#mj

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

Three yaks dance in Lhasa city (cr 情满拉萨，吉吉)(If you do not reside long-term in a high-altitude environment, please avoid intense physical activity at high altitudes, as it may trigger altitude sickness.)

[tenaciousmoneymuffinzine]

Comparing Haymitch and Katniss' narrative styles is so funny to me because he's a yapper and she's a gatekeeper. He drops more lore on D12 in the first two chapters of SOTR than she does in the entire trilogy.

Haymitch is like "Yeah, so this person is related to this person who's related to this person and things are this way because of this and this thing actually came from here and this person is actually my best friend and also here's this extra tidbit of random info cause all my lore dropping comes with it's own additional bonus content and all my unnecessary commentary."

And Katniss is over here like "Tf do I care for if y'all know all the lore of District 12? I'm talking about my beautiful husband's beautiful eyelashes."

[lil6uapa]

chlorine michael jackson

michael jackson x f!reader ────୨ৎ──── ♡ wc: 4.3k

synopsis: childhoodbsf!mj and reader in a hot tub... what can go wrong? (or right :D)

cw: smut, switch!michael, hot tub sex, dry humping, dirty talk, praise, tensionnn, mutual pining, michael jackson being a whimperer (surprise), creampie

based off bad!era mj but any era works (i think)

the hot tub lights cast soft blue ripples across the water, reflecting against the stone around the edge of the patio. the early summer night air brushed against your damp skin coolly in contrast to the heat of the water, while music drifted faintly from somewhere inside the house. overhead, the sky was dark and cloudless, a soft breeze moving through the otherwise still night.

michael leaned back nearby with his arms resting along the edge of the hot tub, curls damp around his face, while he watched you with obvious amusement.

“you know,” he said casually, brushing wet curls back from his forehead, “for somebody always talkin’ big, you scare real easy.”

you looked over immediately. “i do not.”

michael laughed softly under his breath.

you’d known michael long enough to recognize that exact look in his eyes before he even said anything else. the one that usually meant he was about to annoy you on purpose.

the two of you had been attached at the hip since childhood. your families blurred together so often growing up that half your memories included michael somewhere in the background of them — sitting beside you at family parties, showing up to your house unannounced (and vice versa), dragging you outside in the middle of summer evenings because he was bored and wanted company. somewhere along the way, physical closeness had stopped meaning much between you years ago.

hugs.

leaning against each other.

holding hands.

cuddling while watching movies.

being close to michael had never required thought.

leaves rustled softly in the night breeze.

michael’s eyes suddenly shifted past your shoulder.

the teasing look on his face faltered, his mouth flattening slightly as his attention fixed on something behind you.

“…wait.”

you narrowed your eyes at that. “michael.”

“no, seriously.” his brows furrowed now while he stared harder behind you. “what is that?”

you rolled your eyes.

“i hate you.”

“i’m serious,” he insisted, though the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. “right there.”

you turned your head despite yourself.

your eyes scanned once. twice. nothing.

you started turning back toward him with an unimpressed look already forming–

michael lunged forward suddenly with both his hands toward the water behind you.

a startled squeal escaped you as you grabbed onto him on pure reflex, your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders while you nearly climbed halfway up him in a panic.

michael burst into loud laughter. bright and boyish.

“oh my god!” you gasped out, still clutching him while he laughed harder against your shoulder. “you are actually evil.”

“it was funny!” he argued through laughter.

“it was not funny!”

you smacked his shoulder lightly, trying not to laugh and failing miserably once his laughter got worse.

michael’s laughter had always been contagious. it was impossible to stay mad at him for long when he was laughing like that.

“yes it was,” he grinned. “you should’ve seen your face.”

“you practically climbed into my lap,” he added.

“i trusted you!”

“that’s your own fault.”

“oh my god, shut up.”

another laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

michael pointed at you instantly.

“see? you’re laughin’ now.”

you groaned dramatically, letting your forehead fall briefly against his shoulder while his laughter softened into quieter little giggles beneath his breath.

eventually, both your breaths started to settle.

except neither of you moved apart.

your arms still rested loosely around his shoulders. michael’s hands still held your waist below the surface.

comfortable. normal.

well, it should’ve felt normal.

instead, the silence that settled between you suddenly felt…heavy somehow.

different.

your forehead still rested lightly against michael’s shoulder while the water moved softly around you both, rippling between your bodies.

neither of you spoke.

you could feel michael breathing now. 

not just the movement of his chest beneath your hands, but the actual rhythm of it. slow at first, then slightly uneven when you shifted subconsciously closer.

his hands tightened around your waist. small. almost unnoticeable.

except you noticed it immediately.

your brows pulled together faintly.

slowly, you lifted your head from his shoulder.

michael was already looking at you.

the patio lights reflected faintly in his eyes while water dripped from the curls hanging around his forehead. his expression had gone strangely still now, his hands warm where they rested against your waist.

neither of you moved apart.

you’re not sure why.

usually moments like this broke naturally on their own. one of you would laugh. tease the other. splash water. say something stupid.

instead, michael just kept looking at you.

your eyes flicked down toward his mouth before you could stop yourself.

bad idea.

because the second your gaze dropped, michael noticed. his brows pinched for a fraction of a second.

then, before you could really process it, michael looked away first.

his jaw flexed.

you felt his throat move against your arm when he swallowed.

“…christ,” he muttered quietly under his breath.

heat crawled slowly up your neck. you swallowed once before forcing out, “what?”

michael shook his head once, almost like he was trying to clear it.

“nothin’.”

his voice sounded lower now. rougher.

the water shifted softly around you both when you adjusted yourself, your legs brushing against his–

michael inhaled sharply.

the sound froze you.

oh.

your heartbeat stumbled hard in your chest.

because suddenly you could feel it too.

the reaction pressed unmistakably against your thigh.

heat rushed instantly to your face.

michael went still beneath your hands.

for a second, neither of you said anything.

michael laughed quietly under his breath, though it sounded more embarrassed than amused now. one hand came up to cover his face as he looked away.

“….m’sorry,” he murmured.

your brows pulled together slightly.

of course he was apologizing. that was so michael.

when he’s struggling to keep himself composed, he still sounded more concerned about crossing a line than anything else.

you'd be lying if you said his reaction to you wasn't turning you on.

 “….don’t apologize,” you breathed.

michael looked at you. his curls hung damp against his forehead now, water dripping slowly down the side of his neck while his hands stayed fixed carefully at your waist like he didn’t trust himself to move them anywhere else.

he looked away again, exhaling sharply through his nose, almost like a disbelieving laugh at himself.

“just... give me a second,” he murmured. "it'll go away."

michael took slow, controlled breaths like he was genuinely trying to calm himself down.

then before you could overthink it, the words slipped out softly.

“….do you want me to help you?”

michael’s eyes shut briefly while a quiet breath escaped him, almost strained. unfortunately for him, the boner he'd been trying so hard to kill came back tenfold.

one of his hands slid higher instinctively along your waist before stopping there hard enough to make your pulse jump.

“i—”

he cut himself off.

his head tipped back slightly instead, exposing the long line of his throat while he stared up toward the sky for a second like he was physically trying to pull himself together.

it only made him look worse.

or better.

no definitely better.

water glided slowly down the column of his neck while his chest rose unevenly beneath your hands.

finally, michael looked back at you again. wrecked.

he swallowed once before replying quietly, “you don’t have to do anything.”

your heart hammered painfully against your ribs.

