the sudden out to get you. Everything was dangerous to him. You appreciated his precaution, it was endearing.
“If anyone tries grabbing at you, I’m gonna have bad headlines in the press tomorrow.”
Standing up, you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his back to hear his heart beat.
“It’ll be okay.”
You felt him sigh before he turned around in your arms, cupping your face with his hands and not a moment later his mouth was on yours.
Smiling into the kiss, your arms came up and wrapped around his neck. Laughing a bit as his hands danced down and started to lift up your dress.
He was always like this. He could never get enough of you, but ever since you got pregnant his sex drive only seemed to double. If possible.
“Honey, we don’t have time.”
“We’ll make time.” He muttered, fingers already searching for your zipper.
Lights flashed in a blinding crescendo the moment the car door opened. You squinted against the light and suddenly grew envious of your husband's choice to wear sunglasses.
Like always, he got out first and offered his hand. Your heels settled on the ground and not a moment later his arm was around your waist and his lips dipping low towards your ear.
“You okay?”
Patting him on the chest as a yes, the two of you were ushered towards the entrance of the red carpet. Waving and smiling at the cameras and fans as you went and every time someone shouted your name, you felt Michael’s grip tighten around you.
The whole time you walked in increments down the carpet, he wouldn’t take his eyes off you. Ignoring the shouts from the press to look over. His hand reached up to move some hair out of your eyes and he seemed to ask you for the hundredth time if you were doing okay and if you needed to sit down.
As the two of you navigated the crowd to find your seats, he acted like a human shield. His hand holding tightly onto yours as he practically pushed through the crowd, muttering excuse me as he went and shooting daggers at people who didn’t move over enough. Dismissing anyone who tried to stop him for a talk and when someone grabbed your arm he looked like he was about to punch someone.
You couldn’t help it as you laughed behind your hand, finally finding your seats by the stage for the night.
“What?” He asked, oblivious as he knelt to adjust your dress after you sat down.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
He raised a brow at you but didn’t bother to refute that statement as he leant forward and placed a kiss to your exposed knee from where it peeked out from the slit in your dress. Your cheeks immediately heating up at the display of affection.
He sat down next to you, ever so subtly adjusting himself as he did so and he leaned over, voice a whisper. “You look beautiful tonight. You’re glowing.” He kissed your shoulder then, “I wish we were back at the room.”
“Stop it, I probably look like a tomato.” You smacked him lightly but he easily caught your hand and brought it up to his lips.
Quincy finally joined them, sending them a wink as he sat down. “Hey, lovebirds.”
“Hi, Q.” You smiled and leaned over to talk but before you could utter a word, Michael was kissing you. You were expecting a peck at most since you were in public but became acutely aware of his tongue tracing the inside of your mouth.
Like always, you just about melted but also felt on fire with the fact people were around.
He pulled back, his smile devilish and his thumb tugged on your bottom lip. “You need to fix your lipstick.”
With each Grammy he won, he’d squeeze your thigh before getting up, bending down to kiss you before he went up on stage. The lipstick marks building up as the night went on and God, he was glowing up on that stage and your hands itched from all the clapping you had been doing.
“First, I’d like to thank God for all the wonderful gifts He’s given me and of course my beautiful wife, Mrs Jackson.”
Eight Grammy’s later, you could tell he was on an adrenaline high. Holding as many awards in one arm as he could while the other was wrapped around your waist. He had been smiling so hard you were sure his face went numb.
You were so caught up in the rush of it all you barely noticed he was leading you back to the car.
“What about the after party?”
“We’re not going to that.”
“What? Mike, you broke the record. You have to—“
He turned around, tugging you close and it was only then you took note of how blown his pupils were.
“Baby, if we’re not back in that hotel room in the next hour, I’m gonna pop a fuse.”
You bit your lip, enjoying the way his eyes flicked down to your mouth far too much.
“Okay.”
“Good, now get your ass in the car.”
You were giddy and nodded without another thought, on your own high when he slapped your butt as you bent down to get in the car.
The ride there was anything but tame. The second the car started to move, he rolled up the partition and was on you.
His hands were everywhere, immediately messing up the meticulous updo you had going on with your hair and his mouth ruining your makeup for the hundredth time that night.
His tongue was searing as his mouth trailed down from yours to your neck, lower to the exposed cleavage of your chest and you were half expecting him to rip your dress off just to get at more skin.
Your heart caught in your throat as you watched him slide down to the floor of the car, throwing your exposed leg over his shoulder as he kissed up the inside of your thigh.
His eyes caught yours in the low light, the city passing by in a blur and casting shadows across his face. You suppressed a shiver and he pushed your other knee out, exposing your underwear to the air. You were already wet, something you probably would’ve been embarrassed by but maybe it was the pregnancy hormones.
Michael sighed, sounding blissful. “Look at you. Perfect.”
Then his mouth was on you through the thin cotton and you couldn’t help it as your hips bucked up, hand coming down to hold the back of his head as your own was thrown back against the seat.
The sounds leaving your mouth were lewd and filled the air, not caring if the driver heard you and when you felt Michael pull your underwear aside and sink two fingers in you felt delirious.
His mouth was hot and wet against you as he worked you with his fingers, his gloved hand holding your thigh securely over his shoulder as he ate you out. His tongue was like a weapon, drawing circles over your clit before flatting it.
When he added a third finger you were pretty sure you started to cry.
“Michael! I’m… fuck.”
“That’s it,” he whispered against you and once you came he didn’t bother stopping. Apparently in his own frenzy and it was only then you noticed he was gripping himself through his slacks.
