A/n: everything I write is purely fictional and out of love for MJ
My chat and ask box are open for requests or if you just want to talk
Currently writing:
✒︎The love you give - series (10 chapters out)
✒︎Figure me out - series ( 2 chapters out)
More below ⇲
Red chapters contain smut - minors do not interact +18
The year is 1987, Michael is still riding the high the Thriller album gave him, but he's stuck, stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be and all because of the people around him, people who are supposed to have his back, but they don't. You might just be what he needs, his salvation! But things are never that easy! God no! You, despite being a woman in the '80, are a very well respected lawyer and when your boss who has a thing for saving celebrities out of doom sends you to handle Michael Jackson, you rise to the occasion. All your life seems to be in place, but the moment you meet him, he rocks your world so much that you find yourself falling.
From strangers to becoming friends, to falling for each other, but the timing just never seems right. It’s one step forward two steps back and it’s a sort of sick dance that you end up dancing. But you and Michael never lose sight of the fact that there’s feelings involved, so though it might be years or forever that you have to wait for, it’s worth it.
Themes: slow burn, friends to lovers, he falls first but she falls harder, fluff, smut
A/n: none of the events related in this story have anything to do with reality so take that with a grain of salt. English is not my first language!!
〘Chapter 1〙
〘Chapter 2〙
〘Chapter 3〙
〘Chapter 4〙
〘Chapter 5〙
〘Chapter 6〙
〘Chapter 7〙
〘Chapter 8〙
〘Chapter 9〙
〘Chapter 10〙
〘Chapter 11〙- coming soon
More coming soon…
✒︎Figure me out
Upcoming series….
Bad ! Michael x fem! Reader
Themes: slow burn, age gap (6 years) , friends to lovers, angst, fluff, diabetes awareness, mentions of being sick, poor, bad family dynamics, abuse, hard language, mature content
At 24 life has already dealt you some of the most unfortunate cards to play. Alone in the big city of New York, struggling to keep your diabetes under control while trying to get your nursing degree. You get a part time job for an online magazine to help pay for health insurance. After the release of the long anticipated album “Bad” you are one of the journalists offered the opportunity to interview Michael Jackson. The article you write doesn’t satisfy your boss who was looking for cheap trashy piece on the star, one you know you could never deliver, not after staring into those hypnotizing brown eyes.
Offered more chances to write “something worth reading” you bump into Michael time and time again and the spark of something catches. Unfortunately for you, you can’t bring yourself to write a single bad word about any of the celebrities you interview. Jobless and unable to pay for your medication you jump at the opportunity to write a blog covering the behind the scenes of Michael’s Bad world tour over the summer.
What can happen in a summer, traveling the world with him? Will you fall in love with him? Will he give you his heart? If he does will you take it?
“I’ve never seen him so hung up on anyone before, you’re somebody special!”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because one of you has to man up and take the first step kid, you caught lightning in a bottle, don’t let it get away!”
Plot: you get the opportunity to interview Michael and he gets infatuated with you instantly, needing to know more about you. You are to him a mistery worth solving. And he is to you more than an assignment, his charm sneaking his way under your skin.
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem ! Reader
Themes: slow burn, strong language, diabetes awareness, friends to lovers, age gap (6 years) , trauma, mature content coming up, love triangle
wc: 3.8k
A/n: Everything told here is purely fictional, so take it with a grain of salt. Not proofread - English is not my first language!! Be kind!
Comment if you want to be tagged
January 1988
Smoothing the creases in your dress you sit down nervously crossing and uncrossing your legs, bouncing them with jitters. The man sitting in front of you takes a sip of his water, watching you over the edge of his aviator sunglasses. A bead of sweat trails down your spine and you squeeze your notebook tighter, crinkling the pages covered in ink, some of it transferring over into your sweaty palm. "So Mr Jackson, keeping true to your original sound the drums and guitar on the album hold that "Thriller" nostalgic sound, but twist into the new signature of what has become the "Bad" album, was it hard to draw the parallel between the two, did you find yourself at time stopping and saying 'oh wait this sounds too much like this' or does inspiration just flow?" The blush on your cheeks is so adorable and your question is far from what he expected.
He raises his brows at you, obviously surprised by the complex question. You are the only woman in the line up for today's interviews and of course you were pushed to the end of the line, so he was tired out of his mind after answering the same 10 questions over and over again. He's no misogynist, but he really didn't expect you to be so well spoken. "Um, hi hi, it's not happed yet, the the feeling of repeating a beat, I guess yeah inspiration just flows, but it's not just me in the studio, we are a team so it's hard not to get a different mix of everything all of the time." Shiny lips smack together as you scribbled some notes in your notebook, some hair falling into your face.
"The short films, do they come before or after the song?" You shorten the question, you are trying to move fast, seeing you are the last interviewer he's talking to today, being respectful of his time. "Is that really the question?" He asks catching you off guard. "W-what?" You stumble, swallowing hard, have you upset him? "Ask me how you want to ask it miss.." he chuckles.
"Y/n" you breathe, tapping the end of your pen on your thigh. "The short films offer us viewers a glimpse into your brain, those ideas get born from somewhere, do you know before a song is made what it's short film will look like or is it something that gets contoured in the process?" He smiles, the question is his favorite he's had to answer probably in all his career so far. You glance at your wrist watch, you were told 15 minutes, 7 were already gone and you had more questions to ask, you need at least two pages on him if you don't want Miranda to scream at you. What a bitch your boss can be. "We have plenty of time, I'm sure!" Michael puts his hand forward, reassuring, sparing a look to his assistant, who nods back at him, clearly annoyed by the change of plans.
Your glossed lips stretch over in a smile that steals his breath. "Ok!" You motion for him to answer the question. "Yeah right!" He unbuttons the top side of his jacket, stretching the neck to let some air in. "I do often write music with images in my head, so I guess the logic would be that the short film comes first, but sometimes I don't see a song getting one at all, not until I gets put on vinyl and I listen back to it. It's what happened with dirty Diana." You smile, listening to him , really listening. Looking down at your papers a question stands out as if written in red marker, but you skip it, it was one of the questions your boss insisted on, but you can't ask him such filth.
He notices your hesitation, stretching his neck over to maybe read on your notes, but they are upside down for him so it's useless. "Um, how did this album start, did you get an idea of what it was going to be or just pieces that gradually formed the album, I'm just curious when and how you decide to make an album?" Chewing on the end of your pen, you sit and listen expecting. Michael blushes, repositioning his glasses on his nose, pushing back some unruly curls. "I always start knowing I want to make an album so that is where we start, then I begin to record as many songs as possible, usually end up with 40 to 60 songs, I think for bad we had almost 70." He smirks, shining his pearly whites at you. "How do you cut that down? Which songs stays and which goes?" This is off the record, it's really more your curiosity, since you couldn't have anticipated his answer. "Well it's hard, but we sit down and brainstorm, we argue too" a glint in his eye, makes you giggle. "But some songs are nonnegotiable from the get go."
You write down more notes and he quirks a brow, his fingers itching to grab that notebook from your hand, but he doesn't. "This is also going to be your first solo tour, does that feel more scary? Are you nervous about taking the stage on your own, without your brothers?" The question hits him square in the chest, you notice, but it's your job on the line, you need to ask some of the hard stuff. He didn't expect you to go so close to home, right now he wishes you would've asked about his personal life, sex life, whatever. "Um.." he looks down not knowing what to say, you feel instantly bad. "You don't have to answer that, we can move on!" You assure, flipping through your notes. Michael shakes his head. "N-no, it's fine, um I'll just say, I'm nervous yeah."
"Ok that's enough!" You smile, crossing and uncrossing your legs, again. You open your mouth for another question, but just then, his assistant chimes in, saying he has to go, the time's up. You look disappointed, but put on a brave smile, sitting up and walking for the door after saying your goodbye. Michael watches you strut out of the room, eyes fixed on you until you disappear behind the door.
Later at night you sit with your roommate, Emma, as she smokes a cig on the fire escape outside your apartment. "So was he all charming and sexepil? Was he pouring lust?" She asks, taking a drag of the cigarette, blowing the smoke in a perfect circle. "Yeah, I guess!" You shrug, fanning away the smoke, hoping she doesn't see you blush in the dim light. She scrunches up her nose at you, laughing softly. "Oh my god you're such a virgin! Did you event look him in the eye?" She pulls your hand, shaking you teasing. "He had sunglasses on." You mumble whispering. "He had sunglasses on." She repeats, putting out her cigarette and going inside the apartment, leaving you alone.
New York City has never looked more boring, your mind replaying the few minutes you shared with him, not able to focus on the noise outside. You reread over your article, to you the pieces is weak and unchiseled, to your boss it will read boring. You hate this. This was just a side job you took on to get yourself through college and at first it was nice, it pays well enough, gives you health insurance, but more recently your boss closed your rubric. At the beginning you used to write a column named "Rewritten in present" reimagining old classics in modern times, but soon the money crisis hit everyone and they had to make cuts. Miranda, your boss, is a cold bitch, but she was moved when you cried to her that your needed your job for a least a year, since you graduate as a nurse practitioner in the spring of next year. It's not the money, the scholarship you have is enough to feed you some cheep meals and you don't pay rent, owing the apartment you share with Emma, the only gift your parents left you in their passing. It's the health insurance you need, struggling with diabetes since the age of seven, the insulin needed to get you through your day an expense you couldn't afford to loose.
Closing the notebook, you move inside the apartment, yelling a goodnight to Emma, who gives you a thumbs up from the bathroom, toothbrush nudged between her lips. You sigh going into your bedroom, taking your your glucose monitor, pricking your finger, squeezing a drop of blood onto the filter paper, waiting for the bip. 170 mg/dl. "Not good, not bad!" You mumble, lifting up your shirt, using an alcohol wipe to clean a small spot on your belly, pinching the skin and injecting your long acting insulin, hissing at the slight pain. It's a routine you've done a thousand times and each time you do it still leaves you sad afterwards. So far as of the year 1988 research still shows diabetes, even held under control shortens your life by a good 10 to 15 years, you're only 24 so it's too soon to think of dying, but it floats around you each time your glucose spikes or you forget to eat and get a glucose drop almost passing out.
"Y/n you know I'm understanding, but you have to give me more, sure the article reads nice, but that's not what people want, you had Michael freaking Jackson in front of you, you could've asked at least a bout a girlfriend or something." You fiddle nervously, feeling small in the chair, in front of Miranda. "He even gave you the perfect opportunity to ask who dirty Diana was about? Is it about Diana Ross? That's what the people want to know, not how he makes music!" Her voices ups on octave and you think people are stupid, your boss is stupid, her readers are stupid. "You have another chance at the Grammies in march, do better!" She dismisses you and you can't get out of there faster.
March 1988
"I look ridiculous!" You whine as Emma adjusts your pinned up hair, forcing you to stand straighter. "Oh shut up you looks stunning!" She agues, zipping up the black dress she borrowed you, the silky material gliding over you curves, accentuating your body beautifully. "Final touches!" She dabs some red lipstick on your lips, smacking her own as to show you how to do it, making you laugh at her silliness. "Ok Ok, go or you'll be late!" She pushes you through the door, where her boyfriend Jake waits to drive you in his beat up car.
The venue looks intimidating, even as you walk through security, showing your acces pass. Inside is even more breathtaking than outside, countless celebrities walk past you and you try to act natural, but your pulse does spike. Looking around at the fancy gowns you feel underdressed, hugging your figure trying to make yourself small. You take your sit at the table assigned to you, watching quietly, scribbling onto the tiny notebook you brought. You make an effort to try and add some less interesting facts into the writing, or at least what you find uninteresting, the gossip loving run of the mill will eat it up.
Lost in your mind, absentmindedly eating some peanuts a hand on your shoulder startles you. "Can you follow me ma'am?" A man in a black suit asks, motioning his head towards the crowd. You look at him confused, but nod following him, not wanting to cause any trouble. "I thought that was you sitting there!" The voice breaks through, sending a shiver down your spine. He gives you his best smile, making you blush. He sparkles head to toe, covered in sequins and gold tinsel, curls neatly styled around his head, the signature glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. "Mr Jackson!" You gasp and he stands up, extending his glove clad hand towards you. "Have a sit!" Michael smirks at you, putting his hand back when you take too long to shake it. "That's not my seat!" You frown like a child, pulling a laugh from him. "It is now, sit!" You sit with ridiculous speed, giving yourself whiplash.
"I read your article, I liked it!" He's not looking at you and you wonder for a second if he's really speaking to you, but then he turns his head around, making your breath catch. "Y/n?" He bites his lip and your hands shake in your lap. "Y-you did? My boss said it was trash!" Your eyes widen as soon as the words leave your mouth and you feel your ears burn with embarrassment as he starts laughing out loud. God isn't it enough he's so handsome, does his laugh need to be this sexy too? "Well I liked it, no one's ever written a piece so nice about me before, thank you!" You're speechless, you didn't expect this, you didn't expect him to read the article to begin with but now he has and he's thanking you for it.
"You here working?" His soft voices rings over the chatter around you, pulling you out of your head. "Yeah, it's my first time covering something this big!" You admit, blushing more, you are sure to look like a ripe tomato by now. "And what do you think?" You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek. "Outside these walls there's a world where people die from hunger, it just feels like a bit much, I don't know." Looking down you pull on a loose string sticking out of the table cloth. Michael doesn't really know what to say, once again you've left him stumped. "I agree, it feels stupid!" He finally says and you shake your head. "It's not stupid, just a bit much, art should be celebrated, it's how we grow and learn."
"Do you have a favorite tonight? Are you rooting for somebody?" He asks, hoping you might say him, but you being you, surprise him once more. "Not really, I'm not big on music."
"What?" He chuckles, pulling down his glasses to look at you. "You write about music, how can you not be big on music?" Brown eyes search yours, but you don't let him catch your eyes. "I grew up in a quiet house, we weren't big on music, though I do like-" you bite your lips, stopping mid sentence. "Yes?" Michael is on his toes curious to see what you'll say. "No" you turn your head, like a kid, not wanting to tell him what you were just about to word vomit. "Please?" He leans into you, like the two of you are whispering a secret and the closeness lets you smell his parfum, clouding your senses.
"I had to listen to your albums before the interview, Thriller and Bad, you know." It comes as more than a surprise that you had in fact not listened to the albums before, he was cocky like this and thought that most of everyone knew his songs and they did. You just weren't one of them. Heat covers your face, you look absolutely adorable. "And which one did you like best?" He asks, not really knowing what answer would satisfy him best. "Bad, my favorite is man in the mirror, I had the guy at the record store play it for me 5 times before he kicked me out cause I wouldn't show him my boobs." Michael chokes back on some water, coughing to get it out of his lungs. "Sorry what? Why would you do that?" His voice comes up thinner, it's his time to blush. "I don't have a record player and I had to do research, there's a record shop in my way home, went in and the guy working the counter said he'd play me whatever record I want, for a glance at my boobs."
Michael burns in his seat, he wants to know if you did it, not out of sick curiosity, but rather out of jealousy? Maybe, yeah! "I didn't do it though!" Your eyes bulge out and you hold your hands up in defense. He sighs a breath he didn't know he was holding, almost relieved. "So how did you get him to play you the albums?" You roll your eyes. "The guy was 17, I did his biology report for him!" Michael covers his face laughing and you can't help but bite down a smile. "17? Girl you could've gone to jail!" He jokes and you swat his arm. "Shut up!" You poke his side, making him jerk away in his seat.
A man comes up to him, whispering something in his ear to which Michael nods. "I have to go get ready for my performance. I'll see you after?" He asks, a little too hopeful. "Sure! Go break a leg, or something!" You give him a thumbs up, watching him stand in all his glory and walking away.
Fifteen minutes later the lights dim and everyone takes their spot for the next performance. The curtain comes up to reveal a Michael standing alone, dressed in black pants, white T-shirt, blue button down, open and tucked in his trousers. His curls are put to rest in a half up half down sort of situation. The starting notes of the song fill the room and you recognize it on instinct, feeling the thrill of the music. "Ma'am you need to move, this spot is reserved!" A voice calls from behind you, startling you mid performance. You feel the need to argue, but don't actually do it, just moving back to your spot. Now standing where you are, the view is obstructed and you can't see anything, closing your eyes to feel the music. Moving your fingers along with the song, you feel it tingle all the nerves in your body.
After the ordeal you find him in the crowd, approaching him timid. "Can we not talk about the performance?" He asks, clearly upset by it, your brows knitting in confusion. "S-sure, I only saw the first half, they moved me during, but sure." You don't mention how much you liked it, event though you really did. He opens his mouth to respond, but gets rudely interrupted by a tipsy Whitney Houston, putting her half empty glass in your hand like you were a table. Michael is take aback by the behavior, but you brush it off. "Don't bother I don't blame her, I guess I do look like a waitress." Your teeth chew the inside of your cheek raw, as you stand before him awkwardly switching your weight from one leg to the other.
"I think you look beautiful." Brown eyes skim over your figure, watching the black silk hug your body, accentuating all the right places. It makes you feel small. "You do!" He says again, trying to convince you. Shaking your head you put the glass down on a nearby table. "Thank you!" Shy, blushing deep. "So back to our earlier talk, who do you think will win the rest, think I have any chance to redeem myself at the end?" He's joking, but underneath his layed back tone, you feel the sadness that takes over him.