“i know,” you whispered.

“i’m asking if you want me to.”

for a second, michael just stared at you.

then slowly, his forehead dropped forward until it rested gently against your temple. 

his eyes closed.

his lashes brushed softly against your skin.

the flush along his neck had darkened now, spreading toward his jaw while his breathing stayed uneven against you.

when he finally spoke, his voice came out rough and quiet. 

“…i’m a gentleman.”

your chest tightened at the sound of it.

the words seemed to hang between you for a moment.

slowly, you lifted one hand from his shoulder, cradling his face gently until he looked at you again.

his eyes were dark now.

unfocused almost.

still trying so hard to hold himself together for you.

your thumb brushed lightly against his cheek before you leaned in just enough to press a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth.

michael inhaled sharply, head tilting instinctively to chase your lips.

then he was kissing you properly.

one hand slid up the side of your neck as he pulled you closer, the kiss hard and messy, like he’d been trying not to do this for far too long.

your noses bumped awkwardly together between breaths, both of you laughing softly into the kiss before it melted right back into something hotter.

michael bit gently at your bottom lip, tugging it between his teeth.

a soft sound escaped you before you kissed him again.

his hand dragged back down your body until it settled low on your waist, fingers spreading carefully just above your ass.

careful and still hesitant. you could feel it.

your hands slid down his arms slowly until they covered his, guiding them lower.

michael broke the kiss at that.

the sound you let slip when his hands finally squeezed your ass made his head drop against yours.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered breathlessly.

you pushed your hips closer against his.

michael let out a shaky breath as your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers catching slightly at the damp curls near his nape.

when he kissed you again, it felt almost desperate now.

like he physically couldn’t stop himself for more than a few seconds at a time. his nose bumped softly against yours between kisses while his hands tightened around your body, guiding you higher on his lap beneath the bubbling water.

the pressure of his hips against yours pulled a gasp from your throat.

your fingers tightened instinctively at the base of his curls as you broke away from the kiss for air.

“michael—”

he kissed the corner of your mouth before you could finish saying his name, breathing hard enough now that you could feel it against your skin.

“i know, baby, i know” he murmured softly.

you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck. he smelled like chlorine and the faint traces of his cologne, warm amber and soft florals mixing with the heat of his damp skin.

michael’s hands guided your hips against his beneath the water, the movement slow at first before his restraint started slipping little by little.

soft sounds escaped you against his neck while michael’s breathing turned rough near your ear, his grip tightening every time you pressed closer to him.

“baby…” he breathed, almost strained now.

the name sent warmth blooming low in your stomach.

this was the first time he’d ever called you that, and you loved the way it sounded coming from him.

his groans started mixing with the breathier moans spilling from your lips as his hands squeezed more firmly at your backside, the bubbling water sloshing harder around you both as he buried his face against your shoulder.

every slow drag of your hips only made the ache low in your stomach worse.

but it still wasn’t enough.

you needed more of him.

“want more,” you whined softly against his neck.

michael’s hips stuttered against yours at the sound of your voice, a quiet groan escaping him.

“yeah?” he murmured breathlessly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. 

strands of damp hair clung messily near your cheeks while your lips looked swollen from kissing, slightly parted every time another shaky breath slipped out of you. your eyes were glossed over.

you looked completely ruined.

just for him.

“i’ll give my sweet girl whatever she wants,” he said lowly, with a rasp slipping into his voice.

something about hearing him say it made your thighs press tighter around him. if michael noticed, he didn't mention it.

“anything she asks for.” he added.

“anything?” you responded in a whisper.

michael’s eyes stayed fixated on yours for a second before he repeated it quieter this time.

“anything.”

your stomach tightened hard at the sound of that.

“want you inside me,” you whispered sweetly, your hips pressing against his again at the thought of him giving it to you.

michael bit down on his lip, a crooked smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

you sounded so desperate for him.

and god was he just as desperate for you.

maybe worse.

even now, with your body pressed against his and his restraint hanging by a thread, he still tried to collect himself before he spoke again.

because he was a gentleman.

or at least he was trying very hard to be one.

“go on, take what you want,” he murmured roughly.

your hands immediately reached for the waistband of his swim shorts, tugging them down enough to free his dick.

though you couldn't see much through the bubbling water, you felt him. his warmth, his thickness, his length. 

the weight of him against your hand alone made your breath catch.

michael groaned softly under his breath, his head falling briefly against your shoulder while his hands tightened instinctively along your thighs.

you shifted carefully onto your knees to give him room while he pulled your swim bottoms aside.

the feeling of him brushing against your bare pussy made you arch into him.

“fuck…” michael hissed quietly, breathing turned heavier near your ear as his hands slid lower along your thighs to steady you.

your face buried closer into the crook of his neck while another broken sound escaped you.

“michael…” your voice cracked softly.

the slow push of his tip alone already had your head spinning. he barely gave you room to breathe.

“fuuck, baby,” he groaned into your shoulder, dragging the words out low and strained. “you’re so fucking tight.”

you nuzzled closer into his neck with a shaky whimper.

“s’too big, michael…” you hiccuped softly.

you were ruining him.

the way your voice broke at just the tip being inside you was doing something dangerous to his self-control.

“shh, it’s okay, baby,” he murmured gently, one hand stroking your damp hair.

his other hand slid lower against your thigh before tightening carefully at your hip.

"tell me if it hurts," he murmured, lips brushing softly against your temple.

then he started easing you down onto him properly.

slow.

your mouth dropped open at the stretch as he lowered you inch by inch, his grip firm enough to guide you while still giving you time to adjust. every small movement made another uneven breath leave your lips.

the heat of the water around you only made everything feel more overwhelming. his cock felt impossibly warm inside you, thick enough that each inch made your body tense before slowly relaxing around him.

michael’s forehead pressed against yours as he watched every reaction on your face.

“that’s it,” he whispered hoarsely. “doin’ so good for me.”

another inch.

your fingers tightened against his shoulders, a soft moan escaping before you could stop it.

his own breathing was wrecked, rough against your skin while his hands trembled slightly where they held you.

like he was using every bit of control he had not to lose patience and pull you down all at once.

instead, he kept guiding you carefully.

letting you feel every inch.

the stretch burned for a second before melting into warmth, your body slowly yielding around him while soft broken whimpers left your throat.

“fuck,” michael groaned quietly, eyes squeezing shut for a second. “you feel so fucking good.”

you buried your face deeper into his neck as another wave of fullness hit you.

then finally your hips settled flush against his.

both of you gasped at the same time.

michael’s head fell back against the edge of the tub with a low groan while his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave marks.

“holy shit…” he breathed.

you could barely think.

he felt everywhere. warm and deep and overwhelming, filling you so completely that all you could do was sit there for a second trying to breathe through it.

his hands softened again, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your hips.

“you okay?” he asked quietly, though his voice still sounded wrecked.

you nodded weakly against him.

“mhm…”

a small smile pulled at michael’s lips before he kissed the side of your head gently.

“good girl.”

you almost sobbed at the praise. his voice alone could make you cum.

michael stayed there for a second, just holding you against him while both of you tried to recover from the feeling.

his chest rose against yours, shaky breaths fanning across your skin while his hands stayed fixed carefully at your hips like he still couldn’t believe this was real.

then slowly, he rolled his hips upward once.

the movement was shallow.

experimental.

but the drag of him inside you still pulled a broken moan straight from your throat.

michael actually whimpered at that, the sound muffled against your skin, before a strained groan followed right after.