The door to the hotel room shut and his hands were back on you, fumbling for the zipper and he just about ripped through the fabric in his haste. His mouth latching onto your neck from behind and hands clawing at your hips to grind into you, guiding you through the room blindly before falling onto the bed.
You watched with a ringing in your ears as his teeth caught on his glove and pulled it off, tossing it carelessly behind him and shrugging off his jacket.
Eyes flicking down, you could see him clearly through his pants and your mouth went a little dry as you watched him undo his belt.
“Do you know how difficult it was trying not to make this obvious the whole night?” He kicked his pants off and was left in his boxers, taking hold of himself through the fabric and he shut his eyes briefly as he squeezed.
You watched the way the veins in his hands popped as he did so in a lust induced haze.
“Sorry,” you muttered. Slowly beginning to lie backward into the bed as he approached, his thumbs hooking onto the band of his boxers as he began to lower them.
“No, you’re not.”
You shook your head and hummed as he crawled over you, his knees pushing your legs open as he did so.
“Not at all.”
His lips crashed down on yours, one hand winding in your hair as the other hiked one of your legs up and you felt him brush against your entrance.
He tugged lightly, still careful with you as your neck bent back and his mouth trailed down, sucking and biting as went and a groan left him when he finally thrusted into you.
“Eight times,” he said between bites and you were sure marks would be littered all over you tomorrow.
“What?” You barely managed to get out, your own hands in his hair and he fucked you with little restraint. The sound of skin slapping against each other was enough to send your nerves tingling but then he took hold of your jaw, making you look at him.
“I’m gonna make you come for each award I won and you’re gonna take it because I know you can.”
Before you could even think to reply to that statement, his hand danced down and started to circle your clit and he looked beyond pleased to see your back arch off the bed.
It was rough and you loved it. He always started off pretty sweet, gentle. But as time ticked away he always got lost in it, his mind slipping somewhere else and you were sure it was heaven.
One hand took hold of your hips as he started to yank you down onto his cock, the pace brutal and your nails sunk into his back as you let out a cry. The way he had one of your legs up and around him made the angle he was hitting feel like you were being struck by a tuning fork hitting a star.
“Michael—“
“Come for me, baby.” His voice was low in your ear and worked like magic as you did as told.
And you started again.
The next was you bent over with your face pressed into the mattress. He made you finish twice that way.
Then with you on top but you were hardly in control of the situation as he thrusted up into you.
You were a complete wreck with no sense of direction when his head was back between your thighs.
“I can’t—“ but then you did and you were crying and he was drinking up the sight.
Barely giving you any grace when he carried you to the shower, though he was slower to give you a little breathing room, his fingers found their way back to fucking you eventually.
Lucky number eight he didn’t even have to touch you.
His hands were wrapped in your hair and he thrusted into your mouth and the sight of him with his head thrown back as he came down your throat was enough to send you over the edge.
The air smelt like sex and sweat and you were half conscious as his hands rubbed circles into your back.
“I think I got a little carried away,” he said up to the ceiling before peeking down at you. “I’m sorry.”
You shook your head, half way into slumber and held onto him tighter.
“I loved it.”
The last thing you remembered before falling asleep was him kissing the top of your head.
The hospital room smelled too clean. Too sharp. Antiseptic and smoke somehow clung together in the air, and every second you stood outside the door felt heavier than the last.
You pressed your trembling hand against the cool metal handle, trying to steady your breathing. The nurse had warned you softly before letting you in.
“He’s exhausted,” she’d said. “Try not to overwhelm him.”
As if you could ever overwhelm Michael.
As if the sight of him wouldn’t completely shatter you first.
The moment you opened the door, your chest tightened painfully.
Michael lay against the white pillows beneath dim hospital lighting, curls carefully pulled away from the bandages wrapped around his scalp. His usually bright eyes looked tired, softer than you had ever seen them. Machines hummed quietly around him, and for one horrible second, seeing him there made everything feel terrifyingly real.
Not a headline.
Not a television report.
Not some horrifying rumor spreading through Los Angeles.
Real.
Your Michael.
Burned.
Hurt.
You covered your mouth immediately, trying to stop the tears already slipping down your cheeks.
His eyes slowly lifted toward the doorway.
And despite everything, despite the pain medication and exhaustion and the injuries, he smiled the second he saw you.
“There you are,” he murmured weakly.
That did it.
You crossed the room so fast the chair beside his bed nearly scraped loudly across the floor. Your hands found his instantly, careful of the IV taped to the back of one of them.
“Oh my God,” you whispered shakily. “Michael…”
He squeezed your fingers weakly. “Hey. Don’t cry.”
“Don’t cry?” you repeated in disbelief, your voice cracking. “Michael, your hair caught on fire.”
“I know,” he said softly, almost apologetically.
You stared at him for a moment like he was insane.
“I watched it happen,” you whispered. “I thought—”
Your voice broke completely before you could finish.
You thought he died.
You couldn’t even say the words aloud.
Michael’s expression immediately changed. The small smile faded into guilt and tenderness all at once.
“Baby,” he whispered.
You sat carefully on the edge of the hospital bed beside him, trying not to jostle anything attached to him. The second you leaned close, he wrapped his arms around you as best as he could.
And that was when you finally broke apart.
You buried your face against his shoulder carefully, sobbing quietly into the hospital gown while his hand slowly stroked your back.
“I’m okay,” he kept whispering. “I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m right here.”