"It's not about you, the Grammies simply don't like to over gift, you broke the record with thriller, they are bound to bench you for a while, but your sister is going to win best new artist, I'm sure!" He side eyes you, not able to figure out how you know so much about the music industry when you claim to not be a fan. "I do my research well!" You explain reading his question before he asks. "Mmm" the hum vibrates through you, giving you chills. "I can see that!" His eyes turn dark, in a a way that makes a chill travel down your spine.
"I should get going, if I want to catch a cab home." You lick your lips nervously.
"A cab? No, let my security take you home, it's late you shouldn't be going home by yourself." His eyes bulge out, concerned. You shake your head feverish, trying to politely decline. "No Mr Jackson, the press if they saw me leave in your car, could you imagine?" Your hands rub over each other. The thought sinks in for Michael, who gives a slight nod understanding. "Ok, Mr Jackson, good night!" You leave, but a hand grabs your writs spinning you around to face him. "Michael, call me Michael."
"Michael, have a good night!" You grin, getting your hand free from his, walking away, leaving Michael to watch you, once again strut away from him. Unbeknownst to you he asks one of his security to grab a different car and follow you, to make sure you're safe.
Shivering outside the venue is a good 30 minutes before a guy in a well pressed suit approaches you. You had noticed him earlier and you tried not to panic, but now he was coming towards you, so you grab your keys, holding them tight ready to strike. "Miss, I'm part of Mr Jackson's security, he sent me to grab a different car and offer you a ride, please?" He gestures towards a black car and your fight or flight gets activated. "How do I know you're not a serial killer or a kidnapper or both?" Narrow eyes look him up and down and he laughs. "Good point, I guess you'll just have to trust me!"
Just then a drop of water lands on you cheek and thunder rips through the quiet night. Sighing you drop your head defeated. "Ok, I suppose it's my only option now." He holds the door open for you to step inside the car, getting in the drivers seat. "Where to?" You look at him through the rear view mirror, mumbling your address. "What's your name?" You ask. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards. "Ethan." You seat back in the leather seat, squeezing the material in between your fingers. Ethan is tall, 6'2 maybe, or taller, he looks about your age, with blonde hair nicely styled back.
"So you're a journalist?" He asks when the car stops at a red light. "At night, during the day, I'm a regular student." You toy with a button on your coat. "What are you studying?" "I'm a nursing student, I'm graduating next year!" You say proudly. "Congratulations!" The conversation dies after that and you thank him when he reaches the destination of your flat.
"How was it?" Emma asks slurping her ramen. "Don't ask!" You walk past her, starting your night routine and hurrying to slide under the covers. You look up at the ceiling, hand resting on your forehead. The ghost touch of his hand still lingering around your wrist. Your heart hammers, it's like you can't calm down, every time you close your eyes, you see him, smell him, feel him. "God what have I gotten myself into!" You mumble, making a real effort to sleep, dreaming of him.
The year is 1987, Michael is still riding the high the Thriller album gave him, but he's stuck, stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be and all because of the people around him, people who are supposed to have his back, but they don't. You might just be what he needs, his salvation! But things are never that easy! God no! You, despite being a woman in the '80, are a very well respected lawyer and when your boss who has a thing for saving celebrities out of doom sends you to handle Michael Jackson, you rise to the occasion. All your life seems to be in place, but the moment you meet him, he rocks your world so much that you find yourself falling.
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader
Wc: 8.4K
A/n: none of the events related in this story have anything to do with reality so take that with a grain of salt. English is not my first language!!!
Themes: slow burn, fluff, friends to lovers, smut (+18 minors dni), masturbation, mature language, abuse, hard language, alcohol use, mentions of violence
The next morning you don't show up for breakfast and Andrew has to make an excuse for you, saying you wanted to sleep in, too tired from the day before. So Michael chews his cereal thinking of you laying in bed sleeping, maybe you had his shirt still wrapped around your shoulders. He wonders what you might look like relaxed with tousled hair, maybe your mouth is slightly agape as you breathe and maybe you mumble in your sleep. The image paints itself so clearly in his mind and he smiles to himself, the soles of his feet tingle with the need to get up and come to the pool house to see if his fantasy is right. He almost feels himself get up from the chiar and levitate to you, almost, but he doesn't, he shouldn't, he can't and he's reminded of that when your boyfriend excuses himself to go deliver some food to you in case you wake up.
Andrew finds you where he left you, on top of the duvet, knees to your chest staring into the abyss. Michael's red shirt sat neatly folded in your bag, you should return it, but you can't right now, maybe later or maybe never. Andrew didn't ask you about it, he either thought it was yours or he didn't care, he's never been the jealous kind, you like that about him, there's actually a lot you like about him, but you seem to forget those things every day for some reason. "I thought you should eat!" He sits in front of you and shows you the plate he made for you. You crack a smile and start eating some eggs and feta cheese. "You didn't bring coffee!" You pout like a child and he laughs. "I know, it was intentional, you can't lock yourself in here, it's rude and useless" he explains and you puff turning your head. "No, what's rude is asking for me to come all the way to California, miss a day of work and all for what? So I can play in the pool?" Your voice rises an octave and Andrew flinches. "Life needs that, you can't always just work and consume yourself with things you can't change, you were happy yesterday, genuinely happy? You know how often I see that from you?" He asks and you don't answer, picking a lose piece of skin from around your nail.
"Fine! I'll tell you! Almost never!"
"Oh shut the fuck up! Not everyone can be happy bubbly all the time, doesn't mean I'm always sad just because I'm not happy when you want me to be!" You get up from the bed and pace the room, brushing your hands through your hair. He's made you angry, but not because he's wrong, because he's right. "I want you to be happy all of the time y/n! That's the thing!" He says, coming over to you, his fingers wrapping around your wrists, pulling your hands out of your hair. He drags you to him, hugging you as tight as possible, almost taking the breath out of you and you close your eyes to let out a sigh. "It's Ok to be happy when other people have crappy days. I know you want to change things for the better, but you're only human!" He kisses the top of your head and sways from left to right, soothing you in his arms like you are a baby and it's working.
Michael watches the scene through the window, he came to tell you about a surprise that he's prepared for you, which just arrived, but he's now stuck like the most shameless stalker, looking at the two of you standing there hugging. From outside it looks like the two of you might be dancing, your hands absentmindedly running up and down Andrew's arms your head resting on his chest, his chin on top of your head. Michael's heart feels crushed, again he thinks about how this all seems so human and yet for him it's so unrealistic, he can't imagine ever having the chance to connect with a person the way he sees you and Andrew have. It's not that he's never seen other couples up close, he has, but something about you is different, you and Andrew speak a secret language, actually you don't speak much, it seems like you guys read each others minds. He wishes he could read your mind, do you think of him?
He decides standing there is inappropriate and already dragged on for too long, so he moves to the door to knock. The sound startles you and you jump out of Andrew's embrace, walking to the door to open it. Michael's face greets you with a smile so big and bright and your mood changes instantly, Andrew feels it too. "Mr Jackson!" God the way you say his name makes his knees weak and he almost crumbles. Your heart is thumping in your chest, hand gripping tightly the doorknob in a failed attempt to ground you to reality. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I have a surprise for you!" He says excitedly, looking straight at you, not spearing a single glance towards Andrew.
"For me?" You question, feeling your cheeks heat up with the sudden surge of blood directed to that area by emotions. "Ye-yeah!" He mumbles, eyes still fixated on you, brown rich chocolate staring back at you. "Oh um," you don't know what to say, a surprise for you? He shouldn't, he definitely shouldn't do that, it bends the line of professionalism too much. "Can I have a minute to make myself presentable?" Curiously killed the cat they say, but satisfaction brought it back, so you fall into the same category as the stupid cat from the stupid saying.
"Sure, yes, yeah, right, of course!" He fumbles with is hands, taking a step back from the door, blushing at the way a sly grin spreads over your pearly teeth. Through the open door, at the foot of the bed he sees a bag laying on the ground, a hint of a red silky material sticking out of it and his pride takes astronomical dimensions in his head, thinking you kept his shirt. "Ok, I'll be right out!" You speak softly closing the door, making your way to the bathroom for a quick shower. "Do you know anything about this?" You ask Andrew, but he only shakes his head, visibly still troubled by the talk you had earlier, if you can call it that. "Ok" you make quick work in the bathroom and manage to make yourself presentable in only a few minutes, choosing to sport a lose fitted white tee and a pair of black leggings. When you come out Andrew is talking to Michael, from where you are they look like good friends and you wonder if that would change if Andrew knew about the way you almost kissed Michael last night. You cringe at the admission, because you don't want to call it what it is you want to live in denial and hope the pining dies down. It probably won't.
"You ready miss l/n?" That hasn't changed, the fact that neither of you will call the other by their first name, as if that's the last thing holding the professional line still standing. You nod and follow him after giving Andrew a quick peck on the lips. "Have fun!" He mumbles against your lips and gives your ass a tiny squeeze when Michael can't see. "'Kay"
You walk with Michael, one step behind him, your pulse sky high with anticipation. He opens the door to what you remember is his dancing studio and confusion settles deep in your brow as you look at him, but he only chuckles in anticipation. "Miss l/n, I would like you to meet, Ruben, he handles the pointe shoes for all the professional ballerinas in the LA area!" You look in shock from Michael to Ruben and back. The 50 something year old man smiles at you, a huge box of pointe shoes sitting besides him. "Hello miss, I do apologize but this was short notice and I could only bring a few models, but I'm sure we'll find something excellente!" Ruben speak with a heavy French accent, as he claps and goes straight to rummaging through his big box of pointe shoes.
"Mr Jackson, this is too much I really can't accept this!" You say, secretly hoping he'll fight you on it, because the moment you saw the studio with it's tall mirrors and shiny wood floors you imagined what dancing here would be like. "Please, I want you to accept this!" He says and you take a hesitant step towards Ruben and his shoes. "What model do you usually dance?" He asks and you quickly answer, blushing at the way he winces. "That model doesn't give a good arch! Mon cherry, let's try something else! Size?" He looks at your feet, signaling for you to take off your tennis shoes and you do so quickly. "I'm going to leave you to this!" Michael says and nods goodbye at Ruben, it kills him to leave, but he hopes you might enjoy this more without him here.
You don't know how much time it passes with you and Ruben going back and forth, trying different models of pointes, him constantly fixing your arch and teaching you more about what to look for in a good pointe shoe. After finding the perfect pair he gathers his things and leaves you to your own devices. You find a tool box in the corner of the studio and exclaim happily when you find a box cutter inside it, going to town on your new shoes, stepping on the box of the pointe, enjoying the cracking sound it makes, scoring the platform ripping through the expensive silk, to create a surface with enough friction. To an outsider it looks like you're destroying the shoes and that's exactly what Michael thinks when he comes in to check on you and finds you on the floor ripping and cutting the shoes. He's heart stops in his chest and a knot forms in his throat thinking you hate his surprise. "You didn't find any shoes that fit?" He asks his voice small and low bouncing off the walls. You jump a bit, having been too lost in your ministrations to notice him coming in. "I did!" You lift the pair for him to see and go back to scoring more lines into the shoes, each drag if the blade against the material making a sound that almost causes Michael's eye to twitch. "Then why are you...?" Why are you destroying them is what he wants to ask but he doesn't want you to feel obligated to have a certain reaction to his surprise or to even have to explain to him why you're doing whatever it is you're doing. A toothy grin shows up on your beautiful face and he tells himself he'll buy thousands of pointe shoes for you to destroy if this is the smile you offer him in return. "You can't dance in new shoes if you don't ravage them a bit, scoring the soles creates friction so you don't slip, crushing the box helps ease the stress on your toes and I like to cut the arch so it sits a lot more snug. I would usually cut the ribbons and sew them back on, but I can't do that now and I usually have these toe guards that I wear so I don't get blisters, but today I'll just shove some tissues in there and it should be just fine...what?" You ask shy all of a sudden, because of the way he's looking at you, with such intensity and interest in whatever it is you're saying. Michael could listen to you talk for ages and he wouldn't get bored, you could be telling him about dust balls and he'd still listen like is the most interesting thing in the whole world.
"Nothing, just the way you speak about it. The passion you show, can I see you dancing?" He asks, gesturing towards the floor and you blush like crazy, the exact shade your skin has right now might just be his new favorite color. "I'm not a professional though, I only took ballet because my mom used to work long hours and I didn't have a nanny so her friend who owned a dance studio around the block said I could sit in on her lessons." You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear and look at your hands in your lap wanting to make yourself invisible. It's incredible how in the span of 24 hours you just told Michael a lot more about yourself than you've ever said to anyone in years. "Well that already makes you more of a professional than I am, I thought myself how to dance watching tv." His voice is soft and the confession would've been silly, if he wasn't the king of pop and the most popular dancer out there right now. "You can't compare us Mr Jackson, I don't have stadiums chanting my name, I'm simply me!" You shrug, working in putting on the pointe shoes, deciding that you could indulge him a bit and maybe show him a few moves.
"I'm simply me as well." Michael tells you, talking a few cautious steps towards you and you look at him and see that's true, he's simply Michael, without all the glamour and sparkles, he's just a man with a kind soul, searching for someone to see him the way he is. You stand and he looks at you, at the way your leggings hug your sculpted legs and the sharp line of your shoulders as you bend your arms above your head. Discipline is written on your face as you let your body flow through the air like you are a petal in the wind, being blown away. His breath catches and his under your spell, hungry eyes follow you, blood rushing south, making him hard in the confines of his black pants, his heart thundering against his ribcage, he swallows his mouth going dry. He should feel ashamed for the reaction his body is having right now, but he can't feel that, instead he feels like he might die knowing he can't do anything about his feelings for you. "Are you going to keep gawking at me or will you show me some of your moves superstar!" You giggle, usually Michael would hate that word 'superstar' and would tell the person using it to not say that, but coming out of your mouth the word doesn't sound like mockery so he accepts it.
"Can you teach me to do the moonwalk?" You ask, hands propped on your hips. The way you look at him expecting, makes him twitch in his pants and he has to think of his old grandma at the beach coming out of the water all wet and wrinkly, swimsuit full of sand and sagging, the image helps him gain some control back and he laughs. "You'll be a pro at it, I'm sure!" He moves over to the sound sistem and puts Billie Jean on, the distinct beat filling the space. You see music instantly take over his body, he seems so loose all of a sudden, usually he looks like he's trying very hard to act around others, but he now flows with the rhythm. "It's all about the legs, moving the weight from one to the other." He shows you and it looks inhuman, he just floats on the floor, you shake your head chuckling in disbelief. "I can't do that!" You sigh, already feeling like you're in way over your head. "Of course you can, come here!" He motions for you to stand next to him and you do, the closeness rising your pulse. "When this leg pushes the other instantly takes the weight off." Michael explains, tapping your thigh to indicate which leg you should move. Trying to ignore how hot his touch is, you attempt the move, but fail miserably. "Fuck!" You curse and it goes straight to his crotch, so he has to close his eyes and take a deep breath, you read that as him judging you for your incompetence, so you turn red all over. When he opens his eyes and sees you, panic sets in his eyes thinking you have him found out. "Um stand and I'll move your legs!" He gets down on the floor on his stomach, biting back a moan when his hard on collides with the floor, fighting the urge to thrust into the floor. His long fingers wrap around your ankles and you gasp. It feels like he could burn right through your leggings and get straight to skin and for a moment you fantasize about how his skin might feel against yours. "Like this!" His voice is strained and he begs god you don't notice. Michael moves your feet and you just let yourself move like a marionette in the puppeteer's skilled hands. You catch on pretty quickly after that and begin to move on you own.
Michael gets up from the floor and he starts dancing as well, his song plays in the background and you let the music take over your bodies, song after song, you dance through his entire album, dying of laughter when he teaches you the thriller dance and then... then the last song starts playing "The lady of my life" - he sounds divine, whiny and needy, the slow rhythm is perfect to dance ballet to so you spin and stand on pointe as he watches, he stopped dancing to look at you. He's embarrassed now remembering how Quincy told him to sound as desperately in love as he can, now thinking that if you were on his mind, he wouldn't have had any difficulty. The end of the song nears and you come to a stop from your pirouette and look at him. "Can you lift me? If I run to you?" You ask and take him by surprise, the glimmer in your eyes makes him say yes immediately. You come close and take his hands, placing them on your hips. "Feel my hip bones?" He nods swallowing hard. "I'll run to you and you put your hands here and lift, don't drop me!" You warn smiling. "I trust you!" You confess and it's so deep and honest, it shakes Michael to the bone, no one's ever said that to him with such sentiment.
As the end plays, his moany voice resonating off the walls, you move away in a graceful pirouette and his fingers feel the air, already feeling hungry to touch you again. You turn gracefully and run up to him, he puts his hands right where you showed him on your hipbones and bending his knees his lifts you up. You brace yourself on his shoulders for a second, then you spread your arms like a majestic bird taking flight and he watches from under you in devotion. The music halts and he brings you down slowly, your body landing inches away from his, hands still on your hips and your own wrapped around his neck. Heavy breathing fills the room and you are stuck, eyes open gazing into his glimmering orbs. The atmosphere is charged with desire and for a moment time stops, the world fades into darkness and it's just you. Y/n and Michael, Michael and y/n, two souls, two humans, two bodies. If either of you leans in just a smidge your lips would touch and you could taste him finally. "How's the album coming together?" You ask, making the appropriate decision to not let this become something that would be highly inappropriate.