“fuck…”

his grip tightened.

“that okay?” he asked quietly, his own voice already sounding completely gone.

you nodded quickly before he’d even fully finished asking.

“please,” you whispered.

his mouth crashed against yours again while his hips rolled into you harder this time, deeper, the movement making the water slosh violently around both of you until it spilled over the edge of the hot tub, soaking the concrete.

your fingers tangled tighter into the damp curls at the back of his neck as he kept rocking you against him slowly, every thrust deep enough to make your stomach tighten.

he couldn’t seem to stop kissing you between breaths.

messy kisses.

desperate ones.

little broken sounds slipping from his mouth every single time you clenched around him.

“you feel so fucking good,” he breathed shakily. “christ, baby…”

his restraint kept slipping in pieces.

each movement growing rougher than the last, your body meeting his like you both couldn't stop chasing the feeling.

you moaned again. soft and breathless right against his mouth.

“yeah?” he rasped. “that feel good?”

you could barely answer — or could barely hear him, to be honest.

the way he was making you feel left your head completely fuzzy. every deep drag of him inside you made your thoughts melt together until all you could focus on was him.

when you didn’t respond, he tugged you down harder onto him.

a high moan tore from your throat instantly. a sound you would’ve never thought you’d be capable of making. 

and if michael wasn’t fucking you so good, you probably would’ve been embarrassed by it. 

he pulled back just enough to look at your face, watching your expression.

“tell me.”

it didn't sound demanding.

if anything, it sounded like something he needed to hear.

“y-yes–” you gasped helplessly. “yes, yes, feels so good–”

he leaned closer to your neck and started kissing, sucking, biting, leaving marks all over your neck. 

michael cursed softly under his breath at the feeling of you clenching around him.

“shit, baby… you’re squeezin’ me so tight.”

all you could do was moan as he dragged your hips down onto him through another deep thrust that made your entire body jolt.

the praise only made the heat low in your stomach tighten harder.

another soft whine slipped from your throat before you could stop it, your face burying deeper into his neck out of instinct.

michael groaned at the sound.

“those sexy fucking sounds…”

his hips rolled up into yours again, harder this time, and your grip on him tightened hard enough to sting.

one of his hands slid up your body, long slender fingers brushing teasingly against your chest before nudging your swimsuit top up just enough for your breasts to spill out. the cooler night air nipping at your damp skin.

"so perfect." he breathed.

he leaned in, his mouth closing around your left nipple with a slow, warm suck that pulled a breath from your lungs. at the same time, the knuckles of his other hand dragged against your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breasts, teasing every inch of sensitive skin on the way up. he cupped your breast, squeezing gently before rolling your nipple between his fingers in time with the slow pull of his mouth.

every suck, every soft bite, every flick of his tongue had your body arching into him.

you couldn’t hold the sounds back anymore.

every thrust of his hips pulled another sound out of you.

little whimpers.

broken moans.

breathy gasps right against his ear.

“fuck,” he groaned softly into your skin, almost dazed. “keep makin’ those sounds for me, baby.”

you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to. 

his mouth shifted to your other breast with a worn groan while his hand slipped lower between your bodies.

the second his thumb brushed against your clit, your entire body jerked in his arms.

“oh my god—”

the cry that left you was loud enough to echo slightly off the stone around the hot tub.

“mm, that it?” he rasped, thumb circling you again with shaky desperation. “that what you needed, baby?”

you nodded helplessly against him, barely able to breathe properly now.

the feeling of him thrusting up into you while his thumb rubbed slow, messy circles against your clit was too much all at once.

your thighs started trembling around his waist.

“michael, please.”

“i know,” he breathed quickly. “i got you. i got you.”

he kept thrusting into you deep and slow, but the rhythm was getting sloppier every second. like he physically couldn’t focus anymore with the way you kept whining against him.

“fuck…” he groaned softly. “you’re so sensitive.”

another moan tore out of you when his thumb pressed a little harder.

every little movement pulled another noise from your throat.

your eyes kept fluttering closed from the overwhelming sensation while michael watched your face completely unravel for him, his own expression looking just as gone.

“look at me, baby. c’mon,” he breathed softly.

your eyes fluttered back toward him.

the second michael saw the tears gathering along your lashes from how overwhelming everything felt, something in him completely snapped.

“fuck—”

his forehead dropped against yours with a groan so deep it almost sounded painful.

his thrusts lost what little rhythm they had left after that.

harder now.

messier.

his hands gripping your hips almost desperately while he kept kissing you between breaths like he couldn’t get enough.

“close?” he rasped against your mouth.

all you could do was nod frantically.

your fingers clutched desperately at his shoulders as another wave hit you.

it was too much.

his mouth on your neck.

his thumb rubbing against you perfectly.

the way he kept filling you so deep every time his hips snapped upward.

your thighs started shaking hard around his waist.

“i-i’m gonna–”

“lemme feel it, baby,” michael interrupted, voice breaking. he sounded completely gone. "please..."

a soft curse slipped from him the second your body tightened around him.

“that’s it,” he groaned. “good girl… fuck, that’s it.”

his thumb moved faster.

messier now.

like he was getting desperate too.

the pressure finally snapped.

your whole body jolted against him with a broken cry, your face burying into his shoulder while your body tightened hard around him, nails scratching at his back.

michael groaned loudly at the feeling, his hips stuttering completely for a second.

“shit–”

your vision blurred from how overwhelming it felt, soft little sobs and moans getting caught in your throat while wave after wave kept hitting you.

michael fucked you through all of it, one arm wrapped tightly around your back while his forehead pressed against your shoulder.

“fuck…” he groaned shakily. “atta girl.”

then quieter, almost like the words slipped out accidentally.

“been wantin’ this so bad.”

you clenched around him hard at the confession.

michael groaned hard, head tipping back against the edge of the hot tub.

his lips brushed against your jaw when he looked back at you again, expression completely wrecked.

“you don’t even realize what you do to me sometimes,” he breathed shakily.

“been tryin’ so hard to be good.”

another deep thrust made your breath catch.

“every time you bend over during those stupid twister games…” he groaned softly. “or prance around in those tiny little swimsuits…”

“honestly so mean of you.”

another broken groan slipped from him right after, his face burying deeper into your neck like he was trying to hide there.

little strained sounds kept leaving him every few seconds while his hips lost what little rhythm they had left.

“can’t—” he choked out softly. “fuck, baby…”

his grip tightened almost painfully at your hips before he finally buried himself deep inside you with a whine, warm spurts of cum filling you as his whole body went tense against yours.

you could feel him shaking slightly while he held you close, breathing unevenly against your skin as the water settled softly around both of you again.

the aftershocks rolled softly through both of you, fading little by little into soft tremors.

the world around you felt silent except for the sounds of bubbling water and uneven breathing. 

slowly, you pulled back just enough to look at him properly again, your arms still resting loosely around his shoulders.

his curls were a mess.

lips swollen.

flushed all the way down his neck.

and the completely blissed-out look on his face made something warm burst in your chest.

the second michael noticed you staring, a breathless laugh slipped from him, his teeth catching briefly against his bottom lip when his grin widened.

you laughed too.

because somehow, even after all of that, the two of you still ended up the same way you always did.

still just you and michael.

───୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───

ummm i didnt know how to end it butttt SECOND FICCCCC r we getting somewhere guys

also pls dont acc have sex in hot tubs or pools😭😭 (as hot as it is</3)

hope u guys enjoyed :DD

[ebonymuse]

HUSBAND MATERIAL? | M.JACKSON

synopsis: your ex-partner, still legally your husband, arrives at the grammy’s a few weeks after your split. reporters are down your throat about your breakup & michael kisses a fellow female nominee on stage. michael makes it up to you on the car journey home in the best way he knows how.

warnings: sexual themes, smut, 18+

You could never escape him.

You knew he was here. The screams of pure adoration and idolatry weren’t for just anyone at the 26th Annual Grammy Awards. They were for him.

And, to your private annoyance, every reporter who had your time all had the same question on their lips.

"So, what really happened between you and Michael Jackson?"

Each time, you’d quietly sigh, force a smile, restrain an eye-roll and answer politely through gritted teeth. Truthfully, you don’t really even know why you split up — a bad argument one night ended ugly to where your bags were packed and you were out of Hayvenhurst within the hour. Both of you were stubborn as hell, meaning not one of you would admit wrong-doing or apologise unless put in a passionate position.

The year prior the questions from reporters were varied — When was your next album? Would there be a single released soon? What new music was being produced as of recent weeks? And maybe, if they were feeling nosey, they’d ask about your lover.

The lover they only care to hear about now that he’s an ex.

It was no secret that every news channel, magazine and radio station was milking your separation for everything it was worth — earning every dime off of your heartache. You’d been cornered and screamed at by reporters over the past few months over your break-up from the worldwide superstar Michael Jackson more times than for any music you’d put out.

So, you knew tonight would be no different.

Your manager had already warned you about keeping any responses to questions about Michael to a polite minimum to prevent bad press — but when every single reporter was asking the same thing, your irritation began to rise to the surface.

"Michael Jackson, your recent ex-husband, has just arrived here at the Grammy’s, he’s nominated for 12 awards — is there any resentment towards him now you’ve spilt as you’re only nominated for 2?"

Bitch.

You bit your inner cheek so hard you almost cried out as you forced down a nasty insult, but faked a smile and grit your teeth, "Not at all. He’s a talented man who worked hard for each nomination." You started, "But, I have also worked hard myself for my nominations which I am proud of if I win or not."

"And when will the divorce be final?"

Swallowing thickly, your breath shook as you exhaled gaining composure, "As of right now, there has been no divorce settlement papers drafted. We are just split up."

"So, technically, you’re still together?"

"No." You snapped, a forced smile still on your face, "We are split up." You repeated, trying not to sound too agitated.

"So,—"

"Thank you for your time." You cut off, picking up your dress and walking away.

You knew there’d be a story about that in the morning, but you didn’t care. It was either that or you screamed at her — and that certainly wouldn’t get you a Grammy.

You rushed through each interview, declining questions about Michael which only spurred the reporters on to press you about why you were saying no to questions about him. The inside of your mouth was practically red raw from how often you were biting down to force the agitation back down your throat.

Luckily, the ceremony was a blissful, magical experience — all memories of your ex-lover had been washed away, for the time being, as you watched each of your fellow singers and stars win their awards. A good friend of yours, country singer, Debbie Allen, had just won her award for Best Female Country Vocal Performance for her single ‘Baby I Lied’, who thanked her loved ones & producers, and rushed back down to the table you shared for the night.

"Well done, honey!" You beamed, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as you embraced in a hug, "So proud of you."

"Thank you, baby." She whispered, "How you been tonight? I hope those reporters haven’t been giving you too much trouble."

You scoffed, taking a sip of your Martini, "They couldn’t have given me more trouble, Deb."’

"Oh, Lord." She sighed, "I’m so sorry, honey, I know this must be real hard for you."

You huffed in defeat, shrugging, signifying you knew there wasn’t anything you could do about the situation. You and Michael hadn’t spoken since you moved out of your shared house, Hayvenhurst in Encino, and back to your own personal home. Since then, the media have spun lies and rumours, only forcing you further apart and building the awkward tension.

You quietened down as the presenters at the stage began talking, "This award is for Record of the Year, where many talented musicians have displayed some of their best work yet." One started, "The nominees are ‘Every Breath you Take’ by The Police," They read names and applause sounded throughout the room as each one was read, "'Flashdance… What a Feeling’ by Irene Cara, and ‘Beat it’ by Michael Jackson."

Your breath caught in your throat at the mention of his name and his smiling face on the screen in front of you. You refrained a gasp from slipping past your lips at his attire — Goodness, he looked good. His bedazzled suit, glove and signature sunglasses made him look like a true king. You were barely paying any attention as your heart hammered in your chest at the mere mention of his name. You hated how he still had an effect on you after all this time.

"And the Record of the Year goes to.." The silence was deafening as you held your breath,

“Michael Jackson ‘Beat it’!"

The room erupted into screams of adoration and loud applause as they all stood to congratulate him. Your heart thumped in your throat — part of you wanted to stand with a proud smile for the familiar lover, but the other half didn’t know whether it was worth the tabloids rumours.

In the heat of the moment, just as you were about to stand, a soft smile creeping on your face, you halted in your tracks.

Michael, your ex-husband of a mere few weeks, turned to his fellow nominee, Irene Cara, who was smiling sweetly at him, and kissed her.

Not once — but twice.

Air was knocked out of you as your mouth fell ajar as you watched him approach the stand to accept the award. Your mouth went swiftly dry and your eyes threatened to well up with tears, but you could feel the eyes on you, and soon the cameras too. So, a fake smile was forced onto your face as you stood to clap — ignoring the people around you glancing at you dramatically, as if waiting for your reaction.

Michael took the stage with his Producer Quincy Jones, who hugged him tightly, then jumped for joy at Michael’s second win of the night. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you watched the stage, your heart shattering as he stood at the stand — a smug smirk on his face while he held his two awards.

"I love all the girls in the balcony." Michael spoke, lifting his bedazzled hands in the air to point at the screaming fans beyond the stage.

Double homicide.

A sick, disgusted feeling crawled into your stomach as you listened to him talk. You honestly couldn’t believe what you were hearing — the man who devoted his life to you a few months ago, promised you children and a future, stability and love till the end of time, was now kissing women backstage at the Grammy’s and thanking his aroused, infatuated female fans. You were mortified.

You zoned out as he thanked his family, and Quincy took the stand to thank Michael and the editors to the album again. Your mind was in shambles as Debbie reached over to place a comforting hand on your arm, offering a sympathetic smile. You pursed your lips at her — trying to ignore Michael’s voice thanking the girls in the balcony once more before he exited the stage.

You swallowed thickly — you were in shock and disgust at the man you thought you knew. He clearly got a taste for being single and had his ego stroked too many times tonight, and decided to act a fool in front of everyone.

Embarrassment was an understatement.

"Men are pigs, sweetie. Don’t let him get to you. You’ve got a Grammy to win." Debbie whispered, squeezing your hand encouragingly.

You breathed out a laugh, smiling weakly at her as thoughts raced through your brain. Despite all the anger, sadness and disgust you felt right now, the most prominent emotion that was infesting your body right now was jealousy. You were sick with envy at Irene Cara — being able to stand up there and kiss your ex-man twice on stage. It made you violently jealous.

