a/n: y’all wanted a mess involving diana ross so here y’all go (combination of a few different requests) — the moan request is next 🚬
michael jackson x girlfriend! reader
after finding a shrine room in michael’s house dedicated to diana ross, your next stop was 7/11 to buy a few gallons of gasoline and a new lighter
t/w: reader has a taste for arson, fuck diana ross, michael should get slapped, angst? fluff but not really, reader is pissed off, reader can fight (but i suck at writing it), toxic but can we really blame you? michael groveling, nsfw if you squint
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Michael’s house was a maze.
Despite the large handful of times you had been there since the two of you started dating, you still got lost sometimes. Halls winding into a labyrinth of polished wood, decorative paintings, and each door started to look the same.
Your fingers landed on another handle. There was nothing special about it. Polished brass. Stained wood. Ordinary.
You tested the handle. Unlocked.
The door opened, silent on its hinges. Your footsteps were muted on the carpet and your eyes adjusted to the low lighting of the room, a warm glow flickering from an array of candles that were lit.
You blinked, standing in the doorway with your fingers still wrapped around the handle and perfectly still.
“What the fuck?”
You blinked again. Hoping that by some strange ripple in reality, that you had to be dreaming. Hallucinating. Lost your mind.
Pictures of Diana Ross were everywhere. Barely a millimeter of the wall could be seen between each frame.
And for fuck’s sake, the candles.
They covered tables and littered the floor, all lit with wax pooling over old and used sticks bent in charred shapes.
A laugh left you, short and sharp. Completely riddled speechless by what you were seeing because this just had to be a fucking joke.
You took a single step forward, still holding onto the door like it was a lifeline to your sanity.
There were letters strewn across some of the tables. Dates varying back a few years up to right before you two started dating.
Letters from her.
You were pretty sure you started to feel your heart rotting in your chest. The soiled artery beginning to infect the surrounding area, bleeding out and ruining everything and sinking right through you and to the floor.
Another blink as you read one of the signatures at the bottom of a letter.
Your dearest, Diana and the lipstick mark next to it.
“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” you muttered.
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“Baby, just wait a second.” Michael threw a hand out, catching the car door before you could slam it shut.
“I don’t wanna talk to you or look at you right now.” You tugged on the door but it didn’t budge. Your eyes flicked up to his face but Christ, everything was blurry.
“It’s not what—“
“It’s not what it looks like? Really? Then what the fuck does it look like, Michael. Enlighten me.”
He winced at your tone even though you tried your best not to raise your voice.
“I…” he looked away from you, jaw rolling. “Listen, she’s been a dear friend of mine—“
“Oh my god.” You yanked on the door harder, not caring if you squashed his fingers in the process.
“I’ve been meaning to take all that down, I promise. I just haven’t had the time.” He rushed, fingers slipping from their hold and the door finally shut.
Your foot pressed on the gas, ignoring him as he yelled out your name.
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You were fucking seething.
The last few days had been hell. And Michael calling you every other hour made it just a bit worse. You wanted to pick up the phone and yell at him. Wanted to pick up and hear him out.
And then you’d shut your eyes and all of the sudden you were back in that God forsaken room.
Then the flowers started to show up on your doorstep and at work.
Your favorite kind in your favorite color with an apology scribbled on the note.
You crumbled up each one and threw it away.
The gifts piled in afterwards. Books you’d been wanting, all either first editions or signed. Designer bags. Heels. The Burberry coat you’d been eyeing every time you went shopping.
You weren’t stubborn enough to toss all of that away. Telling yourself it would’ve been a waste.
He had even sent Bill. Something that would’ve made you laugh but then you’d remind yourself Michael should be the one crawling to your doorstep, so you’d send Bill away with some strong words he likely wouldn’t repeat.
A tv show was playing and your eyes watched dully, not quite paying attention and the laugh track swirled into mindless white noise. Your thoughts all over the place and scattered into a million pieces.
Albeit, you and Michael hadn't been dating for long. Technically. Seeing each other on and off for a while before officially deciding to slap a label on it three months ago.
Three months for him to get rid of that fucking room.
Three months to at least say something.
Then an idea festered. Burying its claws deep into your prefrontal cortex. Shredding whatever character development you’d garnered over the years because it was incredibly fucking tempting.
You wanted to burn it. All of it. Every photo and letter because fuck her and fuck him for hiding it from you.
With a click of your tongue you stood up and grabbed your purse and car keys.
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The cashier looked between the many empty red gas canisters, a cheetah print lighter, and you.
Many times.
“I’d like to fill these up at pump seven,” you smiled at him. Polite as ever and feeling blissfully calm.
“And you also want the lighter?”
“Yup.” You popped the p.
Again, you really did feel wonderfully calm.
He shook his head, deciding to put any questions he had on the back burner. “Alright.”
“Can I also get a pack of reds, a twelve pack of Budweiser… oh and these trash bags”
“Sure.”
You smiled again and swiped Michael’s credit card.
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Humming as the sound of wood ripped, you threw another frame into the trash bag. Not caring at all as the paint ripped on the wall, nails being bent into jagged shapes and oh how unfortunate, some shattered glass.
It was relatively late and you knew Michael’s schedule. One he didn’t often veer off of, even during a relationship crisis.
Or maybe it was just a crisis to you. And Michael didn’t think it was a big deal so he continued on, business as usual, away in his studio and working.
You ripped another frame off the wall.
You were in and out of there for around two hours. Not another soul to be seen as you dragged trash bags out into the back yard. Not satisfied until all that was left in that room was the scraping of old melted candle wax leaving a faint outline on the carpet.
Everything had been thrown into a pile. Broken wood, jagged glass, ripped photos, and the annoying amount of letters that you ripped as you tossed them around.
You didn’t see a single person as you carried the canisters of gas two at a time from your car. Not a concerned glance as you started to unscrew the caps and walk around the pile in mindless circles, dumping the gasoline until everything was absolutely soaked and your nose and eyes burned from the smell.
You then came to a stop, sighing as you stared at all of it. A deformed and wet slop of memorabilia of a woman you really couldn’t fucking stand.
Your dearest, Diana.
Pulling out the pack of reds, you placed one between your teeth and your thumb struck the sparkwheel of the lighter, a sharp sound meeting your ears and a warm glow gently touching your face as the tobacco started to burn and nicotine coated your mind.
Then you tossed the cheetah print lighter onto the pile and up up up the flames went.
The burst of light so bright it made you squint and the heat hit your face like a shockwave.
Watching in delight as that woman’s face got contorted and charred and the letters curled in on themselves and fell into glowing ash.
You weren't sure how much time had passed but your cigarette was almost to the butt when you started to hear footsteps and shouting muffled behind the crack of flames.
Someone had you by the shoulders, yanking you back all of the sudden and you blinked as Michael came into view. His expression panicked and confused as his eyes flicked over you to make sure you were alright.
How sweet of him.
His hand cupped your cheek, brows furrowed as his eyes then flicked down to all the canisters and you watched in amusement as each puzzle piece fell. You could practically see where they landed for him, all coming together in one dazzling picture of fire.
Then his eyes landed on the Budweiser.
“Since when do you drink beer?”
You laughed. Loudly and deep and yanked right from your diaphragm because of course that’s what he decided to ask you about.
Then you slapped him.
Once.
Sharp and precise, his head snapping to the side and his jaw rolling as his cheek twinged red.
“You’re lucky I didn’t burn your fucking house down.”
You tossed the butt of your cigarette to the ground, twisting it beneath the toe of your stilettos you decided to wear. His favorite pair, because fuck him.
“Let’s get dinner. Maybe have Bill call the fire department, though.”
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He had been on his best behavior since then.
It’s not like Michael had to try. Despite that little hiccup, he was a wonderful boyfriend and lover. Always doting and attentive. Buying you whatever you wanted and never able to take his hands off of you.
Burying your face in his mattress as he made you come at least twice before he did.
You were at an after party, the hour late off the tail end of an award show. The taste of tequila still on your tongue as you walked back from the bathroom, fingers messing with your M necklace Michael had given you, matching the bracelet he wore that had your own initial on it.
His idea, of course.
He was trying, really he was. You could give him a little grace for that. He wanted you to know you were his and he was yours. Nothing else and nobody else mattered.
But then you heard voices. Two. Familiar and low and your heels came to a sharp stop after you rounded the corner.
There she was.
Diana Ross leaning in and talking with a lilt, “it’s been so long, Michael.”
You blinked as you watched her rest a manicured hand on his shoulder.
He laughed, though it was more of a strained exhale. “I got a girl now, I can’t—“
“Michael, honey it’s me.”
“I knew you were old, but I didn’t know it was starting to affect your hearing.”
They both froze. Michael’s eyes drifting past Diana and landing on you. Not looking shocked, per se. In fact, now this could be the alcohol talking, but he looked relieved at the interruption.
Diana turned around, brow raised and her eyes flicked up and down. Sizing you up and a breathless laugh left her. “Excuse me?”
“I know I didn’t mumble.” You stared at her, arms crossed and wishing the earth would open up beneath her.
“Young lady, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to—“
You didn’t mean to.
Or maybe you did. Who’s to say?
You’d grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking her head back before slamming it against the wall.
“What part of I have a girl did you not understand? And this ‘young lady’ is the same age as that ‘young’ man, so why don’t you start sending letters to men your own age or maybe your own fucking husband.”
You faintly heard Michael say your name, but it was drowned out the moment Diana called you a bitch.
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You sat on the curb, cigarette held between cut up knuckles and you blew a strand of hair out of your face. Watching silently as Michael sat down next to you as you waited for Bill to pull the car around.
He tapped a rhythm into his thighs as you took an inhale of tobacco, the plumes of smoke taking up the silent space.
“You know,” he started, eyes still focused in front of him but he leaned towards you. “You got a mean left hook.”
You couldn’t help it as you smiled. “I had a good teacher.”
Michael’s eyes finally met yours, the skin crinkling around them as he grinned. A knowing glance being passed between you two like a treasure. “I’m sure you did.”
The night wasn’t wasted even though you’d been asked to leave early by security, something Michael found hilarious the more he thought about it. Laughing nearly all the way home.
It wasn’t wasted at all as he laid you down in his bed, pushing your dress up and around your waist, painting a picture only he could see with his head between your thighs and I love you on his lips.
a/n:
i tried and failed to write a fight scene but i’ll work on it for future reference sorry 😭 hopefully this turned out okay but i feel like it fell flat— the request where michael moans diana’s name will hopefully be out soon (gonna need to buy a bottle of wine to write that)
SUMMARY: based on this request. Paul Mccartney casts his actress friend as Michael’s love interest in the Say Say Say music video, knowing they both secretly have crushes on each other. What starts as teasing quickly turns into nonstop flirting. @ariitashi <3
CONTENT: michael jackson x actress!reader. lots of flirting. paul mccartney being a menace. fluffy chaos. confident michael.
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭
By October 1983, Paul McCartney had developed two favorite hobbies:
1. making music.
2. psychologically tormenting Michael Jackson for sport. In a friendly way, though.
The Say Say Say short film had already turned into complete chaos before filming even officially started.
Bob Giraldi wanted something cinematic.
Not just a music video.
A film.
So suddenly there were horse-drawn wagons, fake saloons, vaudeville routines, medicine-show scams, clown makeup, bar fights, tuxedos, fire gags, and enough costume changes to make the wardrobe department consider unionizing.
The entire set looked like somebody let theater kids run the Wild West.
And in the middle of all of it Michael Jackson was suffering.
Because Paul knew about the crush. Of course he did.
Michael had accidentally revealed it months earlier after making the catastrophic mistake of watching one of Y/N L/N’s films in the studio. And Paul happened to walk in during an emotional scene.
Michael sat cross-legged on the floor completely invested, chin propped against one hand, staring up at the television like the movie personally held his soul hostage.
Paul leaned against the doorway quietly watching for a second. Then:
“Oh, mate… you’ve got it absolutely catastrophic.”
Michael nearly launched off the couch.
“I—wha—what do you mean?”
“Michael,” Paul said gently, “you paused the film when she smiled.”
“That’s film appreciation.”
“You sighed.”
Michael looked deeply offended.
“I did not sigh.”
“You looked like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankle for the first time.”
Michael threw a pillow at him immediately, his cheeks turning violently red.
Unfortunately after that, Paul noticed everything.
Every time Y/N appeared in a magazine.
Every time Michael casually brought her up for absolutely no reason.
One time during dinner Michael randomly blurted: “She has kind eyes.”
Nobody had even been talking about Y/N.
Jermaine nearly inhaled water laughing.
Paul, however, became significantly worse.
Because unlike normal people, Paul McCartney weaponized information recreationally.
So when Bob Giraldi mentioned needing another actress for the Say Say Say storyline, Paul smiled slowly like a man about to commit a felony.
“Oh,” he said casually. “I know someone.”
Which led directly to Michael sitting on the edge of the stage days later in full costume while Paul wandered over holding a cup of tea and the expression of satan himself.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Michael asked, immediately getting suspicious at Paul looking delighted.
“I called my dear friend, Y/N.”
Michael froze, brown eyes widening a bit.
“…Why.”
“She said yes.”
Silence.
“No.”
“She’ll be here in twenty minutes.”
“Absolutely not.” Michael stood up, his legs feeling jiggly. “PAUL.”
Bob Giraldi looked up instantly interested.
Paul continued like this was the funniest thing ever. “Oh, and she’s playing your love interest.”
Michael dragged both hands down his face.
“If I’m fast enough I think I can flee the country.”
Paul nodded thoughtfully. “Probably.”
The worst part? Y/N actually owed Paul a favor. A massive one.
A few months earlier she’d gotten stranded halfway through Europe after her passport vanished during a press tour.
Absolute disaster.
The embassy was useless.
Her manager was panicking.
And somehow Paul McCartney himself had called connections and fixed the entire situation within minutes.
“I owe you my firstborn child.” Y/N had cried dramatically down the phone.
Paul immediately replied: “Perfect. I’ll collect eventually.”
Apparently this was him collecting.
And unfortunately for Michael, Paul and Y/N were genuinely good friends.
They’d met backstage at an awards show earlier that year and bonded instantly because both of them were deeply unserious people pretending to function professionally.
Y/N once convinced Paul to sneak out of a Hollywood party through the kitchen because she ‘couldn’t mentally survive another producer explaining cocaine like he invented it.’ Paul laughed so hard he nearly fell down the staircase.
After that they became inseparable.
Linda adored her too. Mostly because Y/N treated fame like an elaborate joke.
One afternoon Linda found her sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter eating cereal straight from the box while wearing sunglasses indoors.
“Bad day?” Linda asked.
Y/N looked emotionally exhausted.
“A man with a ponytail tried explaining jazz to me for forty minutes. Again.” Linda nodded sympathetically. “If that happens one more time I’m banging my head against the wall.”
“Horrific.”
So naturally, the second Y/N agreed to the video, Paul planned specifically to make Michael’s life worse.
“By the way,” Paul added innocently. “she’s obsessed with you too.”
Michael froze on the spot. Again.
“…What.”
“Oh yes,” Paul continued casually. “Terribly embarrassing.”
Michael tried acting calm for maybe four seconds.
Then immediately: “I need you to tell me what she said exactly”
Paul burst out laughing.
Now, standing on the dusty California set waiting for her arrival, Michael looked one inconvenience away from cardiac arrest.
He adjusted his suspenders.
Then his curls.
Then his sleeves.
Then the suspenders again.
La Toya, his sister, watched this happen with visible delight. “You know she’s just a person.”
Michael looked horrified.
“That’s not helpful at all.”
Then finally a car pulled onto set. And suddenly nothing else mattered.
Because there she was.
Stepping out into the sunlight wearing a vintage cream-colored dress, dark sunglasses, and hair pinned away from her face.
Michael forgot how breathing worked.
Which was unfortunate timing because Paul noticed immediately.
“Oh, this is gonna be brilliant.” He exclaimed clapping his hands excitedly.
Y/N spotted Paul first.
“Paul!”
She hurried toward him immediately, hugging him tight while Paul laughed.
“You made it!”
“Barely,” she replied dramatically. “I got stuck behind a chicken truck.”
“…Chickens?”
“There was an alarming amount of chickens.”
Then Paul casually turned her toward Michael.
“And here’s your prince.”
Y/N froze.
Because oh. Oh no.
Pictures genuinely didn’t work.
Nobody prepared her for Michael Jackson in real life.
The red shirt.
The suspenders.
The curls falling over his forehead.
That stupidly beautiful face.
And worst of all?
The eyes.
Warm and shy and devastating. All at once.
Michael noticed the exact second she lost composure.
And immediately—immediately—his confidence returned.
Tiny menace.
“Hi,” he said softly.
Y/N stared at him for a second too long.
Then accidentally blurted:
“Oh my God, you look like a real-life Disney prince.”
Complete silence. Brutal, tense silence.
Paul howled instantly.
La Toya cracked up, trying to keep her composure but failing miserably at it.
Michael blinked once.
Then slowly—very slowly—that smug little smile appeared.
“Oh?” he asked softly.
Y/N covered her mouth immediately. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”
Michael tilted his head pretending to think.
“No, no,” he nodded seriously. “Keep talking.”
Paul was wheezing now. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”
Y/N pointed accusingly at him. “This is your fault.”
“That’s true,” Paul agreed proudly.
Meanwhile Michael looked delighted.
Because suddenly she was the nervous one now.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
He stepped closer slightly.
“Which prince?”
Y/N stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Michael shrugged innocently.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, you absolutely do.”
Paul pointed dramatically between them.
“Oh they’re flirting already.”
“We are not flirting,” Michael replied immediately. Then glanced slowly toward Y/N. “…Right?” The sass in his voice nearly killed her on the spot.
Because Michael had this thing where he acted shy until he realized somebody liked him back. Then suddenly he became playful. Teasing. Dangerously charming.
Like a cat discovering it could knock things off shelves purely for entertainment.
“What, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart, the hell?” Y/N blurted out, her palms feeling very sweaty and cheeks already tinted red.
Filming became impossible afterward. Absolutely impossible.
Because now Michael kept messing with her constantly.
Every scene turned into psychological warfare.
During wardrobe fittings Y/N walked onto set and found Michael leaning against the saloon doorway beneath warm stage lights looking genuinely unfair.
Without missing a beat he asked:
“Do I still look like a prince today?”
Y/N nearly walked directly into a lighting rig.
Paul screamed laughing somewhere behind the cameras.
Later during choreography rehearsal Bob Giraldi tried explaining blocking while Michael kept glancing toward Y/N every six seconds.
Finally Bob snapped. “Michael.”
“What?”
“You missed the entire count.”
Michael pointed immediately toward Y/N.
“She distracted me.”
Y/N gasped dramatically.
“ME?”
“You’re staring.”
“I am NOT.”
“You absolutely are.”
Paul looked between them thoughtfully.
“This feels like supervising teenagers.”
Then came the saloon performance scenes.
Which only made everything worse because Michael looked ridiculous in that outfit.
Red sleeves rolled up slightly.
Suspenders hanging loose.
Hair framing his annoyingly beautiful face perfectly.
Smiling constantly while dancing beside Paul.
At one point Y/N sat beside the monitors watching playback while Michael performed.
And unfortunately Michael caught her staring again.
Not casual staring either. Full dreamy expression.
Michael smirked immediately.
Then proceeded to miss his cue because now he got distracted watching her watch him.
Bob Giraldi lowered his clipboard slowly.
“You two are very exhausting.”
Then came the actual filming together.
Which somehow made everything infinitely worse.
Because now Michael had to flirt with her on camera. And unfortunately for him, Y/N turned out to be devastatingly good at acting.
The saloon set buzzed with controlled chaos around them.
Extras in costumes filled tables pretending to drink.
Stage lights burned warm against the wooden walls.
Paul sat at the piano laughing with Bob Giraldi while makeup artists sprinted around trying to keep up with costume changes.
Meanwhile Michael stood near the bar pretending he was completely normal about any of this. He was not.
Because Y/N had changed costumes.
And somehow she looked even prettier now.
Vintage dress hugging her figure perfectly.
Soft curls pinned back loosely.
Lipstick slightly smudged from touch-ups.
And worst of all? She looked extra-confident now.
Bob clapped his hands loudly.
“Alright! We’re doing the saloon performance sequence. Michael, Paul—stick close to Y/N during the chorus. Make it playful. Flirty.”
Paul immediately pointed his thumb at Michael. “Oh, he won’t have trouble with that.”
Michael just glared at him.
Y/N laughed softly into her drink prop and Michael’s entire nervous system betrayed him instantly.
“On your marks, people!”
The music started blasting through the set.
Say, say, say what you want
And suddenly the room transformed.
Michael and Paul slipped effortlessly into performance mode, dancing through the saloon while extras clapped around them.
But every single time Michael passed Y/N she looked directly at him.
Not casually either. Like she was in on a secret.
Like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
Which became a massive problem during the second chorus. Bob wanted Y/N interacting more naturally with Michael during the performance.
“Touch him a little!” Bob yelled from behind the camera. “Tease him!”
Paul burst out into laughter. “Oh, this is just cruel.”
The music kept going.
Take, take, take what you need
But don't leave me with no direction
Y/N swayed toward Michael perfectly in rhythm, smiling sweetly while adjusting the front of his suspenders playfully.
Tiny gesture.
Barely anything.
Except Michael visibly malfunctioned. He missed half the next movement entirely.
Paul noticed that and started singing harder to avoid laughing directly into the microphone.
Y/N bit the inside of her cheek trying not to smile too much.
Interesting. Very interesting.
Because Michael Jackson—the coolest man alive apparently—was getting shy.
Actually shy.
Then came the next setup: Bob wanted Michael pulling Y/N into the dancing crowd while singing.
Simple enough.
Except the first second cameras rolled, Y/N slipped fully into character.
And oh. Oh no.
Michael wasn’t prepared for all of that.
Because suddenly she wasn’t giggling awkwardly anymore. Now she looked warm. Confident. Playful. Movie-star charming.
She grabbed his hand smoothly as the chorus echoed around them.
All alone, I sit home by the phone
Waiting for you, baby
And Michael completely forgot there were cameras around.
Because Y/N kept smiling at him like that. Like he was genuinely the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. And that unfortunately made him blush. Hard.
Paul clocked it instantly. “Our boy is gone!,” he yelled over the music.
Michael shot him an offended look while still dancing. “I am NOT.”
“You’re blushing at the camera, though!”
Y/N burst out laughing at that, which only made Michael blushes get worse. Because now she looked delighted by how flustered he was.
“Closer! Closer together!” Bob yelled.
Y/N obeyed immediately, one hand sliding lightly up Michael’s chest as part of the choreography while she spun beneath his arm.
Michael felt his soul leaving his body. Gone. Nothing behind the eyes.
The man looked too stunned to speak.