“You scared me so bad,” you cried. “You scared me.”
“I know.”
“You could’ve died.”
He went quiet at that.
You felt his fingers tighten slightly against your back.
“I know,” he whispered again, smaller this time.
The room fell silent except for your uneven breathing.
You slowly pulled back enough to look at him again, your hands immediately rising to cradle his face gently. His skin was warm beneath your palms, eyes glossy from both exhaustion and emotion.
“You should’ve called me sooner,” you whispered.
“They didn’t really let anybody in at first.”
“I would’ve fought security.”
That earned the tiniest laugh from him.
“You probably would’ve.”
“Absolutely.”
His smile grew faintly before fading again as he looked at you more carefully.
“You didn’t sleep,” he noticed.
Neither had he, probably.
You shook your head once.
“How could I?”
Michael’s eyes softened so much it almost hurt to look at him.
“You came as soon as you could.”
“Of course I did.”
You leaned forward before thinking and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, right beneath the edge of the bandages. Your lips lingered there carefully.
Michael closed his eyes immediately.
Like your touch alone eased something in him.
When you pulled back, his gaze stayed fixed on you.
“You’re real pretty,” he mumbled sleepily.
Despite the tears still clinging to your lashes, you laughed softly.
“You are heavily medicated.”
“No,” he whispered. “I mean it.”
His fingers brushed weakly against your wrist.
“You always look pretty.”
Your heart ached.
Even now, hurt and exhausted in a hospital bed, Michael still spoke so softly. So lovingly.
You bent down and kissed him properly this time.
Gentle.
Slow.
Careful of the soreness in his face.
The second your lips touched his, he melted into it with a tiny sigh. His hand slid against your cheek while he kissed you back lazily, emotionally, like he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.
You could taste the faint dryness from hospital air and medicine, but underneath that he still tasted like Michael.
Still him.
Still alive.
You nearly cried again because of it.
When the kiss broke, he rested his forehead carefully against yours.
“I missed you,” he whispered.
“It’s been one day.”
“A very long day.”
You smiled weakly through tears.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you love me anyway.”
You kissed him again before he could grin too proudly at himself.
This one lasted longer.
His fingers curled gently into your sleeve while your hand rested carefully along his jaw. The kiss deepened slightly, slow and aching and full of relief more than anything else.
When you finally pulled away, Michael looked dazed.
Not from medication this time.
From you.
“You keep doing that,” he murmured softly.
“Doing what?”
“Kissing me like that.”
You brushed your thumb gently beneath his eye.
“You almost got taken away from me. I think I’m allowed.”
His gaze dropped for a moment.
“I’m sorry.”
“Michael—”
“I’m serious.” His voice cracked slightly. “I hate that I scared you.”
You immediately shook your head.
“This isn’t your fault.”
“I still hate it.”
Your expression softened completely.
You leaned closer until your noses brushed.
“You know what scared me the most?” you whispered.
His eyes searched yours carefully.
“The thought that you’d wake up and think you were alone.”
Michael’s face crumpled slightly at that.
Because he would have.
Fame surrounded him constantly, people crowded him everywhere he went, cameras followed him endlessly—but loneliness still found him anyway.
Especially when he was hurting.
Especially now.
“I’m here,” you whispered firmly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Michael stared at you for a long moment before suddenly pulling you into another kiss.
This one wasn’t sleepy.
It was emotional.
Desperate in the quietest way.
His hand slid into your hair carefully while he kissed you deeply, like he needed to feel something real after the terror of the last twenty-four hours.
You kissed him back immediately.
Slowly.
Lovingly.
Every emotion you’d been holding in poured into it.
Fear.
Relief.
Love.
The overwhelming gratitude that he was still alive.
His breathing became uneven by the time you finally separated.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered against your lips.
You smiled softly. “I think I have some idea.”
“No,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded. “No, you don’t.”
You brushed curls carefully away from the bandaging around his head.
“Does it hurt a lot?”
“A little.”
“A little?” you repeated skeptically.
He gave you a tiny shrug.
“They gave me medicine.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Michael watched you fuss over him for a moment before smiling faintly.
“You always take care of me.”
“Someone has to.”
“You like doing it.”
“I do,” you admitted quietly.
His eyes softened again.
You helped adjust his blankets carefully before sitting close beside him again, your hand remaining tangled with his.
For a while, neither of you spoke.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
It was exhausted.
Emotional.
The kind that settles after terror finally passes.
Michael eventually rested his head lightly against your shoulder.
You immediately leaned into him.
“You know what I thought about?” he asked quietly.
“What?”
“You.”
Your chest tightened.
“While everything was happening… I thought about you.”
You swallowed hard.
“What were you thinking?”
“That I didn’t wanna leave yet.”
Tears filled your eyes instantly again.
“Michael…”
“I mean it,” he whispered. “All I could think was that I wasn’t ready to leave you.”
You turned toward him fully then, cupping his face with both hands.
“Don’t say things like that.”
“But it’s true.”
Your lips trembled.
“You’re staying,” you whispered fiercely. “You hear me? You’re staying right here with me.”
Michael looked at you with an expression so full of love it nearly stole the air from your lungs.
Then he kissed you again.
Soft at first.
Then slower.
Deeper.
His fingers gently tightened against your waist as you leaned carefully over the hospital bed to kiss him properly.
You forgot about the machines.
Forgot about the lights.
Forgot about everything except him.
Michael hummed softly into the kiss, completely relaxed for the first time since you arrived.
When you finally pulled back, he looked peaceful.