"The next award is for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance." The next presenters spoke, their voices pulling you out of your train of thought.

This was your nomination.

Your heart drummed with anxiety once more — the cocktail of emotions in your body knocking you sick as you waited.

"And the nominees are, ‘Flashdance…What a Feeling.’ by Irene Cara,"

Oh, now the competition was really on.

You hated that you secretly felt as though you were competing for Michael, but you couldn’t help but want nothing more than to win against her.

Your name was read last — the camera turning to you as a smirk crept onto your face, waving sweetly into the camera lense, attempting to look as unbothered as possible.

"And the winner is.."

Cheers erupted into the room as your name echoed in your ears, Debbie practically screaming beside you as she clapped feverishly.

You had won.

A wicked thought crept into your brain as you stood up, walking towards the stage with a dangerous grin on your face. This was going to get him back in every possible way. And her.

The applause died down as you were handed the award, which weighed your arms down, as you kissed the female presenter on the cheek. You leant the award on the stand as you approached the microphone.

"Firstly, I’d like to thank my Producer, who sadly couldn’t be here tonight, but gives his own personal thanks to all the editors and executive producers who helped us with this song that I’m beyond proud of." You started, smiling sweetly, catching the eyes of familiar faces in the crowd as you spoke.

"I also wanted to say that I am particularly proud of myself for this song as, I’m sure all of you are aware, these past few weeks have been difficult for me." You stated, whispers and shocked glances were shared across the room, "But, regardless, I’m here tonight, winning an award, feeling beautiful and happy to be alive." A round of applause was instigated as you laughed, "You will also know that despite common belief, when a separation occurs between man and wife — they are still, by law and under the word of God, still married. Which means no matter how many people you kiss on stage, I’ll still be your wife, Michael. And, I will always be, if you know you know, the Lady in his Life."

Flashing your wedding ring to the crowd that you still wore, you laughed loudly as the crowd went berserk, before exiting the stage. Screams of joy and shock erupted in the room as people sat near to Michael whispered to him, whose face himself was sporting a playful, shy smile, ignoring Quincy Jones laughing loudly next to him.

The rest of the night, where Michael went on to win 6 more awards, failing to address your call out of his stunt on stage, you were praised by many familiar stars — who claimed your speech was the best they’d heard in years. Unfortunately, you only won the one award, but you didn’t care — as the way you had outed Michael elicited a better feeling than any award could.

The end of the ceremony soon came around, and the after parties were beginning to start. Debbie had dragged you to one before you even got chance to decline, but you wanted to bask in your glory for a little longer before heading home.

Debbie had wondered off somewhere, claiming she needed to talk to Lionel Richie, and scurried off into the crowd — leaving you alone with your 4th Martini of the night.

"Nice little speech you gave earlier."

The familiar soft voice that sounded behind you sent shivers up your spine as you turned around to face the one man you’d wanted to ignore and be close to at the same time all night.

"Thank you." You smiled, "I thought it was fitting."

Michael hummed, nodding as the corner of his mouth threatened to curve into a smile, "I always admired your honesty." He spoke, "Congratulations by the way."

You chuckled softly, "Flattery won’t save you now, Michael."

"What? I can’t compliment my beautiful wife, as you say you are yourself."

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, "I am when you’re kissing other women in public in front of me, I’m not when you want something from me now you realised you’ve fucked up."

Michael chuckled, taking a step closer to you, the waft of his cologne filling your nostrils — a sickly sweet reminder of his stunning scent that you once had smothered on your bedsheets and in your hair after a night of ecstasy. The thought of your late night love during your marriage sent a wave of uncontrollable arousal throughout your body as you looked up at him.

"I don’t think God would approve of you denying yourself as my wife whenever you please."

"That’s rich coming from you." You scoffed, furrowing your eyebrows, "You were borderline adulterous tonight."

"I would only be adulterous if you were still officially my girl. Yes, you’re legally my wife. But, the last I knew, we were ‘separated’" He teased, taking another step closer, your chests nearly touching as your breathing quickened, "So, unless you’re saying you want me back?"

You scoffed, avoiding the question as you looked away from, not wanting to be the one to admit you missed him, "In your dreams, Michael."

"Sure is."

Your mouth fell agape at his words, trying not to interpret it as sexual — but your already aroused brain instantly went there, eliciting a flush of heat through you.

"You can’t pick and choose when you want me, Michael." You stood strong, ignoring the small waver in your voice, "I’m either your wife or I’ll have the divorce papers drafted for Monday morning."

Michael didn’t speak — just stared at you through his sunglasses, his lips pressed together calmly as he eyed you. Your chest rose and fell quicker as you grew more and more impatient for his response, your lips forming an irritated pout, which you subconsciously forgot he loved as a smirk grew on his face.

"What’s so funny? I’m being seri—“

"Come with me."

Without having a second to comprehend what was happening, Michael grasped your hand tightly and began exiting the party. Your mouth fell open in confusion as his fingers laced through yours while leading you through the crowd, earning a few confused glances from other stars as you rushed past.

The cold February air hit you sharply as Michael guided you outside, the instant intense flash of cameras blazing your eyesight as he smiled at the cameras, squeezing your hand as a push to do the same. You forced a smile as he ushered you into the back of a car, jumping in with you and shutting the door.

"Where to, Sir?" The driver questioned.

"To our home — Hayvenhurst, please." Michael spoke softly, as he always did, your ears perking at the use of the word ‘our’, "And take the long route."

You turned to face the superstar as the partition closed, silence filling the car. Michael was already looking at you, his glasses had been taken off, and sporting a small smile.

"Don’t give me that look. I meant what I said, Michael." You sassed, crossing your arms.

"I know you did." He agreed, "I’m sorry for how I behaved tonight. A man without the support of his beautiful wife is a lost man who makes stupid choices."

You eyed him as he spoke, attempting to not fall for the flattery, which proved to be difficult as he met you with his classic puppy dog eyes.

"Like you said, I wrote that song just for you. That one among many. You are the only lady in my life — you inspire all of my love songs. You are the reason my heart swells with such passion to sing about love."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words — pink flushing your cheeks at the sweet confession as he smiled softly at you. He knew exactly how to play you to get what he wanted.

"Come on, baby, didn’t I make you happy?"

"Michael." You warned, eyeing his smirk as he shuffled closer to you.

"I know I did." He whispered, suddenly as close as he was at the after party, forcing your breath to catch in your throat, "I made you smile, and laugh, and feel content with your life and our future." His hand crept up to your knee, your breathing increasing ever so slightly at the sudden touch, "But, more importantly, I made you feel good, didn’t I?" He mewled, his hand sliding up your dress to caress your thigh.

"Michael." You sighed, arousal building between your legs at his tender touch.

"Admit it. I made you feel so good when I made sweet love to you every night." Michael teased, his hand now snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his warm body, a gasp ripping from your throat in surprise, "I knew exactly how to pleasure my sweet, beautiful lady."

"Yes — God, yes, you did." You breathed, your chest heaving in pure arousal as your hands clung to his chest and around his neck, finally giving in to him, "Please."

Michael didn’t need to tease and wind you up tonight — he knew you needed each other so badly it would’ve physically hurt to deny each other one another for any longer. His hands around your waist pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, another residing on your red hot cheek as he pressed his eager lips to yours in a feverish kiss.