Y/N noticed and the menace returned.
She leaned closer during the next chorus, smiling innocently at him.
“You okay there, prince charming?”
Michael nearly missed the beat entirely. He gulped and nodded lightly.
Paul grabbed onto a nearby table wheezing. “I haven’t been this entertained in so long!” He told no one in particular. “Oh, Linda is going to love this!”
Michael tried recovering. ‘Tried’ being the keyword.
Because then Y/N tilted her head slightly, still dancing with him beneath the saloon lights, and said:
“You know what? I’m done pretending.”
Michael blinked. “…Pretending what?”
Y/N pointed at him dramatically while still moving perfectly to the music.
“You are an actual Disney prince.” She stated.
Paul went completely silent from where he stood.
Michael just stared at her.
Y/N kept going confidently despite the fact her stomach was doing back flips.
“You have the hair, the eyes, the dramatic little outfits—”
“My outfits are not dramatic.”
“Oh please! You look like woodland creatures help you get dressed.”
Michael fully broke.
Actually broke.
He bent laughing helplessly mid-performance, one hand grabbing her waist to steady himself while the other covered his face.
Not cool laughter either. Real laughter. The kind that made his shoulders shake and tummy hurt.
The cameras kept rolling because Bob Giraldi was screaming: “KEEP FILMING KEEP FILMING—”
Y/N pointed at him triumphantly. “See?”
Michael shook his head trying unsuccessfully to recover.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Oh, and you love it.” She teased him. “A little bird told me you kept replaying the scenes in my latest movie where I smiled!”
Michael looked back at her then.
Still laughing.
Still pink-cheeked.
Still holding her waist loosely from the dance.
And very quietly—
“I did, actually.”
That shut her up immediately.
Paul watched the entire thing unfold with the expression of a man witnessing a natural disaster in slow motion.
Then slowly started backing away. “Nope,” he muttered. “I’m leaving before one of you starts writing poetry.”
“This is actually your fault!” Y/N yelled after him.
“Correct!” Paul shouted proudly while retreating toward the monitors.
By the time he reached Linda, she looked up curiously from her chair.
“Well?” she asked. “Are they lovers yet?”
Paul glanced back toward the dance floor where Michael and Y/N were still standing way too close together smiling like complete idiots while the music replayed around them.
synopsis: despite being jermaine’s girlfriend, michael’s always had a huge crush on you. the infatuation only growing when you show up at his house in a skimpy bikini — giving him the most agonisingly hard cock he’s ever had. so, of course as the best big sister-in-law ever, you have to help him out!
warning; sexual themes, smut, 18+, sub!mike, cheating, age gap (not that much), soft dom!reader
Michael was sweating.
Maybe it was because of the blistering Californian sun.
Or maybe it was because of you.
Regardless, the way the sweat poured off his skin, trickling down the back of his neck, had him shivering despite the scorching sun that beat down on him.
You were tormentingly forbidden — something to, guiltily, stare at but never touch. Never have. Something that would bug Michael every chance he’d catch your eyes across the room, or when he’d let his gaze linger too long on your perfect frame, or when you brushed past him with that sickly sweet smile you always wore with a soft ‘’Scuse me, honey’. Something he’d be kept up at night pondering on.
Forbidden as you belonged to someone else.
That someone else being his brother.
Which made his private infatuation with you a million times worse — the shame lingering deep in his chest whenever he feels his heart jump whenever you grin at him.
But the guilt that often crept up his spine in an obvious crawl was eerily absent today — instead a familiar yet unaccustomed feeling loitered deep inside him. Michael couldn’t quite put his finger on it — he was certain he’d felt like this before when he looked at you, but it was clear he’d never acted on the feeling before.
It was something about the way that you laid oh so deliciously on the sun-lounger — legs crossed at the ankle, displaying your pedicured, white toenails glistening in the sun, skin a sun-kissed glow from the sunscreen you’d lathered on yourself, hair in a messy ponytail, eyes shielded in Armani sunglasses and a Pina Colada in hand. You were tanning — and it had Michael spiralling.
But, the best part? Your striking, baby-pink, string bikini.
The one that he knows his sister bought you for your birthday a mere few weeks ago, now deciding to bring it out for its first wear. Michael cursed the day you accepted that gift as he was now fighting the urge to let his cock twitch desperately in his swimming shorts at the sight of your exposed body — gawking at the way the condensation from the Pina Colada glass dripped down your manicured fingers, before dropping and sliding down the curve of your breast.
He shuffled uncomfortably on the sun-lounger next to you — trying his best to shift his shorts to display his achingly hard cock in a less obvious way. His eyes though, locked onto your glistening frame, your relaxed stance had him admiring the way you got comfortable — your fingers curled calmly by your sides, sometimes reaching up to twirl the string of your bikini bottoms between your manicured digits, or the way you sighed out loud every now and again, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips. Michael gawked at each movement — wondering whether you sighed that gracefully when you were tired, or whether it was a noise of content? Or was that the kind of noise you’d make as his fingers would slide over your skin, or whether it reached a higher octave when he’d slide his fingers insid—
“Michael, sweetie?”
Your sweet voice made him jump — his startled eyes now connecting with your sun-glasses clad ones, a playful smile on your face, “Would you be an angel and put some sunscreen on my back, honey?”
Michael took a stunned few seconds before he answered, lips parted in shock ever so slightly, “I—uh, sure. D-Do you not want me to grab Jermaine?”
He hated the way his chest tightened in envy at the mention of your boyfriend.
You sat up slowly, eyes never leaving his slim frame — his curls slightly frizzing up in the heat, smile deepening at the adorably innocent expression plastered on his face, “He ain’t out here, is he?”
Michael swallowed thickly, his eyes flicking to his brother, Jermaine, in the large pool that covered the backyard of Hayvenhurst, watching as he swam after his other brother, Marlon, before averting his gaze back to you, “‘Suppose not.”
“Then come over, baby, don’t want me to start burnin’, do ya?”
Michael sat up too, shuffling in a way that avoided his still hard cock to be concealed by his shorts, not leaving anytime soon after the casual nickname fell past your plump lips, before perching on the edge of his lounger.
“Atta boy.”
Michael sighed shakily, picking up the sunscreen lotion that laid beside your chair, flicking the cap open gently before squeezing a generous amount onto his clammy palms. You had already situated your bare back to face him, humming quietly to a song Michael recognised as one of his own, awaiting his touch.
You had no idea what you did to him — that’s what killed him most. You, humming away subconsciously to one of his songs, waiting patiently, half-naked, for him to rub lotion into your skin. Jesus.
Michael reached forward, a gentle, yet shaken, hand colliding softly with the leanness of your shoulders — his large hands beginning to lather the protective lotion into your skin. He tentatively avoided your bikini, to avoid staining the material in the grease of the lotion, but also knowing if he had to touch the very clothing that had him so antsy with desperation that it would definitely send him into tachycardia beyond rescue.
As he moved smoothly down your back, the cream now slicking your supple skin, he couldn’t help but admire the painfully obvious ink that clad your spine. He cleared his throat behind you — eyes never leaving the trail of flowers that bloomed in black, slightly faded, ink on your skin.
The artistic sentiment of your dainty tattoo had him pondering — mind trailing over to how different you were to him. You were older, closer in age to Jermaine and La Toya than you were him, oozed confidence like you were the most important person in the room, wore expensive, out-going, feminine outfits that always caught his eye whenever you’d visit the family home, had wit quicker than he’d ever seen and a flirtatious attitude that had him blushing every time you’d compliment him subtly.
You were polar opposites — he was shy, quiet, gentle and, some would say, insecure, despite his superstar persona. On the surface, he pretended he didn’t know why he was so infatuated with you — but, deep down he knew it was because you were something he couldn’t have, but so desperately wanted.
“Gone real quiet back there, Mr, you doin’ okay?”
Your voice dragged him out of his daydream once again, a blush creeping up onto his cheeks, “Sorry. Was just looking at your..thing.”
“My thing?” You laughed softly, “Funny way to describe my tattoo, honey.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Michael chuckled behind you, hands still moving gently against you, “Your tattoo, I mean. It’s very..different.”
“Good different I should hope. I had that done a few years ago.” You revealed, “Had some good reviews from it.”
Temptation crept up Michael’s neck at your alluding comment, the devil on his shoulder screaming at him to ask what you meant by such a sentence. He gave in. “What do you mean?”
You smirked, turning around to face him, “I’ll let you figure that out, sweetie. If not, ask your brother.”
Michael couldn’t hide the shy smile that curved up onto his lips, skin now flushed bright red at your sexual insinuation, “So cute.” You teased, reaching a hand around to pinch Michael’s rosy cheeks, giggling as his timidity.
Your casualness in regard to discussing such promiscuous acts and touching him so sweetly had his boyish crush on you flourishing — his hands trembling as they moved down to your lower back, now scarily close to your plump behind.
“Did it not hurt?” Michael questioned sincerely.
“Hm? Oh, no, not at all.” You spoke, “I like the pain.”
Oh, now that made him twitch — his bottom lip coming between his bottom teeth to steady himself at the way his cock throbbed achingly beneath his shorts, mind running away with itself at the thought of you enjoying pain.
“Hey, you two!” La Toya’s high-pitched voice filled both your ears, “Come in! We wanna play Chicken!”
You gasped, “Ooh, I love that game!” You stood quickly, missing the way your backside came in Michael’s full frontal vision, his eyes flashing open in shock, before turning around to face him, “Thanks, baby.” You whispered, squeezing his chin between your index finger and thumb, before strutting off towards the pool.
Michael couldn’t help himself but stare at the way your bikini bottoms had ridden up around your round ass, now curved between each cheek, displaying your plumpness to him perfectly.
“Lord.” He whispered to himself, rubbing his slicked up hands across his thighs, ridding himself of the lotion, before rising to his feet himself.
You slid into the pool gracefully — sighing as the cold temperature cooled your warm body, swimming towards the rest of group who formed a circle, awaiting the two of you. Michael climbed in after you, eyes locked on the way your tits bounced as you jumped across the length of the pool, barely being held down by the flimsy material of your bikini.
Michael watched from the edge of the pool as you let La Toya climb onto your shoulders, heart thumping as you laughed loudly while you attempted to keep her steady on top of you, before hopping towards Marlon who held Jermaine on his shoulders.
“You’re going down, baby.” Jermaine teased, eyeing his girl from his brother’s shoulders.
“Yeah, right, weakling. I know Toya’s gonna shove your sorry ass into that water, right, Toya?” You sassed back, missing the way Michael clenched his jaw at the causal flirtatious tone of both of your voices.
Michael watched from afar as you and his siblings played multiple rounds of Chicken — not caring to join in himself, just enjoying admiring you from across the pool, pretending as if his brother wasn’t there when he swam close to you or leant down to press a kiss to your cheek inbetween games.
“Hey, Mike! Your turn!”
Michael peered over at the group through his Aviators, who were all now staring at his relaxed frame.
“N-No, I’m good.”
“C’mon, Mikey, I’ll get on your shoulders and play Toya, how about that?”
The nickname you gave him hit him straight in the chest — heart now pounding in his throat. It’s almost like you knew, from the way you said it, that it had an effect on him.
“Okay.” Michael mumbled in defeat, moving through the water to join you.
“That’s my boy.”
Michael swallowed a groan that threatened to leave his lips — you were literally killing him with every word you spoke, his cock now painfully hard in his shorts.
Once he got to you, you slithered behind him, hopping from the edge of the pool and onto his shoulders, giggling as you settled against him. Michael swallowed as your thighs enclosed around his head, his shaking hands coming up to rest on your bare thighs — his head was reeling. He couldn’t help but let his mind fill him with the imagery that your clothed cunt was pressed up against the back of his neck — your clit practically rubbing against him as you got comfortable.
“Tighter, Michael. Don’t want me to fall now, do you?” You commanded, grabbing his hands and pressing them further into your skin, smiling as he tightened his grip, “That’s more like it, babe.”
God, he had to be a pervert the way his dick was jumping around in his briefs at every comment you made. You were turning him into a lustful man — something he strived to not be. But, he couldn’t help himself when you acted like that.
And you didn’t make it easy for him — not when you laced your manicured fingers through his ringlet curls, twirling them around one of your digits as you awaited for the game to begin. Michael let out a shaky breath he didn’t realise he was holding as Marlon called out ‘Aaand go!’
You squealed above him, your hands leaving the comfort of his hair to collide with La Toya’s — thrashing one another back and forth, giggling as you play-fought. Michael’s hands remained planted tightly on your wet thighs, doing exactly as you told him, trying to ignore the way the lower half of your body pressed further into the back of his head.
With a scream and a splash — you were pushed backwards, falling into the water, sliding off of Michael’s shoulders. Michael, ignoring La Toya’s squeal in delight at winning the childlike game, turned to face your submerged frame. Worry flashed in his heart at the possibility you may have hurt yourself falling so abruptly into the water — eyes flickering all over you underwater. His worry soon depleted at the sight of your elegant frame sliding out of the water, hands smoothing down your drenched hair, eyelashes fluttering the droplets away so beautifully his lips fell agape at the sight.
He couldn’t help but stare as you fully rose from the water, a playful smile creasing your lips — and your bikini strap fallen loosely down your arm.
“I—uh, um, your—“
Words failed Michael as he pointed sheepishly at the strap of your bikini, now teasingly revealing the curve of your right breast, falling dangerously down your chest to where one jump and your perky nipple would be free for him to see.
Another twitch!
You peered down at the astray strap, giggling out a breathy laugh as you shimmied it back up, before swimming close to him, “Thank you, sweetie.” You whispered, leaning up to press a soft, tantalising kiss to his damp cheek — only worsening the now painful boner he hid beneath the water.
You swam around him, unaware you’d left him speechless, congratulating La Toya for winning the game. Michael shut his eyes briefly — letting them flicker shut, gulping down his pride, as composed himself. He was surely a goner after this.
Sure you flirted with everyone, even making playful, promiscuous comments towards his sister’s, but you did it with him the most. Even more so than with your own boyfriend. He tried to pretend he didn’t notice it — but when you touched and teased him so often, it was becoming all he could focus on.
Michael rose out of the pool quickly, swift feet already dragging him halfway across the backyard before his name was called. He didn’t stop to turn around, just called out that he was ‘getting too hot’, continuing racing into the house before anyone could convince him otherwise, running up the stairs to the quiet of his bedroom.
His bedroom door slammed shut as he tripped over his own feet, scrambling to his bed, kicking off his shorts as he went. He couldn’t wait any longer — his cock was so hard from your relentless teasing that if he didn’t do something about it right now he was certain he was going to cry. He situated himself on his back, cock, now free from the confines of his damp swimming shorts, bobbed against the bare of his stomach, begging to be dealt with.
Michael’s eyes fluttered shut — hand hovering over his aching length, the fight between arousing relief or prolonged innocence battled in his head.
But, the sound of your sweet, loud laughter through his open bedroom window had him wrapping a firm first around the base.
A quiet gasp left his parted lips, eyes still squeezed shut as he stroked himself tantalisingly slowly — a whine bubbling in the back of his throat. His chest heaved, hips twitching as he bucked up into his own hand, pre-cum now drooling from the mauve tip of his stiffened cock — the relief he had been begging for all day now finally being washed over him.
The swift motions of his hand had his head falling back against the pillow — hips jerking upwards wildly, chasing his own hand as he fucked his palm like a mutt in heat, quiet little whines of pleasure filling the quiet room, along with a subtle yet equally as needy whimper of your name fell past his lips, only adding to the oozing drip of pre that fell from his swollen tip.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
In his state of engrossed arousal, Michael hadn’t noticed your presence in the doorway to his bedroom — your half-naked frame leant against his doorframe, droplets of water from your soaking wet bikini, one that had him in the lustful trance in the first place, falling onto the plush of his carpet. He shot up from the mattress, now perched on the edge, both palms now shielding his obvious hard-on from you as if you hadn’t watched him stroke himself to you a mere few seconds ago.
“I—oh, God, I-I wasn’t, I—“
“You’re so sweet, Michael.”
Your words forced his furrowed eyebrows together in confusion — sweet? Sweet for fucking his hand while moaning his brother’s girlfriend’s name? Surely you must be mistaken?
You slithered into the room, shutting the door behind you and clicking the lock closed — a sound that had Michael’s heart thumping so loud in his head his ears rang. You turned to face him once more, a teasing smile plastered back onto your perfect face.
“What a treat you’ve blessed me with, baby.” You started, walking slowly towards him, your hair swaying behind, now fallen from your ponytail, “I just wanted to use your shower, honey, and I’m so glad I did.”
“I-I’m so sorry—“
“Hush, darling.” You whispered, finally approaching him with a finger to his lips, smirking at the way his trembling hands attempted to cover his bare cock between his legs. Your hand moved to cup his flushed cheek, “There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s completely natural, sweet boy.”
“B-But, I-I said—“
“I know what you said, Michael.” Your voice as smooth as honey as your nimble fingers shuffled down his face to thumb his bottom lip, “I’m not angry at you, baby. I’m flattered, but also worried.”
“Worried?” He questioned, voice cracking as his frantic eyes never left your own, watching as you crouched in between his legs.
“Yeah, sweetie.” You comforted, your free hand now resting against the bare of his meaty thigh, smirk depending at the way he jumped, “Noticed how hard you were hours ago, baby. Must be so painful for my little Mikey, hm?”
“Oh, God.” Michael whined, embarrassment swarming his body, wanting nothing more than to cover his blushing face, but not wanting to reveal his slightly softening cock to you as you perched between him.
You giggled so sweetly despite the situation you were in, “Has it been painful, my baby?”
Michael attempted to ignore the way his cock began to harden underneath the grasp of his large hands at his referral as ‘your baby’. He gulped, breath hitching in his chest, before nodding meekly, face nestling into your palm innocently.
“Oh, angel.” You babied, your voice a sweet comfort to his embarrassed ears, now slightly hunched over as to make himself smaller in a situation where he felt so big and exposed, “Let me help you.”
Michael’s eyes shot open, “What?”
You smiled, lolling your head to the side, “I’ll make you feel so much better, sweet baby.”
“But, what about Jer—“
“Enough about him. He should be thankful he has a girl who wants to make his little brother so happy, hm?” You cut him off swiftly, your answers so reasonable yet so manipulative at the same time, going deaf upon his aroused ears, “What are big sister-in-laws for, huh, baby?”
Your smaller, more experienced hands enclosed around his own, tugging gently to move them away from imprisoning his cock — revelling in the way he whined bashfully, head turning the other way as his stiff dick sprung free. You sighed in admiration, eyes locked on the sheer length and girth of him — he was bigger than Jermaine despite the age and build difference in them, which only forced your eager mouth to salivate.
Your nimble hand wrapped around the base of him gently, sliding to your knees fully, as you gave him one languid stroke from shaft to tip. Michael whined so desperately it had you squeezing your thighs together at the sound of his arousal — a glob of pre-cum erupting from his flushed tip, drooling down your digits.
Michael couldn’t help but make the sweetest of noises as your plump lips, the one’s he’d been fantasising about since he met you, wrapped around the head of his cock — the feeling he’d once felt for you earlier, that he couldn’t place, crept up his spine.
Ah, so that was it.
Irrevocable, soul-destroying arousal.
He huffed, a whimper leaving his agape lips, now peering down at your frame beneath him — watching as you bobbed up and down his length, hand pumping him simultaneously at the base. Michael, never having had his dick sucked before, was still sincerely impressed with the way you managed to fit all of his cock down your greedy throat — moving your now free hand to squeeze his shaking thighs to provide him some comfort as your throat constricted around him, his tip punching the back of your throat so deliciously it had you gagging, and him gnawing on his bottom lip so hard he could taste blood to hold back his needy moans.
“T-This is s-so wrong.” He whimpered, hands bawled into fists at his sides, face contorted into one pure arousal.
You released off of him with a pop, hand continuing to pump him slowly, “But, you love it, don’t ya, angel?” You teased, pressed a gentle kiss to the head, revelling in the way he whined, “Just givin’ my sweet, baby brother-in-law a hand when he’s so het up ‘cuz of me.”
Michael groaned, eyebrow furrowing deeper into the crease of his forehead as you licked a stripe up the shaft of his cock, tracing the throbbing vein that adorned his length.
“Please.”
“Please, what, baby?”
“Please, I—I, I can’t—I need—Need more.”
You grinned, rising to your feet without a second thought at his submissive whines of need — reaching at your sides to pull at the strings of your bikini, letting the bottoms fall to the ground, revealing your perfect, slick pussy to his eager eyes.
A gentle yet commanding hand met his thumping chest, pushing him backwards onto the bed, letting his back hit the mattress before crawling up his slim frame. Michael’s exposed cock twitched and thrashed against his abdomen wildly as he watched you intently, awaiting your next move.
His breath caught in his throat as you straddled his hips, your bare pussy lips engulfed the girth of his hot cock — a strained squeak hitching in his mouth at the feeling of your warm sex against him.
“Have you done this before, Michael?” You questioned, your voice dropping an octave, now a sexy, teasing tone that had him suppressing another whimper, “Made love to a woman?”
Michael shook his head quickly, saliva moving slickly down his throat, ogling at the way you now reached behind your back, tugging the strings of your bikini top down — letting the flimsy material fall from your chest, exposing your perky tits to his enthusiastic eyes.
“Good.” You whispered, letting your hips move voluntarily against his own, the sleek of your cunt gliding against his manhood, meek whimpers leaving both of your lips, “I knew you were special, baby — hadn’t been ruined yet.”
Michael whimpered as you continued to rock back and forth against him, your stark naked body moving on him with experienced precision that had his head reeling — admiring the way you let your hands crawl up your body, now adorning glorious tan-lines, to cup your bouncing tits or rake through your hair. You were truly an angel that fell from heaven to bless him with your beauty.
“Touch me, Michael.” You coaxed, grasping his hands in your own to grab a handful of your pudgy hips, “Like I taught you earlier, remember? Don’t be afraid to hold me, sweet boy.” You leant down, breast pressed against his bare chest, nipples rolling against him, lips brushing against the shell of his ear, “I want to feel you everywhere.”
“Oh, Lord, please.”
Michael cursed the neediness in his voice as he tightened his grip on your hips, not enough to hurt you, but enough to make you aware of his burning desire to rid himself of the ache in his cock, now the hardest it’s ever been in his life.
“Shh, I got you, baby, it’s okay — I’ll make it all better.”
Your reassuring tone had Michael nodding hysterically — restless to feel better like you promised him so beautifully. Your hips lifted from his own, shushing him as he whined at the loss of touch. A tentative hand grasped the base of him once more, sliding the warm, oozing head between your slippery folds — sighing in content as he nudged your clit. You slicked him up with the essence of your lust — letting it drop down the length of him before lining him up to your willing entrance.