Actually peaceful.
“You make everything feel better,” he whispered.
You smiled sadly.
“I wish I could take the pain away.”
“You already do.”
Before you could respond, he shifted slightly and winced.
You immediately sat up straighter. “Michael—”
“I’m okay.”
“You are a terrible liar.”
He laughed quietly.
“You sound like my mother.”
“That means I’m right.”
“You usually are.”
You helped him settle more comfortably against the pillows before smoothing your hand gently over his chest.
“You should rest.”
“I don’t wanna sleep yet.”
“Why?”
His fingers intertwined with yours again.
“Because you’re here.”
The way he said it nearly broke your heart.
Like your presence alone anchored him.
Like if he fell asleep, maybe you’d disappear.
You leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth gently.
“I’ll still be here when you wake up.”
“Promise?”
You stared at him for a moment.
Michael Jackson—beloved by millions, adored everywhere he went—looked at you with quiet vulnerability and asked for a promise like a frightened child.
You kissed his forehead carefully.
“I promise.”
He finally relaxed fully at that.
You stayed beside him as his eyes slowly began to drift shut, your fingers continuously combing gently through the curls untouched by the bandages.
Just before he fully fell asleep, he murmured softly:
“Love you.”
Your throat tightened instantly.
You pressed one last lingering kiss against his lips.
“I love you more.”
And for the first time since the accident, Michael smiled in his sleep.
₊˚⊹ ᢉ𐭩
a/n : when i watched this part in the movie i was literally bawling broo like i felt so sad for my baby ☹️also joe only caring abt when he would get back on stage really pmo like find smth to do 😒btw im currently makin another jaafar fic so stay tuned !! 💕
summary: Michael has been away on tour for months, and the distance between him and his girl is starting to feel unbearable. Luckily, a sweet gift and a planned surprise help close the distance between them. ⋆｡°✩
warning: sexual themes, smut, 18+, oral (f receiving), p in v sex in front of a mirror, michael basically receiving nudes lol, slight angst, fluff, unprotected sex
a/n: this is very long and overly descriptive at times, felt slightly rushed at the end...sorry for that but i hope you enjoy it still! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) <3
It had been almost two and a half months since your boyfriend had embarked on the glamorous yet exhausting Triumph Tour alongside his brothers. Though The Jacksons were meant to function as one entity, it had become almost impossible to ignore Michael’s growing fame. Night after night, when the stage lights burst to life and the brothers stepped out onto the stage, it was painfully obvious who the crowd had truly come to see.
At times, you could not help but notice how he was becoming something almost impossible to contain. Bigger than the arenas, louder than the screaming crowds, almost like he was slowly slipping into something the world was not meant to hold. And as proud as you were of him, a small part of you feared that one day he might simply slip through your fingers.
You tried your best to push those thoughts away. Because despite the distance between you growing stronger with every passing week of the tour, and despite the countless women swooning over him wherever he went, your sweet, gentle boyfriend had remained fiercely devoted to you. It showed in the way he always called you after every show without fail, no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how late it had gotten.
Which was why the sudden ringing of the phone startled you from where your face had been buried in a book atop your bed. The sharp sound of the rotary phone vibrating against your nightstand made your heart skip a beat, butterflies instantly blooming in your stomach as realization set in.
You reached over and quickly picked up the pink phone, its pastel surface soft beneath your touch, contrasting beautifully with your sun-warmed skin and red-painted nails as you curled the cord loosely around your hand.
A smile spread across your face immediately.
“Hi, my beautiful angel.”
The moment his voice reached your ears, your entire body softened. You could hear the exhaustion lingering beneath his words, the adrenaline from yet another electric, arena-packed show slowly fading away, leaving his voice slightly hoarse — warm and human.
Yet even through the tiredness, there was still that familiar tenderness — the one that always made your chest ache in the best way.
And the moment he heard your voice on the other end, it was as if the distance between you both disappeared completely, replaced by that same rush of warmth he had felt under the stage lights only an hour before.
“Hi baby,” you smiled softly, sinking deeper into your blankets. “How was the show?”
Michael let out a long exhale, the tension in his body slipping away as soon as the air left his lungs, his muscles finally relaxing.
“It was good. The crowd was crazy, but I couldn’t help being distracted by the ache in my heart,” he said a little dramatically, making you giggle softly on the other end of the line.
“I miss you so much, baby. Please come and visit me. I’ll fly you out — you wouldn’t have to lift a finger or pay a single dime. I just wanna see my pretty girl.”
A quiet sadness settled in your chest. You would have loved nothing more than to go with him on tour. He had begged you to come when it was first announced, and for a while you had almost agreed. But you were determined to finish your studies, especially your university program. Even though you knew he could give you the whole world if you asked, you wanted to build your own path too — your own future, your own career.
“I would love to, baby, but I can’t,” you said softly. “We’re in exam season right now. You know how many times I’ve called you completely stressed, drowning in books.”
A quiet pause filled the line before he spoke again, softer now.
“I know, I know, my angel. I just miss you so much.”
“You know there’s only three weeks left until you’re home again,” you reminded him gently. “We can manage, sweetheart.”
“Fine…” he sighed, though there was a hint of a smile in his voice. “You’re a very strong-headed woman, Mrs. Jackson. You’re lucky I love you.”
You laughed softly, warmth spreading through your chest.
Mrs. Jackson.
Only a playful nickname he had started using, but sometimes, just for a second, you wished it was something more permanent.