You instantly hummed in pleasure at the feeling of his warm, soft mouth against yours — your hands flying to tangle in his curls as you moved over to straddle his hips. Michael groaned into your mouth as his hands slid down your exposed back, pressing your body into his as he slipped his eager tongue into your mouth — desperate to taste you everywhere.

His excitable kisses edged down from your jawline to your neck, to your chest, your heartbeat hammering against his lips — love bites being littered across your skin.

"Baby, please."

Michael groaned at the sound of your desperate, aroused plea — his achingly hard cock twitching beneath his slacks.

"Let me make it up to you, darling." Michael started, moving to lay you down on the back seat, and kissing slowly down your body as you whined beneath him impatiently, "Let me taste your perfect pussy — make you feel good."

"Yes — God, yes, please."

Michael didn’t waste a second as the whiny, breathy words of desperation left your lips — bunching your dress around your hips. Michael let out a shaky breath at the sight of your drenched panties — your puffy pussy drooling for him even after the whole ordeal.

He hooked two fingers into your waistband and shimmied the soaked pink cloth off your cunt, the bare sight of your pretty pussy on show for him. He let out a sigh of pure adoration as he admired you, pushing your legs apart.

"Gosh, this pussy is beautiful — so wet for me."

You whined beneath him, bucking your hips in despair as your hole clenched around nothing, begging to be touched. Michael took this as a sign to slide his two fingers between your slit, a loud gasp ripping from your throat as he nudged your sensitive clit, collecting your essence on his digits. Pushing your legs back further, Michael slid his lubricated fingers towards your quivering hole, teasing the outside, earning a loud cry of irritation as you silently begged for him to fill you.

"Be a good girl now — let me make you feel better." He ordered, pressing a soft kiss to your elevated ankle as he slid two fingers inside you, an erotic moan leaving your lips, "Mm, that’s it, baby, let me hear you."

He knew exactly how to take you, how you liked to be pleased and what made you cum instantly. You felt as though even though he was making it up to you, he was also getting off on this. He pumped his fingers in and out of your tight cunt — the squelching of your juices and the sound of your delicious moans filled the car, Michael’s cock throbbing beneath his clothes at the pornographic noises entering his ears.

"Such a sweet, good girl for me. And I’m such a bad husband, aren’t I? But, I’m gonna make it all better, hm?"

"N-No, you’re p-perfect, Mike." You forced out, your voice wavering as he pleasured you.

But, Michael knew exactly what was going to make you forgive him. Leaning down in between your legs, he littered your thighs in kisses before attaching his lips around your throbbing clit. His fingers still curling to hit that spongy spot inside you had your back arching off the seat, your cries reaching their loudest as your built up sexual frustration for your husband came to its peak.

"O-oh— Michael, God, I-I’m gon—gonn—“

"Cum for me, baby, give it to me." He egged on, his lips never leaving your clit, as his fingers sped up inside you to help push you over the edge.

You came with a scream, your hand flying to his curls to tug on while your legs clamped around his head — his name flooding from your mouth as you shook around his head, his tongue lapping up your juices as they leaked from your abused hole.

Michael didn’t waste any time after you came down from your high, perching up on his knees to free himself from his slacks and boxers, shoving them down his thighs to let his painfully hard cock spring free. You hummed in arousing anticipation as he spat a dollop of his saliva onto his hand and slicking his cock in the natural lubricant — pumping himself a few times with a hiss before positioning himself by your shaking cunt. He slid his cock between your slick folds — nudging your swollen, sensitive clit, earning a pathetic cry as you grasped his bicep.

"Ready to feel how sorry I am, sweet thing?"

You nodded with a whine as he pushed your knees closer to your chest in a brutal mating press — before pushing his tip into your tight walls. Both of you let out intense cries of pleasure at the feeling of one another’s genitalia after so long — the sexual frustration melting away as he slid in further and further. You always struggled to take his thick, heavy dick — but tonight you didn’t care. You were so caught up in your emotions that the burn and stretch of his fat cock didn’t phase you tonight. You just needed him to take you over and over again to prove his apology and how much he loved you.

Michael bottomed out with a groan, "Oh." He shivered, "I’ve missed this perfect pussy, Jesus." He leant down to capture your lips in a messy, passionate kiss, tongues and teeth banging together as he pulled out all the way, to slam back into you. Both of your explicit noises filled the car mixed with the stench of pure sex as he fucked you into the seat.

"M-Michael!" You whined, your hand reaching up to touch his face as his pelvis rubbed against your pathetically sensitive clit — that and the feeling of the tip of his cock abusing your G-Spot had you seeing stars and threatening to cum again already.

Michael, lost in the pure ecstasy of your weeping cunt, had words failing him as he slammed into you repeatedly — pure excitement flooding his veins at the feeling of you squeezing him in as you reached your climax once again.

"M-Michael, Michael, I’m there — I’m cumming!"

Michael cursed under his breath as his flopped forward, his face nuzzling into your neck as you arched your back into his chest, your fingers curled in his hair as you tightened around his aching cock — cumming with a loud cry against him.

Michael wasn’t far behind at the feeling of your pussy clenching him so hard as you finished — milking him for all he’s worth. He came with a growl into your neck, your name and little moans of pure pleasure whined from his lips as he stuffed you full of his load.

Michael flopped against you as his orgasm feathered away, being careful not to crush you under his weight. His legs shook as he slipped out of you with a hiss and a curse under his breath — the feeling of his warm cum trickling out of you had you whining quietly.

Michael leaned down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss — this one now delicate and tender, compared to the intense one prior. He took time with your lips, a soft hand on your neck as he lovingly pecked your lips.

"I love you so much, baby. I don’t wanna be without my wife any longer. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done — please don’t leave me again." He admitted, pressing his sticky forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut.

Your heart swelled at his gentle, kind words, suddenly feeling so full of love and purpose once more.

"I love you too, Michael.” You breathed, a shaky hand coming up to stroke his cheek, "And I’m sorry for embarrassing you tonight. I won’t ever leave your side again."’

Michael smiled against you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, before sitting up to tuck his softened cock back into his boxers. He then assisted you back into your underwear, fixed your dress and smoothed your hair for you, before calling out to the driver to tell him to head towards home.

"Does this mean you’re my official girl, wife, everything again?" Michael whispered, wrapping an arm around your sleepy frame as you slumped against him.

You nodded weakly, "Yes, Mike, I’m your everything again."

"You always were, my darling."

requests are open!

[thedailymichael]

˗ˏˋ PAST EXPOSURE ˎˊ˗

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

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

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

MASTERLIST

(total episode count has not been determined yet)

—prologue | Say cheese!

—episode 2 | This is far out!

—episode 3 | Oh, dear child...

—episode 4 | Funky 21st century girl!

—episode 5 | ...

—episode 6 | ...

—episode 7 | ...

—episode 8 | ...

—episode 9 | ...

—episode 10 | ...

—episode 11 | ...

—episode 12 | ...

—episode 13 | ...

—episode 14 | ...

—episode 15 | ...

—episode 16 | ...

—episode 17 | ...

(Further episodes will be decided later on.)

If you would like to be tagged for this series or for my general taglist, please let me know!

©thedailymichael 2026. All works posted under my name belong to me. Please do not copy, claim, republish, or translate my work anywhere else.

[visualsbyaina]

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

[comoquesoybambi]

𝑌𝑂𝑈 𝐾𝑁𝑂𝐶𝐾 𝑀𝐸 𝑂𝐹𝐹 𝑀𝑌 𝐹𝐸𝐸𝑇.