“Ready, baby?”
Michael couldn’t have nodded faster.
“Use your words, Michael. Need to hear my baby say how badly he wants to feel my pussy.”
“Please, god, please, baby, please — need it, need to—Ah!” Michael’s eyes rolled to the back of his head instantly with a gasp at the feeling of your clenching cunt wrapped around his virgin cock, only widening the smirk that clad your face.
You hummed in delight as you sank further and further down him — letting his thick cock stretch you open inch by inch, the burn you craved each time you fucked his brother now hitting you full force, the length you desired from a man now ramming you to the brim.
“So big, Mikey.” You sighed, a hand pressing against his chest to steady yourself, “So much bigger than Jer.”
“My goodness, baby, y-you’re killin’ me.” Michael admitted, catching his breath, doe eyes meeting your own, “Wanted this for so long.”
A breath of flattery left your lips as you rose all the way to the tip of his cock, and back down again, slamming your hips down onto his own, “You’re such a sweet boy, darling. My favourite brother in the whole family.”
Michael couldn’t contain the whines and groans that left him, hands now resting in the curve of your waist, following every calculated movement of your body as you bounced on his cock.
“Kiss.” Michael pleaded, eyes brimming with tears at the sheer volume of pleasuring stimulation he was experiencing, “Kiss me, please.”
Your heart, now fogged with blinding lust, ached at the innocence of him — even despite having the girl he was in love with riding his dick before him, he was still only desperate for a kiss.
You leant down, hand lacing into his curls once more, connecting your lips in a frantic, messy kiss, swallowing every noise that left his dirty throat. Michael’s tongue forced its way into your mouth — the hot muscle tangling with your own in a feverish dance that had your clit twitching against the pubic bone you ground it down onto. You broke away from the kiss to move down his face — the corner of his mouth, cheek, jawline, neck. And once you got there, you wasted no time in licking at the soft skin, basking in the salty taste of sweat on his sun-kissed flesh.
“Could eat you up all day, baby.” You whispered, sucking the sweet spot beneath his earlobe that had his hips bucking up into you, tip ramming against your cervix — hands tightening at your sides.
Sitting back up, not before pressing another kiss to Michael’s lips, you admired the sight beneath you — his puppy dog eyes clouded with lust, petering up at you in such admiration it had your heart bursting, his God-like body carved so perfectly you couldn’t help but rub your fingertips over each ridge of his abs, glistening in the sweat as the humid air in the bedroom increased, and his frizzed up curls now spread across the bed-sheets messily underneath him.
He looked so perfectly destroyable.
“Oh, God — I-I’m gonna—soon.”
Your hips ground down on him once more, continuing to rise and fall back down onto him — the slick of your pussy coating his cock in a sheen, a white, frothy ring of your juices forming at the base. As well as letting sweet, delicious moans of pleasure fall past your rosebud lips, you rolled your aching nub against the dense of his pubic bone — hitting his ears in such a way that had him throbbing inside you.
“Oh, Michael.”
The sound of his name leaving your lips, a scenario he was once imagining while he fucked his hand before you caught him in the act, had him moaning so loud, your hand came up to cover his ajar mouth.
“Gotta keep quiet, baby, or else I’ll have to stop,” You whispered, leaning down to lock eyes with the obedient boy beneath you, “Keep that mouth busy.”
Michael, set on pleasuring you in a way he was still figuring out, latched his mouth to the one thing he’d had his eye on since you arrived at his house — your tits. His puckered lips wrapped around your erect nipple — sucking sensually, soft sighs of content vibrating around the nub. Your back arched against him, tits now shoved into his face, not that he minded, his free hand from your waist, now cupping the lonely breast, fingers rolling the bud between his fingers.
Your erotic noises hit his ears in a way that had him buzzing with confidence — your eyes fixating on the way his tongue left your poised nipple to trace the newly forced tan-line around your breast.
“Fuck, Michael.” You gasped, jaw falling slack as your hips continued to grind against the rigid bone, stimulating your pulsating clitoris while Michael’s hands were busy, “‘Gonna fuckin’ cum on your cock, baby.”
“Mm, please,” Michael whined, his lips pulling from your tit, saliva connecting his lips to your swollen nipple in an erotic scene, “Wanna cum so bad, mama.”
Your head thrust back as you moaned — now succumbing to the pleasure that coursed through your veins, any ounce of dominance you once had now spilling away at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your nipple.
Michael, despite feeling guilty for not bringing the lady there before him, climaxed first — ropes and ropes of his fertile seed flooding your womb, whines only getting louder around the comfort of your breast, hands gripping around your waist tighter at the feeling of your cunt quivering around him.
“I love you, I love you, I love yo—Aah!” Was the only words that left Michael’s lips once he popped off your tit, a blush creeping up onto your cheeks at his admission.
You soon followed — one more roll of your clit against him and a suck against your breast had you orgasming around him so beautifully it left Michael speechless despite his own climax continuing. You looked so pretty like this — back arched, eyes rolled to the back of your head, cunt milking him for all he had to give, gorgeous little moans falling past your plump lips, as well as an ‘I love you too, Mikey’ that had him whining bashfully for the last time.
He felt as though any ounce of self-respect and maturity he had left in his body that threatened to fight his devotion and infatuation towards you had just been diminished to dust at the sight of you cumming around him.
You hummed in delight, flopping forward to lay tiredly on his chest — a hand tracing the definition of his peck, his cock still flush inside you, now softening, “Y’did such a good job, baby.” You whispered, tracing love hearts into his warm skin, “Do you feel better now?”
Despite the feeling of guilt that threatened to creep up his spine at the reminding thought that you still belonged to his brother, he pushed it to the back of his hazy mind, deciding the only acceptable and truthful answer was,
If someone had told Michael that on a sweltering day nearing the end of summer, a pretty girl would be preparing for a potential nude photoshoot in his bedroom, he would have thrown his head back in laughter.
“I didn’t say nude, Michael. Just take off your sweater.”
“You’re mad,” he said, because he was starting to think she was.
“Aren’t you hot, anyway? It’s like a furnace in here.” She fanned herself with a pointed look.
The room temperature was reaching an unimaginable high, with the kind of heat that clings to the skin like film. Days like these were ones where his siblings strode around the compound practically naked while he stayed snug in his long sleeves and shirts, a barrier of comfort. Thank God they had taken their shamelessness with them to the beach trip Michael had opted out of.
“I’m fine,” said Michael, trying to sound convincing despite the single drop of sweat forming on the tip of his nose. He swiped it away quickly.
She shook her head at his stubbornness. “You said you wanted sex appeal, right? Well, no one’s going to get that if you’re dressed like a kindergartener on his first day.”
For a moment, Michael was shocked into silence. A kindergartener? He liked this outfit. He thought it made him look gentlemanly.
Leave it to her to give him the cut-and-dried truth.
Apart from his parents and maybe his siblings if they were feeling particularly bold that day, no one in the world spoke to Michael with such bluntness. A small part of him, the section of his personality that took on the celebrity persona, the Michael Jackson of it all, was affronted. Who was this girl to come into his room, and insult his choice of outfit?
But the rest of him was flooded with hotness, not from the punishing sun rays filtering through the window shutters, but from the irritating fact that she clearly still regarded him as childish. A kindergartener?
The surrounding stuffed Disney characters really didn’t lend much to his argument.
He didn’t like that at all. He was nearly twenty-five. Things had to start changing.
And so, Michael released an exaggerated sigh and shimmied out of his red sweater, revealing a plaid shirt which was still stubbornly long-sleeved.
“Seriously?” she said incredulously. The upper corners of her lips twitched as she continued. “How much do I have to pay you to take the shirt off too?”
A gazillion dollars is what he wanted to say. Instead he pouted. “I don’t need to take off my clothes to be sexy. Just—just tell me what to do, with the poses and stuff.”
Rolling her eyes, she held up her hands in defeat. “Fine, you win. But unbutton it a little.”
Michael fingered the top button of his shirt nervously. He always had it fastened up to his neck; at first, purely out of preference, but now the depigmented splotches scattered across his lower stomach and wrists roused a fear in him. Whatever it was, it was growing visible by the day. The doctors and their empty promises had provided nothing but surface-level consolation–that they would find out what it was, and they most definitely would help him.
And he would smile every-time, despite wanting to do everything but.
“You don’t have to,” she added quickly. Her demeanor shifted slightly; the playfulness seeped out of her posture leaving behind wary unease as she fiddled with the hem of her skirt.
She was right–he didn’t. That should have been the end of it.
But the way she watched him with captured attention…it was making him feel sick and heady all at once. Tearing his eyes away, he searched the room for comfort, finally finding it in the Mickey Mouse plush toy, wedged between the other Disney characters on his cluttered shelf. Desperately, he tried to send a thought beam towards it.
Mickey, help!
Of course, no response came. Michael tried to imagine what Mickey would advise. Maybe something like:
“Just believe in yourself!”
Well, that wasn’t very useful. How about:
“Imagination is magic!”
C’mon, Mickey! That wasn’t relevant at all–
“Maybe two or three buttons will be okay, so long as you’re comfortable.”
He shouldn’t have–oh. That might have been legit.
Two or three buttons. Michael could do two or three. Two or…actually, he’d stick with two.
Exhaling shakily, Michael unfastened one button, then the other. It only exposed the skin some centrimeters below his collarbones and yet he took several seconds to recover and breathe like he’d just come down from a runner’s high.
Her laugh trickled like piano keys. “So dramatic,” she muttered, but there was an intensity in her eyes as she fixed them upon the newly visible skin. He tried to ignore the churning sensation in the pit of his stomach.
“Alright, Mr Jackson. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Evidently nothing.
“Just, try to relax. Shake your shoulders, or something.”
Stiffly, Michael jiggled his arms and legs.
“Um, sure. Okay, I want you to look at me like you want to devour me.”
Too much.
Wincing, Michael stiffened. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I–I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Michael.” He despised the fatigue in her voice, the tightness in her grip on the camera. She was tired of him.
The past twenty minutes had been a downward spiral. Michael had tried–he really had–but her presence had made it impossible to calm down. He felt like he was being tickled with barbed wire every time she suggested another supposedly sexy pose.
“It’s not like you’ve never done a photoshoot before,” she said with a sigh. “What about the Thriller album cover? That was attractive!”
She didn’t even know–she just didn’t know that these ‘compliments’ and encouragement weren’t being taken to heart. They were circulating in his ears and shooting straight downwards.
“How about we try a version of that, Michael? But sexier, hm?”
Dumbly, he nodded and allowed her to push him back on the bed (he had to screw his eyes shut to will away the arousal that the action brought him) and position him on his side, lounging. It was similar to the Thriller cover pose, except that photoshoot didn’t feel like battling a seductress while she bit her lips and–oh gosh why did she do that–and snapped a photo with a blinding shutter.
“Okay! This one isn’t too bad!” she announced optimistically. “Getting better!”
“You said that with the last pose,” Michael pointed out wearily.
“Yeah, well–well–I don’t know.” She placed the camera down and rubbed her eyes blearily.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Move up.”
Hesitantly, Michael rolled over and felt the bed sink as she joined him with her legs crossed. She didn’t say anything, only stared at him intently.
Fleetingly, he drank it in– her gaze, her focus– because he wasn’t sure if her pupils were really dilating or if it was a cruel trickery of light. But then she was growing too quiet, too still, and the intoxicating feeling was smothering him and making him very, very scared.
He had to look away.
Why did she have to be…her?
The very fact that he was here, and she was here, with the possibility of depravity hovering inappropriately over his head was because of her. Inviting her over had been a mistake; he’d known it as soon as he’d opened the door, the fruity scent of her perfume wafting into the house. Her greeting him with a “Hi, cutie,” had brought a bitter taste to his mouth which only got stronger throughout the day with every tug on his cheek or ruffling of his curls.
The final straw came hours later, when they’d been sitting on opposite ends of the living room couch, legs intertwined in a way that made his skin prickle with alertness.
Michael had been flicking distractedly through a fairytale collection when a throaty noise caught his attention. Lowering the book, he peered at her hungry gaze. She looked like she wanted to dive into her magazine. The sight twisted his intestines.
“What is it?” he asked distastefully. When she didn’t answer, he prodded her with a socked toe.
“Hm? Oh, sorry,” she replied almost obnoxiously. Leaning forward, she brandished the magazine–some silly gossip one that Latoya had left on the coffee table–and showed him a double spread of a shirtless Leo Andre.
“Isn’t he just so sexy?”
Michael had stared and stared with the hope that the burgeoning feeling of annoyance would flee. It didn’t.
Leo-freaking-Andre? Seriously?
He shouldn’t be jealous–jealousy was a sin, and a very damaging one at that. But, really?
It wasn’t like he didn’t get it. The worst part was that he did–sorta. Sure, the guy was a talentless hack who couldn’t act his way out of a paper bag, but he was attractive. Maybe even sexy, with his blue eyes and evenly tanned skin. He didn’t look real, more like a prince who leapt out of Walt Disney’s mind.
He looked entirely opposite to Michael.
Michael didn’t care. Why should he? Just last week, there was a television poll for the most handsome celebrities of the year, and Michael won. Take that Leo Andre.
But handsome wasn’t ‘sexy’. They weren’t interchangeable. And he certainly didn’t feel handsome a lot of the time.
Noncommittally, Michael shrugged and pushed the magazine back towards her. “He’s okay.” He hated how he sounded like an insolent child.
She lingered closely, her perfume wrestling with his nose. “Okay?” she repeated disbelievingly. “He’s gorgeous!”
“I guess.”
“What’s your problem? I hate it when you get all moody on me.”
“There’s no problem,” Michael said monotonously. He picked up the book to cover his stinging eyes. No way was he going to cry right now; he’d rather die.
In his mind, he replayed the moment like a horror movie.
Sexy. Leo Andre. Everything Michael was not.
It wasn’t like he needed to be. Thriller was getting more and more popular by the day. Motown 25 was still being talked about months after. He was doing fine without posing provocatively for women’s magazines.
Yet.
Yet he still felt like he was being pummelled in the gut all because his childhood crush said a terrible actor was sexy. Boohoo Michael, there’s people dying.
Seeming to take the hint, she settled back onto her end of the couch with one more furtive glance. An awkward silence stretched its legs between them, until her hoarse chuckle shooed it away.
“Mr Michael himself.”
Internally, he swore to ignore her, but she kept on making more strange sounds with her throat that eventually he snapped, “What?”
“They’ve got a spread about you. Called ‘husband material’.”
“What?”
“Look.” She shuffled back over and dropped the magazine into his lap. The spread’s background was a bleeding, bright pink, with various photos of Michael scattered across the page; one was him from the Billie Jean music video, another was him posed with Bubbles. Under each picture there was some kind of description, calling him handsome, kind, cute–
“Ugh,” he said as he pushed it back towards her for a second time.
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Okay, you definitely have a problem. Spit it out.”
“There’s no–” Michael started, but then he realized that sharp gaze of hers had grown to know him too well. Lying was pointless, so he picked his words carefully.
“There isn’t a problem, I promise. It’s just…I’m just…” His tongue seemed to have swelled to twice its original size.
“You’re just…?”
Was there even a way to say this without humiliating himself? I hate how everyone–especially you, actually only you really–thinks I’m super unsexy?
“Husband material…it’s not really a compliment. Well–it is, but it feels…”
This time she offered no aid to his fumbling, only an arched brow.
“Patronizing,” he finished indecisively. Her unfazed look made him add, “Not that it matters. It doesn’t. I’m really grateful for everything and–”
“I get it.”
The admission halted his collapsing thoughts. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, kinda?” She scooted closer and Michael’s heart stuttered when he realized he was near enough to notice his reflection in her gleaming eyes. “But I also don’t.”
“W–what do you mean?”
“You’re talking about sex appeal, right?”
Oh, gosh.
Somehow, despite her not actually referring to it, the word sex tumbling from her mouth was more perverted than anything Michael had ever heard. It ignited something in multiple areas of his body; his chest, his gut, his–
So, so dirty.
His mother was right to warn him about how perverse the world of fame could be, but she failed to help him anticipate that he’d be the corrupted one, drawing his long legs into his chest and praying that it wasn’t obvious.
His lack of verbal reply didn’t deter her. She placed her hands on his knees (he wished she wouldn’t touch him, why did she have to touch him, he hoped she’d never stop) and mused, “You want people to think you’re…sexy? But why? Every girl in America would genuinely murder for a night with you.”
Every girl…?
Michael looked for something, anything in her eyes that indicated that she was including herself in the sentiment. And sure, there was a softness blurring the outer edges of her irises, but that had always been there. It was an expression of fondness, platonic love, and it made him feel sick.
Every girl isn’t you, he would have said if he had the nerve.
“I…I don’t think that’s true,” he remarked dejectedly. “For some, yeah. But I think a lot of them still see me as…pure maybe. Like the same kid from the Jackson 5.”
“With hair so big, he could reach the stars,” she said with a smile, and he knew she’d say exactly that. Twelve years ago, and she still remembered one of the first things she’d said to him.
“Yeah,” he grumbled, not even attempting to match her enjoyment. “But I’m not a little kid anymore.”
The words hung real and heavy in the warm air between them. Michael hoped she didn’t take it rudely; they’d always agreed to be honest with each other, and he found that as the stars became more and more within reach, he needed that grounded honesty once a while.
“You’re right,” she said finally. Her hands moved from his knees to his calves seemingly absent-mindedly as she collected her thoughts, but the movement set him on fire. He’d almost kicked her off in fear of himself when she said, “I have an idea. You’re going to have to walk with me, though.”
Immediately, Michael made to rise when she knocked him back gently. “I meant, mentally. Not actually.”
“Oh,” he said, embarassed.
Reaching for the magazine, she turned back some pages, humming an off-key tune. She made a satisfied noise and uttered a question that he’d hoped she wouldn’t. “Before I tell you, has any of this got to do with Leo Andre?”
A perfect answer would be a breathless, “Yes. I was incredibly jealous that you showed him attention because I love you, I do. I think I always have.” And then she’d kiss him and he’d sweep her away from Hayvenhurst and they’d ride on horseback towards a Happily Ever After.
But just like any other fairytale villain, cowardice isn’t easily overcome. “No,” Michael scoffed. “Why–why would it be?”
She eyed him suspiciously, perhaps because he was an idiot, or a bad liar, or both. “You did get a little moody when I showed you his photo.”
This would have been a wonderful opportunity to crack a joke at Leo’s expense. Something about his stilted performances, about the way he seemed to mouth-breathe constantly. But all humor died on Michael’s tongue. “I guess…I guess it’s because I was already annoyed. About–about the…”
“Sex-appeal?” she offered. He wasn’t sure what he was going to finish his sentence off with but it definitely wasn’t with that. He nodded anyway.
“That’s good, in a way. Not that you’re annoyed, just that…” she trailed off blankly. “What I’m trying to say is…Leo Andre’s our inspiration, you’re my muse.”
“Sorry?” he asked, trying to ignore the bubbly feeling at the possessive.
“I’m going to be your photographer!” she exclaimed.
“Huh?”
“Sex-appeal begins gradually. Madonna wasn’t built in a day, you know? You have to kind of…take baby steps until you master it. So today is the first baby step. We can practice taking pictures.”
Michael gawked at her. Two nightmarish scenarios filled his mind; one, with him stark naked and her jeering at him, mocking his body and its frailty. The second, less pessimistic but almost equally as frightening: him, stark naked and her hovering over him with a lusty gaze, her fingers straying too close until they’d sunken into his flesh and his eyes had rolled into the back of his head.
Which one was worse? They both brought him terror, but the second moreso, because he knew it would take all his strength and will to refuse her.
“I…I don’t know,” he said as he fought down incoming nausea. “I don’t think I can.”
“I’m not saying you should strip down like he did. Unless, you want to, because then by all means, be my guest,” she teased with a grin.
“Still, I…” His mouth went drier than sandpaper.
Almost instantaneously, her shoulders sagged with defeat. “It’s fine. Sorry, it was a weird suggestion anyway.” Then she withdrew to her corner of the couch but this time it felt like the distance was even further than before.
He could see the beginnings of disappointment forming on her face: first, it rested on her brow and crumpled it; then, it pulled the corners of her lips downwards into a frown; finally, it wrinkled her nose upwards. The same countenance for twelve years.
There were fewer things Michael hated more than disappointing people. Those things were spaghetti, his father’s fits of rage, and…he was sure there were more. Or maybe there weren’t. Maybe that indicated how much he hated disappointing people.
“I’ll do it,” he declared with zero confidence. Even a mouse wouldn’t have heard him with how quietly he’d squeaked it.
“Huh? Did you say something?” she said, craning her neck.
“No.”
“Oh,” she faltered. “Thought you did.”
Michael let her turn back to her magazine reluctantly while he considered whether this was worth working up courage for. Ah, screw it.
“Actually,” he asserted voluminously. “I said I’d do it. The shoot.”
Rapidly, she dropped the magazine and balled up her fists. “Really?” Her voice had climbed up several octaves.
“Yeah,” he said softly, reclining back when she practically pounced on him and squealed.
“I don’t even know why I’m so excited. Actually, nevermind, I lied. I do.”
“Because you’re a bully?” Michael half-joked.
“Because, the global superstar Michael Jackson,” she purred, pinching his cheek. “Still can’t say no to me.”
If he was paler, Michael was certain he would have blushed an embarrassing shade of scarlet. He wasn’t totally sure there wasn’t any red bleeding into his brown skin anyway, because the comment had sent him reeling, spinning and lurching all at once. He could not reply so he closed his eyes and tucked his chin into his chest, for once uncaring of her gaze which no doubt observed the hypnotic effect she had on him.
When Michael looked back up, she was still staring.
“Don’t,” he said weakly.
“Don’t what, Michael?” she questioned quietly. Her tongue made a brief appearance, snaking out to run over her lips before retreating.
He ducked his head. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
He didn’t answer. He nestled his head on the green comforter and started to mentally count down from one hundred.
He’d reached seventy two when she asked, “Is it me?”
He stopped. What little air remained in the stifling room was snatched away.
Michael had to gulp to remind himself how to breathe. In, then out, in, then out. He probably looked real strange, lying down and opening his mouth like a fish.
“Michael?”
He never noticed how crooked the Pinocchio figure looked on the shelf. Normally, he had an eye for keeping things neat and tidy, no matter how busy. Come to think of it–the whole shelf needed rearranging.
“You ignoring me, Jackson?” she said lightly, and this time she was impossible to ignore because her hand had come to rest in his hair, shifting tenderly.
Michael wished for the kind of self-restraint the knights in his stories displayed: resilience in their resistance of obedience as they rally against all odds to save the princess. Even the princesses themselves were to be admired–refusing to even insult their captors despite provocation.
But Michael was unfortunately not a knight or a princess, and so when he released a breathy gasp at the feeling of her fingers on his scalp, he could only sigh at the predictability of it all.