As the conversation slowly drifted into stories of your week, your studies, and his life on tour — the cities, the shows, everything in between — time seemed to blur. Eventually, the call began to wind down.
But before hanging up, you hesitated, then asked quietly, almost as an afterthought:
“Did Bill give you the gift I sent you?”
“Hm…” Michael hummed thoughtfully, a little confused, like he was trying to place what you meant. “Uh… I don’t think so. We’ve been pretty busy these past couple of days. He’s driving me to rehearsals tomorrow, though… I can ask him then.”
A small silence settled between you.
“Y-you sent something?” he added, softer now, almost like the idea had just properly registered.
You smiled to yourself.
“Maybe.”
A soft laugh left him immediately.
“Maybe?” he repeated, like the word had personally offended him in the gentlest way. “That’s not very fair… you’re being very mysterious, angel.”
You rolled your eyes — something he could practically visualize through the phone.
“Well, it’s a surprise, Mikey. I can’t spoil it for you. You’re going to have to be patient.”
“I think patient is the only thing I’ve been, doll,” he said with a soft sigh. “And now I’m going to have to be it for three more weeks.”
You giggled quietly.
“Well… you’re proving yourself to be a very good boy.”
The pet name came off innocent, but it still sent a shiver through him, goosebumps rising across his skin. For a second he went quiet before clearing his throat.
“Can you at least give me a hint of what it is, sweetheart?” he asked, softer now, almost pleading in a playful way.
You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you.
“Nope. I’m not telling.”
“Okay, okay,” he sighed dramatically, though there was no real frustration in it. How could he ever be frustrated with you when you were the most important person in his life?
Almost like it was pulled out of him on instinct, he muttered, “Sometimes I love you so much it’s honestly distracting.”
Your heart skipped a beat.
He always knew exactly how to say things that made you melt, even through distance and static.
You went quiet for a second, smiling into the phone cord.
“I love you too, baby.”
“Good,” he said immediately, but gently. “Because I don’t know how I would survive this tour otherwise.”
His tone dipped slightly more serious, then softened again just as quickly.
“But I’ll be fine. I just… miss you a lot, that’s all.”
You could hear the warmth return to his voice already.
“I miss you a lot too,” you said quietly.
“Yeah?” he asked, instantly lighter again.
“Yeah.”
A small, satisfied hum.
“Okay,” he said. “Then I’ll stop complaining… and stop trying to get answers about your little secret gift.”
“…for now.”
That made you laugh again, quieter this time, warmth settling in your chest as the conversation naturally began to slow.
Neither of you rushed to fill the silence between sentences.
And when you finally hung up, it wasn’t really a goodbye. Just a soft fading out, like it always was.
Even after the call ended, it lingered, that quiet, aching warmth of him still sitting in your chest like something soft you didn’t want to put down.
Eventually, sleep pulled gently at your eyes, and you drifted off with a soft smile still resting on your face.
__________________
Michael sat in the van on his way to soundcheck and rehearsals, gazing out at the city skyline as the afternoon sun streamed through the tall buildings.
He could feel the impatience of finally finishing the tour growing in him every day, made worse by her absence.
Don’t get him wrong — he was grateful that he could make a living from his art and music. But the physical strain of it all… touring, press, interviews, shows — it had been his life for as long as he could remember, and only now was he really starting to feel its weight and reflect upon it.
And then she came into it.
Someone outside of all of that. Someone who just let him be himself.
God, if it had ever been an option, he would’ve taken the first flight to her without thinking twice.
His melancholy thoughts were interrupted when he remembered the very important topic of yesterday’s call — the gift his adorable girlfriend had mentioned.
For a moment, his expression shifted, the thought softening something in his chest.
He glanced up at Bill through the rearview mirror, his soft, rounded eyes meeting the older man’s.
“Hey, Bill… you didn’t happen to get a gift for me recently, did you?”
Bill blinked, thinking for a moment.
“Oh, yeah. I meant to give it to you yesterday, but I forgot. Sorry, sir.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a small pink box wrapped with a white ribbon handing it back to Michael in the backseat.
Michael’s fingers lingered for just a second as he took it, like he was already imagining her holding it.
“You’re really lucky to have a sweet girl like her,” Bill said with a small smile.
Before Michael could respond, the rest of the Jackson brothers, spread out in the van, had already caught on.
“Oooh, look at you,” Jackie teased with a grin. “Getting delicate little pink gifts from your girlfriend.”
A faint blush crept up Michael’s face almost immediately. He lowered his gaze, trying to hide it, but the smile gave him away.
Marlon laughed. “Don’t start, Jackie. Man’s got the prettiest thing waiting for him at home. You can’t even get a woman to last a week with you, let alone gift you something.”
That made Michael laugh out loud, shaking his head as Jackie shot Marlon an annoyed look.
He still held the small box loosely in his hand for a moment longer than necessary, before finally slipping it into his pocket.
The van slowed as they arrived at the arena, and the energy outside already began spilling in — crew moving, distant crowd noise, the weight of another show waiting for him.
Excitement quietly replaced his earlier exhaustion. Not just for the show, but for later.
For the moment he could finally open it.
Alone.
He stepped out into the buzz of the tour day and went on with his day.
__________________
You’d been home alone one day, sitting on the couch watching a movie and lazily flipping through a magazine, when an idea slowly crept into your mind.
Something intimate. Something meant only for him.
It had been too long since you’d seen him. Too long since you’d felt truly close, the kind of closeness that made everything else disappear. You missed his touch, the way his fingers could so easily make you fall apart, the heat of his mouth against your skin, and how even his voice alone could leave you aching with need.