He blinks, the shock of the broken spell washing over him like a cold shower. He drops his hands from you and takes a step back, the newly formed distance allowing a breath to be taken, air filling your lungs, clarity reaching your brain as oxigen drowns your neurons once again. You push away the gravity of what almost happened, because you were strong and you didn't let it happen so why ponder on it any more?
"It's been going good, me and Q are kinda butting heads though, I think we should take a break after this one." He jokes, the humor lighting the atmosphere. "Why?" You chuckle, working your pointe shoes off, smoothing your sweaty hair as he uses his shirt to wipe some of the sweat off of himself. "I want to try some new sounds, there's one song we are really bickering about.." his voice stops and he looks at you, an idea having formed in his head. "Come on, I want to show you!" He takes your wrist and drags you gently towards the in house music studio. You laugh at his determination and follow him. "Mr Jackson, as politely as I can say this, I would very much like to keep my arm!" You giggle and he slows down a little, mumbling a 'sorry' on the way.
"Ok take these and just listen!" He puts the headphones on your head and starts the music, the drums filling your ears instantly. You close your eyes and soak in the song, you weren't a fan before you met him, but ever since then you can't deny the likeness you've developed for his music. Michael watches nervously as you listen, he can't wait to hear what you think, if you hate it he'll burn the damn song and it'll never see the light of day. You start to sing along and his heart speeds up again. "You've been hit by, you've been struck by..a smooth criminal" you sing along and he's fingers tingle to turn on the recording system to capture this and play it back when he's alone so you can always be with him. The song ends and you open your eyes, taking the headphones off. "That's .. you can't tell me he doesn't like this one, you're lying!" You accuse, giving his shoulder a playful slap. "You like it?" He knows you like it, he can tell, but he just needs to hear you say it. "I love it!" And he just died and went to heaven.
"What's that drum in the back, I've never heard anything like it?" You ask genuinely curious. "It's my heartbeat" he explains, placing the palm of his hand over his heart and you bite your bottom lip in a way that makes his heart flutter. "We had a doctor come in with a stethoscope and we put a mic to the ear pice of the stethoscope." He paints the picture for you. "Why doesn't Quincy like it?" You wonder, really baffled by the fact. "He says it's to repetitive, cause I say 'Annie are you Ok' like a thousand times!" His eyes drop to the ground and a hand comes to cover his eyes shyly. "But you say it differently every time!" You argue and his eyes snap at you, you get it, you genuinely get it. "I mean it feels like you do, I don't know." You toy with the cord of the headphone set, scared you might have said the wrong thing. "Yes! Exactly! That's what I've been telling him!" Michael replies happily and you smile, glad you made him happy. "Well next time you see him, tell him I'll sue his ass for defamation if he doesn't listen to you, no friend of mine will succumb to art imprisonment."
Your words take Michael by surprise. "Friend?" The word slips out unconsciously, disappointment bitter in his tongue. You notice, but pretend you don't. "Yeah, I consider you my friend Mr Jackson!" You say honestly and it breaks him, because he wants to be so much more.
"I consider you my friend as well miss l/n" it's the only appropriate answer, so he gives it and it crushes him, but you take it with a smile, though you feel a ping in your heart as well, though you are in denial about the reason why.
You are both looking at each other, the silence falling comfortably around you. "I'll play another for you and you tell me what you think." Michael says rejuvenated, already taking the cd out and putting another one in. "Are you sure Mr Jackson? Aren't these supposed to be a secret?" The way his name rolls off your tongue has a chill running down his spine and he has to hold back a tremor. "I trust you'll keep this between us!" His eyes glimmer with honesty and your chest hurts with how pure his feelings are. You smile at him and something warm spreads all over you, but you don't realize it's the seed of something beautiful and special. The door to the studio opens and both your heads snap in the direction of it, the spell broken and the bubble burst. "Dinner is served and I'm not having you two skip it, like you did lunch." Your eyes fly to the clock on the wall at Janet's remark, seeing it's almost 8 pm, you spent the whole day wrapped up in him and didn't even notice time passing by, that was the efffect Michael had on you, he made you forget yourself. "Sorry I'll go shower!" You mumble and put the headphones down, taking your pointes from the floor and walking past Janet sparing her a quick smile.
You fast walk to the pool house, thankful of finding it empty, jumping in the shower, where you scrub your skin red, trying to get the memory of him off of you so you can go back to being the professional lawyer you made yourself be, making a promise to yourself that once this weekend is over things will go back to normal. "Just one more day!" You sigh closing your eyes under the stream of water, hoping it washes away the disappointment you feel at the thought of going back to New York.
You walk into the kitchen, sweatpants loose on your hips, one of Andrew's shirts swallowing your tiny frame, wet hair falling over your shoulders, soaking the cotton material. "Look who decided to make an appearance finally!" Randy says drawing attention at you, all eyes turning on cue to watch you sit next to Andrew. You blush a deep red shade and tuck some hair behind your ear. "I hope you're feeling better y/n!" Latoya says and Andrew squeezes your knee reassuringly under the table. "Much better!" You simply say and place some salad and some fish on your plate, not really hungry, despite everything looking extremely tasty. Another plus to a big family is getting lost in the crowd so to speak, so you play with the food on your plate quietly.
"What did you do the whole day?" You ask Andrew while everyone is busy talking to each other, everyone except Michael who's watching you like a hawk, he can't get past how good you look, fresh out the shower, a flush covering your skin, damp hair crowning your head. His hand squeezes the fork tighter as he watches you lean into your boyfriend to whisper to him, he can't hear and your lips barely move so he can't read them either, but he wonders what you might be talking about.
"I was talking to Bill, Michael asked me this morning to do it, to see how installing some video security would look like around the property." You hum and shove some food in your mouth. "Video security?" Tito asks, having caught a bit of what Andrew said. "Well yes, that's what I do and Mr Jackson asked me about it earlier, the property is big, assessing the main entrance points and weak blind spots we could decide where to put cameras to survey the area." He explains loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Cameras around the house?" Marlon chimes in. "I thought it'd be good to have some more security, you never know." Michael speaks with his head down. "I honestly don't know how you guys do it, all this stuff, fans , press, paparazzi, all of it!" Andrew says in disbelief. "We have it easy, Mike can't even walk anywhere, most of the time he's recognized and chased." Randy remarks. "And let's not forget about them always coming out with stupid lines and the questions they ask!" Latoya adds and all 6 siblings nod in agreement.
"You could sue them you know? Spreading false news and leading a smear campaign against a person is defamation at it's best." You talk almost to yourself, like you're listening to show on tv in the background and you suddenly feel the need to comment on what's happening on the tiny screen, except you're not at home watching tv. "Really?" Janet questions. "Yes, it's somewhat uncommon still, but more and more celebrities are starting to stand up for themselves against the press, they need some regulations and boundaries." You add and that starts a whole discussion around the table and you go quiet, just waiting for time to pass. Andrew's hand stays on your thigh under the table and you force yourself to not slap it away.
Later back in the pool house you and Andrew share heated kisses, pushing him back until his knees meet the bed frame and he falls back against the mattress, bouncing with a chuckle as a hand puts his brown hair back in place. You crawl on top of him, thighs framing his hips, your center aligning perfectly with the growing bulge in his pants. A groan goes past his lips and you lean down to swallow it. One of his big hands comes up to your neck, resting at the base, giving a small squeeze and you whine pathetically. "You gonna ride me, baby?" He asks and you nod, brain shutting down no words being uttered.
While you fuck Andrew into oblivion in the pool house, Michael is upstairs in his room, his hard cock wrapped tightly in his fist. He doesn't usually like doing this, it feels unholy, sinful, but he's been so frustrated the whole weekend and he couldn't take no more cold showers to help his situation since he can't risk catching a cold. So here he is, masturbating in his room at the thought of his lawyer, your eyes are all he can think about, your scent, your plush lips, your sweaty skin today in the dance studio. Flashes of your hair cloud his senses and his free hand reaches for the duvet, gripping tight, imagining how pulling your hair might feel like. "Y/n" he whispers ashamed, testing to see how your name sounds coming out of his mouth. He thinks of your lean body, images of you from earlier, dancing to his music, swaying freely, playing behind closed lids. His brown eyes flutter open and he looks at his throbbing dick, dark, swollen and hungry for a touch he can only imagine. His muscles contract in his lower stomach and he feels the coils of desire twisting tight, each stroke of his hand bringing him closer to the edge of relief, he's tip is red and leaking. Michael thrusts in his hand, quiet whines coming out of his mouth, chest rising and falling fast, sweat beading at the root of his hair. His hand moves faster desperation taking over him, his moans get louder as he finally comes, he freezes on the bed, head thrown back, your name coming out like a prayer while thick ropes of his release paint over his stomach.
After the ordeal Michael takes a long shower, cleaning himself up, thinking of you, feeling like he just tainted you with his perverted thoughts, the idea crushing him and stealing his sleep for the rest of the night. Back in bed, he puts pen to paper and goes to town writing a song, a song inspired by you.
The next morning, it's Sunday, your last day here, you barely slept and wake up before Andrew, getting out of bed, tiptoeing to the kitchen in search of coffee. The house is quiet, probably everyone still asleep at 5 am on a Sunday morning. Looking around to find the coffee machine you don't notice the figure standing at the kitchen island. "Morning" his voice breaks the morning silence and you jump frightened. "Jesus!"
"No, just me!" He jokes and you remember a time when Andrew himself made the joke and your heart pokes at you though your rib cage. "You scared me, Mr Jackson!" You accuse trying to sound upset and breaking into laughter when noticing he can't contain his amusement. "Sorry!" Michael says, but doesn't really mean it, he loves your laugh so much already, he's addicted to it by now, especially when he's the reason for the laugh.
"I thought everyone was asleep!" You confess, looking at him, he's wearing a blue silk pajama set, similar to the red one, the one you have a piece of, his hair is messy and dark circles adorn his eyes. He looks tired and you worry. "Are you Ok? Have you slept?" You ask, starting to walk up to him, but stopping as soon as you realize. Michael looks at you and instantly feels sick to his stomach seeing the hickey on your neck, red and angry, a sign of possession, a sign another man gets to enjoy you, while he only gets glimpses of you form a far. You feel his eyes on your neck and a hand comes up to cover the red mark you for sure know Andrew planted on you. You almost open your mouth to excuse it, but remember you don't have to, he doesn't need that. "Have you?" He asks, eyes incredibly dark and almost angry. "Some, I'm not a great sleeper." You toy with the hem of your shirt and try to move the attention somewhere other than your neck. "I'm not a great sleeper either." Michael relates to you.
"What are you eating there?" You try to look in his bowl to see, but it's almost empty. "Cereal." He shrugs. "God I haven't had cereal since I was in 4th grade." You think out loud and your honest confession, takes Michael's thought away from the hickey. "Want some?" He quickly perks up, already moving around the place to make a bowl for you. "I'd love to!" You admit smiling.
"Sit down my lady, a big bowl of cereal coming right up!" He does a fake French accent and you giggle, sitting down to watch him prepare it for you. "And a coffee!" He remembers what you came here for to begin with, walking up to the coffee machine, but finding it difficult to realize how to turn it on. You chuckle and come next to him, your heat enveloping him, making his mind foggy and knees weak. "Let me help!" You push the on button, the machine coming alive, as Michael looks at you, his hand subconsciously reaching for you, to rest on your waist, but he stops it before you see and moves away to finish the cereal bowl. "What are we having?" You ask, waiting for the coffee to brew. "Honey rings!" He replies quickly. "My favorite!" You exclaim and his heart grows as he finds yet another thing the two of you have in common.
"Did you really mean what you said the other night?" He asks quietly and you take a moment to understand what he means. "About suing those reporters?" He nods, swallowing thickly, his Adam's apple bopping up and down. "Yeah, it's happening more and more now, it's not fair how they exploit celebrities, you are human too!" You add some milk to your coffee and take a seat next to him at the kitchen island. "Why hasn't anyone on my team ever said these things to me before?" Michael seems to be in genuine disbelief about how in the dark he's been about all of this, you shrug , not being able to give him an answer. "And you would do all of that for me? Protect me?" Right in this moment he doesn't look like the confident pop star with agile hips that make stadiums pass out, he looks like a little kid in search of safety and your heart flutters with heavy feeling. Your small hand reaches forward and rests on top of his significantly bigger one. His eyes dart to where your hands rest on top of each other feeling electricity flow through his veins. "We're partners in crime after all, aren't we?" You give a lopsided smile and he feels alive like never before. "Y-yes w-we are!" He babbles, eyes locking with yours, pulling you in his bubble once more. "I want to play more songs for you!" The confession comes out and takes you by surprise, to you it's just a sentence to him it means - 'I trust you enough to let you into my world'.
"If that's what you want... Mr Jackson can I ask you something?" He wishes you would just call him Michael and he would ask you to do it, but he doesn't want to cross a line with you, not if it meant that you might disappear on him. "S-sure, anything!" He's so eager to see what you might ask of him, he can literally hear his heart in his ears. "Why have you been avoiding me?" He looks at you confused, if anything he tried everything to be next to you. Then it clicks for him, you mean about the trial, why hasn't he replied to any of your phone calls or faxes or emails. His hand twitches underneath yours and his eyes lock on the hard wood floor, avoiding your gaze. "I just, I -" he doesn't know what to say, he can't tell you that it was his plan all this time to bring you here, to have you in his home. "You know I wouldn't ask anything of you that would hurt you, you know that Mr Jackson, right?" He blinks back tears, he doesn't want to cry in front of you, he also wants to tell you that you're lying because the other day you asked him more or less to be your friend when he wants to be your everything and that hurt him, but you don't know that. "How about you give me a call some time next week and we talk then, let's enjoy the rest of the weekend!" You ofer and he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Morning babe!" Andrew walks in and scares the two of you, making you jump, hands retracting instantly. Michael hopes he saw, while you pray he didn't, you don't want to be cruel to Andrew who loves you so much, but Michael wants him to know he doesn't have the whole of you anymore, a piece of you belongs to Michael now. Andrew says a quick hello to Michael, coming behind you to kiss your cheek and wrap his possessive arms around you. He saw the way you and Michael were literally tangled in the moment before he walked in, but he's not the jealous type and he trusts you would never do that to him and it's true you would never physically cheat on him, but emotional cheating is a whole other thing, something you can't seem to be able to control.
"Did you sleep well?" He whispers in your ear and Michael is locked out as the two of you enter your own kind of bubble, so he gets up slowly and goes away, leaving you and Andrew to yourselves, feeling the invisible string tying the two of you pull at his heart as the distance gets bigger.
The day passes slowly and it's soon you zip up the last of your bags, giving it to one of Michael's staff members to take it to the car that will drive you to the airport. Goodbyes are quick and formal, like ripping off a bandaid, but just like that, there's an aching spot left behind. The car ride is quiet, Andrew keeps his hand in yours, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your skin, he can tell something is troubling you, but doesn't press, thinking it's probably got to do with going back to work.
You watch the plane take off, lost in thought, the California land becoming increasingly smaller. Something digs at the edges of your heart, a force that pulls, almost like you were supposed to stay back, but you can't.
Monday rolls around fast, you sit at your desk, scribbling notes away, trying to come up with a fight plan for Mrs Hoffman, the ring of the phone startling you as you pick up. "Miss l/n?" His voice is distinct and you straighten your back, a big smile spreading across your face. "Mr Jackson!" You greet excitedly, you didn't realize how much you missed his voice in the hours that have gone by since leaving Hayvenhurst. "Do you really think I should testify in front of the judge?" He asks unsure, clearly distraught by the subject. You sigh and rub your temples, finding your words. "Unfortunately yes, my colleague Harrison says so and I'm afraid he's the expert here, but hey I'll be there with you!" You assure him and you hear the silence on the other end, wishing you could see his eyes right now, so you could get a better read of him. "Will you be asking me the questions?"
"Some of them yes..."
"And the rest?" You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose, he already knows the answer but he needs you to tell him, because somehow coming out of your mouth it would be less scary. "The defense will ask the rest, we could make it so that they don't get to ask any, but then they could fight back saying we're trying to manipulate the narrative, it's either you testimony answering questions from both sides or you don't do it at all."
"Will they be rude?" He already knows the answer to that too, but again he wants you to be the one tell him. "Probably, you are going to cost them millions."
"If I win" he objects. "When we win, we, remember you're not alone anymore, partners in crime!" You tell him and he can't fight the giggle coming out of him and the smile that takes over his face, stretching across his teeth, you can feel it through the phone. "You're so comforting to talk to miss l/n!" Michael admits and your heart stop, blood rushing to your cheeks, this time you are thankful he can't see you, because your reaction is anything but appropriate. "Thanks Mr Jackson!" The conversation dies, neither of you having the nerve to say anything, while also not being able to say goodbye. You sit and enjoy the quiet with him, holding the phone between your cheek and shoulder, freeing your hands to keep working.
"Are you there?" He asks all of a sudden after what seems like hours and you drop the pen, taking the receiver back in your hand to listen carefully. "Yes Mr Jackson, I'm still here!" You say and smile when hear him yawn. "What are you doing?" He asks curious, wanting to paint a better picture of you in his mind. "I'm writing some notes working on some other cases. You?" This conversation just turned very domestic, no longer a conversation between work associates, but rather one between friends. "I'm laying in bed, was writing some music, Q is gonna come by later to work some." Michael tell you and you picture him in his silky pajamas, splayed on the bed, messy curly hair, legs stretched lazily while his long fingers toy with the cord of the phone.