“Sorry,” he was quick to say, but even that apology sounded like he was fighting for air. He covered his eyes with a hand. And still her fingers remained.
“That–that’s alright,” she stammered, and was it just him or did she sound affected too?
“It’s not you,” Michael said, his voice weirdly hoarse. “It’s–it’s me.”
“You sure?” she said, her voice also taking on a weird quality. His covered eyes protected him with a layer of darkness, but he did wonder whether she was still peering at him with undivided attention.
“Yeah. I’m not usually like this.”
“I know. Which is why I know it’s my fault.”
“No…I was just nervous.”
“Do I…make you nervous?”
The question was accompanied with a tug of his curls which brought out a louder sound, more akin to a wounded animal. Mortification swelled in his chest.
“Can I take that as a yes?” she said teasingly. Michael could picture the smirk she was sporting. Bravely, he dropped his hand away but still kept his eyes tightly shut.
“N–no,” he panted–he was panting? What was this girl doing to him?
“I’ll take it anyway.”
“I’m–I’m sorry,” he murmured, unsure of what exactly he was saying it for. The bed below him shifted and creaked, and with further investigation he realized that it was his own movements causing it. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing; it just felt like he was pressing down and up, then inching a little left, or a little right. The pressure made him feel like he was going to explode.
“Oh, Michael,” she whispered almost wistfully. He dared to crack open an eyelid; sure enough, her eyes were wide with ardor, her lips plopped open. While she wasn’t unravelling as quickly as he felt he was, her chest was rising and falling speedily, and her hand was gripping his scalp tighter. The sight made him almost lose it–what it was, he wasn’t sure.
Gosh, was this okay? It felt so, so okay, but this foggy feeling clouding up his thoughts couldn’t be a good sign.
“Michael.”
“Hm?”
“Stay right there. Don’t move.”
Her fingers retreated and he almost—almost—moaned at the loss. That coiling sensation in his gut was winding down, the tension less palpable. Good, he thought to himself. He’d never…but from what his brothers had unceremoniously told him, it was messy. Michael didn’t want to have such…filth around her.
He was a little surprised at how easily he’d almost …reached it. Once again, all his knowledge had been jokingly forced down his throat through certain kinds of movies that his Neanderthal brothers had shown him, or the scandalous magazines Marlon used to sneak in.
Michael didn’t know that a few stray touches of his hair could make him lose control. It wasn’t sex (thank God) and yet he was still struggling to catch his breath and he still felt…alert.
Maybe it was just her.
Oh, he was in so much trouble.
The bed sprang up and down, accommodating for her departure and return, this time with the added weight of the large camera.
“Get on the floor. Please.”
No please was needed; he’d already begun sliding to the floor in a daze. The air particles around him hummed and vibrated slowly. He felt like he was in a dream.
“Good. Okay, this is going to sound strange, but kneel. Yes, just like that. Perfect.”
There was something about that mouth of hers. She wasn’t even saying anything that dirty, but it felt so wrong hearing her praises from a position like this. It made him feel sluggish and energetic all at once. His eyelids were drooping and he was struggling to pay heed to her voice.
“Now look up at me. Tilt your head a little, but mainly with your—oh, Michael,” she said breathlessly. She took a photo and he tried not to flinch at the assault of light on his face.
“You look…” She didn’t continue. Look what? Stupid? Weird? Handsome?
Sexy?
Instead, her hand reached to cup his chin caressingly. The action was too fond, too intimate that he squeezed his eyes shut again, and dug his nails into his thighs.
“You won’t look at me?”
He shook his head to the best of his restricted ability.
“I can’t believe this. I really can’t.”
He opened his eyes a little and immediately regretted doing so when he saw how adoringly she was watching him.
“I didn’t know. Why didn’t I know? Twelve years…” She was mumbling, seemingly more to herself than to him.
“I might have been the only girl on the planet that didn’t know,” she went on, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.
“What didn't you know?” he dared to ask softly.
“How fucking sexy you are.”
And then he fell down a mountain.
It sounded dramatic, but the comment sent Michael hurtling over the metaphorical mountaintop and now he was tumbling and tripping down into the white snow. He hit the ground with an odd noise, somewhere between a blissed moan and a strangled yell, and he lay there for some time because the journey took just about everything out of him.
“Michael…”
The voice was so far away that he didn’t bother reaching for it. Let it come to me, he decided.
“Michael, baby…?”
Baby? That felt nice. Maybe he would search for this voice in the darkness after all.
A distant pale light pulsated in the distance. He stretched out his hand and–
She was holding his head in her lap, smoothing his hair.
The brightness of the room was incredibly disorienting. After several blinks, Michael returned to himself and his surroundings, to her gentle touch and the merciless heat and his underwear that felt really sweaty and tight.
Looking down, he spied the wet patch bleeding through his dark jeans. Mortified, he moved to cover it.
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. She pulled out some tissues and offered them to him. He grudgingly accepted and started wiping roughly, wincing from the sensitivity.
“Do you need…help?”
“What?” he snapped. He wasn’t sure why, but his heart was heavy with frustration. Or maybe it was embarrassment. Frustrated embarrassment.
“Nevermind.”
A few vigorous swipes later and she said, “Take it easy, Michael. It’s okay.”
It is?
Michael lifted his head. When he looked at her, really looked at her, the truth of what he’d done rushed through him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, words choking as tears prickled and stabbed at his eyeballs.
“Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I—I didn’t?” Why did he feel like a child again, shrinking away while his father debated whether the branch or the cable wire was better?
“Of course not. If anything, I was the one who—” She waved her hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not your fault.”
Visions of his father melted away and left only her. He clung to her shirt suddenly and she embraced him, letting him nuzzle into her chest.
“So…what now?” she asked after a few measured beats of silence. Michael didn’t respond because he didn’t want to think about whatever came after. Now was now, and he wanted to savor every sun-kissed second.
“I learned a lot today, Michael,” she murmured over his hair. “What a scary revelation.”
“Why scary?” he mumbled.
“Because I thought I was different. I don’t want to sound like…one of those girls, the ones who insist that they’re so much better than others. But I really thought that it didn’t work on me. Looks like…I don’t know.”
“It?” he sounded out with his clumsy tongue.
“Yeah. It.”
“I don’t know what it is,” Michael pondered aloud. His eyelids were starting to drift down without his volition.
“Good.”
Was it really? This was all so confusing.
They settled into a comfortable quiet again until Michael asked one last question, emboldened by his drowsiness. “Do you really think Leo Andre is gorgeous?”
Her laugh rang like a church bell. “I knew this was about him!”
“It wasn’t, I swear it.” He was grateful that his smile was concealed by her chest.
“You’re so jealous.”
“I’m not.”
“You so are. I could see it in your face.”
That was the last thing Michael heard before sleep took him in its arms.
Perhaps he would have craved to hear what she said last. Would it have changed anything? Who knew?
It was with a tender pat on his back that she said quietly, “He is. But he doesn’t hold a candle to you. No one does.” She was glad to hear the slowing of his breath as he slept, the confession remaining forever hers.
First post here, kinda nervy!
Shoutout to Leo Andre, my fictitious punching bag! If I ever commit to an MCU (Michael Cinematic Universe) then maybe I'll make him my Thanos.
SUMMARY: Michael and reader finally stop pretending they’re “just friends”, but dating the biggest rising star in the world comes with fake mustaches, secret kisses, and increasingly dangerous levels of tension.
CONTENT: michael jackson x reader. established relationship. heavily making out. fluff.
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .
Something had shifted between Michael and Y/N so quietly that neither of them could pinpoint exactly what happened.
One day they were best friends sprawled across his living room floor arguing over movies and stealing bites of each other’s ice cream.
And then suddenly Michael was pulling her into empty hallways at family parties just to kiss her until neither of them remembered what they’d originally left the room for.
It happened constantly now. Sneaking around. Disappearing from rooms at the same exact time. Finding stupid excuses just to be alone together for five minutes. Ten if they were lucky.
Michael would mumble something about wanting to show her a new demo or needing help finding a cassette tape and Y/N would immediately follow him trying not to smile too obviously while his brothers booed dramatically behind them.
And every single time?
They ended up making out somewhere.
Against studio walls.
Inside parked cars.
Curled together on the couch long after everyone else had gone to bed.
It was honestly becoming ridiculous. Especially because Michael, despite kissing her every chance he got now, still acted painfully shy about it afterward.
Like he’d pull her flush against him one second, kissing her slow and deep like he physically couldn’t get close enough and then immediately hide his face in her shoulder afterward because she smiled at him too sweetly.
Y/N found it devastating. Because this was still the same Michael from the Twister mat.
The same boy who looked at her like she hung the moon every time she made him laugh.
Only now he touched her constantly too. And not even intentionally half the time.
Hand at the small of her back while walking through doors. Fingers hooking into the belt loop of her jeans absentmindedly while talking. Pulling her into his lap during studio breaks like it was instinct.
Like somewhere between Human Nature and Thriller and late-night drives through Los Angeles, Michael Jackson had quietly become addicted to touching her.
Y/N wasn’t doing much better than him.
His hand brushed hers once while reaching for the radio in Bill’s car and she spent the next twenty minutes staring out the window trying to remember her own name.
Especially now that she knew what kissing him felt like. Because that had changed everything.
The first kiss beneath the streetlights outside her house had broken something open between them permanently.
Now every glance lasted too long. Every joke carried tension underneath it. Every playful touch threatened turning into something else entirely.
And the worst part?
They still teased each other exactly the same way they always had. Which somehow made everything worse. Especially for Michael.
Because Y/N had realized very quickly that flustering him was embarrassingly easy now.
Like today.
The Jackson family kitchen buzzed with noise around them, Jermaine arguing loudly with Tito while Michael sat at the table pretending to write lyrics. ‘Pretending’ being the keyword. Because Y/N had just walked into the house three minutes ago and he hadn’t had a single coherent thought ever since.
She wore denim shorts and one of his old jackets over a tank top, his aviator sunglasses shoved into her hair because apparently she’d decided those belonged to her permanently now.
Michael looked up automatically the second she entered. And froze on the spot.
Jermaine noticed instantly. “Damn it, Mike.”
“Shut up,” Michael muttered weakly, eyes still fixed on her.
Y/N caught the interaction instantly and grinned.
“Well, hello to you too.”
Michael visibly swallowed.
“…Hi,” he answered softly.
Tito gagged. “This is disgusting.”
Y/N giggled while Michael turned pink immediately. She tilted her head affectionately at the sight of him blushing. It never stopped affecting her.
Because Michael always got shy in the prettiest way possible. Eyes dropping. Little nervous smile. Shoulders curling inward slightly whenever attention landed on him too hard.
Which only made Y/N want to kiss his entire pretty face.
She walked toward the table slowly before sliding into the chair beside him, close enough that her thigh brushed against his beneath the table.
Michael’s breath caught softly. Still, she noticed. Their eyes met for half a second. And suddenly that familiar tension slid quietly into place between them again.
Warm. Dangerous. The kind of tension that had been following them everywhere lately.
Y/N looked away first this time, suddenly feeling shy herself.
Which was kind of new to their dynamic.
Normally she could tease Michael endlessly without losing confidence. But lately? He looked at her too softly and it would completely unravel her.
Especially when he touched her. Like right now.
Michael’s fingers brushed absentmindedly against her bare knee beneath the table.
Not even dramatic. Just resting there lightly.
Y/N’s widened a little bit at the feeling of his warm fingers against her skin and she felt her cheeks getting warm.
The second Michael realized what he had done, he visibly panicked a little. His hand twitched like he meant to pull away.
Then Y/N placed her hand on top of his and Michael stopped functioning entirely.
Jermaine looked between them and groaned.
“This is actually hard to watch.”
Neither of them answered. Because Michael was too busy trying not to stare at Y/N’s mouth. And Y/N was trying very hard not to think about the fact his hand was still resting warm against her leg beneath the table.
It had gotten bad.
At one point earlier that week Michael had pinned her gently against the recording studio door after she’d teased him about the Thriller jacket and they’d ended up kissing for so long Quincy actually walked back out of the room muttering ‘absolutely not.’
And somehow, even after all that? Michael still looked stunned every single time she kissed him first. Like he couldn’t fully believe this was real.
Now Y/N felt her mouth dry, after staring at his hand on her leg for a bit too long. “I think I’m gonna get something to drink.” She rambled.
Automatically, Michael reached for the glass of orange juice that he head next to him on the table handed it over to her without even thinking.
The kitchen went dead silent.
Because Michael Jackson loved his orange juice more than life itself and almost never shared it with anybody.
Y/N blinked once realizing it at the exact same moment Michael did.
And suddenly both of them looked horribly aware of each other again.
Jermaine pointed aggressively across the kitchen.
“Love? In this economy, Mike?”
Michael covered his face immediately, a groan leaving his mouth.
“I hate this family.”
Y/N laughed helplessly beside him, cheeks as red as his now.
Then quieter, just for him: “You gave me your orange juice.”
Michael peeked at her through his fingers.
“Yeah.”
“So this is really serious, huh?” She teased, which should’ve made him embarrassed.
Instead Michael just looked at her with intensity and something else in his eyes.
Brown eyes soft beneath messy curls.
And something in Y/N’s chest flipped over completely because suddenly he didn’t look flustered anymore. Just honest.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “It is.”
Y/N immediately forgot how to speak. “Damn it, Michael.” It was her turn to cover her face with her hands as she tried to fight back a smile.
Because there it was again. That terrifying sincerity Michael carried so naturally.
No games. No performance. Just the brutal truth. And somehow that affected her more than all the kissing did.
Michael noticed her sudden silence and immediately got shy again himself.
His fingers curled nervously against the table.
“I mean—”
“You’re both disgusting,” Tito interrupted loudly.
With that, the moment was over.
Y/N burst into laughter while Michael groaned dramatically once again. His brothers did had a talent to frustrate him.
Without thinking too much about it, he reached for her hand beneath the table anyway. And intertwined their fingers.
Small. Instinctive. Shy. Possessive in the gentlest way possible.
Y/N looked down at their hands and felt her stomach twist. He held her hand like it was something precious.
Like he couldn’t believe she kept letting him do so.
Jermaine watched the entire thing happen and leaned against the counter. “But they’re just friends, right?” He asked rhetorically as he faced Marlon.
“Oh, Jermaine, don’t you know that nobody flirts harder than two ‘we’re just friends’?”
Michael hid his face against Y/N’s shoulder immediately while she laughed so hard the orange juice almost came out through her nose.
But then Michael mumbled softly against her shoulder, just for her: “Don’t laugh.”
Y/N melted instantly.
“I’m not laughing,” she whispered, trying to contain her giggles, smile softening. “I think you’re cute.”
Michael made the smallest embarrassed noise imaginable.
And the fact that Michael Jackson — global superstar, future owner of the biggest album in history — still got flustered because a girl called him cute?
That honestly ruined Y/N a little bit every single time.
“Boys, why won’t you leave Michael alone?” Katherine asked, stepping into the kitchen.
Then Marlon delivered the final blow.
“His girlfriend’s here.”
Silence.
Brutal silence.
Michael froze.
Y/N froze.
His brothers collectively lost it instantly, wheezing at their faces. Katherine just shook her head and winked at Y/N. The poor girl felt her blood running cold.
Michael opened his mouth automatically to correct him—
and stopped.
His girlfriend.
The words echoed around his skull for one horrifying second.
And unfortunately he liked the sound of them way too much.
Y/N slowly turned toward him, eyes still wide and cheeks pink.
Michael’s face went bright red immediately.
“I mean— not that you’re not— I just mean—”
Jermaine was crying from laughing at this point. “Oh my GOD.” He wheezed, his mom slapping the back of his head.
Michael looked seconds away from spontaneous combustion.
Meanwhile Y/N kept staring at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks and suddenly the kitchen felt way too hot.
Because Michael hadn’t corrected it.
And judging by the way he couldn’t even look directly at her right now that seemed very important.
Michael stood abruptly.
“I’m going outside.” He blurted out while fleeing the kitchen.
“Coward!” Tito yelled after him.
Y/N let out a nervous laugh. But then, a few seconds later, still a helpless smile made its way into her face. “I’m gonna—“ She motioned to the door Michael had just gone through, but didn’t really waited for an answer, following after him anyway.
Michael sat on the back steps with his face buried in his hands when Y/N stepped outside.
“You’re alive?”
Michael groaned dramatically, his voice muffled by his hands. “No.”
Y/N sat beside him, shoulder brushing softly against his.
“That bad?”
“I’m never opening my mouth again.”
That made her laugh quietly. Michael glanced sideways at her then. And immediately got distracted again.
Because Y/N just looked so pretty in the afternoon sunlight. Too pretty.
That was becoming a serious issue for him.
Especially wearing his jacket. Especially looking at him all soft like this.
“I didn’t mind it,” she admitted quietly after a moment.
Michael blinked.
“Huh?”
“The girlfriend thing.”
Oh.
Oh no.
Michael’s heartbeat immediately became catastrophic. ‘What the hell is was happening’, he thought to himself. He was trying so hard to act cool and nonchalant, but it was backfiring so badly.
Y/N looked down at her hands now, suddenly feeling (more) nervous.
“I mean…” She smiled, trying to avoid his gaze. “If you meant it.”
Michael stared at her for one full second. Then another. Because he had meant it.
Accidentally. But also not accidentally at all. And suddenly the words came rushing out before fear could stop him.
“I do.”
Y/N looked up immediately, eyes locking on his.
Michael swallowed hard.
“I mean— if you wanted— I mean only if you want to—”
“Michael.”
“—because you don’t have to and I don’t wanna make things weird and—”
Y/N cupped his face with her hands suddenly.
Michael stopped vomiting words instantly.
Then she smiled. Soft. Warm. Completely devastating.
“I do wanna be your girlfriend.”
Michael genuinely looked stunned. He felt like he would burst into flames at any given moment. Like that sentence coming out of her mouth knocked the air out of him.
“R-Really?”
Y/N laughed quietly, taking a second to just look at his beautiful face. Warm, brown and kind eyes. Cheeks flushed. Lips so inviting.
“Yes, really.” One of her hands caressed his cheek softly.
And Michael smiled so hard it almost looked painful. Hopelessly happy. Like he physically couldn’t contain it.
Then very shyly, he squeezed her hand tighter.
And for the next several minutes neither of them really knew what to do.
Because now they were together.
Officially.
Which somehow made them both dramatically more awkward.
At one point Michael tried putting his arm around her shoulders and nearly elbowed her in the face by accident.
Y/N laughed so hard she snorted.
Michael hid his face in embarrassment immediately while she kissed his jaw, still laughing.
God.
That girl was going to be the death of him.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The problem was that Michael really did want to take Y/N on a proper date afterward.
Desperately.
He wanted normal things with her.
Movies.
Holding hands.
Sharing popcorn.
Stupid little moments that didn’t involve screaming fans or cameras.
He just wanted to be boyfriend and girlfriend.
But Michael also knew what happened anytime he stepped into public now.
Especially with Thriller about to release.
The crowds were getting bigger every week.
People pushing.
Photographers yelling.
And the thought of Y/N getting caught in that because of him made guilt twist painfully in his chest.
So by the time he picked her up one Friday night, he already looked nervous.
“We don’t have to go,” he said immediately while she climbed into the passenger seat beside him.
Y/N blinked. “What?”
Michael kept both hands tight on the steering wheel.
“I just mean— if people recognize us or something…”
Y/N’s expression softened instantly.
Because there it was again. That guilt Michael carried everywhere now. Like being in love with him had consequences she didn’t deserve.
“Michael.” He glanced over quietly. “You know I don’t care about any of that.” She shook her head.
Michael didn’t look convinced.
“You say that now, but—”
Then Y/N rolled her eyes and stretched herself to the driver seat, pecking his lips and shushing him.
“Good thing I came prepared.” She said while staring at him, their faces really closed.
Michael pecked her lips again and frowned slightly. “Prepared for what?”
Without answering, Y/N reached into her bag dramatically and pulled out:
Two baseball caps.
Huge sunglasses.
And and two absolutely ridiculous fake mustaches.
Michael stared at her in silence.
“What in the world is that?”
“Our disguises.”
“Those are not a disguises.”
“They are!” Y/N complained, placing the fake mustache above her lips and the baseball cap on her head. She looked absolutely ridiculous.
“You look like a divorced father of three.”
Y/N looked delighted. “Perfect, I knew you’d be into that.” She added.
Michael burst out laughing so suddenly he had to lean forward against the steering wheel for a second.
And just like that, the tension eased.
Because Y/N always did this somehow.
She could make him laugh in the middle of any fear.
Eventually Michael put on the other cap and mustache too, plus sunglasses despite the fact that it was fully nighttime.
“You look more suspicious than famous,” Y/N informed him in a very serious tone, doing her absolute best to keep a poker face.
Michael pointed at her mustache. “You literally cannot speak to me right now.” The two kept staring at each other for about two seconds before busting out laughing.
Miraculously, they actually made it inside the theater unnoticed.
Mostly because nobody was expecting Michael Jackson and his weird little mustached girlfriend to be buying popcorn and a insane amount of candy together at 9 p.m. of a Friday.
Y/N looked unbearably proud of herself the entire time.
“I’m a genius.”
Michael shook his head laughing at her. “You’re insane.”
“But did it work?”
“Fortunately, yes.”
The theater itself was mostly empty.
Dim lights.
Cold air.
That soft movie-theater quiet before previews started rolling.
And suddenly both of them got weirdly nervous again.
Because this was technically their first real date.
Michael sat beside her clutching popcorn like it had personally wronged him.
Meanwhile Y/N kept stealing glances at him beneath the flickering screen light.
He looked so beautiful tonight. But then again, she had that thought every time she laid eyes on him.
Soft curls tucked beneath his cap.
Big brown eyes hidden badly behind sunglasses he absolutely did not need indoors.
And that ridiculous mustache resting on top of his lips.
Every few minutes their hands brushed against each other in the popcorn bucket. And each time both of them reacted like they’d been electrocuted.
At one point Michael reached for popcorn at the exact same moment she did, their fingers tangled briefly. And both of them froze.
Y/N looked down immediately smiling shyly.
Michael held his breath for a second.
Then very carefully, very nervously, he turned his hand slightly until their fingers linked together properly.
Y/N’s felt like she might drop dead right there.
Because Michael looked so shy doing it.
Like he was still asking permission somehow.
And when she laced her fingers through his?
The smile Michael gave her could’ve ended wars.
The movie played was being completely ignored in the background. Neither of them had any idea what was happening onscreen anymore.
Y/N kept leaning closer accidentally (not acidental at all).
Michael kept stealing glances at her mouth.
And eventually the tension became genuinely ridiculous.
Until finally Y/N whispered: “Can I ask you something?”