So, with the help of your closest girlfriend — the one studying photography, perfectly enough, who knew exactly how to work with light and shadow — and your trusted Polaroid SX-70 (a gift from him, of course), you decided to create something just for him.
A little “hang in there” present, something to lift his spirits.
You had chosen a delicate, almost see-through babydoll nightie in the palest blush pink. Soft layers of white lace trimmed the ruffled neckline and hem, the sheer fabric whispering against your skin and hinting at everything beneath. A silky pink ribbon tied sweetly between your breasts was the only thing keeping it from looking completely sinful. Beneath it, matching satin panties peeked through the translucent fabric. You finished the look with knee-high white socks that hugged your legs, adding an innocent, almost teasing touch.
With your best friend’s help, you spent nearly an hour taking the photos.
The first one was soft and dreamy — you lying on your stomach across the carpet, back gently arched as warm sunlight spilled over your body. The babydoll had ridden up slightly, revealing the pink satin panties hugging your curves perfectly.
The second was bolder. You stood in front of the tall window, letting the strong afternoon light pour through from behind. The sheer fabric turned almost invisible in the backlight, revealing every curve of your body — the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, and the smooth line of your hips.
The third one made your cheeks burn the most. You had slipped the babydoll off completely for that shot. Lying against the silk sheets, you covered your chest with both hands, your red manicured nails standing out against your skin. Only the delicate pink satin panties and knee-high socks remained.
You were almost certain this one might be the final straw — the thing that would make your sweet boyfriend drop everything and fly across the country just to touch you. The thought alone made your cheeks burn even hotter.
You were nervous, but curious too, to see how he would react. You and Michael had been intimate before, but he was still shy and careful in certain ways. You had been his first everything, and he had discovered it all with you.
These pictures alone might genuinely send your sweet boyfriend into cardiac arrest.
You took a few more after that, each one slightly bolder than the last, until a small stack of Polaroids sat beside you, feeling almost dangerously intimate.
A nervous sort of excitement bubbled in your stomach.
__________________
Michael finally made his way back to the hotel room, still riding the lingering wave of adrenaline from the show. Sweat clung uncomfortably to his skin, his stage clothes sticking to his body as exhaustion slowly began to settle in.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, he peeled off most of his clothes until he was left in only his underwear. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed before falling back against the mattress with a tired groan, one arm thrown over his face. His hands dragged slowly down his torso as he took a deep breath, trying to calm the restless energy still buzzing beneath his skin.
Before he could bring himself to shower or make his usual late-night call to you, his thoughts drifted back to the small pink box he had carried with him all day. A spark of excitement stirred low in his stomach.
He reached over to the nightstand and picked it up with both hands, holding it above his face for a moment. A soft smile tugged at his lips. Then he rolled onto his stomach, legs dangling lazily off the edge of the bed, and untied the ribbon.
He lifted the lid slowly. The first thing he saw was the folded white note.
His expression softened instantly.
Carefully unfolding it, he began to read.
mikey,
my sweet angel and my ray of sunshine,
words cannot describe the way my life has changed ever since you settled into it
i miss you every day, and i wish you were here so i could feel your touch
i hope these photos find you well and help lift your spirits until you come home to me
yours forever
Michael felt something tighten painfully in his chest as he reread the words. Tears welled quietly in the corners of his eyes even as a wide smile spread across his face.
“My pretty girl…” he whispered softly to himself.
Michael’s thumb brushed over your handwriting, almost as if he could touch you through the paper, before he folded the note with care and placed it gently on the nightstand.
His fingers trembled slightly as he parted the delicate tissue paper lying beneath it.
The first photo made him forget how to breathe.
You were lying on your stomach across the carpet, back sweetly arched, wearing that soft blush-pink babydoll he loved. The hem had ridden up, putting the full, plush curve of your ass on perfect display, hugged by shiny satin panties. The sight sent a rush of heat straight through him.
He exhaled shakily, feeling the blood rush downward as he hardened rapidly beneath his underwear. A quiet, helpless sound left his throat.
He kept going, one photo at a time.
The second one nearly broke him. You stood in front of the tall window of your apartment, with afternoon sunlight pouring through from behind. The sheer fabric had turned almost transparent, revealing everything — the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples visibly hard against the delicate material, the beautiful curve of your waist and hips silhouetted like a dream.
Michael’s cheeks burned. His mouth went dry, and his heart hammered violently against his ribs.
By the time he reached the last photos, his breathing had grown ragged. The boldest one made his stomach tighten with raw want: you lying against silk sheets with the babydoll removed, both hands modestly covering your chest. Those dangerous red nails, his absolute favorite, stood out so vividly against your skin. Only the pretty pink satin panties and the innocent knee-high white socks remained.
Dirty thoughts flooded his mind before he could suppress them. Those same red-tipped fingers wrapped around him instead, stroking him so lovingly. How you’d look up at him with that shy but knowing smile while you touched him.
A broken little groan slipped from his lips.
He rolled onto his back, legs spread across the large hotel bed, and let one hand slide slowly down his torso. His palm slipped beneath the waistband of his underwear, wrapping long fingers around his aching, throbbing cock. He was already wet at the tip, slick and hot. With slow, almost reverent strokes he began touching himself, eyes fixed on the photo he still held carefully in his other hand.
“Angel… oh God…” he whispered hoarsely, voice thick with longing. His hips twitched up into his fist as another soft, needy sound escaped him.
His imagination grew bolder. He pictured your lips wrapped around him, taking him deep as your beautiful eyes glistened with tears. He imagined tangling his fingers gently in your hair, the way you’d moan around him. Then the thoughts shifted — spreading your thighs, burying his face between them, tasting you until you trembled and cried out his name. He wanted to make you fall apart beneath him, to lose himself completely in your body.
“God… I miss you,” he breathed, voice cracking.
The coil in his stomach tightened fast. His thighs clenched, hand moving quicker, tighter. Sweat beaded on his forehead, curls sticking to his damp skin.
His orgasm hit him hard. A broken moan tore from his throat as he came over his stomach and chest in thick, warm pulses, hips jerking uncontrollably. He kept stroking himself through every wave, drawing it out until he was shaking and completely spent.
For a long moment he just lay there, chest heaving, staring up at the ceiling with hazy eyes.
Eventually he brought the photo to his lips and kissed it softly. He gathered the rest with gentle hands and placed them back inside the pink box, hiding it away like a treasured secret.
He forced himself up on unsteady legs and headed to the shower. The hot water helped calm his body, but it did nothing to soothe the deep ache in his chest. He still missed you so badly it hurt.
After drying off and finally relaxing, he pulled on a pair of soft pajama pants and reached for the phone. He dialed your number, heart beating a little faster with hope.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
No answer.
Michael frowned, worry flickering through the afterglow. He tried again. Still nothing. Just as mild panic started to set in, he glanced at the clock.
01:37 AM.
He let out a long, relieved breath and rubbed a hand over his face, smiling softly to himself. Of course you were asleep. He had completely lost track of time. Not wanting to wake you, he hung up and climbed into bed. The exhaustion from the show and the emotional release finally caught up with him, and sleep pulled him under almost immediately.
__________________
The roar of the crowd was still echoing through the arena as you waited backstage, heart hammering against your ribs. Bill had given you a knowing smile before disappearing to fetch Michael, leaving you standing there in your sundress with nervous excitement buzzing under your skin.
You had managed to get a few days off from school and fly out to surprise him. Your aching heart simply couldn’t take the distance anymore — you had to see him. With the help of his family and crew, they had arranged a flight for you almost immediately. You had barely slept on the plane, your mind replaying the photos you’d sent him and wondering how he would react when he finally saw you in person. The nervousness of not having seen each other for so long made your stomach flutter, but you couldn’t stop smiling either.
You had been waiting in his dressing room, sitting casually on the sofa with a book in your lap, when you heard footsteps approaching. Before you could even look up, the door swung open.
There he was.
Michael stepped inside, still flushed and glistening from the stage, damp curls clinging to his forehead, sequined jacket hanging open over his chest. The moment his eyes landed on you, his entire face transformed. The exhaustion vanished in an instant. His lips parted in shock, and then that beautiful, bright smile you loved so much broke across his face.
“B-baby… w-what?” His voice cracked with disbelief.
Before you could answer, he was on you. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you off the ground as he buried his face in your neck. His body was incredibly warm, almost feverish from the performance, and you could feel his heart racing wildly against yours.
“You’re really here,” he whispered against your skin, voice hoarse and trembling with emotion. “God, you’re here…”
You smiled, threading your fingers through his damp curls. “Surprise.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and the intensity in them made your stomach flip. There was love there — but also something much hungrier.
You glanced behind him and noticed his brothers lingering by the doorway, watching with amused grins. In an unexpected move, Michael walked toward them, gently but firmly pushing them back out of the room before closing the door.
You looked at him in slight shock. “Mikey, that wasn’t very nice,” you teased softly.
He didn’t respond. He simply closed the distance between you again, pulling you into a passionate kiss. There was nothing shy about him now. He kissed you like a starved man — deep, desperate, months of longing pouring out all at once. His hands slid down your body, gripping your thighs as he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, arms sliding around his neck as he carried you across the room to his vanity table.
Breaking the kiss with a heavy breath, he pressed his forehead against yours.
“I’ve been losing my mind over you,” he breathed hotly against your lips, voice rough. “Those pictures… angel, you have no idea what they did to me.”
You smiled cheekily, a rush of warmth and confidence blooming in your chest. Slowly, you let your arms slide down from around his neck, trailing your hands over his chest. His shirt was still buttoned at the top, damp from the stage, and the moment your fingers brushed against his warm skin he trembled visibly under your touch.
You looked up at him with big, innocent eyes, even as your smile stayed playfully wicked.
“Well… that was the reaction I wanted, baby.”
Michael’s lips curved into a big, breathless smile before he kissed you again, one hand cradling the back of your head. He kissed you deeply for a moment, then began trailing heated kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. His other hand slowly slid up your body, gliding over your hip and stomach before cupping your breast through your dress. His thumb brushed over your nipple, rolling it gently between his fingers.
A loud moan slipped from your lips.
“Mm, fuck… Mikey…” you breathed.
He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, burning with raw desire.
“I really need to taste you,” he whispered, voice low and shaky, almost like he was embarrassed he’d said it out loud. The usual shyness breaking through.
His cheeks were already flushed as he slowly sank to his knees in front of you. His hands gently pushed up the hem of your sundress, trembling slightly when his fingers brushed against the smooth pink satin.
He stopped breathing for a second.
“…You’re wearing them,” he breathed, eyes wide. His thumb stroked the delicate fabric almost reverently. “The same panties from the pictures… Oh angel, you really wore these for me?”
You nodded, biting your lip at how sweetly overwhelmed he looked.
“I wanted you to see them in real life,” you said softly.
Michael let out a quiet, broken sound and pressed his forehead against your thigh, hiding his burning face for a moment. His breath was warm and uneven against your skin.
“You’re so beautiful… I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, almost to himself.
He reached for your underwear before glancing up at you. When you gave him a small nod of approval, he carefully slid the pink satin panties down your legs, treating them like something precious. Then he placed them gently in his pockets, before leaning in.
The first touch of his lips against your inner thigh made you shiver. He kissed his way up slowly, almost worshipfully, before his mouth finally found your center. The moment his tongue touched you, a soft, needy whimper escaped his throat.
He was gentle at first, slow, careful licks, like he was savoring every second. But the longer he tasted you, the more his control slipped. He grabbed your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the table, your legs instinctively draping across his shoulders as he held you close.
“You taste so sweet,” he whispered against you, voice hoarse and shy. “I’ve missed you so much… every night I thought about this, how I wanted to unravel you.”
Your fingers threaded through his damp curls, and he moaned softly at the touch, pressing his face even closer. His tongue moved with more confidence now, licking long and slow before focusing on your clit, sucking gently. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the dressing room, making your cheeks burn.
He looked up at you with dark, glassy eyes, lips shiny.
“Is this okay?” he asked breathlessly. “Am I making you feel good, baby?”
You could only moan and nod desperately. That seemed to encourage him. He added one long finger carefully, sliding it inside you while his tongue continued its slow torture. Soon he added a second finger, curling them both in that perfect way that made your back arch.
The pleasure kept building inside you, growing hotter and more intense with every stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers. You could feel the way your body grew tighter and tighter, heat flooding your core until you were on the edge of shattering, until your legs shook uncontrollably before you could even think straight, thighs squeezing around him.
“Mikey— oh god…” you whimpered, voice breaking.
He didn’t stop. If anything, he became more eager, sucking harder on your clit while his fingers thrust deeper.
It hit you suddenly. Your thighs tightened hard around his shoulders as you came with a soft, broken cry of his name.
“Jesus… Mikey,” you exhaled, body shaking violently as waves of pleasure crashed through you.
Michael stayed with you through every wave, humming gently against you, licking you softly until your body finally relaxed.
Only then did he pull back, breathing hard, his face flushed a deep red. He looked almost guilty for how much he’d enjoyed it. Before he could lick his shiny fingers, you grabbed his wrist and brought them to your lips, sucking them slowly while holding his gaze.
Michael let out a broken, helpless whimper. In the next second he was on his feet, pulling you into a deep, desperate kiss. His tongue slid against yours as you felt his hard, straining cock pressing urgently against your thigh. When you reached down and palmed him through his slacks, he moaned shakily into your mouth, hips twitching.
You smiled against his lips and turned around on the vanity, bracing your hands on the surface and arching your back as you pressed your ass back against him. Looking at him through the mirror, you whispered:
“Mikey… I want you. I need you to take me right here.”
Michael’s breath hitched. He rubbed a hand over his face, clearly overwhelmed and embarrassed by how badly he wanted this. He pressed his forehead against the back of your head, your soft curls tickling his skin as his hot, heavy length rested against you.
“You’re truly gonna be the death of me…” he murmured, voice thick with arousal.
You let out a soft giggle as he whispered a quick, silent prayer under his breath. Then you heard his zipper. He stroked himself a few times before leaning down to kiss your shoulder tenderly.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered reverently.
He rubbed the tip of his cock against your soaked folds, teasing you both, before slowly pushing inside you from behind.
The stretch made you both moan. He sank in inch by inch, careful and slow, until he was fully buried inside you. Michael’s head dropped forward against your shoulder, breathing ragged.
“Oh angel…” he whispered shakily. “You feel so good… so warm and wet around me.”
He stayed still for a moment, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, just holding you close as if he needed a second to not lose control. Then he started moving — slow, deep thrusts that made the vanity table creak softly beneath you.
His eyes stayed locked on yours in the mirror the whole time. One of his hands came up to cup your breast through your dress while the other held your hip, gently guiding you back onto him.
“Look at us,” he breathed against your neck, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there. “Look how pretty you look like this…”
You could barely speak, voice coming out in a stuttering mess.
“M-missed you so much… missed your cock filling me up.”
The words clearly affected him. Michael let out a low, shaky groan and gently tugged your hair, pulling your head to the side so he could kiss you even deeper, along your exposed neck. His thrusts grew a little heavier, a little more desperate.
The pleasure started building again, slow and heavy, spreading through your body with every roll of his hips. His fingers eventually found your clit, rubbing gentle, steady circles that made your legs tremble.
“Baby… I’m so close already,” he warned, voice trembling against your skin. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it…”
You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts. “Come with me, Mikey…please"
That seemed to be all he needed. His grip on your hip tightened slightly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You came first — hard, clenching around him as a broken moan of his name left your lips. Your legs shook, pleasure flooding through you in heavy waves.
Michael followed right after with a quiet, shaky cry, pushing deep as he spilled inside you in warm pulses. He held you tightly through it, arms wrapped around your body like he was afraid you’d disappear.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing and the faint noise of the arena somewhere far away.
He stayed inside you, pressing slow, loving kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck. His hands stroked your sides gently, almost apologetically.
“My sweet angel,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He eventually pulled out carefully and turned you around to face him. His eyes were soft, a little glossy, and his cheeks were still flushed. He pulled you into his chest, holding you close as he rested his chin on top of your head.
“I’m not gonna let you leave again,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