"Are you tired?" You've never felt compelled to ask a client that before, but he's not like other clients, he's special to you. He yawns again and you chuckle. "A little, I haven't slept well." His voice, makes you feel like he needs a hug right now and you hate you can't give him one. "You should sleep before getting in the studio, I'm sure you'll be more productive." You offer and get a childish whine in reply. "I want to talk to you!" Your breath hitches and you physically feel the second it registers to him what he just said. "I have work Mr Jackson and you should rest, we'll talk soon, have a good day!" You put the phone down before he can answer, focusing on getting back to work, even though it's nearly impossible.
Back in California, Michael listens to the tone on the phone long after you end the call, he hates himself for having ruined the moment, he knows he shouldn't have said anything, but he's tired and it just slipped out. He can't explain the infatuation he has for you, maybe it's fleeting like Janet said, but she also said that who knows if it's meant to be you might just find your way to him and that alone planted a seed of hope in Michael's chest. He is selfish and can't bring himself to feel bad for prying for your relationship to come to an end, but he knows that might never happen, he also knows that one day after the trial is over and communication between the two of you is no longer necessary, he will lose his mind, so he doesn't want to think about that now. Right now he has to push his feelings down, burry them deep, so he can keep on surviving.
You try and fail to regain concentration until the door to your office swings open forcefully a man rushing to you with Shanon quickly behind him. "Sir, I've called security, please stop!" She says as the man stops in front of your desk, pointing a finger at you. "You filthy bitch, who do you think you are? Stealing my client from me, now you subpoena me in the trial I won, accusing me of fraud and breach of fiduciary duty!" He screams at you and it clicks that he's none other than John Branca. "Mr Branca, I want to politely ask you to leave, you are only going to do yourself more harm." You motion for the door and his face goes from red to purple and a sly smile spreads across your face knowing the recording from your office cctv will be gold in the trial. "You whore, I know women like you, Mr Jackson is just a man and I'm sure you fucked him good if he fired me, but your just another pussy, he'll see that!" You flinch like he slapped you over the face, you have thick skin, but the insults still get to you especially when they claim you used sex to get what you wanted. "That's enough sir, you are going to be escorted out now!" Gideon roars from the door way, the big security guys coming in to grab him. He trashes around, but eventually, walks out on his own. "You'll see! Just wait, slut!" He shouts on his way out.
Shanon and Gideon share a look and she leaves him to handle you. "Hey kid, come here!" He walks over to you and wraps you up in his arms, forcing your frozen statue to move. "You just won! Think about that, don't think about what the dick said!" He soothes a hand over the back of your head and you burry your face in his neck, like a kid crying on their dad's shoulder. "I work everyday so hard and I know every man around me thinks more or less what Branca said, so it just feels like a cold shower to have him scream it in my face." He pulls you back and places both hands on your shoulders, shaking you a bit. "No man in this building thinks like Branca, plus you are probably one of the best lawyers in this building." You smile at him and laugh a little at his encouragement. "I just won!" Realization hits you, that this incident just gave you absolute gold. He smirks high fives you.
The two of your call Harrison over and start working, putting evidence together, already writing scenarios for the upcoming trial. "I'm here to pick up one lady of the hour!" Andrew walks in, spinning his car keys on his finger. You smile, gathering your things, saying goodbye to Gideon and Harrison, walking hand in hand with Andrew.
"Are you Ok?" He asks you in the car later and you grab his hand, kissing his knuckles. "Yeah, this is a good thing, thanks to your surveillance cameras we managed to record Branca's outburst, it'll be gold in the trial we can shoot higher than before." He squeezes your hand. "I'm glad I could help!" He admits, driving through the busy streets of New York.
When you lay in bed hours after the incident, you can't help but kick your feet yearning for what's to come, pleased knowing you might just win this thing for Michael and you kind of wish you could go to the phone and call him, but you don't, instead you turn to face your boyfriend and snuggle close to him, the thought of Michael resting at the surface of your brain. You know how deep you've fallen, but you won't admit it because it scares you, the life you made for yourself is safe and breaking routine just to go chasing him scares you, so for know you'll be Ok with being just Michael's friend.
The year is 1987, Michael is still riding the high the Thriller album gave him, but he's stuck, stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be and all because of the people around him, people who are supposed to have his back, but they don't. You might just be what he needs, his salvation! But things are never that easy! God no! You, despite being a woman in the '80, are a very well respected lawyer and when your boss who has a thing for saving celebrities out of doom sends you to handle Michael Jackson, you rise to the occasion. All your life seems to be in place, but the moment you meet him, he rocks your world so much that you find yourself falling. From strangers to becoming friends, to falling for each other, but the timing just never seems right. It's the ne step forward two steps back and it's a sort of sick dance that you end up dancing. But you and Michael never lose sight of the fact that there's feeling, so though it might be years or forever that you have to wait for, it's worth it.
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader
A/n: none of the events related in this story have anything to do with reality so take that with a grain of salt. English is not my first language!!!
Themes: mensions of SA, Diana Ross , slow burn, angst,fluff, friends to lovers, kissing, abuse, hard language, alcohol use, mentions of violence
It wasn't until a few months later when the gossip outlets got wind of the affair, that you realized it was actually real and not just a fever dream you had. Everywhere you walk, every channel on your tv, all the magazines in the store, they just seem to be everywhere, pictures of them. Titles like: the king of pop and daughter of the king of rock are having an affair, forbidden love for the royals of music, king and princess a true love story?. You wish you could just burn it all out of your mind, every picture of Michael hugging her, holding her hand, his hands on her waist, her smile, her perfect up do, her put together outfits you want it all gone. You knew Lisa to some degree, you met her a few times, she seemed nice, but god you hated her, because to you she was everything you were not and that's why she got what you couldn't have, HIM.
Since Elvis called you back in April, you haven't spoken to Michael, you didn't want to speak with him, maybe it's childish, since it's not like you were spoken for each other, but still it felt like you had made some promises at one point, or maybe that was just your broken heart clinging to every ounce of feel good emotions it got. Either way, you are angry with Michael. You wanted to believe that Elvis was wrong, that he was reading it wrong, but the second it hit the news and it became all everyone could talk about you lost all hope. You never believed Michael the kind of man to stoop down to stealing another man's wife, sure she was part of it to, because she was cheating on her husband willingly. It wasn't even one of those situations where you could defend him by saying he didn't know she's married, everyone and their mother knew. It hurts you to admit, but for the first time since knowing him you can't explain what he's thinking. Maybe he's just in love and not thinking at all, but that thought kills you so you don't dwell on it too long, never.
So in order to keep what was left of your heart, you decided you need space away from him, sure it was physically impossible to not see Michael Jackson especially since his tour was the biggest grossing tour of all time, but you did your best. All your calls went through Shanon first, she was instructed to never direct any of Michael's calls to you, unless it was a real emergency, in rest she was supposed to say you were busy and he could leave a message if he wanted to. The few times he called asking you to help him sue another company or a reporter that took it too far, you just solved it without having to engage with him, he of course wasn't stupid, so he caught onto what you were doing. You were avoiding him and it was breaking Michael more than anything, but he was down a slippery slope and he had no means to break, he just kept sliding faster and faster into damnation.
He met Lisa at an award show, they were sat next to each other, she approached him, started making small talk, wouldn't give up even when he tried to cut her off. She kept pushing and Michael was weak, too weak. She showed him pictures, that she kept in her hand bag of her kids, spoke about how much she loves being a mother, that touched a soft spot for Michael, he was 30, he always wanted kids and until now he had never met a woman who would talk to him about motherhood. He went home and had a dream, he saw a house full of children, all laughing, playing around, the house wasn't Neverland, it was smaller, no amusement park in the front yard, it was surrounded by the forest, shaded from the world. At the center of the dream he saw a woman, he knew her, he called her name and she turned, it was you, surrounded by laughing kids, belly swollen, you were pregnant, you smiled at him and then he tried to walk up to you, but you faded away and so did the children and the house and he woke up sweating and gasping for air with fear crushing his chest.
Then Lisa called him and asked if she could visit Neverland with the kids, he said yes, and that kept happening, she kept coming and he forced the dream to change, he tried to put Lisa in your place. When he asked her if she'd have more kids her answer was vague enough to built Michael's hopes up so he forced himself to fall for her. He's not convinced he loves her, but he definitely loves the fake future he'd painted for the two of them, so after losing you he now had a purpose to work up to. Of course he'll never admit to himself that he didn't just lose you, he let you go, he knows somewhere in the back of his mind, that there was so much more he could've done to not let distance grow between you. He misses you, he misses his best friend, his girl, so he's trying to replace you since all you left him with was a lamp he still lights up every night and memories he still replays in his head whenever he can.
But it's not that simple, it's easy to juggle the blame from one side to another, truth is always in the middle, he tried too little and you pushed him away. So now that he's so deep into this situation with Lisa, he has no way but to keep on going, unless... but he can't think of the other option, because almost a year has passed since he's seen you in person and he feels like he doesn't even know you anymore. Little did he know you feel the same way, he feels like a stranger once again, a picture too far away to touch.
You sit in your office, fanning yourself with a folded piece of paper, it's peek summer in New York and you are melting. It's so hot in this goddamn office you can barely think, getting up with a frustrated groan, making your way to the door. "Fuck you Gideon you said you'd get this fixed weeks ago..." your voice dies as soon as you see the woman standing in the lobby, all dolled up, expensive handbag on her arm, red lipstick and 8 inch stilettos. "Miss l/n, I'm glad to see you're free, can I?" Lisa gestures to your office, your hand squeezes the doorknob hard enough for your muscles to strain. "Sure!" You smile and lead her in. "Please forgive me, Mrs Presley-Keough for my outburst, the ac is out, so the heat got to my head." She lifts a reassuring hand, smiling softly. "Don't worry, I understand."
"How can I help?" You ask her, sitting down, crossing your legs, feeling sweat drip down your spine. You have no idea what she could possibly want. "I want to divorce my husband!" She tells you matter of factly like you were supposed to know this already. Your eyes bulge out of their sockets and the ringing in your ears makes you dizzy. "Um, sure, do you remember if you signed a prenup?" You ask shivering as the sweat on your back turns suddenly so cold despite the high temperature inside. "I didn't." You nod, taking notes. "I'll need a list of all your assets prior to the wedding and then one of the ones you've acquired during, we're speaking money accounts, jewelry, properties, cars, anything, but I'll email your assistant the exact list." You are in work mode, ready, focused.
"What about his assets?" She asks you. "Well once we draft the papers and we notify him, he'll have to provide one too, if there's something of his that you want to ask for we can request it from the start and add it into the papers. You also have kids together, two right?" You point out, watching her closely.
"Right!" She's a bit taken back by your coldness, her father always spoke so kindly of you, you were the woman that saved him, probably why he was still alive now in the year of 89. She herself had that same impression of you, from the few times she met you, but now she feels like she never met you to begin with. "Well that can be tricky, if he asks for custody, how much of it he wants, does he want full, shared, what do you want?" You ask her and Lisa has to blink a few times before coming with an answer, clutching her purse. "Shared, he's a great father, I don't want to take the kids from him." She explains.
"Will he agree, if he fights you on it does he have anything to hold over your head?" Lisa's eyes widen in shock, she knew her husband and the picture you were painting was a bit more than terrifying. "Hold over my head?" She mumbled. "When parents fight for custody, unfortunately it gets pretty bloody, metaphorically speaking, because they throw accusations around, bring the dirty laundry in court." She fiddles uncomfortably, Lisa is not stupid she knows what you're hinting at, actually pointing at, because it was very clear what you were trying to get out of her. "There might be, but he won't!" She assured you and the mean side you dared you to push further, but you're not a mean girl in high school, so you drop it. "Ok, well I'll start working right away, as soon as I get the documents I need from your assistant, I'll serve him the papers.."
"How soon till it's done?" She asks impatiently. "A few weeks, what's the rush Mrs Presley Keough?" You ask a bit harsher than you meant to. "I have other personal reasons." Your heart cracks, a knowing side of you fearing one of the reasons might be she plans on marring someone else, but you let that thought float away as you walk her out and do a short debrief to make sure she got everything she needed. Once the elevator doors close and take Lisa away you take a deep breath, an annoyed groan slipping past your lips. "What did she want?" Shanon asks from behind her desk, head peeking over at you. "She wants to divorce her husband." You say, walking over to her, snatching a candy from the candy bowl, enjoying the sweet chocolate melt on your tongue. "What?!" She lets out.
"Does it surprise you? She's cheating on him in front of everyone." You shrug, toying with the wrapper. "But, and does she want something from him, is it going to be messy?" You giggle at Shanon's love for gossip. "Nah she just wants it done quickly, said she had a personal reasons." Staring intro the distance, eyes fixed behind Shanon as the thought you had earlier reoccurs. "Y/n?" She asks waving a hand in front of your face. You blink snapping out of the trance. "What if she's rushing to marry him?" You ask, pain tasting bitter on your tongue. Shanon stays quiet, she knows who you mean. "You know.." she starts but doesn't finish. "Keep going!" You encourage her wanting to see what point she wants to make. "This thing between you two, it's very much a shared effort, sure he could've tried hared to reach you, but I think he knows how categoric you can be, so when you pushed back..." screw him for giving what you wanted. But you couldn't help feeling hurt because for the first couple of months after you fled Neverland, every morning you walked into the office hoping to find him sitting there, like he did back then. Your lips push in a thin line, admitting part of your guilt. "Still he's breaking up a family Shanon, it's wrong!" Again your heart squeezes painfully at the thought that maybe he was so in love he couldn't help himself. "Yeah sweetie, but he's not holding her hostage, she came here alone, she wants this too." You squint your eyes at her, why is she defending him? "You don't want to hate him honey, I know you don't, but you can be a little stubborn." She puts a reassuring hand over yours and you pout like a child, upset you're so easy to read.
Hours later you sit on your couch reading a book, unable to focus on the words written on the paper. The less calculated and reasonable part of you wins the debate you have been having in your head and you throw your book away with a sigh, walking up to the phone and dialing. The person you're calling picks up after four rings, just when you thought they might not answer. "Hello?" The voice calls out, pulling you out of your waiting stance. "Um miss Jackson?" You ask a little nervous. "Yes this is she." She answers right away. "Janet!" You call out. "Who's this?" She asks, not recognizing your voice right away. "It's y/n." You chew the inside of your cheek agitated, you don't know how Janet feels about you, because you never got the chance to talk to her and explain yourself. "Y/n, is everything Ok?" It didn't even cross your mind she might have thought you were calling her with an issue, but it's logical since you never went far beyond a professional level of relationship. "No, I mean yes, nothing's wrong. I was just callings you know to see how you were doing?" You offer, hoping she won't see right through you. "I'm good, thanks for asking, but why won't you just stop beating around the bush and ask me what you really want to know." You're fucked. "How is he?" You dare ask and brace yourself for the wrath.
"You know you have some nerve, Michael told me you were avoiding him for months and now that he gave you what you wanted and left you alone you what?" Her voice is harsh, cutting you raw, tears swirling in your eyes, until they spill. "I j-just needed some time." You whisper softly, looking at your feet, almost like Janet can see you through the phone. You feel ashamed for calling, for giving into your less rational thoughts. "Well now you got all time in the world." Her accusing tone strikes a cord and you sob, clutching your chest, aiding your aching heart. The moment your sob breaks through the phone the reality of her words hits Janet like a cold stream of water, waking her up, the tough part of her letting up, her soft self resurfacing. "Oh y/n I'm so sorry I didn't... well no I did mean it , but only because I get so protective of Mikey." She sighs and you sniff awkwardly, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "I understand I really do, I just, I just need to know he's happy!" You sound like you're begging, but you don't care anymore, you've already stomped on all your prinde by making this call. Janet pauses, thinking, choosing her words carefully. "I can't tell anymore, it looks like it from afar but he isn't talking to me like he used to so I'm not sure." Her honesty breaks something in you, a cold deathly feeling engulfing you.
"She filled for divorce you know? Today. Walked into my office and asked me to divorce her as quickly as possible." The silence tells you Janet knows who you're talking about and she didn't know about the divorce. "Oh Mikey!" She says, cursing her bother under her breath. "I don't know what to say to you y/n." Janet is at a loss of words, she can't anticipate what her brother might do, but something tells her you might be thinking the same as her. "If he's happy it doesn't matter" You lie, because it dose, but maybe if you tell yourself enough times you'll end up believing it. "I hope he is!" Is all Janet can offer you and you nod in defeat. To you it sounds like the Michael you left standing in front of Neverland as you drove away was no longer around, you guess there was only so much waiting someone can handle until they lose interest, you were just hoping he wouldn't have lost it so easily.
Janet makes small talk with you for a few more minutes, telling about her tour, how excited she is for her new album, the new campaign she got with Versace, this you knew about since you were handling her contract for it, but overall she brought you up to speed with her life, the two of you even sharing a few laughs here and there. You update her on your existence as well, which isn't much, just work and work and you tell her about Andrew and his wife also, asking for recommendations for baby shower gifts. "They invited you?" She asks surprised. "It was a surprise for me too." You admit. "And you said yes?!" She chuckles and you blush. "I didn't want to make him think I'm bitter!" You fight back. "Well are you?" "No, that life wasn't mine to live, he and I weren't supposed to happen like that." And you mean it in every way, after a year the feelings of anger and frustration died down and left space for what you truly felt, which was relieved, because you knew Andrew wanted things from you that you were never going to give to him. "Hmm" Janet hums knowingly.