Michael looked over instantly. “Yeah?”
She tried to sound casual. Failed completely.
“…Should we make out right now?”
Michael choked. Actually choked.
Y/N burst into helpless laughter immediately while Michael covered his face with one hand, shoulders shaking. She patted him in the back lightly as he cough.
“You can’t just say things like that.” He whispered softly after regaining his composure.
“Why not?”
“Because—” Michael looked at her. At the teasing smile on her face. The fake mustache still somehow hanging on crooked. The softness in her eyes only meant for him. And suddenly he couldn’t think straight anymore. “…Okay,” he whispered.
Y/N blinked and raised a brow at him.
“Okay?”
Michael nodded once, visibly flustered.
“Yeah.”
And then somehow they were kissing in the back row of a movie theater like two teenagers.
Soft at first. Shy.
Both smiling too much against each other’s mouths because neither of them could believe this was real.
Michael’s hand stayed tangled carefully with hers the entire time.
And when Y/N laughed quietly into the kiss because his sunglasses bumped her nose, Michael started laughing too.
Which only made them kiss harder.
Messier.
Sweeter.
Completely drunk on each other.
“You know,” She mumbled in between kisses. Michael didn’t answer. “You still have a mustache on.” He stopped kissing her for a second, pulling apart. She let out a small laugh at his face. Sunglasses crooked and mustache almost falling off.
“What?” Michael asked breathlessly. "You know what, I really don't care. You still look hot and I'm trying not to kiss you senseless right now." He blurted out, not really giving his words a second thought before pulling her close again, locking their lips one more time.
Y/N laughed into his lips, reaching out for his jaw and forgetting about everything around them.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
A few weeks later, Thriller released.
And suddenly the entire world shifted beneath Michael’s feet. The release party was massive.
Industry executives.
Celebrities.
Press everywhere.
Everyone in Los Angeles seemingly desperate to witness what Quincy Jones was already calling history.
Meanwhile Y/N stood in front of her mirror at home feeling wildly out of place.
Because this wasn’t her world. It didn’t feel like it was.
Michael belonged here. He was becoming something untouchable now. Bigger than life.
And suddenly the idea of standing beside him in a room full of famous powerful people made insecurity curl painfully in her stomach.
So when Michael called before Bill came to pick her up, she sounded quieter than usual immediately.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
Y/N hesitated.
“Should I even go?”
Silence.
“What?” He questioned, sounding genuinely confused at her words.
She sat down slowly on the edge of her bed.
“I don’t know, Mikey.” She laughed nervously. “It’s your release party. There’s gonna be all these celebrities and important people and I’m just…”
Michael frowned instantly hearing her voice shrink like that.
“Just what?”
Y/N picked nervously at her sleeve.
“I don’t really belong in that world.”
Michael went completely quiet for a second.
“Yes you do.” He said firmly.
Y/N blinked.
“Michael—”
“No, don’t ’Michael’ me.” His voice softened slightly now. “Listen,” And suddenly he sounded so sincere it made her chest ache. “Where I’m going, you’re going.”
Y/N’s breath caught.
“You’re my priority,” Michael said quietly. “Not those people.”
Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before.
Like choosing her was the most obvious thing.
Like he couldn’t imagine not wanting her beside him.
Michael sighed softly on the other end of the line. “I invited you because I want you there.”
Then quieter:
“I need my girlfriend there.”
That completely ruined her.
Because beneath all the excitement surrounding that stage of life, Y/N knew how overwhelmed he really was.
The pressure.
The expectations.
The fear nobody else besides her saw.
And suddenly this wasn’t about social circles anymore.
It was about Michael wanting someone safe beside him while his whole life changed overnight.
Y/N smiled softly despite herself.
“…Okay.”
Michael sounded relieved instantly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The grin in his voice became obvious immediately.
“Good.” He paused briefly. “And wear something pretty.”
Y/N laughed.
“So you’re saying I’m not already pretty?”
Michael made the most offended sound you can imagine.
“You know that’s not what I meant and you also know that I find you the prettiest when you’re wearing pajamas.”
She smiled wider, her cheeks were starting to hurt.
“…I know.”
And later that night, when she stepped into the party and immediately spotted Michael across the room—surrounded by executives and cameras and people desperate for his attention—his entire face lit up the second he saw her.
Not the superstar smile.
Not the public one.
Something softer, meant just for her.
Like out of everybody in the room, she was the only person he’d actually been waiting for.
And when she finally reached him, Michael didn’t even hesitate before reaching for her hand.
Holding it proudly. Openly. Like he wanted the whole world to know exactly who she was to him.
“Hi.” She blurted out, smiling up at him. He already was smiling back at her.
“Y-you look…” Michael felt a blush make its way up to his face as he stared at her. “Wow.”
Y/N giggled at him and shook her head.
“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She said and bit her bottom lip, trying not to think too much about how ridiculously hot he looked at that moment.
Because Katherine Jackson absolutely knew what she was doing. That became painfully obvious the second Michael really looked at Y/N standing in front of him.
Because somehow—without discussing it beforehand—their outfits matched perfectly.
Michael wore a deep violet-black sequined suit that shimmered indigo beneath the lights, silver detailing sharp against the tailored lines of his waist and shoulders while layered necklaces rested against the open collar of his shirt.
And Y/N? She looked like midnight wrapped in starlight.
The gown Katherine had helped her pick flowed over her body like liquid amethyst, tiny crystals shifting between lavender, silver and blue every time she moved beneath the lights. The neckline draped elegantly across her chest while the slit along her leg flashed every time she walked.
Michael forgot to breath for a moment.
And Quincy, who observed the scene unfolding in front of him, noticed this ‘coincidence’ instantly.
“Oh Katherine absolutely planned this.” He pointed out to Tito, who stood next to him with an amused expression on his face as he watched his little brother and his girlfriend struggle.
Michael blinked, finally looking away from Y/N “What?”
“Mom knew exactly what she was doing,” Tito continued gleefully. “You two look like a damn wedding topper.”
Michael turned bright red immediately.
Meanwhile Y/N stared at him with a grin. “Aww, we’re matching!” She pointed out excitedly, looking down at her dress and at his suit.
Michael looked so flustered.
“I— I didn’t know.”
“Neither did I.”
Their eyes met again.
The kind of eye contact that had become genuinely hazardous lately.
Especially after the movie theater.
Especially after weeks of sneaking away from rooms just to kiss until neither of them remembered they’re names.
And right now? Michael looked one compliment away from combusting.
Y/N leaned closer carefully.
“You look really handsome tonight.” She told him in a low voice.
Michael swallowed hard immediately.
Handsome.
God.
She always called him things like that like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
His hand found her waist instinctively, warm fingers pressing lightly against the crystal fabric of her dress.
And suddenly it seemed that both of them forgot there were hundreds of people around them.
“You’re staring,” Y/N whispered teasingly.
Michael’s eyes dropped to her mouth immediately.
“…Can you blame me?”
Her stomach made a catastrophic flip.
Because Michael still sounded shy saying things like that. Adorable. Still looked almost embarrassed by how badly he wanted her.
Y/N felt heat crawl up her neck immediately.
“Michael Jackson,” she whispered, half laughing, half gasping.
Michael ducked his head slightly, smiling to himself. Then quieter:
“You’re making it very hard to behave right now.”
Y/N’s smile dropped immediately. Because Michael never said things like that directly. Not with that low shy honesty in his voice.
“Oh my God.”
Michael immediately looked embarrassed afterward. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Y/N answered way too fast. “No, actually, you should say more things like that.”
Michael burst into a flustered laughter while Quincy and Tito turned away muttering:
“Lord help these children.”
The party kept swelling louder around them.
Music.
Laughter.
Industry executives orbiting around Michael every few minutes trying to congratulate him.
But despite all of it? Michael kept drifting back toward her.
Every single time.
One hand on her waist.
Pulling her closer while introducing her to people.
Looking for her across rooms automatically anytime they got separated.
And the chemistry between them was getting hard to ignore.
Especially because Michael could not stop touching her tonight.
A bit inappropriately.
Constantly.
His fingers brushing the small of her back.
Hand settling low against her waist while talking.
Thumb absentmindedly stroking over her hip through the shimmering fabric every time she stood close enough.
Like he needed reassurance she was really there.
At one point Y/N laughed at something Quincy said and tipped her head back slightly—
and Michael stared at her mouth. Completely hypnotized.
Obviously Jermaine noticed instantly.
“I’m starting a rumor.” He said bluntly, a smirk on his face at the sight of Michael.
Michael snapped out of it immediately.
“Isn’t this embarrassing,” He mumbled rhetorically, scratching the back of his neck.
“You’ve been staring at her for twenty minutes straight.”
Michael looked horrified.
“I have not.”
“Mhm.”
Y/N smiled innocently beside him before jumping into the conversation.
“Yeah, he kinda has.”
Michael looked at her in betrayal while she and Jermaine burst into laughter.
Then suddenly the opening bassline of Billie Jean exploded through the ballroom speakers.
The entire room reacted instantly.
Cheers erupting everywhere.
And Michael groaned.
“Oh no.”
Y/N grabbed his bicep immediately, eyes completely wide and a giant smile on her face.
“Oh yes.”
“Baby—”
“Nope.” She started pulling him toward the dance floor. “Absolutely not. You are dancing to your own song.” Jermaine clapped and cheered after them.
Michael laughed helplessly while letting her drag him anyway.
The second they hit the dance floor? Chaos.
Because Michael Jackson physically could not hear Billie Jean and act normal.
The crowd around them immediately opened up watching him instinctively fall into the rhythm, shoulders loosening while the familiar confidence slid naturally into place.
And Y/N? She matched his energy instantly.
Dancing dramatically beside him, pointing accusingly during the lyrics while Michael laughed so hard he almost missed his cue mouthing along.
“She says I am the one—”
Y/N pointed at herself dramatically.
Michael clutched his chest theatrically.
“—but the kid is not my son!”
The two of them dissolved laughing.
And people around them were losing it.
Because Michael Jackson —coolest and most famous man alive— was currently being an absolute goofball with his girlfriend in matching sequins.
And the way he looked at her while dancing? It could’ve actually ended wars.
Every spin ended with him pulling her closer than necessary.
Every laugh turned into lingering eye contact.
Every playful touch started lasting a little too long.
At one point Y/N sang directly into his face dramatically:
“Billie Jean is not my lover—”
Michael grabbed her waist suddenly and pulled her flush against him. Y/N shut her mouth immediately.
“She’s just a girl,” he finished softly.
Y/N gulped.
The tension snapped instantly.
Michael’s hands remained low on her waist.
Too close now. Way too close.
The ballroom lights reflected gold against his curls while he stared down at her breathing slightly heavier than before.
And God.
That look.
That look had become a serious problem lately.
Like he wanted to kiss her until neither of them remembered their own names.
Y/N’s fingers curled lightly into the front of his sequined jacket.
“You’re staring again,” she whispered.
Michael’s eyes flicked to her mouth.
“I can’t help it.”
That did it.
Absolutely done.
“Okay, we’re done.” Y/N grabbed his hand instantly. “Come with me.”
Michael blinked.
“What?”
But she was already pulling him off the dance floor. Fast. Through crowded hallways and backstage corridors while Michael followed breathlessly behind her trying not to laugh.
“Where are we going?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You’re kidnapping me.”
“Correct.”
Eventually they found an empty hallway near the dressing rooms.
Quiet. Dimly lit. Far enough from the party that the music became muffled through the walls.
And the second they were alone?
Michael barely had time to breathe before Y/N grabbed the front of his jacket and crashed her lips into his.
Hard.
Michael made a startled sound against her mouth immediately before kissing her back with equal desperation.
And oh.
Oh this was different tonight.
Hotter.
Needier.
Weeks of tension and sneaking around and wanting each other finally boiling over all at once.
Michael backed her gently against the wall without breaking the kiss once, hands sliding urgently along the glittering fabric of her dress like he couldn’t decide where to touch first.
Y/N’s fingers tangled into his hair.
And the sound Michael made?
Devastating.
He was completely hopeless for her.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered against her mouth.
Y/N actually shivered hearing it. She felt something warming up with urgency inside of her. Specifically between her thighs, if we’re being honest.
Because Michael still sounded shy saying things like that.
Still sounded almost embarrassed by how badly he wanted her.
Which somehow made it infinitely hotter.
His mouth moved down her jaw slowly.
Then her neck.
And when he kissed the sensitive spot beneath her ear Y/N’s knees nearly gave out entirely.
“Michael—”
“I know,” he breathed shakily against her skin. “I know, baby.”
Michael’s hands tightened instinctively at her waist while she kissed him harder, pulling him impossibly close against her.
Sequins scratched softly together every time they moved. Their matching outfits glittering beneath the dim hallway lights while they practically melted into each other.
And somewhere far away Billie Jean still echoed faintly through the ballroom while Michael Jackson kissed his girlfriend like a starved man.
It was just after 4pm the following week when you walked into the corner store for your shift.
Mr Thompson, the owner, greeted you with a tired smile, explaining how there was a leaking pipe in the bathroom that would be fixed in the morning. He left shortly after after you insisted he go home straight away and get some much needed rest.
Restocking shelves and serving customers in between took up at least an hour and a half of your shift and by that point the sky which was once filled with hues of dusty pinks, deep purple and buttercup yellow, had now turned a deep navy blue with deep red and golden rays peeking through the city buildings.
It was a peaceful shift with little issue- just how you liked it.
You had been kneeling down restocking sour patch kids when you heard the distinct sound of people walking in, paying no mind to them for a moment as you readjusted the pack of sweets which had toppled onto the linoleum floor. It was only when the person standing close by cleared their throat that you finally looked up.
A young man stood there, his shoe scuffing a mark into the ground as he peered down at you, “Excuse me, miss?”
“Yes, sorry, how can I help you?” You close the lid to the box and quickly stand
“I was wondering where you kept the-” he paused and cleared his throat, scanning the aisle before continuing “- the popcorn” he shot you a quick smile
You frowned as you took him in, something seemed oddly familiar underneath the oversized hoodie and cap, but you couldn’t yet put your finger on how, “popcorn?” You repeat
“Yes, miss” he nods and adjusts the dark tinted sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose
“Follow me” you brush past and head towards the next aisle, taking a quick glance at the middle-aged man staring at a pack of chips
Staring a little too hard at the nutritional section on the bag…
“Anyways..” You shook the thought off, stopping in front of the section filled with different popcorn brands “Are you looking for the ones you can put on the stove, like Jiffy Pop? Or loose kernels?”
“Jiffy pop” You nod, picking up the packs available and he swipes the extra buttery movie sized pan of Jiffy Pop
“Anything else I can help you with?”
“No-” His voice cracks, going up an octave “-Thanks”
“Alright..” You nod, jamming a thumb in the direction of the counter “I’ll be over there whenever you’re ready”
As you walked back to the counter you noticed the strange man still holding the same pack of chips, this time though, his eyes were scanning the store and occasionally flicking over to the outside of the store. He looked over when he realised you were silently observing him from behind the counter and turned away just as quick
What the fuck?
You remained behind the counter, reading a paragraph from a newspaper article when you noticed movement from your peripheral vision and looked up in time to see the same man you helped earlier carrying an armful of snacks, a small pack of Reese’s Pieces tipping dangerously over his biceps and threatening to fall onto the ground; “Ready to check out?”
“Yes” He beams and drops the candy onto the counter
You picked up the three pans of Jiffy Pop and began to scan them, only for the till to light up ERROR “fuck…”
“What is it?” He asks, leaning forward to try and peeking through the rim of the glasses to see what had you so annoyed
“Nothing…Just the till acting up” You reply, turning over each bag and typing in the numbers “Happens sometimes, mostly because the barcode is wonky”
“I see..” He replies, bouncing on the balls of his feet and glancing out to the streets
Exactly like the other guy…Who was still staring at the bag of chips???
Seriously what was with that guy and his obsession with chip- wait…You’d seen that bucket hat before
You looked up towards the man whose eyes continued to dart around the store, freezing once when he heard a raucous laugh from outside. And you smirked.
Gotcha.
“So no orange juice this time?” you murmured as you scanned another pack of peanut m&ms. Michael stood there wordlessly, his eyes widening behind the oversized sunglasses and you grinned to yourself
“How did you-”
You finished ringing up the last of the snacks and packed them into the paper bag, “that’ll be $8.9-” you did a double check, looking towards the bag bursting at the seams and to the numbers on the till
$8.95?? There had to have been at least twelve items stuffed into that bag and it wasn’t at the very least $30??
Even after working at the store for a near month the prices of items still took your breath away.
“$8.95” you steeled yourself quickly, shooting a smile at the disguised Michael who pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you a $10 bill
“Keep the change.” he grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet
“I-”
“Now. How’d you know?”
You closed the till and stared wordlessly for a moment, sucked in a breath through your teeth and did a quick glance at the clock “I suppose I could take my break earlier than usual”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” You brush past him, closing the door and placing a placard against the window
BACK IN 15 MINUTES
You picked up the crumpled sandwich sitting on the counter and pulled the wrapping away, “I didn’t know it was you.”
“Yes you did.” He says, “You jus-”
“Yes I know what I said” You interrupt quickly, taking a quick bite of the sandwich “I knew it was you because of him.”
“Who?” You nod in the direction of Bill who had since moved away from the chip aisle and towards you and Michael “How?”
“He’s wearing the same bucket hat and shirt that he had on last week” Michael looks back with a stifled laugh when he realises that Bill was in fact wearing the same faded green hat and grey shirt
“It’s a good combo..” Bill grumbles
“You almost had me, very nearly passing off as a college student but…”
“But?”
“You were too nervous for a college student buying snacks.” You pause a moment before adding, “And Bill was staring down a bag of chips for nearly ten minutes like it’d been wire tapped.”
Bill looks to the ground, mumbling something indecipherable under his breath and you ignore him, “What’re you doing here?”
“Me and Bubbles are going to have a movie night tonight” He says, “But we had no more movie snacks, figured Bill and I could head out and get some”
“You didn’t want someone else to-” You stopped, cringing at how rude you came off “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”
“I know” He says softly “I just want to do something normal for once without being surrounded, and this place…” His words trail off and you nod
He didn’t need to explain, this had become a place he felt most safe and you weren’t going to ruin that for him
“So Bubbles is…?”
You already knew who he was
“He’s my chimp, but more of a friend than anything else.”
“That’s really sweet, Michael” You said softly and brush the crumbs from your denim clad leg
“Really?” He asks
“I do” You nod, “He sounds very important to you.”
“He really is. He’s the one that chooses what movies we watch”
You went to open your mouth but the annoying ringing sound coming from the bag on Bill’s shoulder distracted you; “What the fuck was that?” You exclaim
Michael laughs, pulling out a large brick…thing from the bag, “It’s my phone”
“That’s…a phone?” Your lip curls in disgust at the sight of a mobile phone bigger than your hand
“Yeah…You’ve never seen one?” You shake your head and he leans against the wall beside you “They’re great! This thing can give you up to thirty minutes of call time just by charging it for a few hours”
“Define a few..”
“About ten”
“Ten?! Thats a rip off”
The phone continued to ring and Michael handed the phone to you “What do you want me to do with this?”
“Answer it” He grins cheekily and you eye him carefully “Just press this button”
You do as he says and hesitantly put the phone against your ear “HELLO?” You yell, whoever was on the other end of the line shrieked “WHO’S THIS?”
“THIS IS MARLON! WHO’S THIS?” Michael clearly hearing the interaction had gone red in the face trying to hold back his laughter
“THIS IS Y/N!”
“Y/N? I DON’T KNOW A Y/N!” Marlon on the other end of the paused for a second “WAIT A MINUTE…MICHAEL! HEY GIVE MY IDIOT BROTHER THE PHONE”
“YES MARLON!”
“WHO THE HELL WAS SHE?” You could hear from the other end of the receiver
Michael stifled a laugh, “She’s my friend”
“WELL TELL YOUR FRIEND SHE’S BURST MY EARDRUM…I THINK I’VE GONE DEAF”
“Sure sure” Michael waves off, “Why’d you call me?”
“JOSEPH WANTS YOU TO COME BACK, IMMEDIATELY.” At Marlon’s words you could see Michael's face fall visibly,
“Sure, Marl. I’ll be back in twenty” He hung the phone up before Marlon could say anything else and let out a long sigh
Bill, who’d been standing to the sidelines in silence finally stepped forward, “Come on, Mike. Think it’s time we went home”
He began to walk out of the store when you tapped him on the shoulder, holding up the paper bag with a small shake and handing it over to him, “Can’t forget the most important stuff”
“Thanks…Y/n”
“Take care, Michael”
Bill clasped a hand on Michael's shoulder, guiding him out the door and shooting you a small look.
You turned away from the door, grabbing a broom and dustpan to begin sweeping up the remnants of dinner when you heard Michael exclaim breathlessly, “Wait!”
You turned around to face him and he held a hand up, signalling to give him a moment, and then finally stood, “Would you want to come over one day? To my house” Michael’s eyes widen when he realised what he said “I’m so sorry I shouldn’-”
“Yes.”
“I just assumed that- wait, what?” He does a quick double take, staring incredulously when he sees just how tightly you’re gripping the handle of the broom
“Yes, I’ll come over.”
“Really?”
“Really. Thank you for the invitation”
“Cool!” His face brightens as he fumbles for a pen sitting in the pocket of his jeans and a scrap of paper
“Here” You hand him a notepad and he quickly jots something down, ripping off the piece of paper and putting it into your grasp along with the pen
“Now you.” With a short nod you also write down your details “I’ll call you later and we can organise a day”
“I’ll be looking forward to it” He slips out the door, a pep visible in his step as he catches up with Bill
“What happened back there?” He asks, opening the back door to let Michael in and then sliding into the drivers side
“I just made a friend.”
You remained planted to where you stood, hand pressed against your chest as the realisation to what you agreed to began to set in.
It was just after 4pm the following week when you walked into the corner store for your shift.
Mr Thompson, the owner, greeted you with a tired smile, explaining how there was a leaking pipe in the bathroom that would be fixed in the morning. He left shortly after after you insisted he go home straight away and get some much needed rest.
Restocking shelves and serving customers in between took up at least an hour and a half of your shift and by that point the sky which was once filled with hues of dusty pinks, deep purple and buttercup yellow, had now turned a deep navy blue with deep red and golden rays peeking through the city buildings.
It was a peaceful shift with little issue- just how you liked it.
You had been kneeling down restocking sour patch kids when you heard the distinct sound of people walking in, paying no mind to them for a moment as you readjusted the pack of sweets which had toppled onto the linoleum floor. It was only when the person standing close by cleared their throat that you finally looked up.
A young man stood there, his shoe scuffing a mark into the ground as he peered down at you, “Excuse me, miss?”
“Yes, sorry, how can I help you?” You close the lid to the box and quickly stand
“I was wondering where you kept the-” he paused and cleared his throat, scanning the aisle before continuing “- the popcorn” he shot you a quick smile
You frowned as you took him in, something seemed oddly familiar underneath the oversized hoodie and cap, but you couldn’t yet put your finger on how, “popcorn?” You repeat
“Yes, miss” he nods and adjusts the dark tinted sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose
“Follow me” you brush past and head towards the next aisle, taking a quick glance at the middle-aged man staring at a pack of chips
Staring a little too hard at the nutritional section on the bag…
“Anyways..” You shook the thought off, stopping in front of the section filled with different popcorn brands “Are you looking for the ones you can put on the stove, like Jiffy Pop? Or loose kernels?”
“Jiffy pop” You nod, picking up the packs available and he swipes the extra buttery movie sized pan of Jiffy Pop
“Anything else I can help you with?”
“No-” His voice cracks, going up an octave “-Thanks”
“Alright..” You nod, jamming a thumb in the direction of the counter “I’ll be over there whenever you’re ready”
As you walked back to the counter you noticed the strange man still holding the same pack of chips, this time though, his eyes were scanning the store and occasionally flicking over to the outside of the store. He looked over when he realised you were silently observing him from behind the counter and turned away just as quick
What the fuck?
You remained behind the counter, reading a paragraph from a newspaper article when you noticed movement from your peripheral vision and looked up in time to see the same man you helped earlier carrying an armful of snacks, a small pack of Reese’s Pieces tipping dangerously over his biceps and threatening to fall onto the ground; “Ready to check out?”
“Yes” He beams and drops the candy onto the counter
You picked up the three pans of Jiffy Pop and began to scan them, only for the till to light up ERROR “fuck…”
“What is it?” He asks, leaning forward to try and peeking through the rim of the glasses to see what had you so annoyed
“Nothing…Just the till acting up” You reply, turning over each bag and typing in the numbers “Happens sometimes, mostly because the barcode is wonky”
“I see..” He replies, bouncing on the balls of his feet and glancing out to the streets
Exactly like the other guy…Who was still staring at the bag of chips???
Seriously what was with that guy and his obsession with chip- wait…You’d seen that bucket hat before
You looked up towards the man whose eyes continued to dart around the store, freezing once when he heard a raucous laugh from outside. And you smirked.
Gotcha.
“So no orange juice this time?” you murmured as you scanned another pack of peanut m&ms. Michael stood there wordlessly, his eyes widening behind the oversized sunglasses and you grinned to yourself
“How did you-”
You finished ringing up the last of the snacks and packed them into the paper bag, “that’ll be $8.9-” you did a double check, looking towards the bag bursting at the seams and to the numbers on the till
$8.95?? There had to have been at least twelve items stuffed into that bag and it wasn’t at the very least $30??
Even after working at the store for a near month the prices of items still took your breath away.
“$8.95” you steeled yourself quickly, shooting a smile at the disguised Michael who pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed you a $10 bill
“Keep the change.” he grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet
“I-”
“Now. How’d you know?”
You closed the till and stared wordlessly for a moment, sucked in a breath through your teeth and did a quick glance at the clock “I suppose I could take my break earlier than usual”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” You brush past him, closing the door and placing a placard against the window
BACK IN 15 MINUTES
You picked up the crumpled sandwich sitting on the counter and pulled the wrapping away, “I didn’t know it was you.”
“Yes you did.” He says, “You jus-”
“Yes I know what I said” You interrupt quickly, taking a quick bite of the sandwich “I knew it was you because of him.”
“Who?” You nod in the direction of Bill who had since moved away from the chip aisle and towards you and Michael “How?”
“He’s wearing the same bucket hat and shirt that he had on last week” Michael looks back with a stifled laugh when he realises that Bill was in fact wearing the same faded green hat and grey shirt
“It’s a good combo..” Bill grumbles
“You almost had me, very nearly passing off as a college student but…”
“But?”
“You were too nervous for a college student buying snacks.” You pause a moment before adding, “And Bill was staring down a bag of chips for nearly ten minutes like it’d been wire tapped.”
Bill looks to the ground, mumbling something indecipherable under his breath and you ignore him, “What’re you doing here?”
“Me and Bubbles are going to have a movie night tonight” He says, “But we had no more movie snacks, figured Bill and I could head out and get some”
“You didn’t want someone else to-” You stopped, cringing at how rude you came off “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”
“I know” He says softly “I just want to do something normal for once without being surrounded, and this place…” His words trail off and you nod
He didn’t need to explain, this had become a place he felt most safe and you weren’t going to ruin that for him
“So Bubbles is…?”
You already knew who he was
“He’s my chimp, but more of a friend than anything else.”
“That’s really sweet, Michael” You said softly and brush the crumbs from your denim clad leg
“Really?” He asks
“I do” You nod, “He sounds very important to you.”
“He really is. He’s the one that chooses what movies we watch”
You went to open your mouth but the annoying ringing sound coming from the bag on Bill’s shoulder distracted you; “What the fuck was that?” You exclaim
Michael laughs, pulling out a large brick…thing from the bag, “It’s my phone”
“That’s…a phone?” Your lip curls in disgust at the sight of a mobile phone bigger than your hand
“Yeah…You’ve never seen one?” You shake your head and he leans against the wall beside you “They’re great! This thing can give you up to thirty minutes of call time just by charging it for a few hours”
“Define a few..”
“About ten”
“Ten?! Thats a rip off”
The phone continued to ring and Michael handed the phone to you “What do you want me to do with this?”
“Answer it” He grins cheekily and you eye him carefully “Just press this button”
You do as he says and hesitantly put the phone against your ear “HELLO?” You yell, whoever was on the other end of the line shrieked “WHO’S THIS?”
“THIS IS MARLON! WHO’S THIS?” Michael clearly hearing the interaction had gone red in the face trying to hold back his laughter
“THIS IS Y/N!”
“Y/N? I DON’T KNOW A Y/N!” Marlon on the other end of the paused for a second “WAIT A MINUTE…MICHAEL! HEY GIVE MY IDIOT BROTHER THE PHONE”
“YES MARLON!”
“WHO THE HELL WAS SHE?” You could hear from the other end of the receiver
Michael stifled a laugh, “She’s my friend”
“WELL TELL YOUR FRIEND SHE’S BURST MY EARDRUM…I THINK I’VE GONE DEAF”
“Sure sure” Michael waves off, “Why’d you call me?”
“JOSEPH WANTS YOU TO COME BACK, IMMEDIATELY.” At Marlon’s words you could see Michael's face fall visibly,
“Sure, Marl. I’ll be back in twenty” He hung the phone up before Marlon could say anything else and let out a long sigh
Bill, who’d been standing to the sidelines in silence finally stepped forward, “Come on, Mike. Think it’s time we went home”
He began to walk out of the store when you tapped him on the shoulder, holding up the paper bag with a small shake and handing it over to him, “Can’t forget the most important stuff”
“Thanks…Y/n”
“Take care, Michael”
Bill clasped a hand on Michael's shoulder, guiding him out the door and shooting you a small look.
You turned away from the door, grabbing a broom and dustpan to begin sweeping up the remnants of dinner when you heard Michael exclaim breathlessly, “Wait!”
You turned around to face him and he held a hand up, signalling to give him a moment, and then finally stood, “Would you want to come over one day? To my house” Michael’s eyes widen when he realised what he said “I’m so sorry I shouldn’-”
“Yes.”
“I just assumed that- wait, what?” He does a quick double take, staring incredulously when he sees just how tightly you’re gripping the handle of the broom
“Yes, I’ll come over.”
“Really?”
“Really. Thank you for the invitation”
“Cool!” His face brightens as he fumbles for a pen sitting in the pocket of his jeans and a scrap of paper
“Here” You hand him a notepad and he quickly jots something down, ripping off the piece of paper and putting it into your grasp along with the pen
“Now you.” With a short nod you also write down your details “I’ll call you later and we can organise a day”
“I’ll be looking forward to it” He slips out the door, a pep visible in his step as he catches up with Bill
“What happened back there?” He asks, opening the back door to let Michael in and then sliding into the drivers side
“I just made a friend.”
You remained planted to where you stood, hand pressed against your chest as the realisation to what you agreed to began to set in.
There were very few people Michael Jackson willingly let into the studio while working on Thriller.
Actually, that wasn’t true. There was exactly one.
And even asking her had taken him three full days.
Because Michael Jackson, global superstar and soon-to-be owner of the best-selling album of all time, somehow still turned shy and as red as. tomato whenever it came to Y/N.
Especially when something actually mattered to him. And Thriller mattered more than anything.
The pressure around the album had become suffocating lately.
Epic Records wanted another Off the Wall.
The label wanted perfection.
Critics were already waiting for him to fail.
Every producer, executive, journalist and random person on earth suddenly had opinions about what Michael Jackson should do next.
It exhausted him.
Even when he tried not to show it. Especially tonight.
The studio was dim except for the soft glow of soundboards and equipment, Quincy Jones speaking quietly with engineers while Michael sat curled into the corner of the couch scribbling lyrics into a notebook.
He looked tired. Not physically. Emotionally tired.
Like his brain hadn’t stopped moving in weeks.
Then the studio door opened quietly and immediately Michael looked up.
Y/N stepped inside carefully, almost hesitant.
Which rare for her. Normally Y/N walked into rooms like she owned them. Loud. Funny. Fearless. But this? It felt sacred somehow.
The Thriller recording sessions had already become legendary in the industry, and now Michael had invited her into that world personally.
Just her.
“You came,” Michael said softly.
Y/N stared at him. “You called.” She offered him a small smile.
Michael smiled back shyly immediately, ducking his head slightly like he regretted sounding too eager.
That smile alone nearly killed her.
Because Michael looked devastating tonight.
Soft curls falling into his face. White button-up slightly open at the collar. Long legs stretched across the couch. And those doe-like eyes warming the second they landed on her.
Y/N suddenly forgot how to behave like a normal human being.
“Hi,” she said stupidly.
Michael laughed softly under his breath.
“Hi.”
Quincy looked between them once and immediately smirked.
“Incoming,” he muttered quietly to an engineer, who nodded in agreement.
Y/N walked further into the studio slowly, taking everything in.
The microphones.
The layered vocal notes scattered everywhere.
The instruments.
Michael’s notebooks filled with lyric fragments and little sketches.
It felt like stepping directly into his brain. And that made her nervous.
“You okay?” Michael asked gently.
Y/N blinked quickly.
“Yeah.” She smiled awkwardly. “I just— this is weird.”
Michael tilted his head.
“Weird bad?”
“No.” She looked around again. “Weird like… this is where Thriller is happening.”
Michael immediately looked embarrassed.
“It’s not finished yet.”
“Michael.”
“I’m serious.”
Y/N stared at him flatly, eyes narrowed at him. “You could record yourself microwaving soup and people would buy it.”
Quincy burst out laughing somewhere behind them.
Meanwhile Michael physically covered his face smiling.
“Stop.”
“No, I’m serious.” Y/N sat beside him on the couch now. “This is historical.”
Michael glanced toward her quietly then.
And for a second the confidence disappeared completely.
“I just want it to be good.”
The honesty in his voice made something ache inside her. Because everybody else saw Michael Jackson the phenomenon.
The genius.
The perfectionist.
But moments like this reminded her he was still just a twenty-something kid desperately hoping people would love the things he created.
And somehow that made her love him even more.
“It’s not going be good,” she started quietly.
Michael looked at her raising a brow.
“No,” she added softly. “It’s gonna change everything, Mikey.”
Something in Michael’s expression shifted at that. Like hearing her believe in him mattered more than hearing it from anyone else.
Then Quincy clapped his hands suddenly.
“Alright genius, enough flirting. Come record.”
Michael immediately turned pink and Y/N held her breath for a few seconds.
“We’re not—” They both started, stopping mid-sentence when they realized they had spoken at the same time.
“Mhm.”
Y/N burst out laughing while Michael stood up muttering embarrassed little protests beneath his breath.
Watching him work ruined her life a little bit.
Because Michael transformed inside the studio.
Not louder.
Not arrogant.
Just completely consumed.
He moved constantly while recording.
Snapping rhythms into the air.
Layering harmonies instinctively.
Stopping suddenly to change one tiny detail nobody else would’ve noticed.
And when he sang—
Oh.
Y/N actually stopped breathing for a second.
Because hearing Michael Jackson sing live from inside the booth felt unreal.
Rawer somehow. More emotional.
His voice filled every corner of the studio effortlessly while Quincy adjusted levels behind the glass. She felt as if his voice filled her heart, a warm feeling taking over her chest.
And Michael looked absolutely beautiful doing it.
Sweat beginning to dampen the curls near his temples.
Eyes closed while harmonizing with himself.
Hands moving instinctively with the music.
Y/N sat frozen on the couch completely mesmerized.
At one point Michael glanced toward the studio window mid-recording. And immediately smiled seeing her staring.
Y/N looked away so fast her neck actually snapped. Quincy started laughing.
“Get it together, lover-girl” Y/N widened her eyes at that, her cheeks so red it looked like the poor girl had run a marathon.
“Quincy!” Michael groaned instantly, listening to everything was being said through the headphones.
Quincy looked pleased at his attempt (and success) at embarrassing the two of them. Very pleased.
Hours passed like that.
Music.
Laughter.
Michael bouncing excitedly between ideas.
And slowly the stress that had been weighing on him all week seemed lighter somehow.
Because Y/N stayed.
Not because she wanted something. Not because of fame. Just because she genuinely loved watching him create and just being around him.
At around two in the morning Michael finally collapsed back onto the couch beside her exhausted. He chuckled at the sight of her with his aviators on her face and shook his head.
“Tired, P.Y.T?” Y/N asked softly, she joked.
“Ha Ha, really funny,” But he smiled while saying it. “Just a little.”
Y/N looked at him quietly for a second and lowered the glasses on the tip of her nose. She stared at him for a few seconds.
“I think watching you work just altered my brain chemistry.”
Michael laughed softly.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you’re…” She searched helplessly for words. “I don’t know. There’s something wrong with you.”
Michael blinked.
“That sounds insulting.”
“No, I mean it nicely!” Y/N laughed. “You just… different,” She paused. “You know, than everyone else.”
Michael got shy immediately at that, breaking the eye contact.
He always did when compliments felt too sincere.
Y/N’s expression softened.
“You’re magic, Michael.”
And there it was again.
That look.
The one he got whenever she said something that reached too deep inside him too quickly.
Michael looked down smiling faintly, almost overwhelmed.
“You really think so?”
Y/N stared at him in disbelief and hit him lightly behind the head. “Are you kidding me?”
Michael shrugged a little, suddenly looking much younger than the superstar everyone imagined him to be.
“I don’t know.” He smiled shyly. “Sometimes I worry maybe I’m doing too much.”
Y/N looked genuinely emotional now. Because how on earth could someone this gifted still doubt himself?
“You could never do too much,” she said quietly.
Michael looked at her for a long second after that.
Really looked at her.
And something changed quietly in the room.
It felt… warmer. More honest, somehow.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Later that week Human Nature happened.
It started after one of their late-night drives through Los Angeles.
Michael liked driving around with her because it made him feel normal for a little while.
No screaming fans.
No executives.
Just music playing softly while Y/N sat beside him rambling about random things.
They’d sneak out behind Bill’s back —he absolutely loathed the idea of Michael driving with Y/N by his side, claiming they shared a single brain cell and would get themselves killed or lost— and left Encino quietly.
Tonight Y/N had been rambling about stars.
Pointing excitedly through the windshield every few minutes while Michael smiled helplessly beside her.
“You ever think about how weird it is we’re alive at the same time?” she asked suddenly.
Michael laughed softly. “What?”
“I’m serious!” She looked over at him dramatically. “Like what if I’d been born in the eighteen hundreds?”
“You’d hate it there.”
“I would die immediately, thrown into the fire!”
Michael burst out laughing.
Then quieter: “Well, I’m glad you weren’t.”
Something about the way he said it lingered afterward.
After a few moments, she said quietly:
“Well, I would’ve manage to find you even back than,” She threw a look at his direction. “There’s no me without you.”
Michael almost lost control of the car after that.
“We would’ve been timeless, you know?”
Michael gulped, not knowing how to formulate an answer.
And later, back in the studio, those feelings followed him into the music.
Looking out
across the nighttime…
Michael sang softly into the microphone while the melody unfolded around him almost naturally.
Why, why…
tell ‘em that it’s human nature…
It wasn’t intentionally about her at first.
Not consciously, no.
But then came the feeling underneath it.
Curiosity.
Longing.
Wonder.
The strange ache of wanting closeness despite how isolating fame had become.
And suddenly all he could picture was her.
Y/N laughing in the passenger seat.
Y/N asleep on his shoulder while they watched movies.
Y/N dancing around his house in socks.
Y/N stealing his shades.
Y/N looking at him like Michael mattered more than Michael Jackson.
By the time he finished the demo, Quincy threw him a suspicious look immediately.
“This about somebody?”
Michael blinked innocently.
“No.”
Quincy stared at him with narrowed eyes. “Michael.”
Michael smiled shyly to himself instead of answering.
And later that night, when he played the unfinished version for Y/N alone in the studio, she went unusually quiet afterward.
Michael looked nervous immediately.
“You don’t like it?”
Y/N turned toward him so fast he almost laughed.
“What? No.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
She felt emotional. Actually emotional.
Y/N swallowed once before speaking softly.
“This feels like you.”
Michael blinked.
“What do you mean?”
She smiled with melancholy.
“Like the part of you nobody else gets to see.”
That silence afterward felt huge somehow.
Then Michael finally admitted very quietly:
“I think maybe I wrote it about you.”
Y/N’s entire face softened instantly. “Oh,”
Michael looked embarrassed immediately after saying it out loud.
Not one second later Y/N threw her arms around his neck without hesitation. “I love you, Mikey.” He wrapped his arms around her. He took a deep breath, the faint smell of her vanilla scented shampoo taking over him.
“I love you, too.”
And for the first time in months, the pressure around Thriller disappeared completely for a little while.
Because suddenly Michael wasn’t thinking about charts or critics or expectations.
Just her heartbeat against his chest.
And how badly he never wanted to lose this feeling.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
A few weeks after Human Nature, Y/N found herself sitting cross-legged on Michael’s bedroom floor while he paced around rambling excitedly about zombies.
Actual zombies.
“And then Vincent Price does this whole creepy narration thing—”
“Michael.”
“—and there’s fog everywhere and we transform into monsters and—”
“Michael.”
“—Rick Baker’s doing the makeup effects—”
Y/N finally burst out laughing.
“You sound clinically insane right now.”
Michael stopped pacing immediately, curls bouncing slightly into his eyes.
“It’s gonna be cool!”
“I know it’s gonna be cool.” She grinned up at him from the floor. “You just explained it like a seven-year-old who drank too much soda.”
Michael laughed out loud.
He’d been feeling lighter lately.
Still stressed, still obsessing over Thriller constantly, but lighter.
Ever since the Human Nature sessions, something between them had softened further somehow.
More comfortable. More honest.
Michael had started reaching for her instinctively now.
Her hand.
Her waist.
The sleeve of her sweater.
Like touching her grounded him.
And right now, while rambling about Thriller, one of his hands absentmindedly rested against her shoulder while he talked.
“I’m serious,” he insisted dramatically. “This is something else.”
Y/N looked up at him softly then, a small, playful smile on her lips. Every time Michael talked about music lately, he glowed.
“You really love this one, huh?”
Michael’s expression softened immediately.
“Yeah.” It was like he already knew Thriller was becoming something bigger than himself.
Then suddenly he looked away weirdly nervous.
Y/N narrowed her eyes immediately.
“What?”
Michael glanced away. “Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“It is.”
“It’s absolutely not.” She insisted, bumping her shoulder lightly on his. “C’mon, tell me.”
Michael sighed softly before finally blurting out. “D-Do you wanna come watch tomorrow?”
Y/N blinked. “Watch?” She asked a bit confused. He couldn’t be asking her what she thought he was.
“You know, the video shoot.”
He was met with silence. Michael immediately started regretting asking.
“I mean you don’t have to—”
“The Thriller video?” She sounded like she was in shock.
Michael looked shy instantly. “It’s still unfinished—”
“Michael.”
“And it’s gonna be a really long day and there’s probably gonna be fake blood everywhere—”
“Michael Jackson.” She snapped.
Michael stopped talking mid-sentence. Y/N stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re actually inviting me to the Thriller shoot?”
Michael shrugged awkwardly, suddenly looking like a nervous teenager about to talk to his crush on the school break.
“I thought maybe you’d wanna see it.”
The thing was Michael almost never invited people into the creative process this intimately. Not really.
The studio already felt personal.
But the video shoot?
This was his brain completely exposed.
His biggest ideas.
His weirdest instincts.
His imagination turned physical.
And he wanted her there for it.
Y/N’s chest ached immediately.
“Yeah,” she answered softly. “Yeah, I wanna come. Of course!” She smiled, excitedly. “Why me, though?”
Michael smiled instantly. “Because you’re you.” He stated like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Y/N looked down, a small, relieved smile taking over her face.
Absolutely beautiful, Michael thought.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The set looked unreal.
Fog machines filled the soundstage.
Fake graveyards stretched beneath enormous studio lights.
Dancers wandered around in partial zombie makeup drinking coffee while production assistants ran everywhere screaming about schedules.
And standing in the middle of all of it, was Michael.
Or technically zombie-Michael.
Y/N stopped on her tracks when she saw him.
“Oh my God.” A huge grin took over her face at the sight.
Michael turned immediately at the sound of her voice.
And there he was.
Full Thriller costume.
Red leather jacket.
Pale makeup.
Torn clothes.
Messy curls falling around his face while Rick Baker adjusted prosthetics near his cheekbone.
He looked horrifying. And unfortunately still ridiculously attractive.
Y/N placed her hands on her waits and tilted her head as she approached. “You make a really cute zombie, you know.”
Michael burst out laughing immediately.
“A cute zombie?”
“Yes.” She walked slowly around him inspecting the makeup seriously. “Like, if you tried eating my brain I’d probably let you.”
Bill snorted somewhere behind them.
Meanwhile Michael shook his head and laughed.
“That’s concerning.”
“No, what’s concerning is that this is somehow working for you.”
Rick Baker pointed at her immediately.
“She gets it. I like her.”
Michael groaned, smile so big his cheeks hurt.
Y/N shrugged and handed Michael a bottle. “Here.” He stared at it confused.
“What—,” He begun, confused, while grabbing the bottle from her hands, their fingers brushing against each other’s.
“O.G.” She stated, like her bringing him his favorite beverage had not made him almost melt right on the spot. “I thought you might get thirsty with all of, She motioned to the set. “this.”
Michael’s gaze kept switching from the bottle in his hand to the girl standing before him. “Thank you.” He said with raw honesty.
Watching him film Thriller changed something permanently inside Y/N.
Because Michael wasn’t just performing.
He was creating an entire world.
Every tiny detail mattered to him.
The angles. The choreography. The timing of the fog. How the dancers moved.
At one point he stopped everything because one zombie “wasn’t walking creepy enough.”
Y/N almost cried laughing.
“No, seriously,” Michael insisted while demonstrating dramatically. “You gotta feel dead inside.”
The dancers collapsed laughing.
So did Y/N.
And Michael? He looked happiest when everyone around him was creating with him.
Like this huge impossible imagination in his head finally had room to breathe.
Between takes he kept gravitating back toward Y/N instinctively.
Standing beside her.
Talking excitedly.
Checking if she liked things.
At one point he dragged her toward the monitors, both hands on her waist as he stood behind her, the two of them watching the monitor.
“Okay look at this part.”
The playback started.
Michael transformed onscreen beneath flashing lights while the music exploded through the speakers.
Then came the choreography.
And Y/N’s breath got caught in her throat.
There was something terrifyingly magnetic about him performing Thriller.
The sharpness of his movements. The confidence. The way he completely transformed once the cameras rolled.
He looked larger than life somehow.
Not even real.
Y/N felt weirdly emotional watching it.
Because standing here, watching Michael obsess over details and choreography and storytelling with this much passion she suddenly understood.
Thriller wasn’t just gonna be successful.
It was going to become immortal.
Michael glanced sideways at her nervously.
“Well?”
Y/N looked at him slowly.
“I think,” she said quietly, “people are gonna talk about this forever.”
Michael stared at her for a second.
Then immediately looked down smiling shyly to himself.
And that somehow got her even worse.
Because despite all this genius and ambition and artistry, he was still Michael. Her Michael.
Still the boy who sat beside her in silence while writing Human Nature.
Still the boy who got insecure about whether his ideas were ‘too weird.’
Still the boy who looked relieved every single time she believed in him.
Later that night, after hours of filming, Y/N wandered onto the empty soundstage while fake fog rolled softly around her ankles. She had a ridiculous hair bow with werewolf ears on her head.
Michael followed behind her still fully dressed as a zombie.
“You know,” Y/N said thoughtfully, “this would be a terrible place to make out with somebody.”
Michael nearly choked. “What?!”
“I’m just saying.” She gestured vaguely toward the graveyard set. “Very romantic.”
Michael’s shoulders shook beneath the red jacket as he laughed at her. A sudden boost of confidence took over him.
“You’re flirting with me while I look dead?”
“Well, you do look handsome dead.”
“That sentence should concern you deeply.”
Y/N grinned. “Well, at least whatever is wrong with me makes me really funny.”
Michael shook his head helplessly before stepping closer.
And for a second neither of them spoke.
The fake fog curling around their feet.
Studio lights glowing softly overhead.
Michael still wearing zombie makeup while smiling at her like she’d hung the moon.
Then quietly: “You really like being here?”
Y/N looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At the excitement still glowing in his eyes despite exhaustion.
At the creativity practically radiating off him.
At Michael Jackson before the rest of the world fully understood what Thriller would become.
And softly, honestly, she answered:
“I think this is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
By the time filming for Thriller finally wrapped for the night, it was almost three in the morning.
Everyone looked exhausted.
Zombie dancers half-asleep in folding chairs.
Crew members dragging cables across the soundstage.
Quincy already threatening to force Michael to rest for at least six hours.
But Michael? He still looked energized somehow.
Tired, yes. But glowing.
Like creating Thriller had plugged him directly into electricity.
The only problem was he was still in full costume.
Rick Baker had removed some of the prosthetics, but Michael still wore the red jacket, dark makeup smudged faintly around his eyes and pale foundation clinging stubbornly near his jawline.
Y/N thought he looked unfairly beautiful.
Bill drove them back to Encino quietly while the radio played softly in the background.
Y/N sat curled near the window, exhaustion finally hitting her all at once.
Meanwhile Michael sat beside her still smelling faintly like makeup, fog machine smoke and cologne.
Neither of them talked much, a comfortable silence filling the car.
The kind of silence that only existed between people who already understood each other completely.
At one point Y/N glanced sideways at him and burst into quiet laughter again.
Michael looked over immediately.
“What?”
“You’re still a zombie.”
Michael groaned, leaning his head back against the seat. “I know.”
“No, but it’s really getting me now.” She laughed harder. “Like Bill’s just casually driving around with a corpse in the backseat.”
Bill snorted from the front.
Michael pointed accusingly at both of them.
“This is very disrespectful.”
“Well, I told you you,” Y/N repeated smugly. “You make a cute zombie.”
Michael shook his head, smiling helplessly despite himself.
God.
Every time she said things like that, his brain completely stopped functioning.
By the time they reached Encino, the neighborhood sat quiet and dark beneath the late-night summer sky.
Bill pulled up outside Y/N’s house first.
“I can walk her up,” Michael blurted out immediately and before Bill could even ask, he was out of the car, pacing fast around it to open the door for Y/N.
Bill looked very amused. “Mhm.”
Michael ignored him entirely.
The second they stepped out of the car, Y/N wrapped her arms around herself instinctively. “Geez,”
The California night had gotten colder while they drove.
Michael noticed immediately.
“You cold?”
“No.”
“You just shivered.”
“I’m alright.”
Michael narrowed his eyes slightly because Y/N had this deeply annoying habit of refusing to admit basic human weaknesses.
Then, without another word, he shrugged off his jacket.
Y/N blinked immediately.
“Michael.”
“Take it.”
“You’ll freeze.”
“I literally spent eight hours pretending to be undead.”
“And what does that have to do with anything?”
Michael laughed softly and shrugged before stepping closer and draping the jacket around her shoulders himself.
And the second the leather settled around her, Y/N forgot how to breathe for a second.
Because it still felt warm from him.
Smelled like him.
And suddenly she was standing there wearing his jacket while Michael Jackson looked down at her with soft tired eyes beneath messy curls and leftover zombie makeup.
Y/N cursed the universe in her head.
“You look cute,” Michael murmured absentmindedly while closing the zipper of the jacket for her. He did not know where that confidence came from.
Y/N’s stomach flipped violently. This boy was gonna ruin her life. “Shut up.”
They started walking slowly toward her front door while crickets chirped softly somewhere in the distance.
The world felt strangely still.
Like everything had quieted after the chaos of the studio.
And maybe it was the exhaustion. Or the late hour. Or watching him all night.
But suddenly Y/N felt painfully aware of him beside her.
Michael.
Her Michael.
The boy who trusted her enough to let her see the pieces of himself nobody else really got access to.
The boy who still got shy whenever she complimented him despite being Michael Jackson.
The boy who’d looked at her tonight like her opinion mattered more than anyone else’s in the room.
The boy who had been her best friend for years and years and for whom she’d move mountains.
Y/N stopped walking.
Michael looked over immediately.
“What?”
She stared at him quietly for a second too long.
Then smiled softly, placing her hands inside the jacket’s pockets.
“You know you’re my best friend, right?”
Michael’s entire expression softened, like those words reached somewhere deep inside him.
“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “You’re mine too.”
Y/N’s chest hurt suddenly.
Because he sounded so sincere. So open.
The silence stretched softly between them. She took a step in his direction, looking up at him.
Then Y/N swallowed once before asking nervously:
“Can I do something?”
Michael blinked as he looked down at her pretty face with confusion. “…Okay?”
And before she could lose her nerve, Y/N stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Right in the lips.
Just one small nervous kiss beneath the quiet Encino streetlights.
Michael completely froze.
Actually froze.
His brain stopped functioning instantly.
Not a single thought crossed his mind.
Because one second Y/N was standing there looking up at him in his jacket and the next her lips were on his.
Warm. Real. Kissing him.
Michael made the faintest startled sound against her mouth.
Not pulling away.
Just shocked.
Terrified.
Completely overwhelmed.
And when Y/N finally stepped back Michael Jackson looked like he’d just seen Jesus.
Eyes wide.
Cheeks bright pink beneath the remaining zombie makeup.
Entire body visibly tense like he no longer knew how to stand properly.
Y/N immediately panicked.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I just thought maybe—”
“No!” Michael answered so fast they both startled. Then he looked horrified by how aggressive that sounded. “No,” he repeated quieter now. “No, don’t— don’t apologize.”
Y/N stared at him nervously, her eyes as wide as his.
Michael stared back looking completely short-circuited.
Because this was Y/N.
His Y/N.
His best friend.
Y/N who played Twister with him and stole spoons of his ice cream and fell asleep on his shoulder during every movie they watched.
And now she’d kissed him.
His heartbeat felt genuinely dangerous at this point.
“You kissed me,” he whispered stupidly.
Y/N laughed nervously.
“Yeah, I did.”
Michael’s brain somehow got even worse hearing her confirming it.
He didn’t know where to look.
At her eyes?
Her mouth?
His jacket swallowing her whole?
Meanwhile Y/N started panicking. She stared down at her shoes and cleared her throat, starting to regret every single decision she had ever made in her lifespan.
Which made Michael immediately panic because he never wanted her regretting this.
So before fear could stop him he pulled her by the belt loops of her jeans kissed her again.
Softer this time.
Shy.
Tentative.
Like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to do this.
It was Y/N’s turn to be shocked for a moment. And then, she deepened the kiss and placed her hands on his neck, pulling Michael closer.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, anchoring herself to him as his lips moved against hers with maddening patience. It was slow. Painfully slow. Like they were memorizing the taste of each other’s lips one second at a time.
And when they pulled apart again, Michael hid his face behind one hand laughing breathlessly. “Oh my God.”
Y/N burst out laughing too.
“What?”
“I can’t—” Michael shook his head helplessly, still blushing violently. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
Y/N smiled softly. “You hated it?”
Michael looked at her immediately.
And whatever expression crossed his face made her stomach flip.
Because beneath all the nervousness and embarrassment he looked gone for her.
Completely.
Hopelessly.
Devoted.
“No,” he admitted quietly. “I really liked it.” He admitted before pulling her close by the waist and closing the space between them one more time.
SUMMARY: Michael realizes he has feelings for his best friend.
CONTENT: inspired by the twister and pool scenes in ‘Michael’. Friends with feelings for each other. Fluff. This will probably be a small series! lmk what you guys think.
There was one thing Michael Jackson still hated admitting.
He got lonely easily.
Especially in that weird in-between stage of his life where everything felt like it was changing too fast.
Off the Wall had exploded.
People looked at him differently now.
The pressure was bigger.
The expectations louder.
And somehow the house in Encino felt emptier because of it.
Tonight was supposed to help.
Michael had spent an embarrassingly long time setting up Twister in the living room because he’d convinced himself his brothers would actually play with him for once.
“C’mon,” he tried again, holding up the box dramatically while his brothers grabbed jackets near the front door. “Just one game.”
“We already got plans, Mike.”
“We’re late.”
“We’ll play another time.”
Michael’s shoulders slumped slightly.
“But you said—”
“Another night, man.”
The front door shut behind them.
Silence.
Michael stared at the bright Twister mat spread across the carpet for a second too long before quietly sitting down beside it.
From the kitchen, Katherine Jackson looked over sympathetically.
“Oh baby…”
“I’m fine,” Michael muttered immediately.
Which meant he absolutely wasn’t.
Meanwhile, from his armchair, Joe Jackson barely glanced up from the television.
“You too old to be sulking over games.”
Katherine shot him a sharp look immediately.
Michael just looked down at the mat.
And then the doorbell rang.
Katherine moved to answer it, and seconds later a familiar voice drifted through the hallway.
“Mrs. Jackson, my mom said you forgot your baking dish again—”
Then Y/N L/N appeared in the living room doorway and stopped mid-sentence.
Because spread across the floor was Twister.
Her entire face lit up instantly.
“Oh my God.”
Michael looked up slowly.
Y/N pointed aggressively at the mat.
“Are we playing Twister?”
Michael blinked once.
“…You wanna play?”
“Michael.” She looked genuinely offended. “I love Twister.”
And just like that, something heavy in his chest loosened instantly.
Because Y/N always did this somehow.
She was the Jacksons’ neighbor in Encino. Loud, funny, dramatic Y/N who showed up unexpectedly and filled rooms without even trying.
Katherine adored her.
Joe absolutely did not.
“She distracts him,” he always grumbled whenever she came around.
Which honestly? Only became more true with time.
Because Michael looked at Y/N differently than he looked at everybody else.
Like he could breathe easier around her.
Even if neither of them fully realized why yet.
Y/N dropped onto the floor beside the mat dramatically.
“Set it up.”
Michael laughed softly for the first time all evening.
“It’s already set up.”
“Oh.” Y/N crossed her legs. “So this is serious.”
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Twister turned out to be a horrible idea immediately.
Mostly because Y/N cheated constantly.
“You moved your foot!”
“I adjusted it.”
“That’s cheating.”
“It’s called strategy.”
Michael laughed so hard he nearly collapsed onto the mat.
God, He needed this.
Needed someone who didn’t treat him like a celebrity or a machine or the future of music.
Just Michael.
At one point Y/N got completely tangled beneath his arm and burst into helpless laughter.
“We’re stuck.”
“Move your hand.”
“I literally can’t.”
“You’re dramatic.”
“Yeah, well, you like that about me.”
Michael opened his mouth automatically.
Paused.
Then smiled shyly instead. “I actually do.”
Y/N blinked at him for half a second too long before immediately looking away.
Because sometimes Michael smiled at her and her brain genuinely stopped functioning for a moment.
Not that she’d ever admit that out loud.
Meanwhile Katherine watched the entire thing from the kitchen trying not to smile too obviously.
Joe, unfortunately, noticed too. And he didn’t like it one bit.
Because Michael had spent all week locked in the studio obsessing over demos and rehearsals and choreography. Focused. Disciplined.
Then Y/N showed up and suddenly he was sprawled across the floor laughing over Twister like the weight of the world wasn’t sitting on his shoulders anymore.
Joe frowned.
“Boy’s distracted.”
Katherine looked at him flatly.
“Boy’s happy.”
Joe didn’t answer.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
Eventually the game dissolved into complete chaos because Y/N stopped following the rules entirely.
Then somehow they ended up on the couch with multiple cartons of ice cream spread across the coffee table while an old black-and-white movie played softly in the background.
Y/N sat curled into the corner beneath a fuzzy blanket she’d stolen from Michael’s room earlier.
“This,” she declared seriously around a spoonful of strawberry ice cream, “is the peak human existence.”
Michael laughed softly beside her.
“You say that about everything.”
“Only because I appreciate the beauty in life.”
“You said mozzarella sticks changed your life last week.”
“But they did, Mikey!”
Michael shook his head fondly.
She was absolutely ridiculous.
But tonight something warm settled quietly in his chest every time she made him laugh. Because earlier she’d noticed he was upset immediately.
And instead of brushing it off or teasing him, she stayed. Like his feelings mattered.
Like he mattered.
And Michael didn’t realize how badly he needed that until now.
The movie played softly.
The lights stayed low.
Y/N’s voice slowly got quieter and quieter while she rambled about how old movies needed ‘better kissing scenes.’
Then, eventually, silence.
Michael glanced sideways and froze slightly.
Because Y/N had fallen asleep against his shoulder.
Still holding the spoon.
Michael smiled instantly.
Carefully, trying not to wake her, he adjusted the blanket higher around her shoulders.
And for a second he just sat there looking at her.
At the way her hair spilled against his arm.
The faint remains of eyeliner beneath her eyes.
The tiny pout she always got when she slept.
Something in Michael’s chest ached suddenly, warm in a way he didn’t fully understand yet.
A few minutes later Katherine walked into the living room and immediately stopped.
Because there they were.
Michael sitting perfectly still so Y/N could sleep comfortably against him.
The empty ice cream cartons abandoned everywhere.
The old movie flickering softly across both their faces.
Katherine’s expression melted instantly.
“Oh,” she whispered softly.
Then Joe appeared behind her.
And immediately frowned.
“There she goes again,” he muttered. “Distracting him.”
Katherine looked ready to argue until Michael glanced up briefly.
And the look on his face stopped her. Because her son looked peaceful.
Not exhausted. Not pressured. Not overwhelmed.
Just happy. Safe, even.
Like for one evening he got to simply be a young man sitting on the couch with his best friend instead of carrying the weight of becoming Michael Jackson.
Katherine smiled quietly to herself.
Meanwhile Michael looked back down at Y/N sleeping against him and smiled too.
Small.
Private.
Completely gone for her.
Even if he didn’t know it yet.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
A few days after the Twister episode, the California heat had turned the Jackson backyard into something straight out of a magazine ad.
The pool shimmered bright blue beneath the sun.
Music drifted softly from outdoor speakers.
And floating lazily in the middle of the water was Michael Jackson with a notebook balanced against his bare chest, completely lost inside his own head.
One arm dangled into the water while he scribbled lyrics messily across the page, humming little melodies beneath his breath every few seconds.
His dark curls were slightly damp from the heat already, and his aviator sunglasses rested low on his nose while he concentrated so hard he barely noticed anything else around him.
Michael always got like this while writing.
Tunnel vision.
Obsessive.
Like the song became the only thing existing in the world.
Which was exactly why his brothers chose that moment to interrupt him.
“What are you doing?” Jermaine asked while stepping outside with Marlon and Tito trailing behind him.
Michael barely glanced up from the notebook.
“Working.”
Jermaine stared flatly at the inflatable raft.
“You’re writing music in a pool.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You look ridiculous.”
Michael ignored him completely, scribbling something down quickly before muttering the melody beneath his breath again.
Tito leaned closer.
“What’s got you acting possessed now?”
Michael finally sat up slightly, curls falling into his face while he pointed the pencil toward them dramatically.
“I gotta finish this.”
“You’re at the pool, Mike.”
Michael sighed heavily.
“If I don’t finish it, God’s gonna give it to Prince.”
His brothers exploded laughing immediately.
“That is not how music works!”
“Yes it is.”
“You are insane.”
Michael pointed accusingly at them.
“You laugh now but when Prince releases this six months later don’t come crying to me.”
Jermaine cried-laughed.
And then the back door slid open.
Michael looked up automatically. Big mistake.
Because Y/N L/N stepped outside.
And every coherent thought immediately left his body.
She looked like actual summer personified, wearing a tiny red-and-white checkered bikini tied at her hips with little bows, her hair piled messily on top of her head while oversized aviator sunglasses sat on her nose.
Michael’s aviator sunglasses.
The realization hit him instantly.
“Oh my God,” Jermaine whispered-yelled beside him immediately. “She stole your glasses.”
Michael barely heard anything.
Because Y/N was already walking barefoot toward the pool, sunlight glowing against her skin while the sunglasses practically swallowed half her face.
And somehow the fact she was casually wearing his things made the situation ten times worse for him.
“Oh!” Y/N smiled brightly when she spotted everyone. “Hi boys.”
And somehow her brain had never fully processed that possibility before.
Which now actually felt medically concerning.
The sunlight reflected against the water onto his skin while he sat stretched across the float in black swim trunks, curls messy from the heat, lean chest lightly glistening beneath the afternoon sun.
Y/N actually forgot what she was doing for a second.
“Oh my God,” she blurted out before she could stop herself. “You’re shirtless.”
One of his brothers made a strangled noise immediately, trying to suppress a laugh.
Michael blinked once.
“…Yeah?”
“I’ve literally never seen that before.”
Michael sat up straighter automatically. Which somehow only made everything worse.
Because now Y/N got an even better look at him.
And Michael got a very clear look at Y/N staring.
“Oh this is bad,” Marlon whispered gleefully.
Michael tried looking back down at the notebook again pretending very hard to focus.
Unfortunately his body had already betrayed him.
Because Y/N kept walking closer to the edge of the pool adjusting his sunglasses and smiling at him in that absentmindedly sweet way she always did.
Michael shifted awkwardly against the float.
Immediately realizing the problem.
Oh.
Oh, no, He thought.
Actual panic flashed across his face for half a second. Because now Y/N was kneeling beside the pool and Michael suddenly became very aware that his swim trunks were doing absolutely nothing to hide the situation developing in real time.
Jermaine noticed instantly.
And the grin spreading across his face became genuinely evil.
“Oh my GOD.”
Michael snapped his head toward him immediately.
“Shut up.”
“You are fighting for your life right now, aren’t you?”
“I hate you.”
Y/N looked between them suspiciously.
“What’s happening?”
“Nothing!” Michael answered way too fast and his brothers nearly collapsed laughing.
Meanwhile Y/N narrowed her eyes briefly before shrugging.
“Anyway…”
And before anyone could react, she jumped directly into the deep end of the pool.
Then immediately regretted it.
“Oh my God WAIT—”
Y/N resurfaced flailing dramatically because she was way too short to comfortably touch the bottom.
“Y/N—" Michael started, but she launched herself at him without hesitation.
Michael barely steadied the float in time before Y/N practically climbed onto him in panic, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders while she tried to keep herself above water.
The float tipped dangerously sideways beneath them.
And suddenly Y/N was pressed directly against him.
Chest to chest.
Legs tangled beneath the water.
Her thighs brushing his waist while she clung to him breathlessly.
Michael stopped breathing entirely.
Because this was already catastrophic before Y/N accidentally shifted against his lap trying to stabilize herself.
Michael sucked in a sharp breath.
His brothers turned away screaming laughing.
“Mikey is done.”
Michael wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
Because now he was painfully aware of everything.
The water dripping slowly down Y/N’s skin.
The coconut sunscreen smell surrounding her.
The fact she was wearing his sunglasses.
And most importantly: the very obvious problem he was desperately trying to hide while Y/N clung to him in the middle of the pool.
Michael grabbed her waist quickly to keep both of them from tipping over.
“You okay?” he asked, voice noticeably strained.
Y/N nodded breathlessly.
“I hate this stupid deep pool.”
Michael laughed weakly.
Except now Y/N noticed something too.
Not the full situation.
But definitely the tension.
The way his hands tightened carefully at her waist.
The way he kept avoiding eye contact.
The fact his entire face was pink now.
And honestly? Y/N wasn’t doing much better herself.
Because Michael this close felt genuinely unfair.
His chest warm beneath her hands.
His curls damp and falling into his eyes.
His arms flexing slightly every time he steadied her in the water.
And the way he looked at her completely flustered and overwhelmed and trying so hard to stay respectful despite very obviously malfunctioning.
Y/N suddenly became very aware of how close their faces were.
“Huh,” she said softly before she could stop herself.
Michael blinked.
“…What?”
“You look really pretty like this.”
Michael nearly short-circuited on the spot.
Jermaine collapsed into one of the lounge chairs laughing while Tito slapped the table dramatically.
Michael groaned quietly, dropping his forehead briefly against Y/N’s shoulder in complete defeat while she laughed helplessly against him.
And somehow neither of them made any effort to move apart.
⋆⭒˚.⋆
The sun was beginning to soften by the time they left the pool.
Everything felt warm and lazy in that golden late afternoon way California summers always did.
Music still drifted faintly from somewhere inside the house while the grass stayed hot beneath bare feet and the air smelled like sunscreen and chlorine.
And somewhere across the backyard, Y/N L/N was currently losing her mind over a llama. Specifically Louie.
Michael sat on the back steps with a towel around his shoulders and watched in helpless amusement while his best friend ran dramatically across the grass trying to feed Louie strawberries.
“Louie!” she gasped. “Save the drama for you llama!”
Louie stared blankly at her.
Michael laughed softly under his breath.
She really did talk to animals like they were people.
Y/N held another strawberry out toward the llama carefully.
“You just get me emotionally, don’t you?”
Louie sneezed directly in her face. Y/N did not move an inch.
Michael laughed really hard at that.
“Oh my God!”
Y/N wiped her cheek dramatically while glaring at the llama in betrayal.
“I thought we had something special going on, Louie.”
Her laughter echoed across the yard a second later anyway.
Bright. Contagious.
Real enough that Michael found himself smiling before he even realized it.
Because Y/N laughed with her whole body. Throwing her head back. Clutching her stomach. Nearly stumbling over herself every single time.
And Michael loved making her laugh more than almost anything.
Which was maybe a problem. A very big problem.
“You got it bad, don’t you?”
Michael startled slightly.
Bill stood beside the porch railing holding a soda, watching Y/N chase Louie around the yard with open amusement.
Michael immediately looked back toward the grass.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bill snorted.
“Michael.”
Across the lawn Y/N was now attempting to braid flowers into the llama’s fur.
Louie looked deeply exhausted by her existence already.
Michael smiled again without meaning to.
Bill noticed immediately.
“Mm-hm.”
Michael realized too late he’d done it again.
Done the stupid soft smile.
The one everybody kept noticing lately whenever Y/N was around.
Michael cleared his throat awkwardly.
“She’s just funny.”
Bill looked at him flatly.
“Boy.”
Michael groaned quietly, dragging one hand down his face.
“Please don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“The talk.”
Bill burst out laughing.
“The talk?”
“Yes.”
“You twenty something old scared of a conversation?”
Michael looked genuinely distressed. “Yes.”
Meanwhile Y/N finally succeeded in placing one flower crookedly behind Louie’s ear.
“Oh my God,” she whispered to the llama. “You’re gorgeous.”
Michael chuckled at her, feeling helpless again.
Bill crossed his arms.
“You look happier around her.”
Michael’s smile faded slightly at that. Not entirely, just enough to become softer. Because the annoying part was that Bill was right.
Michael looked back toward the yard quietly while Y/N rammed dramatically into Louie’s side trying to hug him.
“She’s different,” Michael admitted softly.
Bill hummed knowingly.
“How?”
Michael took a second to answer. Because truth be told? He didn’t even fully know himself.
“She doesn’t…” He paused. “She doesn’t look at me like everybody else does.”
Bill stayed quiet.
So Michael kept going.
“She just comes over and steals my food and makes fun of my clothes and talks during movies.” He smiled to himself faintly. “And when I’m around her I don’t gotta think so hard.”
Bill’s expression softened at that and he clicked his tongue.
Because Michael spent most of his life thinking too hard.
Overworking.
Overanalyzing.
Overperforming.
But around Y/N? He looked light. Young again.
Like the fame disappeared for a little while.
Bill glanced toward the backyard where Y/N was now laying in the grass beside Louie dramatically.
“She likes you too, you know.”
Michael nearly choked.
“What?” He blurted out desperately and ridiculously fast.
Bill looked amused now.
“Michael,”
“No no no.” Michael sat up straighter immediately. “We’re friends.”
“Mhm.”
“We are.”
Bill took one sip of his soda.
“She wears your sunglasses.”
Michael froze. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“She nearly drowned looking at you shirtless.”
Michael turned bright red instantly, feeling his cheeks warming up. “Well, that was an accident!”
Bill snorted. “And you almost passed out when she climbed on top of you in the pool.”
Michael buried his face into the towel he held immediately.
“Oh my God.” He let out, his voice muffled.
“Son, everybody sees this except you two.”
Michael groaned dramatically into the towel.
Because unfortunately he knew Bill was right.
He did feel different around Y/N.
Too aware of her all the time.
Too happy whenever she showed up unexpectedly.
Too nervous whenever she looked pretty.
And today? It had been particularly catastrophic for him.
Especially the pool.
Especially Y/N wearing his glasses and clinging to him in the water with her legs wrapped around his waist while he fought for his actual life.
Michael groaned, face still in the towel. “Bill, I think I’m dying.”
Bill burst out laughing.
“No, son. I think you just got feelings.” He added between laughs.
Michael looked genuinely horrified by the concept.
Before he could answer though—
“MICHAEL!”
Both of them looked up.
Y/N stood halfway across the lawn waving excitedly while Louie wandered behind her aimlessly.
“Your llama likes me more than you now!”
Michael smiled automatically.
Completely helpless.
Bill watched him for exactly one second before laughing quietly to himself and walking away.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: gentlemen can still get their dicks sucked. michael thinks he’s exempt because you’re too pretty. AHNT! wrong.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ smut, oral sex (male receiving), a very shy and flustered michael because I genuinely don’t think he’d be any way else at this age, female reader. wrote this with the “it’s wonderful day!” interview in mind.
Michael isn't sure how he got in this predicament.
One second she'd been curled against him on the bed, tracing lazy shapes against his chest while the television hummed quietly somewhere in the background. The next, her lips were brushing against his ear, soft and plush and devastatingly warm, whispering something sweet as melted honey that made his stomach flip straight into his ribs.
He didn't even fully process the words, only the feeling of all the blood from his head rushing straight to his pants.
A featherlight breath against his skin.
A little kiss tucked just beneath his ear.
The way her voice wrapped around him slow and warm, making him melt before he even realized he was melting. And somehow after that, she was on her knees between his legs.
Michael sat frozen at the edge of the mattress, staring down at her with wide brown eyes while she looked up at him like he'd hung the stars himself. The lamp beside the bed washed everything amber gold, catching in the blush already flooding his cheeks and the nervous shine of his bitten lips.
She looked downright lovesick.
The kind of gaze that made his pulse scramble like frightened birds in a cathedral. Her pupils looked enormous beneath her lashes, soft and syrupy and practically heart shaped with how fond she seemed of him. It made him duck his head immediately, one hand flying up to cover his face as a helpless laugh escaped through his trembling fingers.
“Baby..” he laughed weakly, voice embarrassingly breathless. “Don't look at me like that...”
“Why not?”
“‘Cause...” He peeked at her through his fingers only to instantly regret it when she smiled. “You know why.”
Her hands settled on his thighs then, thumbs smoothing absent little circles against the fabric of his jeans while his knees twitched under her touch. Michael inhaled sharply, shoulders pulling inward with shy tension as she started inching upward, slow enough for him to want to instinctively close his thighs as his stomach tightened when her fingers brushed his belt.
“Can I taste what's in here, angel face?” she spoke softly, tilting her head.
Michael made the tiniest strangled sound. Immediately his head tipped back with embarrassment, curls tumbling across his forehead. “Don't say things like that..”
“Like what?” she asked, all faux innocence and sparkling eyes.
“Those cute names when you're being..” He swallowed hard. “..dirty.”
A grin tugged at her lips. “I think you like it.”
Michael shook his head too fast to be believable. “N-no! I’m a gentleman.”
“Liar.” Her fingers hooked lightly into his belt loops now, teasing without actually pulling. The anticipation alone had him squirming beneath her touch, one leg bouncing nervously while he tried very hard to avoid looking directly at her.
It didn't help that she looked beautiful like this.
Too beautiful, and the thought escaped before he could stop it.
“You're too pretty to be down there..” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Messin' with something so.. perverted.”
She blinked up at him, trying not to laugh. “Perverted?”
Michael groaned softly and buried his entire face in both hands this time. “Please don't make me repeat stuff.. I’m really shy..”
The sound of her laughter was gentle, fond. She leaned forward just enough for her cheek to brush against his knee affectionately, and Michael nearly folded in on himself from the sheer tenderness of it.
“You’re shaking, Mikey..” Her hands left his belt slowly.
For a second Michael thought maybe she'd noticed how overwhelmed he was getting. The poor boy could barely breathe correctly anymore, all flushed cheeks and twitching thighs and nervous little laughs muffled behind his hands.
But then she reached for one of them.
Michael peeked through his fingers just in time to see her guiding his larger hand into her lap, her own looking impossibly small wrapped around it. Long fingers. Elegant fingers. The kind that belonged behind piano keys beneath stage lights.
“Mama..” he whispered, already embarrassed again.
She ignored him completely and instead, she turned his hand over gently and pressed a kiss to the tip of his thumb and Michael visibly melted.
Another kiss landed against his index finger.
Then his middle.
Then the next.
Slow little kisses. Unhurried and affectionate enough to make his pants feel unbearably tight. Michael stared down at her in stunned silence, lips parted slightly while heat crawled all the way down his neck. This was almost worse than the teasing because it was too sweet. Way too sweet.
His thighs shifted restlessly beneath her as she kissed the tip of his pinky last, eyes never leaving his face once— she was watching every single reaction bloom across him in real time.
Michael tried to hide again instinctively, but she still had his hand still holding him there. Her gaze dropped briefly and she took his longest finger gently between her lips, and Michael forgot how to breathe for a solid three seconds because all he could focus on was her mouth.
The softness of it. The shine of it. The way her plush lips looked wrapped around his finger while she looked back up at him through her lashes. She started sucking, bobbing her head up and down on the digit as her tongue swirled a little too good around the flesh.
Michael sucked in a shaky breath so suddenly it almost sounded painful. His free hand immediately covered his face again, utterly overwhelmed.
“Hoh, God..” he laughed weakly into his palm, voice trembling around the edges. His thighs tried to cave inward again, only stopping because she was still between them.
And she looked entirely too pleased about that fact.
This time her hand slid upward, fingers disappearing into the curls at the nape of his neck gentle and possessive in the softest way possible. She tugged him downward carefully, and Michael followed without resistance, folding toward her like he was helpless against gravity whenever she touched him like this. One of his hands caught against the mattress beside her head to steady himself.
He looked unbearably pretty up close with his flushed cheeks, heavy lashes and hips parted slightly from nervous breathing.
And still shy. Still hiding little fragments of his face from her whenever she looked at him too lovingly for too long. Her thumb brushed along his jaw and Michael's eyes fluttered shut the second her lips met his.
When she pulled back barely an inch, his eyes opened slowly. Dazed. She smiled at him so fondly it nearly finished him off right there. “Can I make you feel good, my angel?” she asked softly.
He ducked his head immediately, forehead nearly falling against her shoulder while a breathless giggle escaped him in pure embarrassment. “You already are..” he mumbled shyly.
Moments of movement and shuffling pass before Michael's breathing is completely uneven now.
Every inhale came sharp through parted lips, every exhale trembling back out because he couldn't quite steady himself anymore. His face stayed turned away half the time, curls falling over his eyes while little helpless sounds kept slipping from him no matter how hard he tried to swallow them down.
“Mm.. mm—baby.. baby—” The words barely even sounded intentional. More instinct than speech as his fingers flexed uselessly against the sheets beside him before curling tight enough to wrinkle the fabric. A second later they were in his hair instead, tugging lightly at the curls near his temple while he whines under his breath in disbelief. A completely overwhelmed sound, genuinely not able process how good this felt.
Her tongue swirls around the sensitive head of his pretty mauve flushed brown tip, the wet warmth of her mouth enveloping him completely. Her small hands grip his base firmly, matching the rhythm of her mouth’s movements.
Michael squeezed his eyes shut again, brows pulling together while another soft moan escaped him, quieter this time. Almost ashamed of itself with pink flooding across his cheeks, lips parted helplessly and chest rising too fast beneath the open collar of his shirt.
Every little reaction crossed his face openly before he could hide it. And god, he kept trying to hide it. Every time a sound slipped out, he’d duck his head immediately afterward, one hand covering his mouth like maybe he could physically stop himself from making another. It never worked.
“Please..” he whispered at one point, though it didn't even sound like protest. More like he was overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of being wanted this way.
Her mouth is filled with the prettiest cock she’s ever had— slender but long, with a graceful curve that hits the back of her throat perfectly. And such a precious shade of cooked honey, the head thick and smooth. His pelvic area is impossibly smooth, completely hairless and perfectly groomed. She can see every detail of his erection without obstruction; the way his shaft rises from the clean shaven pelvis as her hands run over his smooth pubic bone, feeling how soft the skin is stretched tight over the area.
Another broken little moan caught in his throat.
Michael swallowed hard afterward, eyes glassy when they fluttered open again. He looked almost distraught from pleasure alone now.
“This is so..” He exhaled shakily, unable to finish the sentence.
Dirty.
Dirty and deply intimate in a way that made his stomach twist itself into knots. Michael looked almost painfully pretty like this. Completely unraveled by tenderness and desire all at once. Every soft sound leaving him admittedly was very pathetic and he couldn't understand how he’d ended up here at all. With a beautiful girlfriend who likes, no—loves him enough to put his.. thing in her pretty mouth. They’ve been intimate before this, but he’s still so shy when they do fool around he’s just like this every time. He hasn’t even seen what in between her legs looks like yet but he’s felt it before with his fingers.
A particularly shaky moan slipped out of him then, and he immediately groaned afterward biting the knuckle of his pointer finger. “I can't hold it.. I can't hold it..” he mumbled weakly against his skin, mortified. But even then his thighs trembled.
Michael’s breath stutters as his entire body tightens for a brief, helpless second before he loses whatever shaky control he’d been holding onto. He sits up almost involuntarily, pulled by instinct more than thought and immediately folds forward over her, shoulders hunched, curls falling around his face as he cradles her head with both hands. He’s cumming.
“Lord—have mercy..”
His fingers press gently into her hair, careful not to mess it up too bad while his forehead dips close. He tries to steady himself against her, a soft broken sound caught in his throat, as he stays there feeling her tongue roll against the underside of his dick. He.. doesn’t quite know how to come back down from the intensity except by holding on.
And that’s what he does until he bashfully lets her pull away, a big flirty smile on her face as she wipes the corner of her mouth.
“What? Don’t look at me like that..” His little accent is thicker now.
“We’ve been dating for months and you’re still so precious! Come hereeeee~! ♪ ” She chirps going in to tickle him, to which he preemptively starts screaming.
chapter summary: A closed corner store, paparazzi and an orange juice
word count: 1813
chapter warnings: paparazzi, slight angst,
authors notes: short chapter! but i'm hoping the next chapter will be longer! thanks for the love on my first post, hope you enjoy what's to come <3
Your fingers tapped mindlessly on the counter of the store as you rested your cheek against the palm of your other hand and stared up at the clock on the wall.
It had been a month since you found yourself in 1983 and it had been interesting to say the least; Through the helpful directions of Bill you’d managed to find the motel, and thankfully had just enough to scrape at least a night and a bit for a cheap room that had booze staining the carpet and sex oozing from each crevice. Late in the night as you struggled to find sleep you’d found a balled up auto receipt that you messily wrote a resume onto and waited until the sun had gone up to venture out of your room to find jobs.
The first one was a gas station just down the block, the man at the counter had taken one look at your nervous expression and promptly turned you away.
It was a kind old man that noticed you walking through the aisles of the corner store who took pity on you and hired you after a five minute impromptu interview for the late afternoon to close shift. Even being so kind as to let you sleep in the storage closet- so long as you found yourself an apartment within a week.
It was a win-win situation.
You watched for a split second when the clock hit 10:30 and stood up from the seat behind the counter, the keys already clinging in your pocket as you made your way towards the windows and pulled at each blind until they clinked at the bottom frame of the window-sill. You then made your way to the door and pulled the door from its place and shut it with a muted click. Your hand had a gentle hold on the handle of the door as you fumbled with the set of keys until you found the right one and slid it into the lock-
And jumped when you heard a dull thud from the storage closet.
“Hello?” You called out only to be met with the sound of silence
Must be the rats.
...You’d get back to properly locking up in a minute.
With silent steps you made your way towards the storage closet and pushed the door open with the tip of your finger, taking a step back in case a rat came running out at you. But nothing did, you stepped inside the small dark room in confusion and blindly felt around for the light switch until you found it and gave it a quick flick.
The room was illuminated and..nothing; “Huh.” you murmured with furrowed brows as you took one step inside and promptly shivered at the goosebumps rushing behind your neck “God I hate this room” You flicked the light off and shut the door in quick succession
Back to locking up.
You pressed your fingers against the key and began to turn it when the handle suddenly jerked and flung open; “Hey! What the hell?”
You’d had your fair share of customers arriving just as the store was shutting, but none had ever slammed the door open in your face.
The figure was cloaked in darkness as they hurriedly closed and locked the door, their heaving figure sliding down the door as they quickly peaked through the slats in the window and physically relaxed when whatever they were running from was nowhere to be found.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing running in here like-”
“Please!” a familiar voice pleads “Please keep your voice down” a slat in the window had illuminated the figure in the moonlight
“Michael,” You whisper, keeping a respectful distance as you kneel on the ground “What’re yo-”
“Shhh!” He rushes over and presses a hand to your mouth “They’re after me.”
Wh-” You flick his hand from your mouth and give his gaped expression a warning look “Who are you talking about?”
He opens his mouth to explain but a banging on the door pulls you away; “Wait- Please don’t..”
You shush him and stand from your crouched position, unlocking the door and cracking it open just enough that only part of your face was visible. “Can I help you?”
A balding man whose sweat had you curling your nose up was standing at the door, hot breath fanning in your face, “Have you seen him?” He asks with a failed attempt at peeking past you
“Seen who?”
“Michael Jackson!” He exclaims “Saw him walking a few blocks away. Ran down this way when he noticed us.”
“Haven’t seen him.” You attempt to push the door closed but he wedges an arm in the crack and tries pushing in “D’you mind? I’m trying to close up shop here.” He attempts once more at a peek but your warning glare sends him off into the night
You shut and lock the door once more, letting out a long exhale as you crane your neck to where Michael once was but now is missing, “Michael?” You whisper
“Over here.” You turn your head to the counter and lean over to see Michael huddled under the lip of the desk, his doe eyes peeking up at your form “Are they..?”
“Yes, Michael, they're gone.” You round the desk “What happened?”
“Went for a drive with Bill to clear my head” He starts, “I just wanted to have a moment outside in peace and they saw me” He scrubs a hand down his face, inhaling sharply “They just kept chasing me. I tried every door but they were all locked except…” He briefly glances at you then looks away “Thank you..”
“Of course” You go to place a hand on his arm but pull back
You didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable than he already was.
You slip towards one of the fridges just a few feet short of the counter and grab a glass bottle, briefly eyeing up the now cold pot of coffee beside the fridge and shake your head, grabbing a second bottle and making your way back
“Here.” You kneel down and pass the bottle over, he takes it with hesitance
“How did you know?”
“Know what?” You uncap the bottle and take a sip
“That I love orange juice”
“Just a hunch.” You shrug, settling yourself onto the linoleum floor and taking another long sip when you’d situated yourself comfortably
He sits there silently for a minute, his brow slightly furrowed as he takes in your words. Only to let out a small chuckle as his mind finally catches up, “Something funny?” You ask and glance side-long towards him
“Didn’t take you for an orange juice type of girl” He finally uncaps the bottle and downs at least half of it
“Huh? Oh. Yes, that.”
That was the whole reason you met him in the first place.
Coffee.
You inhale deep and shrug “Too late in the night for coffee.” You glance over at Michael whose face had morphed into something of amusement “Heyyyy,” You drawl, bumping your shoulder against his “I had to stay up because I had some very important work to finish”
“Oh? What kind of work was that?”
“A uni assignment..” You pause, fingers pressing tightly into the curve of the bottle “Doesn’t even matter anymore.”
Michael frowns slightly but doesn’t press you for an explanation instead leaning against the wood of a drawer and finishing off his orange juice, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“What you told me last month, about the music video…Thank you”
“Told you people wouldn’t take it the wrong way.” You smirk “It’s a good video”
“I guess you’re right-”
“No no, I am right” You say with a bright grin “You just haven’t realised what you’ve done, yet.”
“How do you know?” His shoulder bumps against yours as he leans closer “You seem so sure in everything you say”
“‘S just a hunch”
The room falls silent, Michael fiddled with his fingers absentmindedly as you polished off the last of the juice with a final gulp, “Bill has a phone, doesn’t he?”
“Sure he does, why?” He pulls the trashcan forward to throw his bottle away before reaching for yours, the tips of his fingers pressing against your knuckle as he takes your bottle away and putting it in the trashcan
“Just think he might be looking for you” You point at the clock on the wall, it was nearing 11 and Michael visibly winced
“Yeah…Might need to give him a call”
“There’s a phone in the backroom” You nod your head in its direction and Michael jumps to his feet, smoothing out his pants and walks away in quick succession
Michael didn’t return back to behind the counter after that, instead choosing to lean against the wall beside the doorway and occasionally peek through the window slats. The silence was deafening to your ears as you continued the rest of your close
It hadn’t even been five minutes when you heard a tap on the glass and you looked up from your spot where you’d been organising the till. Michael slid the door open and ushered a frazzled Bill inside
Bill grabs Michael firmly by the shoulder and checks him over. Once he realised that Michael was unharmed he let out an exasperated sigh, “Do you realise how worried I was?” Bill exclaims, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! How long were you here?”
“The whole time…” Michael responds
“And you didn’t think to call me at any point?”
“I-”
“No, Michael.” Bill cuts in, “I’ll admit-”
“Wait, it was my fault.” You step away from the counter and walk up to the two men “I told Michael not to call you just yet. It was safer for him to wait out the paparazzi” Michael stood off to the side, his brows knitted together and lips parted in confusion, whatever he was going to say dying on his tongue
Bill frowned as he regarded you silently, “I know you.”
“Not really. But we did meet once” You reply softly, “Outside MGM studios.”
“Oh yeah, coffee girl.”
Seriously? Was this how you were going to be referred to for the rest of your life?
Bill has already turned away from you, “Let’s go, Michael” With a soft hand on his shoulder he guides him through the open doorway and towards the awaiting car. Michael glanced back briefly, his gaze catching yours before he slipped the car door shut. You’d turned away for a moment to reach for your apartment keys when you realised Bill had yet to leave the store
“Have a good night.”
“You too…” You looked back and realised that Bill had already disappeared into the night, keys dangling off your finger as the frigid cold December air began sweeping into through open door, “…Okay then.”
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