PreBadMichaelJacksonXNewRisingVocalist!Reader. 1986, during midnight recording sessions for “Bad,” Michael Jackson encounters a mysterious performer on TV and finds himself drawn to her in a way he can’t explain. What begins as a passing moment slowly turns into creative obsession.

Part1 | Part2 | Part3

𝑁𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑦 𝑠𝑖𝑥, 𝐻𝑎𝑦𝑣𝑒𝑛ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑎.

The studio was never fully quiet at this hour. 8:30 pm. Day off. Even when the microphones were off and the room had gone still, there was always something lingering soft equipment hum, distant footsteps, the echo of unfinished sound. Michael’s compulsive mind never stopped running, it was like unstoppable wheels turning in his head that the factory refused to shut down.

His loafers tapped softly against the studio floor, each step a quiet, deliberate click that echoed faintly through the empty room, swallowed quickly by the stillness. Hypocritical considering his steps so gentle yet his frustration so intense and aggressive. He continuously started snapping lightly, testing rhythms under his breath, seeing which was smooth, more sensual or heavy backbone, he stopped instantly realizing it was becoming repetitive, he needed a track that was a little more playful, cheery and upbeat.

This time, the click of his loafers being less soft and controlled as he made his way to the brown leather sofa, subconsciously biting the inside of his lip. His arms laying on the armrest, fingers starting to tap, producing a beat against the sofa. Underneath a soft beatbox formed in his breath, layered and instinctive, that soon gets put to an end.

Michael mutters “…hm…better.”

He tilted his head back, eyes catching the warm glow of the studio light overhead. Frustration started to build in quiet waves, settling behind his expression as he drew in a slow breath and let it out in a tired sigh. Reaching across the coffee table, he took a sip of orange juice, the brief moment of stillness grounding him. Then, for a rare pause, his slender fingers found the remote. He shifted toward the left side of the room where the television sat, the quiet break in his focus finally pulling him toward distraction as he turned it on.

The television hummed to life with a low electric buzz, the screen shrinking briefly into a bright line before blooming into grainy color. Michael sank back slightly, thumb pressing against the thick plastic buttons of the remote. Each channel changed with a soft click, the picture lagging for half a second before settling bursts of static, distorted commercials, late-night hosts in oversized suits, reruns washed in warm studio lighting.

Click.

Soap opera, dramatic music and constant betrayals? Typical. Next!

Click.

Rerun of this mornings news, I’m yawning. Next!

Click.

The familiar Tonight Show Johnny Carson band intro playing softly. Now I’m intrigued.

The signal crackled faintly between channels, quick flashes of static interrupting the screen before another image settled into place. Michael’s thumb paused against the remote. The host’s voice drifted through the speakers, half-listened to, introducing a guest performer whose name he only barely caught over the quiet hum of the studio.

“And now, making her television debut…” Johnny’s voice carried through the studio speakers, easy and familiar, “a very special guest…”

Then came the music. The camera panned toward the stage light washing over it in a soft haze before finally settling on you.

Michaels breath hitched.

There you stood behind the mic stand, framed by warm lighting that softened everything around you. Midnight-black satin caught the glow in quiet flashes, the elegant slip dress simple but impossibly striking cream lace tracing delicate details, jewelry understated enough to glimmer only when you moved. Nothing flashy. Nothing demanding. The cameraman brought you into focus, catching the seamless way you adjusted the mic stand, cool without trying, like the movement had never once been rehearsed. strands of hair framed your face effortlessly, falling just enough to soften your features without hiding them, Michaels eyes were just stuck on yours, sensing the innocence your eyes captured. His lips on the verge of quivering at the sight of you, it’s like he saw an angelic white glow surrounding you. His long fingers, once tapping restless rhythms against the sofa, had gone still and instead subconsciously gripping the armrest of the couch, deep in his mind wishing it was your waist he was gripping if one day he were to ever hold you.

The band behind you sat beneath pale lighting, instruments glowing softly under the stage lamps while the camera occasionally drifted toward them before always finding its way back. Michales personal philosophy is performances were supposed to be spectacle. Entertainment. Movement, theatrics, something to hold an audience by force if needed. Music videos, stages people wanted to feel like they were watching a show. He knew that better than anyone.

But this?

You barely moved from behind the microphone. And somehow, it worked, for him at least. Then your voice arrived. Low at first. Velvet soft. Smoky around the edges, aching in places that felt unintentional as if the song had lived somewhere inside you long before tonight. There was something dreamlike in the way you sang, melancholic but warm, harmonies drifting behind your voice like a memory refusing to leave. Michael felt his jaw loosen slightly. It was like his body was entering a state of bliss, not a single part of the song made him feel overwhelmed, overstimulated or heard a sound that clashed with another element within the music. The room had gone still. At some point, he had stopped hearing the hum of studio equipment altogether.

Then the camera shifted. A side angle this time. And for half a second, just half your eyes met the lens. Something in his chest tightened unexpectedly, he felt a rush to his cheeks, a sense of shyness like a teenage boy encountering his first crush, the sudden butterflies that manifested in his stomach made him feel the need to look away although you weren’t looking at him. His thumb hovered uselessly over the remote. He should’ve changed the channel by now. Should’ve gone back to work. Instead, he found himself distracted breaking down details he had no reason to notice the way your delicate fingers curled around the mic stand, the way you licked your delicious lips between lyrics absentmindedly, the moles on your face, the occasional hair toss and the softness in your expression between verses.

Like if he looked long enough, maybe he’d understand why he suddenly couldn’t look away.

“…she’s a product of loveliness..” he murmured quietly, almost frustrated by you.

And for the first time all night, the unfinished music waiting for him across the room didn’t seem nearly as important. Then came another line from your performance.

“This feeling you’re giving me, knocks me off my feet babe, it’s my favorite part.”

Something in the way you sang it warm, longing, effortless, made him pause, registering the potential your lyrics had. His fingers started moving again.

Tap. Tap-Tap.

Against the leather armrest.

Without realizing it, a rhythm began forming in his head. Brighter. More alive. Something with movement. The complete opposite of the slow haze drifting through the television speakers. Upbeat. Playful. Restless in the way fascination often was.

Michael straightened suddenly.

“…wait.”

His fingers tapped faster now, testing the rhythm before softly beatboxing beneath his breath, piecing together sounds only he could hear.

He stood quickly, crossing the room in hurried steps toward the studio notebook left carelessly beside stacks of cassettes. Pages flipped. A pen clicked. Ideas spilled faster than he could organize them fragments of feeling, unfinished phrases, emotions arriving before structure.

The Next Morning. — His Room.

Sleep had never really happened, not properly, well it hadn’t really happened since his accident at least. Only brief moments of closing his eyes before melodies interrupted, before thoughts rearranged themselves into rhythms that refused to stay quiet.

By morning, the fascination hadn’t faded. Michael sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment, still in yesterday’s clothes, hands loosely clasped as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them anymore. But his mind wasn’t still at all, his mind never stopped working even in his sleep, It kept going back. To you, your voice.

The way it didn’t try to impress anyone and still held him completely still. He exhaled softly.

“…Why am I thinking about her like this?” he thought, almost frustrated.