The conversation lasts longer than you expected, it felt like two old friends catching up, because truly Janet always liked you a bit, but never got to know you well enough and then she saw her brothers crush on you and she thought there was something special about you, because Michael wasn't the guy to have a crush on just anyone. Actually if she thought about it, to call it a crush kinda doesn't do it justice, because Michael was absorbed by you, and rightfully so, he was finally living his life the way he wanted thanks to you, but what Michael didn't count for before he let his feelings get too big was the fact that you had a boyfriend at the time and he couldn't have known your relationship would come crashing. To some degree Janet felt like you reciprocated her brothers feelings, but you, having grown up in the real world, were a lot better at hiding it.
That night after your phone call with Janet, Michael re-entered your mind, memories the two of you lived, not many but still, conversations you had, over the phone and face to face. His tears, your tears, a hug, a thumping heart, a touch, a kiss that never happened but should have, you hate yourself for not letting it happen.
You scribble furiously on some documents Gideon left on your desk this morning, some law suit against a company using the image of Prince for a promotion he never agreed to, when the phone rings, this is starting to be a reoccurring catalyst for bad news. You sigh and answer. "Good morning, is this miss L/n office with Goodwill law?" The masculine voice, you don't recognize asks. "Yes, this is me, how can I assist you?" You ask nicely, pulse quickening, not knowing what to expect. "I'm Fitzgerald Grant, Mr Keough's lawyer, my client and your client are divorcing." Fuck this was about the last person you wanted to think about. "Does Mr Keough have any requests? Or is there any matter with the papers I drafted for him?" Some paper shuffling on the other end can be heard and you already wonder how much longer will this take. "Mr Keough wants a written agreement that Mrs Presley Keough won't keep the kids away from him, he wants the kids to spend 50% of their time with him." You rub your temples, you had warned Lisa about custody bickering, she was just like her daddy, wearing horse glasses seeing straight ahead only. "I don't think that'll be a problem, I'll contact her and give you a response as soon as I can, Mrs Presley Keough doesn't want this dragged out for too long."
"Yeah my client told me, what's with all the rush anyway, celebs usually drag shit like this in multiple courts for months, this is so.. unusual" you laugh at his unprofessional remark. "Do you have a lot of experience with celebrity divorce?" You shoot back, voice a little too lewd. "We'll miss l/n I'll have you know it's what I do, don't you?" He shoots back. "Hm not really, I usually handle other sorts of stuff for out clients, but the Presley family is loved in house so we bend the rules for them every now and then. It's my first time actually." You blush at your choice of words. "Well if it's your first time, good luck, I'll be waiting on those documents." You write down his email to send him the documents and get into work mode, calling Lisa and her assistant, getting the approval for the custody agreement and starting to write it out and sending it over to this Fitzgerald Grant guy.
A few days later the door to your office opens and Shanon peeks her head through. "There's a guy here to see you, some Mr Grant delivering some documents?" You immediately perk up, curiosity fueling you up. "Let him in!" You motion, standing up waiting for a bald guy with a beer belly to walk in, because only a loser would deliver the documents personally in this age, but to your surprise in walks the complete opposite. The guy looks like a Greek god, tall, with a thin but muscular built, curly light brown hair, dimples and a crooked smile. "Miss l/n, I do have to say the pictures don't do you justice." You shake his hand, brows kneading in confusion. "The Pepsi trial, I remembered your name and looked you up, found you in the papers." You blush deep crimson. "Oh well, I'm not really comfortable with having my picture taken." You confess. "The real thing is much better than the print anyway." He flirts and you almost miss your chair when sitting down. "Mr Grant-" "Fitz, please, no formalities, anyway here is the papers signed, you can submit them and they'll be divorced by Monday next week" your stomach drops at how soon this was all happening.
"Now what would you say to a coffee? I could use one!" He asks and you almost say no, but then your heart jolts alive and that's a feeling you haven't felt in too long. So you say yes to his coffee and then to his lunch. Then a week goes by and you say yes to more dates, if you can call them that, because they feel so platonic, there's no lingering touches, no longing stares, not even a kiss and there's a fight inside you between the side of you that's completely taken up by a man you'll never have and the side of that's craving to feel something, anything.
"So he hasn't even kissed you?" Shanon asks and you shake your head, lips tight. "I mean he must like me otherwise why would he keep asking me on these dates?" You're lost, true you've only ever dated two guys before and they made it very clear from beginning they knew how they felt about you, so maybe you just weren't used to how dating was supposed to go. "I don't know maybe you haven't been giving him the right cues?" She offers and that does put a thought in your head, but before it materializes the elevator dings open and in walk Sam and Bill, Michael's security . Your heart skips a beat and then the noise of high heels comes through and your heart falls in your stomach, mouth going dry. You share a sad look with Sam and a cordial smile with Bill, then lock eyes on the couple, yes that was right, the couple. Michael and Lisa. He's wearing a military style black jacket with red and gold detailing buttoned to the top, black slacks and his signature aviator sunglasses. His hair is so long now, tied in a low pony with a few strands draping over half his face. She's walking with her hand around his arm, you feel jealous at that, hair curled perfectly, wearing a light blue chiffon pant suit so glamorous, compared to you. But only you could compare her to you.
The second Michael lays eyes on you his heart feels warm, beating faster than it has in a long time since he finished tour and there was no stage adrenaline to keep him going. You are dressed in a form fitting cream skirt, that stops right above your knees, a light pink shirt tailored to your body makes your breasts look divine, he can't help look, he can't help think how your boobs look like the would fit right into the palm of his hand, like you were made for him. The arm around his, pulls him back to reality, he's here to ask you something and he's brought Lisa with him, more like she glued herself to him, forcing him to take her along. You look divine, lips glossy, cheeks rosy red, he hasn't seen his favorite color in so long, you have a startled grimace on your face and he can't help cringing knowing it's a reaction to him and the woman on his arm.
"Mr Jackson, Miss Presley!" Despite looking no different than when he last so you, he couldn't recognize you, but your voice, that he could remember even in death. "Miss l/n we have something we want to discuss with you!" Lisa speaks for them and you look between her and Michael like you can't believe it, but he has the glasses on and you can't see his eyes, though you have a feeling he's avoiding your eyes. "Sure, right this way!" You keep your voice even and professional, leading them into your office, where you pull an extra chair for Lisa and then take your rightful place on the other side of the table. You look at Michael expecting, this feels so familiar, him in your office, but it's not the same, now she's here. "Miss l/n, Michael and I are engaged to get married and I know with my last marriage I didn't have one but this time we've been advised to get a prenup, my father insists you see, you know how he can be."
The world just fell on your head, Michael can see the color being drained from your face. You swallow hard, you knew this was coming, their marriage that is, or at least suspected it, but never in a million years would you have thought they'd tell you before the press and ask you to write their prenup. You clear your voice, finding the strength to speak. "Well it should be fairly straightforward, I already have records of each of your assets, I think it's fair those remain to each of you in case of.." you trail off, stoping before you let your mouth run wild and say 'in case you leave him alone' , so you just move on "anyway any special requests about assets you acquire during the marriage?" You ask looking between them.
"What's mine is mine what's his it's his, what we share we make 50-50, it's fair and a no brainer I really don't see the point in this, damn" Lisa looks down at her wrist watch. "I'm supposed to be in the makeup chair for that interview in a few, you can handle this?" She asks, gentle hand on his shoulder and you almost tell her to take her hands off of him. "Y-yes!" Michael says, nodding, putting his hand over hers. "Miss l/n as always it's been a pleasure, please excuse me!" She gets up and leaves, the click clack of her heels, scratching your brain. Once the door slams shut behind her, making Michael jump in his seat, you are left in silence.
You can hear your heart pounding, you can physically feel your breathing and you see yourself in the reflection of his glasses, you look a little crazy, eyes wild. "Well shall we continue?" You ask, preparing to take notes. "You look beautiful." The thought slips out of his mouth before he can stop it, not that he wanted to stop it, because the result of it was a craving of his, that result being your cheeks turning so red, crimson divine he used to call that shade. He takes off his glasses and puts them on your desk, it's now that you notice the layers of make up, his skin is lighter, he's almost as light as you. Your eyes fly to his hands, which he hides in his lap, kneading them together. "I-I know I lo-look different." He admits, looking down, shy and almost ashamed. "A-are you Ok, are you sick?" The idea of him being sick brings you a different kind of pain, it's both physical and emotional and it's terrifying.
He shakes his head lightly, pushing some hair out of his face. "N-no not exactly. It's called vitiligo, I've had it all my life, but it's spread so it's, it's almost everywhere.." he can't keep on going, tears gloss his eyes and drip down onto his lap. "Oh." It's all you can muster and he takes it as judgment, hiding his face behind his palms. You stand up without thinking walking yo him, siting on your knees in front of him, taking his wrists and pulling his hands down. Your eyes look up at him in devotion and Michael shakes. "Don't, you don't have to hide, not from me, not ever, please!" You beg, you're begging him on your knees. He hasn't seen or spoken to you in a year and yet here you are acting like no time has passed, still ever gentle with him. One of his hands reaches over to touch your cheek, he needs to know you're real. You stop his hand midway, but he tries again and this time you give in, leaning your face in the warm palm of his hand, electricity floats through you, short circuiting your brain.
Then you come back to your senses and stand up. "You're engaged!" You accuse and he follows you, standing up, cupping your face in his hands, thumbs brushing under your eyes. You shake your head, tears coating your skin, his thumbs overwhelmed by the debit of water coming out of your eyes. Your hands claw at his, pulling them away, but he's stronger. You take a step and your body is pressed against his. "You left me!" He's crying, voice broken. "I- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him to you, you bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him on. Michael is dying, he can't believe he's holding you like this, one hand holding your head, the other squeezing your waist. "I know, I'm sorry too, I wish I could turn back time!" His confession rips a sob out of you and his knees shake.
You pull back a little, still tightly wrapped in him, looking up at him, face puffy and red from crying, your swollen lips look so delicious, he's always wondered what they taste like, he might never find out. You open your mouth to say something, but your voice never finds you. "Say it!" Michael pushes and you shake your head, eyes closing tight. "Please say it, please please.." he's sobbing. "Don't marry her!" Your say, eyes widening at what you just said. Shock can be read in your eyes and you hate yourself for not being powerfull enough. Michael can't express the relief, he doesn't know what he would've done if you didn't say it. Once again you saved him. "I won't!" A promise, decided and confident. You get out of his arms and he whines at the loss of you, as you go about pacing the floor. "God what have I done?! I'm horrible! I'm so-"
He stops your spiraling by grabbing your shoulders, forcing you to stay still and look at him. "No, I'm horrible! Me, for not being man enough to come see you sooner!" The words are so loud, they penetrate your skull and get to the bottom of your consciousness, cementing there. "I should've called, fuck that I should have flown to New York, stand on your doorstep and beg like a dog for scraps." You pinch yourself, you must be seeing things, you've gone insane there's no other way. "You're engaged, don't you love her?" You accuse confused, he made no sense. "I don't love her I don't!" Only you, I only love you it's what he wants to say but he can tell you're on the verge of convincing yourself you're insane and he doesn't want to push you, not now, soon though, hopefully. "Then why...?"
"Because I'm a coward and I don't know how to say no, not to people like her, who swallow me up whole and leave me no space to be, I never told you this." He signals for you to sit and you do, as he kneels down like you did earlier, holding your hands in your lap and putting his head down, like prayer. "There's this woman, I'm sure you've heard of her, Diana Ross, she discovered me and my brothers, helped us with our Motown contract. She.." he takes ragged breaths and one of your hands gets free from his hold to brush his hair making him groan. "She was just like Lisa, I was young and I never knew how to say no, not even when she asked, she was so much older than me...." he couldn't say it, he's never admitted this to anyone else.
"Shh, it's Ok, I understand, you don't have to say it Michael." His name out your mouth gives him strength to carry on. "I have to. I've never told anyone before.." you move your hands to his chin and lift his head up, making him look at you. "Then tell me." You say softly and he feels so strong. "She was my first, I was 16, I didn't want to do it, I had my eyes closed the whole time, she said if we kept doing I'll like it. At some point I think did, because in some sick way I loved her, but then one day she just said I'm old enough to be on my own and she left me. I've never met another woman with her energy until Lisa. I know it's no excuse." Looking in your eyes he felt invincible so he kept talking with his newly found strength. "I can't marry her, I won't!" He tells you the realization of what he's gotten himself into washing over him. He's so ashamed, he feels completely stripped down in front of you, but you look at him in such an understanding way, he doesn't feel dirty like he used to feel back when recalling these things to himself. "Ok, you won't." You slide off the chair and into his arms, hugging him tight chest glued to his, knees on the marbled floor.
You sit like that, hearts beating in sink. "We need to move, we can't sit on the floor forever!" You speak after some time, petting his head. "I can sit anywhere forever with you." Michael admits, squeezing you tighter, making you giggle. "There it is!" He sighs softly. "What is?"
"Your laugh, I missed it so much, I missed all of you so much!" He admits, taking a deep breath in your hair, the scent of cherries intoxicating his brain. "I missed you too!" You admit, still in awe at what just happened. In the time span of 30 minutes, you broke down in tears, asked him to break off his engagement and now what? Does this fix all the months you haven seen or talked to each other? That's hard to believe, so the sadness that washes over you, seeps into Michael who feels your mood fluctuating. "I can hear you thinking." He says and this time you laugh out loud, not able to control yourself. It's music to his ears. "That's not possible!" You accuse, shaking your head in the crook of his neck. "Yes it is, only I can do it." Another laughter shakes the two of you and he joins in. "Aren't you melting in this jacket?" You ask, feeling overheated from his hug added to the already high temperature in the office , the ac went out, again after being fixed for only a week. He shrugs. "I'm used to it."
Your knees dig painfully into the floor at this point and staying unmoved for so long already has your muscles aching. "Mike, can we get up now, I'm sweating like a pig and my knees hurt!" The nickname sounded so godly out your mouth and the second he heard you were in pain, Michael stood up, taking you with him, your hands still wrapped around his neck, his hands settle on your waist and you pull back a little, looking up at him. He memories your face and you do the same with him. Not much has changed in you, but the same can't be said about him, he looked like a completely different human, different race even. Michael suddenly feels self conscious with you looking at him like this and he turns his head to the side. One of your hands comes up to touch his cheek, turning him to look at you. "No, let me, I haven't seen you in too long." Michael's heart does a back flip. "I'm just not sure you'll think I'm pretty anymore."
"What makes you think I found you pretty before?" You lift a brow at him, grinning wide. He can't tell if you're joking or not, this has him blushing. Your left hand joins your right on his face, caressing his cheeks. "Now I can see you blush much clearer, before I had to make an effort." You stand on your tiptoes, still too short to reach him, even in heels. "And by the way, I never thought you were pretty." Your lips brush his ear and he shivers, hands squeezing your waist. "I always thought you were beautiful, handsome!" The praise makes him groan aloud, blood rushing to his groin. "Am I making you nervous Mr Jackson?" He didn't even realize he closed his eyes, until he feels the cold breeze rushing past his neck when you give him an inch to breathe. "I think I remember you promising not to call me that again." He shoots, moving around a bit, holding you just a few centimeters away so you won't feel his painful erection. You smile, still cupping his face. His eyes lock on your lips, glossy and plump, he wishes, no, he craves to taste them.
But a knock on your door makes you jump back, taking five steps away from Michael, his hands falling limp at his sides, missing you already. "Y/n, Fitz is here, should I tell him to come back later?" Shanon asks and your stomach drops. Michael notices immediately, curious about who this Fitz is and why he has such a reaction coming out of you. "Um, uh." Your brain can't make up words and arrange them in a sentence. You had forgotten about your dinner plans with him and now here you were, in the fire of emotion with Michael, a man who has no actual claim over you, but who unknowingly holds your heart in the pocket of his jacket. You know it's stupid to already think of what this thing you and Michael just starter might be, but regardless the chemistry just wasn't there with Fitz so there's no point in stringing him along. "Mr Jackson can you wait here five minutes?" You ask and he nods, taking a seat.
You walk quickly, past Shanon who asks Michael if he wants something to drink. "Orange juice, if you have it!" You smile, he hasn't changed a bit. In the hallway a very put together Fitz waits for you, bouquet of red roses in hand. You try not to cringe, you hate red roses. His face lights up when he sees you, but becomes blank when his eyes catch yours. "Fitzgerald.." "Oh man, really?" You are take aback. "I just wasted a couple hundred bucks on you, didn't even get a kiss and now what?" Oh this has you fuming. "Ok let's try again, Mr Grant, get the fuck out of my work building and forget my name." He looks angry, dropping the roses on the floor. You turn on your heels and start walking back to the office when he says. "Bitch!" You turn around faster than he can't think, your palm connecting with his face before he sees what hit him. The sound is so loud it has Shanon gasp in shock, spilling some of the orange juice she was holding. Sam and Bill sitting on the lounge couch standing up and taking a precautious step forward. You bend over and pick up the roses, taking the glass out of Shanon's hand on your way. Fitzgerald doesn't dare say anything else, just leaves rubbing his reddening cheek.
"What was that sound?" Michael asks, when you come back. "What sound?" You ask, still a little shocked yourself. You place his juice in front of him and throw the roses in the trash can. His brows scrunch up in confusion as he takes a sip of juice. "I hate red roses!" You mumble, smoothing over your skirt before sitting down. Michael tries not to look disappointed by the fact that you sat down in your chair across from him and not in the chair on his left. "Sounded like a slap!" He goes on, still curious. "Oh, just me slapping a motherfucker." You grin wicked and it scares Michael a bit, his cock twitching in his pants, still rock hard. "Do you do that often?" He chuckles. "No!" You laugh eyes widening. God he loves making you laugh, he wasted so much time not doing that, he has lots of catching up to do.
Then silence falls, not awkward, comfortable. "Few more minutes and the work hours are done.." you chew on your bottom lip and he has to squeeze his lips in a thin line to stop the whine threatening to come out. Just when he was about to come up with a snarky comment, your stomach growls loudly. You place a hand over your tummy, embarrassed, turning as red as a tomato, you haven't eaten anything all day, saving up for dinner. "Someone's hungry!" He points out the obvious, laughing. "Well I just slapped my dinner plans, so..." Michael's face turns dark, eyes serous. "You had a date?" He's heart is stuck, missing beat after beat, he can't handle you having a boyfriend, not anymore, he can't go back to watching another man enjoy you. "I did, but not anymore." You can sense his jealousy and you quite enjoy his reaction. His hand squeezes the glass, brushing some hair out of his face. "Is he your boyfriend?"
"You have a fiancee!" You remind him and he pulls back like you just slapped him, he hates when you do this, when you point out his mistakes so bluntly. "She doesn't even have a ring, she wanted to pick one out herself." He doesn't expect you to giggle, but you do, because you didn't expect anything else from Lisa and it's funny to see the traditional Michael get annoyed by her lack of respect for the ceremony of man choosing the ring. "Answer me, please!" He adds the please at the end a little late, making you chuckle shaking your head in disbelief, was he like this when you were with Andrew? His free hand opens and closes in his lap, the other staying firm on the orange juice glass. "I'm single, free as a sparrow!" You confess, looking him in the eyes and he visibly relaxes, letting out a shaky breath. "Good!" He says.
Your stomach protests again, lighting the mood as Michael laughs at you. "That's it, I'm leaving early, I'm hungry!" You stand up, quickly gathering your things, placing your bag on your shoulder. "W-wher are you going?" Michael asks taken back by your sudden surge of energy, standing up with you. "Home?" You ask confused, looking at him like 'duh where else dummy?' . "What about dinner?" He asks and you smile, pink lips stretched over pearly whites. "I have food at home." He doesn't look convinced. "Well not really, but I'll make some!" You defend, slightly annoyed he read you like an open book. "Hm, enough for two?" He asks, picking up his glasses from the table, fiddling with them in his hands. You tilt your head to the side, narrowing your eyes at him. "Do I look like I eat for two?" Hands on your hips, you looks so cute when you're annoyed.
"I could eat!" He admits and it washes over you, that the wants to come have dinner with you, at your apartment. "Oh!" You sand up straighter, nervous all of a sudden. "Really?"
"Yeah!"
"Oh! Ok, um, yes, well, shall we?" You ask and he surprises you by walking around the desk, taking your left hand and sparks fly. "After you!" You look down at your intertwined fingers and that same thought you had ages ago comes to your head, you fit together like two puzzle pieces. "What about?" Sam and Bill and Shanon and the world outside that door, you don't say it, but he sees it in your eyes. Lifting his other hand, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I couldn't give a single fuck about that!" He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing you lips. Your eyes flutter and you drop your bag on the floor. Your hand comes up to his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his head. He groans and leans closer.
He's so close, his chest brushing yours with every breath you take. Michael lets go of your hand and grabs your waist, pulling you flush to him. You feel his erection through his pants and your breath gets caught, your thighs rubbing together to ease some of the need you feel between your legs. Michael notices, pulse going crazy, pupils blown wide with lust. You lick your lips and he moans at the sight. You shiver, knuckles turning white gripping his bicep, feeling it flex under your touch. Just a little closer, not much, a few inches. "Please!" You beg and he dies, taking a step forward, pushing you back against your desk, crushing his lips to yours.
You melt into him, closing your eyes, tasting him. His tongue licks your bottom lip and you open up for him, letting him suck your soul. The kiss is hungry, passionate. Teeth cling together, his tongue dominating you whole, his hands squeezing your waist, pulling closer if there was any closer, which there wasn't, you were morphed into him. Your fingers thread through his hair, exploring and he pulls back with a painful hiss. You draw back, worried eyes looking at him as one of his hands, rubs the back of his head. "Not so hard baby and lower please!" He explains and you feels so stupid for forgetting. You are too caught up in the guilt you feel you miss him calling you baby.
A careful hand dares come back to his hair and he holds your wrist, guiding you, showing you the area you can play with. "There!" You give a trying pull and he moans, eyes closing in pleasure. "Shit!" He puts his forehead to yours, breathing hard. Your stomach protests again and you curse yourself for not eating at least a snack bar. Michael shakes his head chuckling. "Come on, I don't want you getting so hungry you decide to eat me alive!" He jokes, bending down to pick up your bag. "I could eat you up on a full stomach, Mike!" You give his ass a hard slap and he jumps forward rubbing over the spot you just smacked. "Y/n!" He warns.
"Couldn't help myself!" You lift your hands up in defense, no more spanking will take place, for now. "Unbelievable!" He shakes his head, taking your hand and walking with you. You feel nervous, past that door reality exists and Michael is still very much engaged and you are a nobody. "Shanon dear, how's your mother?" Michael asks and you blink you didn't even realize when you walked out of the office. Shanon is flustered, looking at your interlocked hands, mumbling some sort of answer, mouthing a 'what's this?' As the elevator doors close and take you and Michael away.
The elevator is crowded with the two bodyguards in front of you. You wonder if they are judging you right now? "Did you drive to work?" Michael asks you, pulling you out of your head. "I don't have a car, Andrew used to drive me!"
"Right, how is he?" He ask, not really caring just making conversation. "He's married, I was at his wife's baby shower over the weekend, apparently it's a boy, which means Andrew finally gets his father son fishing trips." You tell him, it's good to see conversation still floats between you with no problem. Michael doesn't even feel guilty at the joy he feels hearing the man he wished gone from your life was all moved on and you are all his to take. "He wanted kids?" He asks, opening the car's door for you. "Yeah!" There's sadness in your voice and Michael wonders why, but he doesn't push. He tells Sam to drive to your apartment, already having your address memorized which makes your heart race in your chest.
You rest your head on his shoulder as New York traffic swallows you, drawing lazy circles overs his knuckles. "This feels right!" He breathes and you nod. "Yes it does!"
Themes: slow burn, age gap (6 years) , friends to lovers, angst, fluff, diabetes awareness, mentions of being sick, poor, bad family dynamics, abuse, hard language, mature content
Figure me out
At 24 life has already dealt you some of the most unfortunate cards to play. Alone in the big city of New York, struggling to keep your diabetes under control while trying to get your nursing degree. You get a part time job for an online magazine to help pay for health insurance. After the release of the long anticipated album “Bad” you are one of the journalists offered the opportunity to interview Michael Jackson. The article you write doesn’t satisfy your boss who was looking for cheap trashy piece on the star, one you know you could never deliver, not after staring into those hypnotizing brown eyes.
Offered more chances to write “something worth reading” you bump into Michael time and time again and the spark of something catches. Unfortunately for you, you can’t bring yourself to write a single bad word about any of the celebrities you interview. Jobless and unable to pay for your medication you jump at the opportunity to write a blog covering the behind the scenes of Michael’s Bad world tour over the summer.
What can happen in a summer, traveling the world with him? Will you fall in love with him? Will he give you his heart? If he does will you take it?
“I’ve never seen him so hung up on anyone before, you’re somebody special!”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because one of you has to man up and take the first step kid, you caught lightning in a bottle, don’t let it get away!”
A/n: if you guys would be interested in reading this series please let me know cause the idea for it has been on my mind for so long. As always everything is fictional!!
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · -> chapter one · Masterlist
Plot: you get the opportunity to interview Michael and he gets infatuated with you instantly,
The year is 1987, Michael is still riding the high the Thriller album gave him, but he's stuck, stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be and all because of the people around him, people who are supposed to have his back, but they don't. You might just be what he needs, his salvation! But things are never that easy! God no! You, despite being a woman in the '80, are a very well respected lawyer and when your boss who has a thing for saving celebrities out of doom sends you to handle Michael Jackson, you rise to the occasion. All your life seems to be in place, but the moment you meet him, he rocks your world so much that you find yourself falling. From strangers to becoming friends, to falling for each other, but the timing just never seems right. It's one step forward two steps back and it's a sort of sick dance that you end up dancing. But you and Michael never lose sight of the fact that there's feelings involved, so though it might be years or forever that you have to wait for, it's worth it.
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader
Wc: 9.2k
A/n: none of the events related in this story have anything to do with reality so take that with a grain of salt. English is not my first language!!!
Themes: slow burn, fluff, friends to lovers, smut (+18 minors dni), abuse, hard language, alcohol use, mentions of violence, cursing, bodily fluids, kissing, p n v, dry humping , mentions of trauma, insecurity, body dismorphia,
You are dreaming, or at least you think you are, because there's no way Michael is really in your living room right now, looking around the shelves like he's at a museum exhibit, analyzing every little detail laying around. "Is this you?" He points to a picture, it was a group picture from your graduation. "Mhm!" You nod, giving a tight lipped smile. You look so different in that picture, still baby faced, dyed blonde hair and a big smile on your face, arms around the neck of your boyfriend at the time. "You had blonde hair?" He asks, trying no to burn a whole in the picture, staring at the guy hugging your waist. "Yeah, I had a break down due to a very hard exam, my friend Olivia and I dyed our hair the night before the exam." You giggle at the memory, remembering how scary and big that exam felt and now it's faded into a distant memory.
"And who is he?" There's only so much mystery Michael can take. "My college boyfriend , Mark." You explain, as Michael moves on to look at other shelves, eyes landing on a picture of you and Andrew at his aunts wedding years ago, your hair was shorter, styled in loose curls. Your head was leaning on Andrew's shoulder, one of your hands resting over his heart, while his hold your waist tight, staring into the camera with a big smile. Your heart squeezes when you notice the picture he's stuck on, you omitted to take it down, like many others around the house, not really sure why, but you just kept putting off the chore of packing the pictures away, maybe because you rarely noticed them. Michael looks a little hurt, a longing stare on his face as he stays a moment longer on the picture, before moving on, still sparing a glance at the frame. "I just never got around to taking them down, I don't know why!" You excuse, shruging your shoulders.
Michael just hums, not really knowing what to say, because he knows it's childish to feel jealous of these dudes who got to have you before him, but he can't help it. He picks up a book from the shelves, dropping down on your couch, flipping through it. "I'm going to change!" You announce, leaving him and going to your bedroom to put on some more comfortable clothes. You take a quick shower as well in the mean time, washing the sweat off your body, thoughts running wild underneath the stream of water, landing back on the fact that he's here, really here.
You find him still on the couch, book in his lap, his jacket was resting on the armrest, leaving him in a plain white t-shirt. Your eyes roam over his arms, splotches of light and dark skin covering them all the way to the sleeves of his shirt, much more uneven than they are on his face and hands. You stare quietly from the door frame of your bedroom and think that though he is THE Michael Jackson he doesn't look one bit out of place, sitting in your living space. He looks like he belongs and that makes your heart ache, but in a good way. "So what shall we eat?" You ask walking in, his head turning to look at you, mouth agape seeing your state, wet baby hairs stuck to your forehead, skin flushed from your shower, a sky blue silk tank top hanging on your shoulders, matching silk shorts resting on your hips, you look breathtaking and Michael can't produce a single word, all he can do is press the book harder in his lap, touching his throbbing cock, hiding his moan with a cough. You giggle at his shaken stance, walking to sit on the couch a few inches away from him. "I thought you were gonna cook." He says mockingly, a glimmer of humor sparkling in his eyes. "I'm too tired and I haven't been grocery shopping" you scrunch your nose admitting the lack of food in your house after you contradicted him on it minutes ago.
Michael looks at the space between you, he could just move a bit closer and touch his leg to your bare thigh. You lean forward and grab a bunch of menus from the coffee table, flipping through them. "Do you like pizza? Or we could get something else." He's not really listening, hands gripping harder onto the book, trying to calm his breathing, praying his erection will go away. "Michael?" You look at him with an amused expression. "Hm?" Oh he's so cute, you can't help but smile, standing up to walk to the phone, giving Michael a perfect view of your ass, your shorts having ridden up on the swell of your bum when you sat down. You lean against the wall, toying with the phone cord. Michael's eyes travel up your legs and he swallows thickly. He needs to get his shit together, he's waited months to speak to you and almost two years to have all to himself he can't mess this up. "Hi yes, can I have a large cheese pizza with mushrooms on half" he hates mushrooms, you know. "And red pepper on the other?" You hate red pepper, he knows. "Green olives all over, yes." You both like green olives. You quickly give the pizza place your address and hang up, coming to sit back down next to him.
"Should be here in 30 minutes!" You tell him, leaning your back against the armrest opposite of him, bringing your knees up to your chest, resting your chin on top. "So, how have you been?" You ask, making small talk. "Hm not sure I can say, I think I spaced out for the past few months." You hum, fingers fidgeting with a loose string on your shorts. "You?" He asks, closing the book and placing it on the table, hands clasping together in his lap, trying and sort of failing to hide the bulge. You notice the title of the book and smile. "Am I still your Jane?" You ask daring. "If I am your Mr Rochester." He challenges back and you throw your head back laughing at the irony, because the way you two happened it's almost identical to the book. Michael chuckles nervously, enjoying your laugh. "So which chapter of the book are we in now?" You ask, stretching your legs, placing them in his lap, he groans at your feet brushing his hard dick. He makes an effort to steady his voice, hands gripping your ankles. Now it's your turn to gasp, his palms feel like fire against your skin.
His fingers, shy at first, start massaging your ankles and you relax into the couch, thankful for the relief. Being in heels all day really does a number on your feet. "Hopefully the one where Jane comes to visit Mr Rochester and stays forever." Michael mumbles as his agile fingers start working the knots in your feet. Your head drops back on the couch pillows and you close your eyes, this feels so domestic, so soft. He looks at you in awe, he can't believe he's here, in your sanctuary, surrounded by your things, engulfed in a scent that was so characteristically you. You sigh when he rubs a little harder on a certain spot, which makes him once again hyper aware of the ache nestled between his legs. "You're so good at this!" You exclaim sleepy, eyes still closed. The praise goes straight south. "It's part of dancing all the time, I suppose. Do you dance much these days?" He asks you.
"Mm yeah, there's a studio down the block, I go every weekend." Memories of you spinning around gracefully play back in his mind. "You should see the studio I have at Neverland, it's so much bigger than the one I had at Hayvenhurst." A ping of sadness strikes you remembering how you left Neverland before you got to see any of it. "Well you'll just have to ask me to visit then!" You challenge. Michael chuckles and his left hand slips intensionally higher, reaching your knee. He freezes there, waiting for your reaction, but you give him nothing, you act like you didn't even notice, so he moves higher, now his long fingers splay over the smooth skin of your thigh. Your breath catches, but you make no move to pull away, so he leans his whole body over your legs, both hands palming your warm flesh.
His fingers make it to the hem of your shorts, he changes positions now, hovering over you almost entirely. Your chest comes up and down fast, wild eyes watch the path of his hands. He toys around with the smooth material of your pants. A satisfied look makes it's way over his face, his hands still fit there like they were made to hold you like this. He gives your hips a squeeze, feeling your bones poke him, which has him shaking his head in disapproval, you've lost some weight since he last held you. He keeps going, moving his body over yours, his hands reach your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your boobs. Michael can't feel a bra on you and a quick glance at your chest confirms you don't have one on, nipples poking through the thin material. Involuntarily Michael rubs his hard on against your thigh, biting his lip to hold back a moan.
One of your hands comes up to his face, to move his hair behind his ears so you can better see his eyes. He looks up at you, pupils blown wide with lust, eyes begging for you and you shiver. You rub your thighs together and it doesn't go unnoticed by him, it actually encourages him to move one hand up and cup your breast through your top. He's in awe, mesmerized, you want him, you respond to him so perfectly. Your eyes flutter closed as his fingers give a gentle squeeze to your nipple. "Ah!" The noise is quiet, barely a whisper, but he hears it and it fuels him on further. Michael brings his head down, blowing cool air over your erect nip, the sensation is heaven. The corner of his mouth twists up, satisfied to see you crumble in his hold. His tongue darts out, teasing the sensitive nub through the silk, his saliva wetting the garment, adding to the sensation. Your hands go to his hair, careful this time, touching where he showed you it was safe, pulling slightly.
Michael groans against your boob, his tongue drawing quick circles over the wet top, his hips slowly moving against your legs. "Mike!" You moan, head thrown back and he looks up from your chest, taking a mental picture of the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, you completely lost in the pleasure given by him. He shivers thinking he hasn't even fully touched you and you already respond like this, anticipation fills his veins. He's ready to move on to your other breast, giving it the same amount of attention and just when his lips settle on it, sucking, the doorbell rings and your head lifts up eyes wide, hair disheveled around your flushed cheeks. "Fuck! Fuck!" You push him off of you and stand up quickly scrambling around. "Shit I don't have any cash, shit shit!" He giggles, he's amused by this. "Stop laughing!" You throw a decorative pillow at his face and he laughs harder, melting your heart. "Here!" Michael quickly gets his wallet from the pocket of his jacket, handing you 100 bucks. "Tell him to keep the change!" You sigh shaking your head, of course he would do that, he's always charitable with people less fortunate than him. "Wait!" He stops you on your way to the door.
You look confused at him, just as the pizza guy knocks again. "You can't answer the door like that!" He motions to your chest, where two big wet spots stick the material right over your still very hard nipples. "Well who's fault is that?" He chuckles proud of his work. "I'll do it!" Just as he reaches for the money in your hand you pull them back, leaning over him to grab his jacket, putting it on quickly. "Sure Michael Jackson answer the door, see if the guy's a fan." He sits back on the couch in disbelief that it didn't even cross his mind. That's what he goes through when he's with you, he forgets who he is, he's not Michael Jackson the singer he's just Michael. He watches you disappear down the hallway to the door. His eyes roam around the place, taking it in, he's always imagined what your home might look like, it's definitely smaller than he expected, but it's still spacious for New York.
"I've got the goods! You should've seen the guy's face when I gave him the money, he almost cried!" You talk as you walk around wearing his jacket, which fits oversized on you, coming just a few inches shorter than your silky shorts. Michael thinks you look absolutely gorgeous like this, hair messy, cheeks full of life, lips swollen from biting them. You come back from the kitchen with two plates and put the pizza box on the coffee table, giving him his own plate. "You could've reached inside the pocket and given him more." He says and you giggle, shaking your head. "It's not my money to give. Plus you've already done more for him than anyone today probably." You grab a slice, sitting back down next to him and eat. You eat in comfortable quiet with Michael stealing glances at you every now and then.
After your first slice you come back to your senses a little bit, head no more clouded by lack of sustenance. "Where does she think you are now?" You ask and Michael's stomach drops, the pizza tasting sour in his mouth. "I don't know." His eyes are fixed on the ground, staring at his socks, you made him take his shoes off. You brush a nervous hand through your hair, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips, such a contrast to the pleasured ones from earlier. "I can't be the other woman Michael, I won't be."
"You are not!" He protest.
"I am though, because you're engaged to be married. That's what she said." Each word out of your mouth is a slap over his face. "I'm breaking it off." His lips push in a thin line, he feels guilty, dirty. You nod, defeated, you don't know what to say. You keep eating, moving the food around in your mouth, it doesn't taste quite right anymore it's almost sour. Neither of you says anything for a long time, you just sit and eat, but there's a feeling floating in the air and that feeling is awkwardness, a feeling unfamiliar to you when it comes to Michael. And then the longer that feeling matures around you it turns to anger, you remember you were angry with him before, when the pictures of them first came out and then when Lisa came to ask for a divorce, but just a few moments with him and you forgot all that, because he consumes you body and soul. He makes you feel things you've never felt before, it's like your body gives up the constant fight or flight you live in and you can finally relax, it's addicting. "Say something, please!" Michael pleads, crushing the silence with his soft voice.
You shiver, blinking a few times to get out of your head and return to the realm of the living. "I was angry with you!" He opens his mouth, but you lift a hand up and stop him. "I think I still am, I don't hear from you for months, almost a year, then Elvis calls me, tells me you are having an affair with his daughter." Your eyes narrow at him, he just sits and listens to you, doesn't hang his head low, he's looking right at you, owning up to everything you're saying. "I was -" you stop and his eyes sparkle. "What?" He asks impatient and you bite your lip, you can't say that out loud, you didn't even realize you were going to say it until it sat on the tip of your tongue. Michael puts his plate on the table, scoots over to you, taking one of your hands in his, using the other to brush your hair back. You shake, turning your head away from him, his fingers engulf your much smaller hand, thumb drawing lazy circles in your palm. His right hand strokes your head lovingly and you squeeze your eyes shut. "Tell me, please!" His breath brushes the shell of your ear, the hairs in your neck stand up. "No!" You refuse.
Worry enters his bloodstream, it's eating at him, he needs to know. "Y/n?! Please I'm begging, talk to me!" You let out a shaky breath, turning to look at him. Michael's chocolate eyes have a mix of emotions swirling around, but the most intense one -fear. He's scared you're rejecting him, he can't survive that, not now after he's tasted your lips and felt you melt into him. "I was jealous." You whisper and Michael makes an effort to hear you, his heart rate picking up as the words sink in. You are red all over from shame and his jacket feels too hot now. When you reach to take it off his eyes widen with panic, thinking you might be kicking him out. "I'm just too hot!" You calm him down, shrugging the jacket off, giggling when some of your hair gets stuck in one of the gold decorations and he helps you untangle it, gentle fingers working to not rip your hair. "I didn't tell her to get a divorce, she just told me two weeks ago she did it. I asked how did she do it so fast? When she said you helped her with it.." he shakes his head. "The shame I felt, I could only imagine what you must of thought." Michael can't look at you, the feeling of shame still lingering.
You get up and start pacing the floor, brushing your hair back over and over again, a nervous tick you have. He looks at you, eyes following you like he's the most agile predator in the jungle and you are his prey. "You need to go Michael, she probably wonders where you are right now." He opens his mouth to protest, but you don't let him. "I don't care, you're still her boyfriend, fiancé, whatever and I told you I'm not that kind of woman, don't make me be that woman, it's already bad enough I let you kiss me and grope me like that."
"Don't say it like that!" He looks pained.
"Like what?" You narrow your eyes at him, not sure what he's trying to say.
"Like it's dirty, the things we did.."
"But it is, Michael, it's called cheating, you're cheating on her!" Your voice raises an octave in annoyance, hands flying around in exasperation.
"Not to me it's not!" He stands up from the couch, walking the short distance to you, taking your hands in his. You turn your head, avoiding his eyes and he uses one finger to turn your head, pinching your chin between his thumb and pointer, forcing you to meet his eyes. "I've never belonged to a woman more than I belong to you y/n, I'm not cheating on her, if anything I cheated on you. You should have me on my knees begging for your forgiveness." His words turn your knees to jell-o , he's such a sweet talker, but you are a woman with an iron spine. "She's still a person, in her mind you belong to her, if you mean what you say, go make things right, don't sit here, that's how you make it up me, not begging. I need actions, not words!" Michael has never met a woman so strong and decisive as you, it takes him by surprise truly how vertical you are. Taking a step back his hands fall limp next to his body and you walk past him, retrieving his jacket, holding it towards him.
He's in disbelief right now, he can't believe a few minutes ago your breast was basically in his mouth and now your kicking him out. His eyes fall to your chest, the wet spots he had created earlier on the silk were now dry and a mere memory. "Ok, when can I see you again?" He asks, already missing you. You smile and that makes him relax a bit, you're still there, buried underneath the hard shell of yourself. "When you're ready to be mine!" You walk and open the door for him, holding it so he can exit. He puts his shoes back on and before going, places the jacket back on your shoulders. "Oh no now I'll have to come get my jacket back, though it looks much better on you!" You tip your head back laughing, putting your hands through the sleeves of the jacket, inhaling his scent. "I don't know Mr Jackson if you're not fast enough I might sell it for a quick profit." You smirk and he fixes your hair, leaning to touch his lips to your forehead. "Don't ever call me Mr Jackson, sweet girl. You promised!" He mumbles against your skin and you stop breathing and don't start again until he's behind the closed door and you're left alone.
A few days pass and you don't hear anything from Michael, you hate to admit it, but you were trying not to hope too hard that he would actually give up marrying Lisa Marie for you. Just when you were about to go home and maybe eat your feelings with a sad book in your lap, Shanon says there's a delivery for you. You scrunch your brows in confusion, not only was it end of work on a Friday, but you also can't remember ordering anything. In the lobby a huge bouquet of sunflowers adorns Shanon's desk and you can barely see her behind the flowers. "Y/n what's this? Who are these from? I doubt they are from that asshole." You cringe remembering your unfortunate departure with Fitz. You pick up the golden envelope hidden between the petals, opening it to read it.
"Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs" Do you agree my Jane? - yours truly MJJ
You almost drop the envelope, a gasp coming out of your mouth startling Shanon. "What?" She takes the paper from you and reads over it, as you watch her go through all the stages of figuring it out. "Oh. Oh. Oh!" She looks at you wide eyed. "Stop saying oh." You beg. "Isn't he marrying her? How is this?" You know what she means, it's why you kicked him out the other night. You close your eyes and rub your temples. "I don't know!"
"Miss l/n?" You lift your head and look to see who's called your name. "Sam? Is everything Ok?" You ask surprised to see Michael's security here, looking over his shoulder for Michael himself. "Mr Jackson asked me to come pick you up." He says simply as that, like it's routine, something he does every day. "What for?" You ask, sharing a look with Shanon. "I wouldn't know." You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling he does in fact know more, but he's not allowed to say. "And what if I don't want to come along?" His eyes widen in fear, clear he didn't receive any instructions in case you declined. "Cat got your tongue?" You're being mean and you know it, but it rubs you the wrong way that Michael thought he'd just say "jump" and you would.
"I'm messing with you Sam. But we're making a stop by my place first!" You say, clear that there was no space for argument. Sam and Shanon watch you lift up the huge bouquet, it looks ridiculous really, swallowing you whole, taking almost the entire elevator as you and Sam step into it together. "Would you like me to help with that, miss l/n?" He asks and you oblige, because it's heavier than it looks. "Thank you Sam and can you please call me y/n?" You ask him and see a blush creep over his cheeks. "I'm not sure." He doesn't know how to tell you that maybe Michael might not like his security calling you by your first name. "Well I am!" You say confident and walk towards the car.
He opens the door for you and places the bouquet in the front seat next to him so you could sit comfortably. He helps you carry it up the stairs and into your apartment, setting it on your coffee table. "I'll wait for you in the car mi- um, y/n" you smile and nod, going to your room ,jumping straight into the shower, washing the stress of the day away, then spinning around in your walk in closet stuck on what to wear, picking a casual black cotton dress, straight cut with a v neck and tailored to your waist, the short sleeves have tiny bow details making it classy enough to be considered dressed up and the length of it, stopping just above your knees makes it comfortable for the hot July summer. You put on some flats and brush through your hair, applying some more of your cherry perfume and a thin layer of lipstick, giving you that perfect freshly kissed lips effect.
You find Sam standing next to the car, professionally waiting for you, opening the door when he sees you approaching. You look out the window and try to figure out here he might be taking you, but the sky high buildings keep getting shorter and soon you're in the suburbs and then the city is left behind. "Sam, where are we going?" It's already been an hour of driving. "Mr Jackson bought a property long ago, it's just another hour away." You try and remember if you ever saw anything about him owning a property so close to New York City, but you can't seem to remember, so you just just back in your chair, leaning your head on the back rest, doing the unthinkable and falling asleep.
"Y/n?" Sam's voice shakes you awake and you blink, it's almost dark an outside the hour stretches past 9 pm already. You yawn and get out of the car a little wobbly, still sleepy. "Are you Ok? What happened you were supposed to be here hours ago!" Michael runs the short distance from the front door to you, hand on your elbow to steady you. "I'm fine!" Another yawn. "I just fell asleep it's all, sorry!" You blush, hiding your eyes from him, breathing in the summer night, waking up slowly. "There was traffic, plus, some guy who has a crush on me sent me flowers and I had to take them home first."
"What guy?" You laugh out loud and catch a glimpse of Sam struggling to hold in a laugh as well. Michael just heard the word guy and immediately activated jealousy mode. "I don't think you know him, but I'm sure you'd like him." You look at Michael as the realization hits him, turning him tomato red. "So you liked them?" He asks shy, leading you the the house. You take a quick overview, it's much smaller than you'd expect Michael to choose, it's got lots of land, but the house itself was a Victorian style house, with white and light blue wood paneling, a nice porch with a swing on it. It's homey. "I do, they're my favorite you know?" You say looking around, inside the place screams Michael, a huge contrast to the outside, darker bolder colors throne here, textures of all kinds and arts and decor. "I do, you told me once." He admits
Your eyes snap to him. "Only once?" You can't even remember when that happened, it must of been one of those times where you started talking and couldn't manage to stop. He nods biting his lip, he doesn't really understand your reaction, because he's always been like this with all his lovers, he's a good listener and his love language is gift giving so he always has an ear out for a potential gift. Your heart swells with a feeling so strange and so addicting. "What's this place?" You ask, curious to find the story behind it. "I bought it after the victory tour, I didn't know how much time I was gonna spend in New York and I hate hotels, so it made sense."
"It's beautiful, close enough to the city to be practical and yet far away enough that you're protected form the noise." That's exactly what he had told his real estate agent when he saw the place, so hearing you say it back to him, confirms that this is in fact a little piece of heaven. "Come!" He takes your hand and leads you over to a room bathed in darkness, only lit by a few candles scattered about. On the floor there's pillows and blankets and food, popcorn, fruits, pastries and all sorts of other snacks. "Wha-?" You don't know what to make of it. "We're watching "Waterloo bridge", come on, I know you've been meaning to see it, I haven't watched it either, thought we might do it together." He explains, dragging you over to sit down on the blankets.
You smile when you notice he even has bananas in the fruit bowl, despite his dislike of them. "I broke up with her, she wasn't too happy, there was-" he sighs and you look at him, munching on a strawberry. "There was crying, but she wasn't what I wanted so I did what I had to." You don't know what to say, it pains you that Lisa had to go through heartbreak, you for one knew best how bad it hurts. "Say something." You look at your hands, unsure. "I don't know what to say." You admit.
"What do you feel?" You shrug your shoulders, your not very sure of that either, but then there is something you're sure of. "I want to try something, can I?" You ask and he swallows, nodding immediately. You crawl over to him, straddling his legs, his hands instantly falling to your waist, as you start tracing the lines of his face with your fingers, feather like touches. "I've never felt more off balance, then I have since meeting you. I worked my entire life to get out of the house I grew up in, I made my career, then I thought it was only right to pick a nice guy to spend my life with, marry him, maybe give him some kids, Andrew seemed right, on paper he was all I wanted." Michael's eyes close, as he soaks in your touch, listening carefully to every word you say, trying to ignore the ping of pain he feels when he hears Andrew's name out of your mouth. "He was an excellent boyfriend, really, but still I could never convince myself to feel he was the right one, it takes me time to settle on something like that, now there's no telling that if he'd given me one more year or ten I would've said yes to marrying him, but who knows I might have." His eyes open, looking into yours, trying to make sense of the point you're making.
"I'm trying to say, that I need slow Michael, I need time, I'm, well I have a fear of settling down, because of how I was brought up, so you need to know, because I don't want you to end up resenting me all because I couldn't move at your pace." Your lip trembles and Michael brings his hand up, the rough pad of his thumb gliding over your lip. "I could never resent you!" He says in devotion and you shake your head, a single tear slipping past your lashes and he catches it quick with his finger. "Andrew said the same, then he screamed it in my face, it wasn't he's fault for being ready when I wasn't." He can see the pain the sorrow the build up of feeling you've held buried so deep. His heart breaks for you and flashes of you small and curled underneath the blankets, a shell of the woman you usually are. He can tell you're scared now as well.
"I care too much for you Mike, I can't take it to see you hurt, knowing I was the reason." You start sobbing, hiding your face in the crook of his neck and he holds you, brushing a soothing hand up and down your back. You let months of pent up hurt spill, you want to start this right, not make the same mistakes you've done in the pasts, you want to do better than past you.
After a while your tears dry up and you lift your head to look at him, dressed in a black T-shirt with a Snow White and her 7 dwarfs picture on it, hair untied, falling over his shoulders, you play with his curls in between your fingers and his hand comes up to cup your face, making you instantly lean into his touch. "I care too much for you too y/n, I don't want to hurt you either , it kills me to see you sad." His words reach some deep part of you, making a crack in the wall that hides the most intimate pieces of you. You shiver and lean down, your hot breath fans over his lips, his tongue reaching out to lick his lips, trying to taste you.
Michael gives into his most sincere and intimate desires, moving his hand to the back of your head and bringing you in for a kiss that sucks your soul. It's slow and languid and you melt into it, arms reaching to circle his neck, moving over in his lap, closer to him, chest flush to his. You feel him underneath you, hard and poking at you through the thin layer of your underwear and his sweatpants. You sigh into the kiss and Michael sneaks his tongue in your mouth, dominating you, biting your lips every now and then. The hand resting on your waist, moves to the small of your back, guiding you over him. Your body takes over and you start grinding into him, pressing down harder, feeling his head touch your clit with every move. You are so wet, you feel it soak onto your panties and his pants. Michael can feel it too, your wetness clinging onto him and he can't believe this is real, you moaning into his mouth, grinding against him.
"Ah fuck!" You drop your head to his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders as you chase your release, mind too cloudy to think, months of frustration needing to come out. "Baby, please!" Michael whines his hands moving you faster over him, he can tell you're very close, by the way your hips falter, your rhythm nonexistent at this point. "Mike, plase, I- I -" you are a mess, can't even form words the right way, tears prick your eyes once more, but this time it's because of the pleasure overtaking you. "What y/n, what does my baby need? Hm?" You whine in frustration, it's simply not enough, you need to come and you need more. Michael can tell, but he enjoys teasing, seeing you so lost, it's refreshing.
"You I need you!" You almost scream and that's all he needs to brace both hands on your ass, lifting you up slightly to place you on your back between the pillows. "Let me take my time with you, will you?" He asks, as his lips attack your neck, sucking hard, leaving marks wherever he can, remembering the anger he felt when he saw the hickey Andrew had given you. "Yes, anything, please, Mike, please!" God your begging was so beautiful, he was already painfully hard and leaking in his boxers, but your cries made him twitch with desire and need.
He hovers over you, holding his weight off of you, propping himself on his elbows. Michael looks at you, more like stares, brushing your hair out of your face absentmindedly. "What?" You ask smiling softly, his chest is pressed against yours and you can feel the thrill of his heart, strong and frantic, yet he looks so calm and composed. He shakes his head. "I can't believe you're here!" The awe in his voice takes you back, knocking the wind out of you. You place a trembling hand on his cheek. Michael closes his eyes, breathing you in, one hand traveling down your body to hike your leg higher up around his waist. His crotch nestles against yours, his bulge poking you through all the layers between you.
Your breath shudders, pulse spiking even higher as he begins to roll his hips, dry humping you. You arch into him, the friction offers a sweet relief, but it's only a fraction of what you need. "I need more, Mike!" You try to push him closer to you, your legs circling his waist, hands scratching at his back through the cotton of his shirt. "Patience, baby, I need to enjoy you!" His devotion for you, makes you shake, an electric current traveling down your spine, all the way to your pussy, as more wetness pools there.
He keeps his moves calm and collected, hips pushing against you, decided and deep, every move nudging his hard cock against your bundle of nerves. Your hands pat him frantically, needing to anchor yourself to him, finally finding purchase in his lavish curls. Even in your fucked out state you're mindful of his injury and though initially he tenses when your fingers thread through his hair, he relaxes into your touch. His lips explore every sliver of skin, working on a hickey on your chest right now, right above the v-neck of your dress. He licks the tender flesh and pulls back to look at the red spot already forming, groaning loudly, he loves the idea of marking his territory. "Michael, honey, please!" You beg, pleasure tears hanging from your long lashes and he kisses your eyelids, drinking in the salty liquor. "Shh, be a good girl for me!" His left hand comes up to your neck, putting just the right amount of pressure, his moves growing more desperate.
"Ahhh, fuck, please!" You wrap one hand around his wrist, not sure if you want to pull his hand away or tell him to choke you harder, you've never done this before with anyone, it's exciting in a different way, he holds your life in his hand. "Come for me, y/n, make a mess, be a good girl and come!" Your hips move against his, the coil in your stomach tightening more and more. You open your eyes, finding Michael staring at you, eyes dark, lustful. His deep emotions and a single gentle squeeze from his hand around your neck and your release washes over you, sweet and all consuming, every muscle shaking, legs locking around his waist. His moves slow down, he gets you through your orgasm, his lips swallowing yours.
When you settle down a bit, breathing still like you just ran a marathon your sense return, he's still obviously painfully hard and that only makes you more aroused. Michael chuckles, peppering kisses over your cheeks, tickling you. "Can I take this off?" He asks, toying with the hem of your dress. "Yes!" You say as confident as you can, you are generally comfortable with your body, but still this is new, he's never seen you naked, sure there was that day at the pool, but it's different this time, plus you never knew just how hard Michael's dick was that day. "I can hear you thinking!" He says smirking, his hands brushing up and down your thighs. "No, you can't silly!" You shove his shoulder playfully, blushing.
"I-" you lick your lips and he waits, trying no to panic, because what if you tell him you want to stop? He will, of course he will, but it'll hurt like hell. "I'm just conscious, I'm not really a model." You look away and his heart melts. Michael has never been confident in his appearance either, with all the teasing he got from his brothers and father, he understands. "We don't have to, y/n, we can just watch the movie..." he offers and you pull him down into a hungry kiss, hurried and messy, teeth and saliva and tongues. "Keep going!" You encourage him, so he sneaks his hands under your dress, feeling the shape of your body under his rough fingers. Your dress rides up and over your head, finally leaving you in just your underwear. You try to not be so hard on yourself for going with the comfortable, mismatched simple bra and panties.
Michael drinks you in, hands roaming your skin, tickling in their expedition. "Now you!" You say, hands fumbling around with his T-shirt, trying to pull it up. His hands stop you. "Maybe we should dim the lights some more?" He suggests and you look confused. "Michael, why?" You ask, already scared he might not like what he's seeing so he needs to fuck you in the dark, your heart breaks a bit. "The vitiligo, it's um, it's not pretty!" He admits, looking over your head, blinking back tears. You take his head in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "Hey there pretty boy!" He chuckles dry and you smile at him. "We can do whatever you need"
"Need" not "want", you always choose your words so well, "but I'd like to see you Mike. You don't care about my stretch marks do you?" His hands hold your waist, thumbs drawing circles on your stomach. "Of course not! I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on!" His worst are honey and you are sugar high. "That's how I feel, you're perfect to me Mike, but don't feel forced Ok?" You say and he nods, pulling back from you, his hands working his shirt over his head. His torso is lean and muscular from all the dancing he does, his chest looks like a map, light patches here and there, stretching everywhere. Michael can't stand to look at you watching him, he's too self conscious.
A shy hand touches his chest, walking over the warm flesh, making Michael shake. "You're gorgeous!" You whisper sincere, hands exploring further down, finding the draw string of his sweat pants. "Can I?" You ask and he glues his forehead to yours. "Yes, please!" You undo the bow, pushing his pants down, leaving him in his boxers, he helps you push the sweats all the way, kicking them somewhere to be forgotten. Through the thin layer of his boxers you can clearly see the imprint of him. "I don't have a condom!" The realization hits him like a cold shower. "I have an IUD and I'm clean!" You tell him. "Me too! I mean I'm clean too, not the IUD, I don't have that!" You laugh out loud, shaking your head at his silliness, making him smile, blushing deep red. "Well I would hope not!" You keep laughing and he decides it's time to shut you up, by putting his lips back on yours, hands sneaking behind your back, to fumble with the clasp of your bra.
Once the bra comes off, he looks down, immediately taking one of your breasts in his mouth, tongue swirling around your hard nipple, pleasure firing through you. His eyes roll in the back of his head. God he's dreamed about these breasts, fucked his hand late in the night thinking about your boobs, that's how much he's been craving you. "God, I've dreamed of this!" He whispers against your skin, moving over to the other breast. You thread your hands back in his hair, pulling at the curls around the nape of his neck. "Me too!" Your breathy confession, has Michael thrusting his hips against yours, the sensation so much more intense with just the thins underwear between you.
His hands replace his mouth, pinching your nipples, twisting them around between his fingers, making you trash under him. Soft wet kisses trail down your stomach and stop at the top of your panties, his teeth drag along the cotton material, pulling it and letting it snap against yours belly. "Michael! Please!" You rub your thighs together and he chuckles at your desperate state. "I'm right here baby! Tell me what you need!" His hands hook under your knees, parting your legs, settling in front of your aching cunt. His breath catches at the sight of your panties, damp and clinging to your pussy. You feel shy, trying to close your legs, looking away.
Michael squeezes one of your thighs, kissing the other, teasing. "I asked you a question baby!" He reminds you, leaning in, nose brushing against your clit through the cotton, sending pleasure up your spine. "I need your mouth, sweetness!" You sigh, lifting your hips up, chasing him. "O-Ok, sunflower!" His fingers sneak under the elastic of your underwear. "Can I?" Always a gentleman. You smile toothy at him, brushing a hand over his chest, feeling the tiny hairs tickle the pads of your fingers. "Yes." He nods, serious all of a sudden, pealing off the last peace of clothing concealing your body.
His stands on his knees between your legs, looking at you in sweet devotion. "You're so beautiful, y/n, I can't believe you're here!" You blush, biting your lip. "I thought you'd never ask me to be here!" Your eyes lock onto his and he leans down to catch your lips, holding your face, in his big palms. "Y/n?" He whispers between kisses, peppering gentle pecks all over your face. "Hm?" You're so lost, barely able to think, heart racing as his hard cock pokes at you through his boxers. "I've only ever done it once before." He mutters, barely audible and you freeze eyes wide. "What? You don't mean? Sex? I mean it's fine if you do, but just, what?" The words rush out of you, before you can think.
He giggles nervously, shaking his head. "No not sex, I've done sex plenty, it's the other things I haven't really done!" Your heart swells. "You don't have to if you're not comfortable." You assure him, brushing his unruly hair back. "I want to, I want to make you feel good!" The decisiveness in his voice, amplifies everything you're feeling. "Ok, go on, do what feels right, it's not rocket science." You giggle and he nods eagerly, hurrying back down between your legs. His eyes look at you, swollen shiny lips, leaking desire.
Michael makes an effort to no come in his boxers at the sight of your pussy aching for him. He launches forward, tongue licking a stipe up your pussy, circling your clit. "Is that good?" You whine when he stops to speak with you, hips chasing his lips. "Don't stop!" You beg, fingers settling in his hair once he's back to tormenting you. His moves are slow at first, becoming more and more intense as you grind into him. Obscene noises spill out of your mouth, head thrown back in absolute pleasure, one of your hands pinches your nipples, twisting them adding to the sensation of Michael eating you. He looks up from between your legs, you have him caged, strong muscles holding his head locked there. He moans against you, in awe at how you're reacting to him, writhing because of him. He pushes his hips against the floor, trying to get some relief, he needs to be inside you and quick, but he wants to taste your release on his tongue. One shy finger circles your hole and you feel yourself squeezing around nothing. "Yes, please, Mike, please I need you!"
That's all he needs, a finger plunging into you, curling in a 'come here' motion, plunging in and out of your aching hole. Before you can adjust he adds another, two long fingers stretching you perfectly, massaging your spongy walls. "Give it to me baby!" He mumbles, suctioning his lips over your clit, sucking hard, moving his head from side to side and you're done for, crying out, coming over his face, velvety walls spasming around his fingers. He comes up to kiss you, still moving his fingers in and out of you. You moan tasting yourself on his lips. "You squeeze me so hard baby, how am I gonna fit in there, hm?" His hand lazily still pumps inside you, his thumb drawing shy circles over your sensitive clit and you cry out from being overstimulated, but somehow still pulling him closer, stuck between wanting him to stop and needing him to keep going. "I'll try my best!" You say breathless, making him laugh.
His fingers come out of you, making you whine at the loss, the protest switching into a moan when he brings them up to lick his digits clean. "Hmmm sweeter than honey!" Michael moans, standing back to take off his boxers, his hard cock springs free, tip red and leaking. You reach forward and take him in your hand, making him hiss in pleasure, eyes squeezing tight. You move your hand up and down his dick, swirling your hand over his sensitive tip, making the muscles of his abdomen tense. He's so gone, can't even think, pleasure taking over his whole being, but then he remembers the goal was to bury himself deep inside you, so he catches your wrist, stopping your moves. "I'm gonna come if you don't stop!" He warns and you squeeze him in your hand, biting back a smile, proud of yourself for having this effect on him. "I see nothing wrong there Mike."
He shakes his head, hovering over you, supporting himself on his elbows. "I need to be inside you, please!" He begs and you don't know how to say yes faster, nodding eagerly, moving your hand away, bracing yourself, nails digging crescent moon shapes into his biceps. He holds himself in his hand, moving his cock around your slit, coating himself in your sweet cum, teasing your entrance, tip nudging at you. "Stop teasing!" He chuckles, pushing in slowly, letting you adjust to the size of him, it's been a while since you've had sex, so you need a minute. "Shh, good girl, taking me so well!" At the praise, your walls flutter around him, making him hiss. You are incredible, you have him counting backwards in an effort not to come right then and there. "Just need a sec, sweet boy, it's been a while!" You tell him and he groans at the idea of another man having had you like this before, his hips pushing against you stimulating your clit with his pelvis. "Fuck, Michael, move baby, please!"
He doesn't need to be told twice, long deep thrusts starting to shake your body, killing you slowly. His hips draw back until he's almost all the way out, pushing back in forcefully, the rhythm is ruthless. He hits that spot inside you each time, making your eyes roll back, toes curling. His lips swallow your moans and whimpers, his tongue dominating you. There's nothing else, you're lost, you can't even remember your name, or what day it is, there's only Michael, bodies intertwined, sleek with sweat, the smell of sex surrounding you. The room is filled with the sinful sounds of skin slapping, whimpers and heavy breathing. This isn't just sex, this is love making, Michael is making love to you like he never has with anyone else before. You consume his whole being.
The pleasure builds up in the pit of his stomach, his muscles contracting, the need to come bubbling up inside him. Michael hikes one of your legs higher up his waist, the new angle making you see stars. His fingers move down between your bodies, circling your clit feverish. Your back bows off the blanket covered floor, feeling your third orgasm coming. "Mike, faster, please!" He obliges with a decided grunt, hips snapping against yours, his rhythm losing cadence as his orgasm takes him by surprise. "Fuuuck!" His knuckles turn white as he almost rips a whole in the blanket he has squeezed in his hand, whole body shaking with the force of his release.
You look down between you, the mere image of his hard cock pumping in and out of you, being the trigger you needed, your orgasm crashing over you milking him of all he has. His moves grow slower and slower until they stop altogether. You both try and catch your breath and he kisses all over your face, his curls tickling your skin. You giggle and he hisses, putting a hand on your waist, he's still inside you, softening and your laugh gave his sensitive cock a squeeze. "Sorry!" You say, locking eyes with him.
The emotion inside his chocolaty orbs takes your breath away. His nose brushes against yours, as your eyes flutter. "Was that Ok?" He asks cocky, he acts shy, but he knows what he's doing. "Hm I might need a redo sometime soon to be able to give an honest review." You joke, brushing your fingers up and down the back of his arms. "I might be able to work that out!" He jokes, making you laugh again, only for Michael to whine overstimulated, coming down to kiss you lovingly.
He pulls out slowly, dropping on his back next to you, pulling you against him. You shiver feeling his cum leaking out of you and trickling down your thighs. You put your ear to his restless heart, closing your eyes falling asleep against his chest. Michael tickles your back up and down absentmindedly, looking down at your spent form, eyes closed, lips parted slightly. He leans down, giving the top of your head a gentle kiss, he still can't believe you're really here, so he brings you closer to him, making sure you won't just turn to dust.
The year is 1987, Michael is still riding the high the Thriller album gave him, but he's stuck, stuck somewhere he doesn't want to be and all because of the people around him, people who are supposed to have his back, but they don't. You might just be what he needs, his salvation! But things are never that easy! God no! You, despite being a woman in the '80, are a very well respected lawyer and when your boss who has a thing for saving celebrities out of doom sends you to handle Michael Jackson, you rise to the occasion. All your life seems to be in place, but the moment you meet him, he rocks your world so much that you find yourself falling. From strangers to becoming friends, to falling for each other, but the timing just never seems right. It's one step forward two steps back and it's a sort of sick dance that you end up dancing. But you and Michael never lose sight of the fact that there's feelings involved, so though it might be years or forever that you have to wait for, it's worth it.
Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader
A/n: none of the events related in this story have anything to do with reality so take that with a grain of salt. English is not my first language!!!
Themes: slow burn, fluff, friends to lovers, smut (+18 minors dni), abuse, hard language, alcohol use, mentions of violence
Michael gives into his most sincere and intimate desires, moving his hand to the back of your head and bringing you in for a kiss that sucks your soul. It's slow and languid and you melt into it, arms reaching to circle his neck, moving over in his lap, closer to him, chest flush to his. You feel him underneath you, hard and poking at you through the thin layer of your underwear and his sweatpants. You sigh into the kiss and Michael sneaks his tongue in your mouth, dominating you, biting your lips every now and then. The hand resting on your waist, moves to the small of your back, guiding you over him. Your body takes over and you start grinding into him, pressing down harder, feeling his head touch your clit with every move. You are so wet, you feel it soak onto your panties and his pants. Michael can feel it too, your wetness clinging onto him and he can't believe this is real, you moaning into his mouth, grinding against him.
"Ah fuck!" You drop your head to his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders as you chase your release, mind too cloudy to think, months of frustration needing to come out. "Baby, please!" Michael whines his hands moving you faster over him, he can tell you're very close, by the way your hips falter, your rhythm nonexistent at this point. "Mike, plase, I- I -" you are a mess, can't even form words the right way, tears prick your eyes once more, but this time it's because of the pleasure overtaking you. "What y/n, what does my baby need? Hm?" You whine in frustration, it's simply not enough, you need to come and you need more. Michael can tell, but he enjoys teasing, seeing you so lost, it's refreshing.
"You I need you!" You almost scream and that's all he needs to brace both hands on your ass, lifting you up slightly to place you on your back between the pillows. "Let me take my time with you, will you?" He asks, as his lips attack your neck, sucking hard, leaving marks wherever he can, remembering the anger he felt when he saw the hickey Andrew had given you. "Yes, anything, please, Mike, please!" God your begging was so beautiful, he was already painfully hard and leaking in his boxers, but your cries made him twitch with desire and need.