He didn’t even know you. You were just a face on a screen. A performance. Yet his mind was treating you like you were his everything, your face was like a melody that refused to resolve. He lay back slowly, one arm covering his eyes. And in the silence behind his thoughts, the rhythm from yesterday began again cleaner now, more certain.

Restless. Alive.

The same feeling you carried without trying.

“…You knock me off my feet, babe,” he murmured again, softer this time.

There was a small stillness. Because somewhere between sleep and thought, something clicked into place that he didn’t fully want to name yet. The song wasn’t just a feeling anymore. It had a direction and the direction was pointing to you.

The Afternoon — Westlake Studios

The studio reflected it.

Music sheets sprawled messily across the console, notebook pages ripped out and abandoned on the floor, discarded after being rewritten, revised, rewritten again. Half-finished phrases crowded the margins in hurried handwriting, crossed out only to be circled moments later. Michael paced the room, loafers clicking quicker this time, restless energy following each step.

“It’s gotta feel…” he muttered, hands moving instinctively as if trying to shape the sound in the air itself. “Like…like excitement, y’know? But not obvious. Not too heavy, if just falling in love was in one distinctive sound. “

He snapped suddenly. “Fun. But still… infatuated.”

Quincy watched from behind the mixing console, one brow slowly raising as Michael launched into another explanation something about rhythm, movement, wanting people to feel the energy instantly, Quincy unexpectedly develops a grin on his face, mentally snickering at Michael’s expense. “right right, I see your direction..”

Michael side eyes Quincy while softly bobbing his head. “Good, Good…I’d hope so…” Michael continued quickly “It needs bounce, I’m thinking like a snare…bass line maybe?” fingers tapping an invisible beat against his thigh. “ it’s like somebody got in your head and suddenly you can’t stop thinkin’ about ’em like…”

He stopped feeling entirely frustrated. “…I know what I wanna say, I just—” he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. “…it’s never been difficult to hash out a concept. “

Quincy leaned back in his chair, quiet for a second, arms crossed, entirely too amused. He had grown accustomed to Michael’s control freak nature when it came to his music. No doubt about it, Michael always approached his craft with hard work, repetition, self-discipline, and an almost obsessive need to perfect every detail until it matched exactly what he heard in his head. It had always been second nature to him. But Quincy had also noticed something else over time.

Whenever Michael got stuck on a certain concept, especially one with romantic undertones, he didn’t just hit a creative block he fixated. Like there was a muse somewhere behind it that he wasn’t exactly willing to talk about, And this album mattered too much for distractions.

Bad was more than just a project. It was a statement. Proof that Michael Jackson could stand completely on his own after Thriller and still deliver hit after hit without being seen as a one-time phenomenon. Quincy needed to understand what was going on in his head creatively. And if there really was a muse behind this shift in his sound, then he needed to know.

Q, leaning back in his arm, arms crossed nonchalantly as he watched Michael’s expressive concerns with quiet amusement. “Mike.”

Michael almost instantly feeling kinda embarrassed finally takes a seat from pacing anxiously for so long. “Yeah Q? Sorry about the tangent-“

“who is she.” Quincy’s words shifting the entire room’s atmosphere in something so unexpected, Michael not being able to hide his expression on his face, it was a dead giveaway.

His nervous repetitive blinks. “who’s who?” His mind races nonstop just repeating in his head, how does he know.

“C’mon, Mike… I ain’t stupid.” Quincy gestured toward the chaos of papers scattered across the studio. “I left you a voicemail around 8:45. I know your ass wasn’t sleepin’… and I know you weren’t with your family, so—”His small grin grew as he leaned back slightly. “So what’s up?”

Michael glanced down at the scattered pages again as if they might defend him on his behalf. “…No,” he said finally, but it came out weaker than intended. “It’s not like that.”

Quincy didn’t even look convinced.

Michael turned away, walking back toward the console, but his focus wasn’t really on the equipment anymore. It kept slipping back to rhythm, back to feeling, back to a voice he’d only heard once but couldn’t seem to forget. That voice, soft, warm, and effortless like it didn’t need permission to stay in his head. He hated how easily it returned. He hated how that night he fantasized how your voice would sound producing small gasps of air, whimpers, quivering from his touch. The thought made him feel dirty yet excited. It just felt right. As if something inside him had already accepted it without asking.

He exhaled under his breath. “It’s just inspiration,” he muttered, more to himself than Quincy, but even that didn’t sound true. Quincy kinda rolled his eyes and instantly thought Michael was full of shit.

“ nonthless a women right? “

Michael spins in his chair, looking up at the celling counting the light bulb. “I suppose..”

Quincy scoffs playfully and gives him a playful look “ you can be inspired by a lil ass, it’s not a crime..” he shrugged

Michael immediately straightened, a wave of embarrassment creeping in as he covered part of his face with his hand, letting out a small, nervous giggle. “ Q! You don’t say those things!….” He lets out one more amused sigh “…it’s not like that…I saw her perform on the tonight show last night…and just..she’s breathtaking..”

His ears perked up. “Oh… you mean Y/n? I did not expect that..” Quincy nodded, tone shifting slightly more serious. “Yeah. She’s been uhhhh getting a lot of attention lately. People at Sony been talking about bringing her in.”

Michael paused at Quincy’s words. Then, before he could stop himself, something in his expression shifted subtle, but there. Interest. Not the kind he wanted to admit to.

“…She’s being talked about…seems like she’s gonna be big huh? ” he asked, trying to sound casual, but the edge of curiosity slipped through anyway. Quincy caught it immediately. He leaned forward slightly, a small grin returning. “Look at you,” he said. “Now you’re askin’ questions.”

Michael straightened quickly, as if that alone was suspicious. “I’m not asking questions,” he said. “I’m just… clarifying.”

Quincy let out a short laugh. “Man, don’t start that.” He gestured toward Michael like he was presenting evidence in a case. “You saw her once and now you got half a studio floor covered in torn pages, you pacing like you lost your mind, and you can’t even sit still for five minutes.”

Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again “ it isn’t a big crush…” he said more quietly, always feeling nervous in stating women he found attractive

Quincy raised a brow. “A ‘not big crush’ got you rewriting your whole rhythm pattern?” Michael scoffed softly, but it didn’t land. Quincy stood now, walking a little closer to the console.

“Mike,” he said more seriously, “I’m not even teasing you right now. Just look at the way she makes you feel.” Michael hesitated. That line lingered.

He looked down at his fingers. Still tapping. Still chasing that same beat. The same energy he couldn’t name.

“…The way she makes me feel,” he repeated under his breath, almost absent.

Quincy snapped his fingers once naively thinking Michael is going to admit it. “You’re starting to understand what I’m seeing? “

Michael blinked and It hit. Like something snapping into place behind his eyes. He stood up so fast the chair rolled slightly back.

“…That’s it.”

Quincy paused. “ You good Mike? “

“No no, that’s it,” Michael said again, faster now, excitement replacing confusion. “ ‘That feeling…the way you make me feel’…” He grabbed the pen. Words started coming immediately.

“…you really turn me on…knock me off my feet..” he murmured, half-writing, half-speaking it into existence.

Quincy watched him for a moment longer, then shook his head softly. “…Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re done for.”

Michael proved Quincy’s point further, looks up and asks “You think you can get her number for me?”

𝐻𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑢𝑦𝑠 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑! 𝐼𝑓 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑦 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑜𝑥. 𝐵𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑆𝑢𝑢𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑆𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑐 𝑜𝑛 𝑡𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑟. 𝐵𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒.