#the jackson 5

[lady-in-your-life]

[dreamylace]

ᝰ.ᐟ SUPER FREAK!

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: thrill the wall!michael jackson x f!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’re a super freak—but you’re alright with global popstar michael jackson (inspired by ‘super freak’ by rick james)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.1k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: smut, 18+, (p-in-v), use of (name) once, smut and implied sex, creampie, facial, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, semi-public sex (hand-job), mentions of sex toy’s and kinks, multiple orgasms, sex-crazed reader, freaky reader, groupie esc but not rlly, clubbing, drinking, cursing, smoking (all reader) drug usage (not reader), katherine hates us LOL, down bad mike. mentions of religion/repenting but doesn’t go very well, your friends are as wild as reader, yeah this is uhh this is smth. enjoy!

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this is obviously inspired by ‘super freak’ by rick james, which has been one of my favourite songs since i was a young teen and instantly thought of michael and the jackson’s when i re-listened to it the other day. this is pretty wild so enjoy!! this a long fic but idk how to find out my word count but strap in LMFAO

She’s a very kinky girl…

Michael wasn’t sure exactly sure how he got here—Tucked into a V.I.P booth at Studio 54, an array of sickly sweet alcoholic beverages sprawled out across a wooden, circular table, music blasting in his ears, and a young lady with minimal clothing on, perched on his lap.

To say he was uncomfortable would be a lie. To the untrained eye—Michael Jackson, the famously shy, timid and gentle man, looked tense and awkward with such a woman atop of him, whispering in his ear, twirling a stray curl at the nape of his neck around her index finger, and skirt hiked up so high her panties were visible to anyone walking by. But, in reality, he was trying his hardest to not let his natural, masculine urges fulfil themselves beneath his black slacks, threatening to get uncomfortably tight.

The lady perched on his lap was you—Dressed in a ridiculously low-cut top, stiletto’s and a mini-skirt, which could’ve easily passed as belt. You were drunk, reeked of cigarettes, and had a perfume that mingled with the stench of tobacco deliciously—A potent vanilla scent that radiated cheapness, yet still intoxicating to say the least.

Michael and his brother’s, excluding his youngest brother, Randy, had decided taking a night off from day-to-day tour business was much needed. That Studio 54 would awaken their spirits, lighten the mood from the gruelling studio sessions, and buzz their energy with an alcoholic beverage that was bursting with an over-poured amount of liquor.

Michael, being the quiet, tentative man he was, at first declined—Rejecting the idea all together. Rather suggesting a movie night, or a late-night walk around the cul-de-sac, before tucking into their hotel bed at nine-PM.

His boisterous, reckless brother’s turned that down immediately.

And so, Michael was dragged along the lively streets to Studio 54—Tense, and out of his comfort zone, as his brother’s made passing comments about half-naked women traipsing past, and exchanging mutual excitement for their night of liquor indulgence. He had trailed behind—Scuffing his shoes on the concrete, occasionally kicking a stray stone or beer can, or gazing longingly into the dark sky, studying the dispersing clouds or twinkling stars. Until—

“Whew! And where are you handsome boys off to?”

Michael was interested now.

Your suggestive, drawled tone snapped him out of his self-induced trance, voice a fluid, tempting sound that had his eyes adjusting to the bright neon sign of the cheap, tacky club you stood outside of. His eyes, now accustomed to the light, widened at your frame—Dressed provocatively, and sporting a seductive smile that would send any God fearing man into the deep, dark depths of reckless temptation.

“Mm—mm! Too fine to be walkin’ ‘round lookin’ like that, baby.” Your friend piped up next to you, shorts ridden up her behind so far the curve of her ass cheeks peeked out the bottom as she approached Michael’s brother, Jermaine, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers.

Two of your other friend’s lingered behind you, giggling between hushed whispers, before finally stepping forward to approach each of his brother’s as they stopped in the middle of the street.

“We’re headin’ to Studio 54.” Marlon, Michael’s other brother, was the first to speak, smiling cheekily down at your one friend, who had now placed herself so close to him that he could see every particle of an infamous white powder underneath her nose, “What you pretty ladies doin’ at a club like this?”

“Waitin’ for a handsome bunch a’guys to come save us, of course.” Your friend shot back, licking her lips as she trailed her eyes over Marlon’s frame, “And I think we just mighta found ‘em.”

Jermaine, Jackie and Marlon shared mutual glances—One’s that spoke a thousand words. Yet, Michael knew exactly what they said—“Bingo!”. A look that signified they’d struck pot gold. Michael swallowed thickly—This was his best dream and worst nightmare all in one. Negatively, he had never, ever been with a woman before, intimately. Sure, he’d kissed girls before, but never gone all the way. Not even orally. It pained and embarrassed him, the scrutinising fact often led him into relentless teasing sessions with his brother’s who’d had their fair shares of women—Only furthering their excitement to your group’s presence. But, on the positive side—He was certain with your sensual, hyper-sexual behaviour, he could practice a thing or two. And it certainly helped with how beautiful you were despite your anti-social habits.

“Real quiet back here, handsome.”

Michael jumped—Not out of fear, but surprise, as his eyes landed on your frame right at his feet. Your smile was dizzying—Alluring, magnetic and teasing, a lit cigarette hanging between the plushness as you met his gaze.

“Y’all are from that band, aren’t you?” You questioned, tilting your head at him, “‘The Jackson’s’, right?”

Michael nodded quickly, “Y—Yes, we are.” He managed to squeak out.

You hummed, satisfied with the response as you took in his frame—As stiff as a board, hands twitching at his sides and throat bobbing every few seconds as he gulped at your electrifying closeness. He was clad in a black suit—The dark colour sported across his suit jacket, slacks and shoes, aside from the crisp white shirt that hugged his torso, and the dazzling, white diamond waistcoat that peaked through the layers of his outfit. He looked like a million bucks—And who doesn’t want that?

“Hm. I like your music.” You admitted, taking an impossible step closer—Smiling as Michael tensed further, forcing himself to not look anywhere but your eyes, as your pushed-up, exposed cleavage hit his peripheral vision, “Makes me wanna move, y’know? Start dancin’.”

“Y—Yeah? That’s good, tha’s what we were goin’ for.” Michael spoke, voice cracking slightly, his fingers finding the material of his trousers, toying with a loose thread.

“You jus’ released your first solo album, too, didn’t’cha?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yes ma’am?” You snorted, furrowing your eyebrows with a dry laugh, “What am I? Your mother?”

Michael’s eyes widened, “S—Sorry! I mean yes, I have. It’s called ‘Off The Wall’.”

“Hm, I heard that too, superstar.” You smiled, tight-lipped, and teasing, “Got some real dirty songs on there, babe.”

Michael’s breath hitched in his throat at your words, eyes blowing wide open, “I—I, n—no, I don—“

“‘Girlfriend’? ‘Rock With You’?” You named, grinning wickedly, “Unless, ‘I wanna see you shake that thang’ means somethin’ else in ‘Get On The Floor’, I’d say you’re a real dirty boy, Michael Jackson.”

Michael gasped softly, lips parting, and then closing, before repeating the movements as words failed him. You laughed loudly, throwing your head back, cigarette dangling dangerously loose between your lips as you shook your head.

“Gotcha there, handsome.” You purred, winking, before taking his clammy hand in your own, “C’mon. I’ll shake my thang for you, if ya’want.”

The kind you don’t take home to Mother…

And that’s how Michael got into this beautiful predicament. Your friends had claimed a brother each—Aside from Jermaine and Jackie, who were happily sharing your one friend, her behind perched on Jackie’s lap, while her long, bare legs traipsed across Jermaine’s thighs, hands covering her skin from both sides. Tito, always the gentlemen, had declined his lady on his lap—But, instead opted for grazing her bare knee, and a hand in her hair as he discussed his music, and band life. Marlon, wasting no time, was too busy pressing kisses to his lady’s neck—The loud sound of her high-pitched giggles filling the room as he grabbed a handful of her behind in his palm.

Michael was still tense and nervous, despite his male instincts screaming at him inside to kiss you, or grab a handful of your ass peeking out from beneath your skirt, or at the least stare at your breasts that were practically in his face—But, he remained stiff. And you noticed.

“Loosen up, superstar. You got a long night ahead a’ya.” You teased, lips brushing against the lobe of his ear, your sticky lipgloss leaving behind a faint residue on the flesh as you spoke, hands threaded through his curls.

“I do?”

You hummed, “I only just got’cha, I don’t plan on lettin’ you outta my claws for a while, handsome.”

Michael couldn’t suppress the heat that flushed his cheeks—The blush blooming across not only own his face, now sporting a shy smile, but also his neck and ears, from your casual compliments.

She will never let your spirits down…

“Hey Mike!”

The sound of Jermaine’s voice over the muffled, booming music forced Michael’s head to peek around your shoulder, your hair dancing over the skin.

“What’d’ya think about meetin’ these lovely ladies after our show tomorrow?”

“No way! Like backstage?” Your friend, whose neck was now littered in lovebites from Marlon’s eager mouth, perked up, swivelling her head around, away from Marlon’s lips, to face Jermaine.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Jermaine laughed, nudging Jackie who shared the chuckle.

Your friends squealed—Giddy and buzzing with euphoria as you giggled, smirking at the plan bubbling to life.

“Joseph’s gonna kill you.” Marlon cackled, “But, I’m all for it. Would ya like that, sweetie?”

“Uh, yeah! You comin’, right, girl?” Your friend called out to you, eyes wide with hope and anticipation.

“Is coke white? Girl, of course. Wouldn’t want this pretty boy leavin’ with no-one else.” You drawled, turning back to Michael, who swallowed thickly, as you pressed yourself further into his chest, “You’d want me waitin’ for ya afterwards, right? Make you sweatier than you were on that stage?”

Michael’s eyes blew wide open—Forcing a loud laugh out of your throat as your hand released its grip on his hair to glide down his chest.

“You’re so cute, I could just eat you right here.” You whispered, lips dancing over his cheek as you pressed a chaste kiss there, “Swallow you whole.”

“Oh, Lord.” Michael mumbled, eyes squeezing shut, as your teeth grazed along the flesh of his earlobe, before licking a stripe across it to soothe.

“You’re all mine now, Jackson.”

Once you get her off the street…

New York was buzzing with electricity after their first show of the tour. Fans bustling out of the stadium—singing, dancing, crying from the magnitude of the show. Michael had been top of his game—Providing a perfect performance despite the nerves that wracked through his body.

Nervous for one reason, and one reason only.

He knew you were waiting for him backstage.

You and your friends, dressed similarly to how you had the night before, had been hidden backstage from the brother’s gruelling father—Who would no doubt murder them, especially Michael, if he caught whiff of their secretive plan.

Straight after the final song, and the show had been wrapped up, they would exit the stage as they usually did, clean up, change, shower, the usual routine. And then, once Joseph left to handle his usual business—They would sneak out. Run through the arena, out the back door, and into the night to resume another night of clubbing and sensual closeness,

As Michael’s final song, ‘Don’t Stop Till You Get Enough’ came to a close, and they thanked the fans for their everlasting, unconditional support and love—They belted it off the stage. Jermaine was as fast a hyena—Sprinting to his dressing room, already ridding himself of his jacket and shirt to speed up the process before diving into his shower. Marlon, at a similar speed, raked fingers through his hair, fixing any loose curls, smoothing his edges back to his forehead, and drying his damp forehead, before turning to face a confused, frozen Michael.

“Brother, I suggest you get movin’ if you want that girl tonight.” Marlon quipped, eyeing him up and down, “We ain’t comin’ back for ya if you take too long.”

“Right, right, shoot.” Michael, snapping into reality at Marlon’s words, darted towards his own dressing room—Dragging his jacket from his shoulders, and placing it neatly onto the back of a chair, before fixing himself up.

Within fifteen minutes, the boys were ready.

Jermaine and Jackie had changed clothes completely, whereas Marlon, Tito and Michael remained in their stage clothes—Aside from their jackets, microphones and ties. Michael, as always, had left his bare chest exposed—The top buttons ripped open as he had sensually done on stage, letting his supple, brown skin become bare to the dark night.

Jermaine led the pack of boys through the bustling backstage like a top-secret spy mission—Avoiding any familiar faces, family members or respecting managers, as well as their father, as they crept towards the fire exit.

Marlon, engaging in a conversation only Michael would refer to as ‘degrading’ and ‘dirty’, with Tito, was quickly shut down by Jermaine, who ordered him to ‘Shut his horny ass mouth’

She likes the boys in the band…

“There’s my lil’ celebrities!”

Your words hit his ears first as they burst through the fire exit—Your tantalising, yet sickeningly sweet voice sent excitable shivers down his spine, the nerves washing away instantly as you came into eyeshot. You were stood with your friends, who instantly clung to their respecting men from the night before, with another cigarette between the fingers of your left hand, and a mysterious flask filled with most likely an alcoholic beverage in your right. Michael, albeit not surprised, forced himself to suppress the smile that crept onto his face at your outfit—You were wearing, as usual, a low-cut top, and booty shirts, that hugged your plush behind and thighs as you approached him slowly. But, what got his lips twitching was the pair of Aviator sunglasses that rest upon the bridge of your nose—Covering your eyes as his famous ones usually did.

“Wow, I mean. Tha’s somethin’.” Michael chuckled, his voice breathy and low, just as it was the previous night.

She says that I’m her all time favourite…

“What can I say? You’re my favourite boy in the band, handsome.”

Michael, now fighting the urge to succumb to his usual shyness, finally smiled—Chuckling as you slid a hand down his chest, winking seductively, before taking his hand in your own.

The night was equally, if not more crazed than the night before.

Tonight, a fifth friend joined you, who instantly took a liking to Jermaine—Which left your original friend with Jackie all to herself. Luckily, the two had long dispersed to the dance floor of the high-end, celebrity-filled club the brother’s had dragged you to, and were leaving zero room for Jesus as a Stevie Wonder song boomed around them. Tito and his lady had retreated to the bar for the fifth time that hour—Stocking up on shots and cocktails as they stumbled throughout the club. Marlon had disappeared with his lady within fifteen minutes of getting to the spot—Clambering over one another’s feet as they exited the private booth, mouths connected in a brutal kiss as they ‘went to the bathroom’.

As for you and Michael, you’d managed to get a drink down his throat—And alcoholic at that. And thanks to his nonexistent drinking habits, the young man was already buzzed after one drink and a shot of Tequila, his mouth running wild as his confidence took over, and relaxation took the reigns of his body.

“I’m—‘M just sayin’, Diana Ross is better than—“

“Boy, that woman could murder a puppy in cold blood and you’d find some way to defend her.” You quipped, raising an eyebrow at him, alcohol evident on your breath as you spoke, “Sometimes it’s okay to admit that your little mentor is a shit actress.”

Michael’s mouth fell open at your insulting words, “No, no, she is really good.”

“Real convincing, baby.” You teased, narrowing your eyes his way, “Enough about that old crow.” You ignored his ‘Hey!’, “Any other ladies in your life, Jackson?”

Michael swallowed thickly—Ah, the dreaded question. He’d heard it a lot in his adult life—Is so-and-so his girlfriend? Or had he been intimate before? Or who does he think he’ll marry in 5 years time? All ridiculous, unanswerable questions that left him sweating and nervous—And even more so now that you, as the sexually charged lady you were, were asking such question.

“Uh—Heh, no. No ladies for me.” He admitted, avoiding direct eye contact as he focused on Jackie and your friend bumping and grinding on the dance floor in the distance.

“Hmm. I find that hard to believe, handsome global superstar, Michael Jackson.” You fired back, a delicate, taunting finger tracing down the bare skin of his chest, “You’re tellin’ me you got no one to bump uglies with?”

“Wha—What’s that?”

Michael dipped his head in timidity as you cackled, head thrown back as your body shook with laughter. He knew you weren’t necessarily laughing at him, or his lack of intimate knowledge—But, it didn’t stop his heart hammering in his chest in embarrassment.

“Oh, sweetie, you are just the cutest.” You giggled, your hand travelling swiftly to his face.

Your manicured hands, fingers withholding the smell of cigarettes, cupped his warm cheeks—Forcing his head upwards from where he hung it low in shame. You directed his vision to your own, meeting his avoidant eyes with a gentle nudge of his chin under your thumb—Smirking knowingly down at him from where you perched on his thighs. Michael gulped again—Hands sweating and clammy at his sides as he awaited your next action nervously. He liked how unpredictable you were at times, how you made things lively and unexpected in a fun manner—But, moments like these he shared with you, made him anxious beyond belief. It was as if any alcohol present in his light-weight system dissolved into nothingness the second you got closer, like any viable, intellectual brain cell left in his mind crumbled into mush with every word that left your intoxicating lips.

“I’ll be that lady for you, if ya’want.” You whispered, face a mere few inches away from his own, as your plump, tempting, pillowy lips brushed over his own, noses touching as you pressed yourself closer.

“Y—You would?” He croaked out, cursing himself internally at the crackling of his voice, “But, I’ve never—“

“Then, let me be the first, handsome.”

When I make my move to her room it’s the right time…

Michael was certain he’d never felt anything like this in life.

Being on stage, performing, entertaining, creating world-wide popular songs, meeting fans, dancing—None of it compared to this moment.

He was entranced—His eyes locked on you with every single breath, sound or movement you made. Every crease in your forehead, knitted into your furrowed eyebrows, every flutter of your eyelashes, every parting of your lips, every rock of your hips had his brain short-circuiting a thousand times over.

“Oh, Michael.”

His name fell so easily from your lips it was almost natural—Like it was meant to be there. Meant to be tumbling past your swollen, spit-stricken mouth each time you snapped your hips forwards against his own.

You had made your way to your hotel room swiftly—Stumbling drunkenly into the back of a day-to-day cab, ignoring the way the driver instantly asked for an autograph from him, followed by you demanding he put his foot down before you ditch him without paying—And then clambering into his lap to smash your lips against his own. He quickly learnt you weren’t from New York at all—That you and your friend’s were on a trip from Los Angeles, where you lived, for a week, that clubbing and shopping was mainly on your itinerary. Your hotel was cheaper than he would ever stay at nowadays—Small bedroom, leaky tap and no robes hanging in the closet on arrival. But, considering your behaviour—It was nicer than he was expecting.

You wasted no time on him—Instantly tugging off your shirt and shorts, pushing him back first onto the plush, cotton sheets and straddling his thick, clothed thighs, pressing directly into his crotch. He almost didn’t know what to do with himself—Mind running a thousand miles a minute the second your undergarment clad body came into eyeshot, grinding down onto the ever growing bulge beneath his slacks. He’d never been stiffer—The tent in his boxers reaching its greatest length and height as you rocked against it slowly, hips moving just as languidly as his own on stage. He was transfixed. Completely hypnotised by the way you moved—Hands threaded through your hair, the other cupping a handful of your right, clothed breast through your lacy bra, and hips rolling over him with practiced precision.

And, of course, since Michael had never in his twenty-one years experienced anything quite like this, y’know a deathly attractive, sexually experienced young lady grinding over his hardened, clothed cock, the little whimpers that left his mouth that were miserably suppressed, and had you drooling twice as much—A permanent slick stain pooling into his black slacks, staining the expensive material.

“Fuck, you feel so good already, Jackson.” You gasped as you rolled particularly hard over your throbbing clit, “I wonder how good you’ll feel inside, baby.”

Michael’s eyes shot open—He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but sex? Immediately? Maybe not. I mean, fuck he wasn’t complaining—He’d been looking for some action with the ladies for so long now it almost felt like a distant dream that’d he’d never have. Most women he’d got to know in the industry were older, or married, or just not interested in getting jumbled up in his busy, bustling tour life—But, you? Fuck, you were taking it by the reigns. Literally.

“Oh, God.” He whined, voice broken and ragged as his eyes fluttered shut.

“You want that, baby?” You whispered, leaning down to press your half-bare chest against his own, still clad in his unbuttoned shirt, lips brushing against his ear, “You wanna fuck me, Jackson?”

“Oh, Jesus.” He cried again, chest heaving as you licked a stripe up his neck, before swirling your tongue around the outer ridges of his ear, the sensation sending goosebumps pebbling across the skin of his arms.

“Answer me, handsome.”

“Y—Yes! Yes, yes, please.” He begged, nodding swiftly as his eyes slammed open, meeting your own as you raised your face from his neck.

The infamous, devilish smirk crawled back onto your face before you smashed your lips together—Moan muffled against his mouth as you worked against it. Michael’s breath hitched in his throat as you kissed him—Hands instantly flying to your face, cupping your cheeks sweetly, as he moved his lips against your own. You were ferocious, kissing him so fiercely it nearly sent Michael into overdrive, your hips still rocking against him, increasing your pace.

However, a feeling, one that only Michael had brought himself, crept dangerously up his spine—Lingering deeply in his abdomen as his stiff cock twitched in his boxers.

“W—Wait! Stop, stop.”

You pulled away from the kiss quickly, a string of lewd saliva connecting your swollen lips as his hands, now feeling brave and confident, fell to your hips—Gripping them gently, yet firmly, forcing you to a halt.

“‘M sorry, I was just—God, I almost…”

You giggled again, leaning down to press another deep, extended kiss to his lips—Catching him by surprise. His suspicion only furthered when you pulled away, rising to your knees as you slid your underwear to the side with one hand, and fumbled with his belt buckle with the other.

“Better get to it then, huh?”

She’s never hard to please…

“O—Oh! Oh, my God—Oh, my God, sweetie—Nnhg, I—“

Michael was a mess.

The second your warm, wet, inviting heat engulfed his hard, virgin cock—He was a goner. He was certain the rock of your hips against him, clothed cunt sliding over the ridge of his cock, confined in his slacks, was the best feeling he’d ever felt so far in his adult life. Oh, boy, did he get the shock of his life. And a blissful, ecstatic shock at that. He’d been quivering even when your manicured hand wrapped around his bare dick, after you undressed him—Jerking him slowly in your fist, as you guided his dick towards your entrance. And when he finally slipped inside?—Unprotected at that—He saw stars. He had to fight every submissive, weak urge in his body not to orgasm the second he bottomed out.

And now, you were riding him—Hips bucking back and forth, and up and down, alternating every few minutes or so as you deepened your pleasure. Every rock forward would roll your clit against his pubic bone, the curly, black tufts of hair dragging along your nub deliciously, paired with every bounce up and down, nudging his thick, cock-head against the spot inside you that your toes curling besides his thighs. His hands were gripping your hips with such fervent passion, guiding you along his dick with every drag of your cunt down his length, that you were certain marks indented in the shape of his long, slender fingers would remain in the morning.

“Mmh—Fuck, baby, feels so so good.” You whined, your head thrown back, hair painting your spine as you switched to bouncing up and down, “‘M so fuckin’ close, Michael.”

Michael whimpered softly under his breath, “R—Really? Already? I—I barely even got inside ya?”

“Y’just so big, Michael.” You cried, moans and cries mingling with each word, “So so big, baby.”

Michael panted, a whine mixing with the breathless sound as your seductive, lewd words hit his ears—He had always been so nervous at the thought of sex. Worried about his size, his noises, his faces, his body—Everything. Everything made him anxious. But, your unconditional praise and physical signs of pure, undeniable pleasure sent confidence flooding through him like adrenaline, pumping through his veins.

As if a switch had been flipped—Michael tightened his grip on the plush fat of your hips, and bucked his hips up at an extraordinary pace. You took to it instantly, your body falling slack against him as you let him take control—Thrusting up into your sex like he had rent to pay. Michael grunted, mingling with his usual whiny whimpers, lower lip caught between his lip as he fucked you like a bitch in heat.

“Oh God! Yes, yes, yes! Yes, baby—‘M cumming, yeah, yeah—Cumming, cummin’!”

Your words were chants—Belting from your throat in high-pitched, breathless cries of electrifying ecstasy as you matched his pace, humping yourself forward on his pubic bone, only pushing you further towards the edge.

“Oh—Oh, Jesus, I—Already? I—Oh!”

Michael was taken by sweet, sweet surprise when you orgasmed—Gasping sharply as his breath caught in his throat, hands twitching at your sides as your drooling sex pulsated and convulsed around him. Quivering and tightening as you creamed deliciously—Head thrown back, eyes slammed shut and mouth hanging open as the lewdest, intimate and most pornographic worthy noises stumbled past your lips involuntarily, as you continued to hump yourself over his dick, that throbbed incessantly in your tight walls.

“W—Wait! Oh, God—Mmh!—Honey, ‘M gonna—Where should I—?”

You didn’t give a response—Still buzzing from your release, you slid off his dick with ease, settling between his legs, and catching his dick, soaked from tip to base in your essence, in your grip, fluidity pumping him.

“All over me, handsome.”

Michael cried out once more at how quick, smooth and easily you switched positions—From riding his cock, to kitten-licking his tip as you jerked him, pushing your breasts up against his shaft. With a particularly sharp flick of your wrist, and a long stripe up the slit of his dick—Michael came with a cry. Dick twitching and throbbing beneath your palm, as hot, thick, salted cum spurted from his dick deliciously—Painting your face, tongue, fingers and chest in his white, sticky release as he panted and writhed beneath you at the overwhelming sensation of his orgasm.

Michael only shuddered as he came down from his delightful high—Whining as you lapped up his cum, drinking up every last drop of his release, from your fingers, to your cheeks, and even taking the head of his cock between your lips, not without a loud, overwhelmed cry from the man beneath you, as you milked him dry.

As you pulled away with a girlish giggle, a dazed, fucked-out expression dancing across your face, and a splatter of his cum decorating your cheekbone—Michael swallowed thickly.

“Did I get it all?”

Michael, hazy himself, let a smile creep onto face, before bursting into laughter himself—What a night.

That girl is pretty wild now…

That night wasn’t the last Michael saw of you.

He did try and dumb your love-making down to a one-night-stand—That maybe you wouldn’t want anything to do with him post-sex. That maybe you just wanted to get your rocks off and leave.

But, when he awoke in your hotel room after that night, the morning sun bursting through the curtains, just to find your side of the bed empty and cold—The worst thoughts hit him. That you were just going to be a one night ordeal.

He sighed, rolling over to face the night-stand with a frown, an unusual sense of rejection and disappointment settling in his chest. Before, his eyes landed on a small business card of the hotel’s laid next to a glass of water and an Aspirin—The words ‘LA was calling me, can’t leave the city without me for too long. Call me though, handsome: (212) 555-****’ read back at him in rushed, sloppy hand-writing, and a smudged lipstick kiss mark in the top right corner.

That girl’s a super freak…

Michael called you the second he got home—Running, hungover and fatigued, ignoring his brother’s confused voices, through the house and up the stairs, towards his respecting bedroom. The number you left was dialed instantly—His heart hammering in chest as he let the phone ring …and ring ….and ring. Until—

“Someone’s eager, huh, pretty boy?”

He smiled.

The kind of girl you read about… In new wave-magazine’s.

That girl is pretty kinky…. That girl’s a super freak…

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of blissful sex—To put it plainly.

Michael couldn’t, for the life of him, spend any longer than 48 hours apart from you—Or not inside you. He’d learnt more about sex in the last three weeks then he ever had in any out-dated sex-education book from the local library, or from his brother’s exaggerated stories. He felt like a God, like not only was he talented vocally, but now sexually. Like all his shy, reserved nature had dissolved into a glowing, intimate love—Taking over his body whenever he was blessed with your presence.

On the bonnet of your car, in the bathroom of a club, at a ridiculously expensive hotel he paid $7,500 for for just one night, in his studio—Everywhere. Absolutely everywhere had been christened—Missionary, cowgirl, from behind, reverse cowgirl, prone bone, from the side, mating press, butterfly—Fucking everything. He was animalistic, and was absolutely certain his dick was going to go limp and drop off with the amount of sex he was having. And if it wasn’t penetration, it was the kinkiest things he’d ever seen—Vibrators, whips, cock rings, handcuffs, whipped cream, gags, blindfolds—The lot. All casual and small-scale to you, but utterly mind-blowing to Michael, who had never been so enthralled in his entire life by the whole ordeal. But, the self-appreciation, confidence and glow that radiated off him had even his brother’s jealous, despite their luck with women. Michael truly had it all right now—And he was basking in it.

I’d really love to taste her… Every time we meet…

But, even with every sex position crossed off the list, multiple orgasms pulled from one another each night, and every inch of skin licked, sucked and kissed—Michael’s favourite activity was to devour your pussy. Get on his knees, part your legs, and spend hours between them with the tongue of an angel—Dragging countless mind blowing orgasms from your shaking body with effortless ease. And even with his talent for cunnillingus, Michael enjoyed it. Correction—He adored it, and begged on his knees, bordering on tearing up to eat you out, to taste your glorious cunt, and moaning loudly into your sex every time his tongue slipped between your folds.

He was obsessed. And exceptionally talented at it.

Which everyone at Hayvenhurst unfortunately found out.

Michael had the bright (Not!) idea to finally invite you over to his family home—To meet his mother, his sister’s and see where he made history. Unfortunately for Michael, you weren’t really the ‘Bring home to mama’ type of girl. He knew this, and even with his brother’s frantic disapproval, he did it anyway.

And it was almost laughable when you met Katherine Jackson, Michael’s mother. She had been ecstatic when Michael announced he was bringing a lady friend home, someone he’d been seeing for weeks now, someone he really liked, and wanted his loving, Jehovah’s Witness, might I add, mother to meet the special girl in his life.

However, pretending to be someone you’re not was not your style—Instead, you showed up just as you would to …well, the club. Stiletto’s, a mini-dress that stopped at your upper thighs, long, manicured nails, hair grazing your ass, makeup to a T, and bracelet’s draping along your arms, tattoo’s and piercing’s in clear show.

“Hi, Mrs Jackson!” You beamed, pushing your sunglasses, one’s that Michael had bought you, up your face to rest on your head, your hand extended out to the woman before you, “So nice to finally meet you.”

You, and Michael for that matter, chose to ignore the way Katherine’s jaw fell to the floor, her eyes trailing over your frame, clad in provocative clothing, blasphemous tattoo’s and piercing’s, and chewing blue-raspberry flavoured chewing gum obnoxiously.

“I—Uh, Michael, I—“

“Mother, this is (Name).” Michael spoke, attempting to clear the air as his mother fought to find the right, and respectful words, as you dropped your hand, which had clearly been rejected, “Y’know, the girl I was tellin’ you about.”

“I’m so glad to finally meet the mama of the man who’s rocked my world, ain’t tha’ right, Mikey?”

And that he did. As Michael ushered you away, whispering a quick apology to his mother who stood, frozen in time, at the doorway, as he hurried you up the stairs, away from his bewildered mother—He knew deep-down he was fucked, like truly and clearly. But, the way you shimmied your dress higher up your ass as you climbed the stairs, revealing to the man behind you that you weren’t, in fact, wearing panties, with a wink as you scurried up the stairs—He couldn’t find himself to care.

And of course, the second Michael got you into his room, his hands were on you like it was his last day on Earth. Like you were his cure of a deadly disease. Lips on your neck, hands groping your behind, fingers threaded through your hair, stiffened cock rolling against the skin of your bare thigh—He was insatiable. Like he needed to be in your skin to fully be satisfied.

Alas, he settled for gliding his eager tongue between your folds instead—Lapping at your clit, sucking and slurping the aching nub between his lips, and two fingers curling inside your center, abusing the sweet spot that made you cry out.

Those same cries that echoed throughout the mansion—Unfortunately for Michael.

“I—I—Are you serious? Is that really the kind of girl he’s involved with?” Katherine heaved, a hand clutching at her pearls around her neck, as her three son’s crowded round her panicked, shocked frame in the living room.

Marlon exchanged a knowing, slightly amused glance with Jermaine and Jackie who rubbed comforting circles along their mother’s back as she welled up in tears.

“Where’d he even meet this girl?”

Marlon couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him—Snorting as he covered his face with his hand at the irony that he effectively got Michael into this mess.

“What’s so funny?” Katherine questioned, eyebrows furrowed up into her forehead.

“Nothin’, nothin’, mama, I—“ Jermaine, pursed his lips together to suppress his own laughter, before letting out a shaken breath as he composed himself, “We met her and her friends at the club.”

“You boys are involved with those kinda girls too?” Katherine exclaimed, anger painting across her face.

“Way to go, asshole.” Jackie hissed, shaking his head, shoving Jermaine’s arm.

“Oh, my Goodness.” Katherine heaved, lip wobbling, “I can’t believe this! She’s a—She’s a …Goodness, I shouldn’t say this but—“

“Oh! Oh, Michael!”

…

“What on Earth was that—?”

“Michaelllll! Oh, baby, yeah—Mmmh!—Right there, big daddy!”

…

Marlon, Jackie and Jermaine’s eyes blew straight out of their head—Straightening up and freezing as the sound of your blissful, extravagantly loud moans rang out throughout the house. Marlon’s lip quivered, fighting a roar of laughter that threatened to spill from his mouth—If only it wasn’t for his tensed mother, now shaking with fury.

“Am I hearing what I think I’m—“

“Yeah! Yes! Yes! I’m cummin’ on your tongue, baby! Oooh, yeeees—Nnh!”

Silence.

The room downstairs stilled—No-one spoke a word even when the obvious creaking of Michael’s wooden bed, the frame slamming against the wall followed suit, echoed throughout the house in the deafening silence. Katherine, mortified and stunned, shook her head, a single tear slipping down her cheek as she clenched her fists so hard the knuckles turned white, before gritting her teeth as she spoke—

“She’s a freak.”

She’s alright, she’s alright… That girl’s alright with me…

Michael managed to redeem himself with his mother by never uttering your name or defacing the house with your presence ever again—Apologising profusely and repenting at church for the next week, reciting confessions and attending bible study. All the while fucking you in the back of your car straight afterwards. It was the thought that counted, right?

Rightfully so, his brother’s hounded him relentlessly with questions—Probing him for answer’s about his relation to you, your intentions with him, and where this relentless sex would lead you.

“I don’t know, okay? She’s not my girl, but I don’t think she’s seein’ anyone else—“

“What do you mean ‘you think’?” Jackie cut in, a confused expression plastered across his face as he sat across from him at the studio, “You’re not sure?”

“No, I am sure.” Michael quickly defended.

“You didn’t sound like it, Mike.” Tito added, shaking his head, “What if she has …y’know, has somethin’?”

“I think we’d know by now as he’d be walkin’ around with his hand by his junk every five minutes.” Jermaine butted in, smiling to himself.

“Or he did have somethin’ and he’s already got rid of it.”

“I don’t have anythin’!” Michael exclaimed, growing agitated, “And neither does she. She’s not that kinda girl.”

Marlon exploded into laughter, clutching his stomach as he roared, “‘Not that kind of girl’? Mike, c’mon now. Just look at where we met them!”

“Don’t even start with me, Marlon, you’re still seein’ her friend, are you not?”

“Well, yeah—“

“So, stop houndin’ me ‘cause you’re not gettin’ like it I am.”

The room erupted into ‘Ooh!’’s and ‘Whoa!’’s as Michael fired back at Marlon with swift, precise confidence—Rolling his eyes as Marlon clapped his hands together in blissful surprise, and Jackie jostled him back and forth by the shoulder.

“Look who’s got that pussy confidence! You’re like a changed man, little bro’!” Jermaine roared, smile wide and bright as he watched Michael shrug Jackie’s hand from his shoulder.

“Enough. She’s a special girl, ‘n I like her, and she likes me, and tha’s all there is to it.” Michael responded calmly, expression brooding and irritated as his brother’s hounded him.

“That and she’s probably a groupie.”

“‘Maine, you’re such an asshole, man.” Tito chuckled, “Alright, Mike, as long as y’sure.”

“I am sure. I’m very sure about her.” Michael responded, letting a small smile crawl onto his face, “She’s alright with me.”

She’s a very special girl… From her head down to her toe nails…

Yeah, she’ll wait for me at backstage with her girlfriend’s… In a limousine…

Los Angeles was sensational—The crowd was the loudest so far, cheering at such a decibel that Michael had ringing in his ears for ten minutes post-show as he rid himself of his sweaty stage clothes, rushing into the shower, fixing his hair and slipping into another bedazzled suit, just as Jermaine pushed open his dressing room door.

“They’re outside—You ready?”

Like clockwork with each show—You were waiting for him.

This time, after Katherine forbade you and your friends to even step so much of a toe into the arena, Michael had arranged for a limousine to await him and his brother’s by the back entrance once he’d finished the show.

With a fix of his tie, a ruffle of his curls and a nod to himself in the mirror—Michael jogged out of the dressing room, following hot on Jermaine’s tail as they raced throughout the bustling backstage, apologising to staff members, and engineers, as they barged past—Shamelessly eager to reach you.

When the driver, finding it hard to mask his irritated expression, opened the door to reveal the chaos you’d already ensued—Michael couldn’t help but laugh.

You were straddling your friend, pouring champagne directly into her mouth, your dress hiked up your thighs so high, the plush curve of your ass was visible to every brother that stood in the doorway of the limo—Watching as your other friends squealed, taking shots of their own, and turning up the music that blared throughout the car, dancing and singing loudly.

“Mikey!” You squealed, shoving the bottle into your friend’s hand, who took it willingly, bringing it to her lips once more, as you scurried to the door.

You leant past Jermaine and Jackie who were directly at the door, grabbing Michael’s hand and dragging him into the car. Michael made a quiet noise—One of shock and surprise as you ushered him into the bustling mayhem, ears now having to adjust to the way your friends squealed and screamed as his brother’s followed suit.

“Let’s get this party started, ladies!” Marlon, of course, exclaimed, grabbing an unopened champagne, shaking it violently, releasing his thumb from the bottle head, and spraying the room in the bubbly liquid, basking in the cries of excitement that radiated from the limo.

As the driver slammed the door shut aggressively, muffled curses muttered under his breath as he retreated to the driver’s seat, Michael soon released what he was so annoyed about.

But, when you pushed him into the leather seat, straddled his hips, wrapped your arms around his neck, and smashed your lips together in a feverish kiss—He suddenly found it hard to understand what the driver could be so irritated at?

This was the life.

Three’s not a crowd to her she says…

The ride to the conference center was a long one—Traffic post-concert was horrific, all thanks to the Jackson’s. But, they daren’t care in this moment.

Jackie had a handful of ass as his lady shook her behind directly in his face at the music, laughing as he repeatedly smacked her bare cheeks, her dress pushed up her hips. Tito was locking lips with his lady, a slow, intimate kiss that had been occurring the second he entered the car. Jermaine was pouring champagne into Marlon’s mouth, an arm around one of your friends, before Marlon sprayed the champagne over your other friend’s chest—Before, licking the residue directly from her pushed-up, exposed cleavage, earning himself cheers and squeals of laughter and joy.

Tucked into the corner of the limo, hands roaming places they probably shouldn’t in a car filled with his brother’s and your friend’s, lips one another’s and whispered promises, was you and Michael.

“‘M sad you’re gonna leave me.” You pouted, a hand twirling a strand of his Michael’s curls at the nape of his neck between your fingers.

“‘M just goin’ to do a couple interviews, baby, tha’s all.” Michael reassured, tucking a loose lock of your hair behind your ear, “I’ll be all yours for the night afterwards. And every night following.”

You giggled sweetly, “Y’so soppy, y’know that?”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You hummed, smiling softly as you leant down to capture his lips in your own—Moaning softly into his mouth as his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer to his body, radiating a thumping heat. Michael’s mouth moved slowly against your own—Occasionally pulling back to bite your bottom lip, suck on it, or let you press kisses to his jawline, and the corner of his mouth. Just as your mouths connected once again, your tongue swiping past his lower lip to swirl against his own—Michael felt a familiar, nimble hand crawl down his front.

His breath hitched in his throat as your hand, precise and slow, slipped down his front, stopping at his crotch to gently wrap your hand around the length of him beneath his trousers—Your palm enveloping around his half-hard dick, now stiffening more under your grasp.

“Baby!” Michael gasped, muffled against your lips, his eyes shooting open to observe his surroundings.

Luckily, everyone was still immersed in their own world—Kissing, touching, drinking, dancing, completely focused on themselves as your hand began jerking him through his trousers. Michael’s head fell forward, lolling against your forehead as he panted against your lips, eyes fluttering shut, not before he caught glance of your wicked smirk.

Your hand moved slowly, tantalisingly and dangerously—Teasing him with each half-stroke of your fist around his cock, now drooling with pre-cum into his boxers.

“S—Shoot, baby, that feels s’good.” Michael whispered, pressing a soft, quick kiss to your lips as he talked.

“Letting me jerk y’pretty dick with all my friends and your brother’s right behind us, but y’won’t say ‘Shit’? Y’so cute, Mike.” You taunted, giving him a particularly hard squeeze.

Michael couldn’t suppress the noise that left his mouth, that was instantly captured by your lips—Cutting off the whine before it filled the room. Thankfully, the way your friend was screaming as Marlon nuzzled his face between her breasts managed to cover Michael’s noise easily.

“Baby—Oh, God, love, ‘M gonna—“

“Shhh. Just take it.” You whispered, lips brushing against his, before smushing them together as he twitched beneath your palm.

Michael came with quiet, high-pitched whines that you swallowed up—Kissing him ferociously as he released, eyes rolled to the back of his head as your hand sped up pace to prolong his orgasm. You kept going, even as he whimpered at the overstimulation, before his shaking hand pulled yours away, now glistening with a faint essence that painted across his black slacks. Luckily for Michael, the bulk of his warm cum decorated his boxers underneath, only leaving behind a subtle, invisible to the naked eye, dampness on his slacks as his release soaked the material.

“You’re evil.” Michael panted, shaking his head as you giggled.

His breath hitched as you brought your palm up your mouth—Licking a lewd, sensual stipe from the bottom, to the tip of your middle finger, the faint taste of his salty release lingering on your tongue as it lolled back into your mouth, with a devilish smirk.

“You love it, Jackson.”

The car finally rolled to a stop, the brakes slamming hard against the concrete, sending your friend, who was still grinding against Jackie’s crotch, flying to the floor, scuffing her knees on the plastic flooring, earning herself a handful of laughs as she giggled drunkenly.

The door slid open, and the instantaneous blinding flashes of cameras, and screams from fans and reporters flooded the limo. Your friends ducked, hiding their faces from the relentless cameras, as they crawled towards you, and out of view shot.

Marlon, finding the whole secretive ordeal hilarious, exited first—Taking the attention off the multiple bottles of champagne that rolled out of the car and onto the floor, the music that blared out into the street, and the dangerously obvious bag of white powder your friend had stupidly left on the seat next to were Jackie was previously sat. He addressed the reporters and thanked the fans as Michael rose to his feet.

“Hey.”

He turned, eyes finding your own as your friends clambered behind you, snorting and howling with laughter at the whole experience, as you met his gaze—

Room 714, I’ll be waiting…

Michael nodded at your words, revealing your whereabouts at the hotel later, smiling softly as he leant down to press a soft kiss to your lips, the pillowy plushness lingering on your own as he head for the door.

“Be good.”

“Never.”

Michael hated these conferences—Despised them actually. The reporters and interviewers didn’t actually care about their music, or his career, or their next steps—No. They only cared about the drama. The juicy gossip of their personal lives, women, industry feuds and affairs.

Marlon and Jermaine were, luckily, doing most of the talking. Albeit a bit more sluggish and slurred than usual due to the sheer amount of champagne they’d consumed in the thirty minute drive to the conference centre. Michael was thankful—As his mind was on a complete other planet.

He shifted in his seat, swallowing thickly as his eyes landed on a camera pointing right at him, as a blossoming, warm blush crept up his cheeks as his drying, yet still sticky, release rolled against his skin from his boxers. The memory of your hand, swift and precise, moving with ease, stroking his hard cock beneath his slacks, mouth against his own, nipping against the skin of his lips, had him fighting the urge to stiffen once again.

His mind soon drifted to a similar place.

The idea of you waiting for him, just as you promised, at your hotel for the night. It led him to think maybe you were in a matching lingerie set, laying on your side on the bed with your hair up. Or maybe you were draped in a silk robe, bent over with your hand already between your legs, deliciously impatient to feel him. Or maybe you were—

“Michael?”

The sound of a reporters confused voice pulled him quickly from his sensual daydream—Throat running dry as his eyes darted around the room, checking, impossibly, that no one could’ve possibly read his mind.

“Sorry?”

“I asked if you have anyone special in your life, like your brother’s do?” A tall reporter asked, tilting his head as he awaited his answer.

Michael glanced over to his brother’s, who were suppressing their laughter—Assholes. They’d deliberately baited him into this. Michael wasn’t a liar—But certainly didn’t want to tell the whole truth. He wasn’t ashamed of you, of course not—Why do you think he brought you around his faithful mother who was obviously going to reject you? But, the tabloids would run a thousand miles and back if they knew shy, bashful, gentle Michael Jackson was fucking a girl of the night.

“I—Uh, yeah. Yeah I do.” Michael responded, his voice dropping to his famous soft, breathless tone.

“You do? Anymore you can tell us about her? What’s she like? Is she a celebrity?” The man pressed, instantly jotting Michael’s latter words down into a pad of paper as he spoke.

“Uh, no, but she’s, uh …She’s a real special girl.” Michael spoke, unable to hide the genuine smile that crawled up his face.

“Oh, she’s special, alright.” Marlon quipped, earning himself a pinch of his thigh under the table from Tito.

“Special? What does that mean, Michael?” The reporter queried further, cocking an eyebrow as he scribbled.

“It means she’s great, real good fun—She’s super.”

“A super freak.”

Michael was thankful Marlon uttered those words quieter this time, more so under his breath—But, he still heard them, and still shot him a look that could kill through his famous Aviators. If anyone in this room, reporter, fan, interviewer, family, had heard that—Michael was certain his mother would lock him in the house and never let him see the sun again, as well as getting hounded left, right and centre by the tabloids.

Alas, he was even more grateful when the interview finally concluded—The still drunken Marlon stumbled out of the conference center and into the back of another limousine, this time without the cocaine, champagne and half-naked women, after taking ahold of fan’s hands, kissing their cheeks and taking elaborate pictures for the paparazzi.

As soon as the car whirred off into the night, following the direction of your previous limo—Michael sighed, ignoring the sound of Marlon singing concerningly badly along to a popular song on the radio, as he dreamt of his night coming forth.

Special lady—Here he comes.

When I get there, she’s got incense, wine and candles… It’s such a freaky scene…

Michael’s eyes were nearly half-hanging out of his head when he pushed the door to the bedroom of your hotel room open.

“Welcome back, handsome.”

All the sensual ideas Michael had conjured up in his head of how’d you’d be posed in the bedroom during his interview was nothing like the one he was witnessing right now.

You were laid on your side, just as he’d imagined, but instead of draped in a silk robe or a matching set—You were completely bare. Perky breasts, pebbled nipples, curved waist, and parted legs to reveal your glistening sex were all on joyous display—Your bottom lip caught between your legs as you shuffled your leg further to the side, your pretty pussy lips sliding further apart to reveal your drooling entrance, clenching around nothing. Surrounding the dimly lit room was burning candles, erupting the room into a sensual, amber glow that bounced off your glistening skin, as well as an dizzyingly beautiful scent of musky incense that danced into the thick, tense air, and two glasses of Merlot on the nightstand, one already half drank.

“‘M special, huh?”

Michael swallowed thickly, eyes locked on your naked frame as he traipsed slowly into the room, chest rising and falling quickly as his dick hardened rapidly beneath his soiled boxers.

“Mm-hm.” He affirmed, nodding his head as he finally reached you, dropping to his knees between your parted legs, “You’ real special, baby.”

“Yeah? And ‘m real super?” You added, lifting your arched foot to rest upon his shoulder, curling your pedicured toes around his shoulder blade.

“Mhm, yeah, baby. My super freak.” Michael spoke, voice drawled as his eyes transfixed on your soaking cunt, completely checked out of the conversation as his brain went short circuited at the sweet scent of your sex filling his nostrils.

“Oh! A freak, huh, baby? Is that what’cha think of me?” You teased, giggling as his hands slowly wrapped around your ankle, clad in gold jewellery.

Michael hummed, bringing the skin of your foot to his mouth, pressing kisses up your ankle, “Yeah, darlin’, yer s’kinky.”

You laughed, tipping your head back as you watched him flutter his eyes shut as he pressed hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses up your leg, trailing up your calves, to your thighs, humming into your skin at the scent of your lotion melting into your flesh.

“Kinky, huh?” You tilted your head to the side, voice dropping an octave, “Y’not so innocent yourself, Jackson.”

“Don’t care.” Michael mumbled against your skin, licking a stripe up your inner thigh as he neared where you needed him most.

A quiet, almost inaudible moan tumbled past your parted lips as Michael nuzzled his face between your parted legs—Nose and plump lips smushing into your sex, now glistening with your arousal.

“Don’t care when I have you, baby.”

Your chest heaved as he licked a stripe up your sex—Collecting your intoxicating essence along the twitching muscle, as he wrapped his lips around your clit swiftly. Your back arched, your hips jerking into his mouth, as your hand flew to his hair for support, your fingers tangling into his curls.

“The sweetest, most special, most super freak I’ve ever known, baby.” Michael admitted, his voice low and deep as his fingers swiped through your folds, before his index and middle slid inside your tightening cunt, filling you up with a gasp, “And all mine.”

You giggled, head shaking as you swiped your tongue over your bottom lip, wetting the flesh, before reaching behind you. Michael’s eyes followed you intently, his fingers twitching inside you, as he watched you fumble with a hidden item behind your back.

An lit-up, excitable smirk painted his lips as you dangled a daring pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs between your manicured digits, and a pair of your panties, ones that had been decorated into your arousal from watching him cum in his pants earlier, between the other, meant to be stuffed into his mouth when you slid down onto him later.

Michael shook his head with a laugh, curling his fingers to hit the sweet spot inside you, earning himself a gasp, and a devilish giggle, before you grasped his jaw in your hands and pulled him down for a feverish kiss. He smiled back into it, as, just as he loved,—

That girl’s a super freak!…

© dreamylace 2026 ❦ all rights reserved

taglist: @kisscoqueen @judesboots @cherrishkissed @curlypytclubx @platanita @hiiioliviaxoxo @ebvnydesires @lil6uapa @3leni

[jobemuse]

my man with curly hair looked fine ASS HELL !!

[jermainesbass]

🐾 — backstage ii, michael jackson

bad!michael x black!reader

summary :: michael comes home from tour to see you packing your things.

warnings :: cheating , pregnancy , wife!reader , not proofread / edited !

part one

It had been three months since you left Michael standing in that dressing room.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you standing there, tears streaming down your face, your hand trembling as you slipped off your wedding ring.

"Ten years... and your threw it all away in two months."

Those words echoed through his mind every single day.

He wrote letters. He called every other hour. He sent flowers, gifts — anything he could think of to get you to talk to him.

But he never got an answer, and it was absolutely destroying him. He tried to listen to Bill's advice, to give you space and focus on the tour, but he couldn't.

The last thing he ever wanted was to lose you.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Five minutes, Mike," Bill called as he stepped into Michael's dressing room.

Michael nodded, murmuring a quiet thank you.

Bill lingered for a few seconds, taking in how exhausted Michael looked.

You were his rock, and everyone who knew Michael knew that. Without you, he was lost, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Bill quietly slipped back into the hallway, leaving Michael alone again.

His eyes drifted to the coffee table where a glass of untouched orange juice sat beside a small stack of entertainment magazines someone had tossed there.

Mindlessly, he reached for the one on top, flipping through the pages, hoping to find something — anything — that would take his mind off you.

Then he saw his own name.

His brows furrowed as he read the bold headline.

Michael Jackson's Estranged Wife Spotted With Alleged Baby Bump.

His stomach dropped.

"...What?"

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. It had to be another tabloid rumor. The press had made a fortune spreading lies about his family before.

Then he saw the photographs.

There you were, walking across your university campus with an unmistakable baby bump, one hand resting protectively beneath your swollen belly.

"Oh, god…" he whispered, tears filling his eyes.

Michael had always dreamed of becoming a father. The two of you had spent countless nights talking about baby names and wondering when the perfect time would be to settle down and start a family.

You had finally been able to give him everything he'd ever wanted and he had repaid you by being unfaithful.

His hand slipped into his pocket, pulling out the wedding ring you had placed in his hand three months earlier.

Another knock sounded at the door.

"Mike," Bill called from the other side. "We're ready."

Michael looked back down at the magazine, his eyes lingering on the pictures of you.

Then they settled on your stomach.

His child.

───────

A month later, Michael was finally home.

The moment he stepped inside, the smile on his face quickly disappeared.

Cardboard boxes were piled everywhere.

His stomach twisted.

"...Honey?" he called.

He walked farther into the house, but instead of finding you, he found even more boxes.

Slowly, he climbed the staircase. The closer he got to your shared bedroom, the heavier the knot in his stomach became.

When he reached the doorway, he froze.

You stood with your back to him, carefully folding your clothes before placing them into an open box resting on the bed.

Your curls were pulled into a puff, and you wore one of his old concert T-shirts with a pair of black leggings.

As you shifted slightly, you caught him out of the corner of your eye.

You had hoped he'd get home later — after all your things were packed and gone.

But between classes and doctor's appointments, there hadn't been enough time. Waiting until summer break was your only option, and unfortunately, that meant Michael came home while you were still there.

"You… you're leaving?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes," you replied quietly, picking up another shirt to fold.

Michael swallowed hard, his gaze slowly drifting around the room.

He stepped past you into the bathroom. His side of the sink was still cluttered with his belongings. Yours was completely empty. His clothes still filled one side of the closet. Yours were gone.

You were really leaving.

"You can't," he said, shaking his head as he stepped back toward you. "I promise you, Minnie... it didn't mean anything."

"It still happened, Michael," you sighed heavily. "Saying it didn't mean anything doesn't change that."

"What…" His voice cracked. "And the baby? What about the baby?"

"I'm not going to keep you away from your child, Michael," you assured him. "How involved you want to be is up to you."

Relief washed over his face as he wiped away the tear sliding down his cheek.

"But being a father and being my husband…" You slowly shook your head. "Those are two very different things."

A crease formed between your brows as Michael suddenly dropped to his knees in front of you, his large brown eyes glistening with tears as they searched yours.

"I want to fix this," he pleaded. "Please… tell me what I have to do to make this right."

You stared down at him.

Michael Jackson — the same man who commanded attention everywhere he went — was on his knees in your bedroom, crying.

"There has to be something," he choked, reaching for your hands. "I made a mistake."

"No, Michael." You gently pulled your hands away from his. "You made a choice. For two months, you chose to sleep with another woman while I was here… waiting for you to come home."

A tear rolled down your cheek.

"I just can't understand how someone can love me the way you always said you did…" Your voice broke. "…and still choose to betray me like that."

Michael didn't answer.

His head hung low as quiet sobs shook his shoulders, your words settling heavily on his heart.

[nosimpincurly]

[cupidslyrics]

Confession

℘ Michael Jackson x f! reader - oneshot (requested)

℘ Synopsis: Michael Jackson is the world’s biggest young pop star—but no one not even his own family knows he’s been secretly married for months. Now, with a baby on the way, his carefully guarded secret has grown bigger than ever. What happens when he accidentally lets the truth slip out during a live interview?

℘ Tags/Warnings: Otw era MJ, Pregnancy, unexpected pregnancy, slight angst, anxiety, j*e jackson mentioned, fluff, sfw, suggestive, marriage

℘ WC: 8.6k (chile i know!)

A/N: THANK YOUU so much to my beautiful moot @cosmic-aura who requested this, i am so sorry it took forever literally almost a whole MONTH to create for you, this one is quite lengthy because i wanted to make this as detailed and perfect as possible <3 i hope i did ur request well angel 🤍 Also thank you guys for 100+ followers 🥹!!

August 1979

“Mmh mikey..” You giggle softly as your husband plasters kisses on every inch of skin on your face possible.

“Mike- baby stop i can’t breathe!” You laugh managing to escape the abuse of his lips as he smiles pulling back slightly to rest up on his forearms hovering and looking down at you with a look of infatuation that comes straight from his heart.

“What baby? I can’t give my pretty wife some love?”

You turn your face away with butterflies swarming your insides at the term he used— pretty wife.

A term which you’re still trying to get used to despite being wedded for almost 10 months now.

Well….. secretly wedded.

It started exactly a year ago, it was August of 1978, your birthday. A birthday you will never forget. The day was packed with surprise after surprise, you hadn’t seen Michael in almost over a month, he was so busy spending every single day in the westlake recording studio writing and creating songs for his first adult solo album.

You knew that the immense pressure of it all would barely allow him to have time for himself, let alone see you.

But despite all of this, you were so understanding. Before even dating him you saw Michael’s potential in being something bigger than he already was. So when he told you that he finally wanted to pursue his career properly without his brothers whom he loved to death, and without Joseph nagging him about random tours he wasn’t passionate about. Michael’s plans had unlocked a deep sense of pride in you.

So you waited patiently to finally be reunited with him. Patiently to kiss him, patiently to hold him, feel him, and patiently to talk his ears off whilst he stares at you with the same intensity he’s had since he first laid eyes on you.

When you finally got to see him on your special day, he spent that entire day from sunrise to sunset with you at your favourite stores and amusement park, making sure to compensate for his absence.

You lost count of how many gifts he bought you that day. Your biggest mistake throughout that day was making eye contact with an item, because once he noticed? The already large stack of gifts in the arms of his poor bodyguards, only tripled in size.

By the end of your birthday, you and Michael were now laid in the bed of the romantic rose petaled hotel suite—another surprise that made you cry, next to each other bare sweaty bodies intertwined after passionate love making. Your cheek against his bare chest listening to the comforting beating sound of the heart that you owned.

He rubs his bare finger tips over the small of your back, up and down producing soft warm sighs from your lips.

“Baby?” He calls out in a soft tone to see if you’re still awake.

“Hm..yes Michael?” You reply slightly half asleep.

“Don’t go to sleep yet angel.”

You grin tiredly against the skin of his chest.

“Why? you got another surprise up your sleeve?” You say sarcastically, not actually expecting there to be more surprises after how much he spoilt you today, but when he is suspiciously quiet and unresponsive to your comment you sit up from his chest blinking away the fatigue from your eyes to look down at him.

“Michael Joseph Jackson, if you have one more surprise i swear-”

“I know! i know! baby, you’re probably sick of seein em but please i’ve been waiting for the day to end to give you this one last and final one.”

You raise a brow in mock sternness, but the sight of his pleading doe brown eyes makes you immediately fold and soften.

“Please angel, i promise this is the last one.”

You sigh sitting up properly as he does the same, the sheets now sliding off of your bare skin and pooling against your waists, grabbing your hands into his own and rubbing his thumbs over the back of your hands soothingly.

“Okay fine mike, but this better be the last one i feel so bad causing all this troubl-”

“Nonsense angel, this is me holding back since i know you always tend to feel bad after getting spoilt.”

You smile gently at the thoughtfulness of his words as you lean in kissing his cheek.

“Okay baby, i’m ready what’s the surprise?”

“Okay just…before i give it to you, baby i want you to know how much i love you. I know i tell you it all the time but, i really do believe you’re the only person on this planet who understands me. The only one who genuinely cares and the only who i want to spend the rest of my live with.” He says, his voice slightly cracking up with emotion at the last words.

You feel your heart start to ache at the words and the emotion in his voice, your hands reach out to cup the side of his face gently as you kiss his nose and forehead.

“Oh michael i love you too, so much baby.”

His lips curl into a warm smile before taking a deep breath as if bracing himself before reaching under the pillow behind you, covering whatever he pulled out with a tight fist not allowing you to peek.

“Mike if it’s more jewellery after how much i received today, i might just scream.” you joke playfully but your smile slightly falters seeing his nervous demeanour as he looks at you.

“Baby i was serious about wantin to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His words, which could only have one meaning finally dawn on you at what he was implying as the lingering sleepiness from earlier has completely vanished. You were now fully awake and alert.

“Mike…”

Your words trail off as he opens his fist exposing a smooth black velvet box, you swore your heart had skipped at least ten beats when he opens it slowly revealing a five carat radiant cut diamond ring.

With a shaky breath he finally says the words he’s been rehearsing in front of his bathroom mirror for weeks.

“Baby…i know we’re both so young, but i am certain with all my being that you’re the only person f’me, the only reason why i want to stay in this world other than helping others. I know what i want and what i want is you. So will you do me the honour of carrying my last name?...Will you marry me?”

Will you marry me?

The words replay in your head like a broken record that you hadn’t noticed the pure silence that filled the suite as you stare almost paralysed at the ring in front of you.

You swore you could michael’s racing heart beat as his hand that’s holding the box is shaking from nervousness which only gets worse seeing your unresponsive reaction.

“Baby please say somethin, do you hate it? d-do you not want this with me? God we’re so young i wouldn’t blame ya i’m sorry i-”

“Michael” You cut off his rambling as your now watery eyes meet his own glistening ones “Y-you….you wanna marry me?”

Hearing the tremble of emotion in your voice has him biting down on his bottom lip to prevent it from trembling so much as he nods with so much certainty it squeezes your heart.

Before another word can be exchanged you hug him tightly practically squeezing the life out of him as he smiles in relief into your neck wrapping his large arms around you locking you in.

“I take that a yes baby?” He asks hopeful.

“Michael are you kiddin? Of course it’s a yes!” You yell cupping his face pressing kisses all over before giving a big one to his lips.

After pulling away breathless his smile is so wide his cheeks were aching as he softly grabs your left hand in his sliding on the expensive ring.

The ring sits perfectly like a glove on your ring finger. The embedded crystal diamonds winking at you as you angle your hand in different directions admiring it in awe.

“Knew you’d like it” Michael speaks smiling in pride as he watches you admire and wear the ring he’s had lying around in his pocket for months waiting for the right opportunity to present it.

“Michael it’s…it’s perfect- i don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything my love, your ‘yes’ was enough to complete my whole life.”

You enter his arms again for another tight crushing hug. However, your happy moment is short lived when you stiffen slightly remembering something.

Noticing the sudden pause Michael gently pulls his head back to look at you.

“Baby? what is it?”

You swallow in sudden nervousness staring at the ring before looking into his eyes that are searching yours for any doubt or uncertainty “Mike…your family.”

“My family..? What about em?” He replies with a perplexed expression.

“What about em?” You repeat his words looking at him as if hes grown a second head “Michael they don’t even know i exist!”

Michaels confused expression shifts into realisation, now clear as day that just like you he had forgotten the huge elephant in the room—Michael had been secretly dating you for the past two years and his family had no idea.

Throughout his teens up until his early young adulthood, his father Joseph had painted and moulded him into being his golden child. Albeit, just like his siblings he was pushed into the industry from a young age and forced to work and become successful.

Joseph always gave Michael a harder time with his career often calling him his ‘money maker’ So for michael? This meant there was no mucking around when it came to work. Seriousness only.

And taking work seriously unfortunately meant no girlfriends whatsoever.

“Listen boy i’m tellin ya, these girls are a distraction.”

“You wan break records? You wan get successful? Stay focused.”

Throughout Michael’s adolescence these words from his father echoed in his head. But when he first laid eyes on you? The drop dead gorgeous girl who was working at one of the arcades downtown that he went to on a day off? Every word his father taught him blew away with the wind.

A year later after making the risky decision of taking a three week off vacation behind his father’s back, he had a private civil ceremony to legally call you his.

Which is why right now, ten months later, Michael finds himself staring down at you in the cosy spacious home he bought for both of you after abruptly moving out of his family home with possessive adoration, grinning at the way you’re shyly avoiding looking up at him after he called you his pretty wife.

“Hm? You like that term baby? It’s got a nice ring to it huh?” He continues to tease you making you giggle under him as you try to squirm out.

“Mikeee you’re killing me under here cmon we’re gonna be late for dinner.”

“Alright alright, but one more kiss?” He responds with a grin that’s only growing at how you playfully roll eyes at him before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him down some more “Fine c’mere” you reply before lips connect as you both smile into it feeling the warmth of his lips on your own, tongues gently caressing each other as you taste the spearmint of his breath before he pulls away to rest his forehead on yours.

“Okay baby we’ve got about 20 minutes to get ready before Bill starts honking from outside, i’ll be right back let me go get ready” He whispers softly with a caress to your cheek with his thumb as you nod lightly, feeling him give your forehead one last peck before dashing off into his side of the walk in closet.

When he leaves you sit up against the headboard the soft facial expression you carried earlier fading with a release of the shaky breath you didn’t know you were holding in….the breath of guilt.

Reaching into your purse on the nightstand, you pull out the thin test strip displaying two bold bright pink lines that would change both yours and Michael’s life forever.

You were pregnant.

Were you shocked by the discovery? No. The mood swings, the lashing out at Michael every chance you got, the random waves of nausea, your period being absent for what felt like forever, finally made sense as you sat on your bathroom floor a week ago letting your tears flow as you held the positive pregnancy test.

A week of having to pretend you were okay, a week of pretending you were just tired from your shift at work and a week of having to pretend you were experiencing a days long stomach bug each time you puked in the morning whilst Michael rubbed your back and held your hair back in his hand with concern.

Oh he was so gentle and kind with you, taking extra days off work from the studio to see how you were feeling, cooking you homemade soups, getting Bill—who was the only person Michael trusted in knowing who you were, to deliver you anti sickness medications along with your favourite treats and flowers when he couldn’t. It was killing you to hide this from him, but given the circumstances you felt like you had to.

You’d been with him for two whole years, married for ten months and his family didn’t even know he’s a married man living with his now pregnant wife.

It wasn’t that michael was ashamed of you he was anything but. In fact for months he’s been waiting for the right time to introduce you to them but between his busy schedules, he rarely even saw you let alone them.

In the early stages of getting to know him, Michael let you know about how strict and cruel his father was to him and how any girl he wanted to be with had to be private in fear of Joseph ruining everything for him.

Despite not knowing you, his family were no strangers to you. He spoke about his mother and siblings all the time with pride, speaking about how much Katherine would love to meet you and how Latoya, Rebbie and Janet would accept you like another sister along with his brothers.

A year ago at the last family gathering they had, he planned to introduce you to the family. You were excited in the backseat of Bills mercedes after he dropped you off at hayvenhurst, waiting for michael to come out to get you. Dressed up elegantly and looking stunning, when you saw the front door of the house open from inside the car you smiled excitedly but the smile dropped when you saw your fiancé storm out of the house slamming the door with a frustrated almost tearful expression hearing the angry yells and curses coming from a man inside of the house—Joseph.

When he got into the backseat you hugged and comforted him like the many times you have before when he came back home from hayvenhurst upset. He told you his father was forcing him to do yet another tour that he didn’t want to do. Telling Bill to take you both home, the family gathering was ruined for him—thus the plan to finally introduce you.

Other than that, Michael truly enjoyed the concept of having nobody in his romantic life’s business. He enjoyed the secrecy of being in love without prying eyes and questions of nosy relatives, fans and news reporters.

He enjoyed having you—his wife all to himself whilst people continuously questioned him about why he was always so happy recently. And deep down you enjoyed it aswell, it was fun dating let alone being married to the Michael Jackson and everybody having no idea about it.

But those happy days of secrecy were now over due to the cells of human life starting to form in your womb. You had to tell him. you just didn’t know how.

You knew michael loved children but that didn’t mean he’d want his own at such a young age. You felt like everything was moving at 2x speed, meeting such a great guy and falling in love with him fast, only for him to ask you to be his wife a year later and now you’re going to be the mother of his child?

You were so busy staring into space and spiraling you hadn’t noticed Michael had come back into the room all dressed up and handsome for the dinner “Baby i’m ready, why aren’t you dressed my love?”

You jump at the sound of his voice not hearing him come out of the closet at all as your startled expression and eyes fall onto his that are locked onto the object that you’re holding on your lap.

With a rapid heart beat you follow his eyes seeing that you were still holding the test and you forgot to put it back into your bag.

Snapping his eyes up to yours he moves forward towards the bed where you are, gripping the test strip in your fist putting your hand behind your back staring at him frozen unable to even speak or explain yourself.

“Baby what…what is- is that what i think it is?” Michael stutters unable to process what he thinks he is seeing.

He reaches behind you before you can protest his grip firm but gentle as he pulls your hand back out to see the test. When his eyes read the positive lines he drops your wrist as if it burnt him stepping back.

Tears start to prickle in your eyes at his reaction , worried at what was potentially going through his head.

Was he mad? angry?

“M-Michael i-”

“You’re pregnant?”

He cuts you off meeting your teary eyes with his own shocked ones as he swallows hard you can audibly hear the way his breathing is picking up.

With an apprehensive nod you get off the bed walking towards him slowly.

“i-i’m pregnant Mike…i-i was gonna tell you i swear but-”

“But what baby? how long?” His tone soft despite the hurt in his eyes at the fact that you kept this from him.

“…I found out last week…” You say looking away from him in shame but he steps closer and grips your jaw with his index finger and thumb forcing you to look at him.

“Baby…oh honey i’m not angry i just-” His facial expression melts and softens seeing your unshed tears—a sight he hated to see, he pulls you into his chest holding you tight with his hand resting on the back of your head as he kisses your head repeatedly.

“Shh baby it’s okay, i didn’t mean to react that way i-im just shocked my love that’s all.” He blows out a breath swallowing down the fact that he’s freaking out inside to remain calm and composed for you.

You lift your head back up to meet his eyes seeing nothing but concern and the same love he’s always had for you on his face, the sight enough to make you slightly relax.

“I’m sorry for not telling you i just- i mean your family still doesn’t know me let alone the fact that we’re married, we never even exactly spoke about marriage to begin with and then bam we got married, we never really spoke about kids and now look- i just thought you would’ve been overwhelmed with how fast everything was moving between us-”

Your fast rambling is cut off with a reassuring kiss to your forehead.

“Baby look at me”

you release a reluctant sigh before locking your eyes on him.

“I am not mad or worried about all that garbage you just mentioned, i’m more concerned about you if anything.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest at the raw genuineness of his words as he cups your face stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Angel, i don’t care how fast everything between us may seem, i don’t care how young we are, and i certainly don’t care about what my family’s reaction might be. Despite how cliche it sounds, the minute i saw you in that arcade i knew you had to be mine. Both my wife and the mother of my future children, so all of this? I’m not worried or overwhelmed about it at all, if anything it’s a manifestation.”

“Plus we were…kinda reckless when….we…y’know” Michael says with a shy smile and tone, even though you’ve been together for two years his shyness at the insinuation of your intimacy makes you laugh each time.

“Yeah..” You nod as your lips start to tremble slightly at his sweet words and attitude as if falling in love with him all over again. Everything that has been worrying you for the past week since you took the test now fading into the background.

“Is that why you’ve been so sick all the time? and cranky?” He jokes lightly as you nod with a small sheepish smile.

“Oh baby c’mere” He pulls you to his chest again hugging you tightly, you wrap your arms around him breathing in his comforting scent feeling safe and free from your worries.

“Don’t worry about my family, i’ll handle that, alright?” He says in the same gentle tone that always puts your mind at rest, you nod with a small smile as your shoulders loosen reducing the leftover anxiety you had.

He then releases you but still keeps you close to gently place his large warm palms onto your soon to be round stomach and that’s when his concern melts away to reveal a warm fond smile as his thumb strokes your stomach and forth.

“We’re having a baby…” His big bright eyes flicker to yours that’s matching his own as you release a soft cheerful laugh as he picks you up spinning you around.

𓂃⋆.˚

16 weeks have past, you’re nearly 4 months into your pregnancy in your second trimester, Michael has been stuck to you like glue following you absolutely everywhere. His possessiveness only getting worse, getting you everything you want and need, if you thought you were spoilt before? You’ve got another thing coming.

And hearing the babies heartbeat along with seeing the sonogram for the first time made his excitement even worse. When you found out you were having a baby girl, each day new deliveries of pink baby clothing were coming into your home.

Currently, Michael was building a cot for the baby whilst you were on the sofa watching with a fond expression at how his eyebrows are scrunched in concentration as he read the instructions.

“Lookin handsome down there baby” You tease as he looks up growing coy at your comment as he playfully rolls his eyes

“Stop it i gotta concentrate, how’s your leg pillow honey? Need me to prop it up some more?”

“Mikey i am fine i promise, im not even heavily pregnant yet, the doctor says the baby is the size of an avocado.” At your words Michael’s eyes drift to your stomach melting in awe each time he remembers the child growing in you, he drops the paper and tools to lean over pressing a warm kiss to the growing stomach.

“I can’t wait baby, just twenty four more weeks and our princess is here.” He whispers continuing to lovingly stare and caress your stomach “Are you nervous for tomorrow?” He asks as your eyes widen remembering.

Tomorrow— the day of the yearly family gathering where you finally got to meet your in laws for the first time. You will admit you’ve been avoiding thinking about it to prevent yourself from spiralling and overthinking every worst case scenario possible.

What if they hated you? what if his siblings laughed? what if they didn’t approve? what if they slammed the door in both of your faces? What if katherine and Joseph couldn’t stand you? I mean you did marry their son and give him a child without them even knowing your name.

Knowing you all too well and seeing your change in demeanour Michael gets off from his knees to sit beside you on the couch cupping your face.

“Hey hey, baby get out of that head of yours, talk t’me.”

You sigh softly, melting against his touch and turning your head to kiss his palm.

“I’m alright baby i’m just…nervous i guess” He nods understandingly as he leans forward kissing your lips with a soft full peck

“I know baby, i’d be lying if i said i wasn’t nervous too, but i am certain they will love you okay? they’d be insane not to you’re great.”

His words comfort you despite still feeling anxious “And if they don’t? to hell with em, i’m happy, you and this baby are everything to me and there’s nothing that they or anyone can do to stop that.”

You lean in hugging him as you rest your face against the side of his neck whilst he rubs reassuring circles on your back telling you how much he loves you.

“I love you michael.” He pulls his head back to kiss your lips again “I love you too angel, gosh im gonna miss you i don’t wanna go to that stupid interview.”

You chuckle against his lips “Oh right! your interview, baby you better go and get ready it’s in like 2 hours” He groans making you laugh more as he reluctantly pulls away giving your a forehead kiss as he gets up “Okay okay, i’ll finish this cot later don’t touch anything. You’ll be watching me right?”

“Of course baby how could i ever miss your first live interview.” You say standing up to rub your husbands slightly tense shoulders knowing how much he hates interviews “Don’t worry baby, you’ll do great i promise.” he smiles fondly at how well you encourage and speak life into him as he wraps his arms around your waist leaning down to kiss your lips lovingly brushing his nose against yours.

“What did i do to deserve you?”

𓂃⋆.˚

Michael sits in the wooden seat adjusting the small mike on his red sweater, sipping water to wash down the nerves he always gets before doing interviews.

The crew around him setting everything up as the female interviewer walks in settling down in front of him with a formal handshake adjusting her pre structured questions.

“Stand by everyone, live in ten!” The floor manager announces as Michael’s makeup artist fixes and adjusts his curls one last time as he clears his throat sitting up straight just as the director gives a thumbs up to the cameraman to start rolling.

Giving a bright professional smile at the camera the journalist starts.

“Welcome back, tonight we are joined by one of the biggest stars in the world, the lead singer of the famous jackson 5 who not too long ago debuted his first adult solo album off the wall…this is Michael Jackson.”

“How are you Michael?”

“Im great thank you. Happy to be here.” Michael says with an easy going smile and tone he’s practiced many times as he starts answering the first few questions in relation to his album’s success, the inspiration and the development of it.

A couple minutes have past and the questions about his career and music are slowly gravitating towards his personal life. You sit at home on the warm plush sofa, the television in front of you streaming your husbands live interview watching proudly as he answers every question effortlessly.

A bowl of fresh sweet popcorn in your lap whilst your hand where your gold wedding band rests on your ring finger caresses your small growing baby bump.

“So i’m sure at this point in your life and career, many relationships have sparked for you?”

Michael nods maintaining his calm and respectful body language.

“Maybe even a couple female relationships hm?”

The journalist adds on trying to coax a response about a potential female in his life out of him.

Your ears perk up at the question watching the screen with your full attention now, the hand that was about to toss popcorn into your mouth now paused.

Michael stills slightly at the question taking his time to process the words and what his response would be, but now he sees it as the perfect opportunity to let the world watching know that he is in fact seeing someone.

“Yes, that too.” He responds after about six seconds of silence. The journalist’s eyes light up in surprise at his response whilst you at home cover your mouth concealing the growing smile at the fact that your husband has now openly hinted to the world that he’s taken.

Clearing her throat the journalist clutches her notes before asking her next question aimed to get him to expand his answer

“Oh really? so there is a lucky girl out there? Would we know who this mystery girl is?”

Growing more confident, he smiles replying “Yes, a beautiful one who’s currently watching from home actually and no her identity is staying hidden.”

At this, you finally let out a squeal as the bowl of popcorn drops onto the carpet but you don’t care as you grab the television remote increasing the volume.

Deeply intrigued with his response, the journalist ignores her next set of pre written questions going off script to become even more nosy.

“Well michael that is incredible, hopefully marriage and a potential family are a blessing coming your way.”

Before michael can even find the urge to stop the words coming out of his lips.

“Well God has already seen to that.”

Silence.

Dead beat silence on the set.

The interviewer blinks once, then twice before sensing a potential massive story and quickly saying.

“Michael… are you insinuating that you’ve already got both a wife…and a child?”

Realising the words he said, his eyes bulge out of his face but the damage was already done.

Clearing his throat he backtracks

“Um..next question please.”

Thousands of people around the world both his and your family and friends who had no idea about anything now hearing his words and revelation.

Watching from home and hearing his words live, your jaw drops.

“…Oh my God.”

The lump in your throat expands and your heart beats so loud you were sure someone could hear it from miles away.

What was he thinking?

After quickly wrapping up the interview, the minute the cameras stopped rolling Michael shoots out of his seat to where his team are already pacing backstage in panic.

Michaels manager quickly rushes to him “Michael?? Is it true??”

He sighs pinching his nose bridge “Yes”

The room goes silent once again.

“How?- When?- that’s besides the point, Michael you revealed that live i hope you know it can’t be unedited-”

“I know i know! Oh God is it already on the media?” He places his arms on his head pacing around the set groaning.

“Is it on the news?” his manager scoffs “Michael are you seriously asking me that?” He says before grabbing the television remote and turning on the screen that’s in the backstage area.

A television news reporter clutches their microphone

“After the broadcasted interview of the famous pop star singer Michael Jackson has just aired 30 minutes ago, fans and me included are gobsmacked at the revelation from the singer regarding his personal life!”

The screen then displays the exact clip of the interview where michael let the news slip.

“Who is the mystery wife and baby mama of Michael jackson!?” The reporter enthusiastically says into the microphone before images of every female celebrity that Michael has taken a picture with at events and award shows start flashing on the screen.

Rolling his eyes and scoffing at the usual antics of the press he snatches the remote out of his managers hand switching the television off.

“I’m not watching this crap. In fact i’m not engaging with this at all”

His manager starts “But Mich-”

“I’m going home. My lawyers can sort this out, Bill let’s go.”

Putting on his aviators his bodyguards lead him out of the building which as expected thousands of press and paparazzi are waiting outside with cameras and microphones that start rushing towards him snapping loudly and blinding him the minute he starts walking out sandwiched between his bodyguards.

“Michael! Michael! Is what you said true?”

“Michael are you really married and a father!?”

“Michael who is she? What’s her name?”

“Michael please just five minutes of your time!”

Bill and his other bodyguards push away the microphones and cameras from his face before Michael quickly rushes into the waiting vehicle.

When he’s inside he removes his sunglasses releasing shaky breaths, staring out of the window he doesn’t even care about the way he let the news slip to the entire world, the only thing on his mind is how you were currently feeling.

“Take me home Bill. I have to see my girl.”

𓂃⋆.˚

After an entire car ride filled with him anxiously bopping his knee up and down and biting his fingernails already imagining the earful he’s gonna get from his family and friends along with the headlines and tabloids, he raises his key putting it into the keyhole slowly twisting it open before entering.

“Baby?…i’m home.”

He sees the lights are still on downstairs assuming you were still in the living room where he left you.

“I’m in the living room!” He hears your voice call out but not failing to miss the slight tremble in it.

When he turns the corner he sees you sitting on the sofa your hand resting on your small bump and a spilt bowl of popcorn resting on the persian rug.

“Are you…okay?” He asks carefully reading your face to see how you’re feeling.

“Yeah…you?” You reply doing the same thing he’s doing, reading his own face.

He looks up at the loud television that’s displaying yet another news reporter speaking about the interview that took place earlier with a new headline.

He lifts off the door frame moving to where you are, grabbing the remote and changing the channel.

“Don’t watch it baby.”

“How can i not mike it’s everywhere! You should hear all the horrible stuff they are saying, calling me one of the Jackson 5’s groupie you accidentally got pregnant!

“A hook up gone wrong-”

“Enough!” He cuts you off sitting beside you as he grabs your face with gentle firmness making you look at him.

“It’s crap. All of it. Don’t listen to it, don’t watch it okay?” His eyes intense and serious making you nod and listen to him as you sigh leaning your forehead on his chest.

“I know Mike…i just- Gosh baby what were you thinking revealing it live?”

He lets go of your face groaning as he buries his face in his hands resting his elbows on his knees.

“I know i know, it just came out baby i was excited. i didn’t care anymore i wanted the world to know i was seeing someone. What i didn’t mean was for the marriage and the baby to slip out.”

“I’m sorry baby, i wanted to eventually announce you and our child to the world in a more peaceful and private way but i’ve screwed that up now” Your heart aches hearing the guilt in his voice.

You sigh placing your palm on his back and rubbing it “I know Michael, i get it i’m not mad I’m just…worried now that everyone including your family now knows.”

His family

He sits up immediately realising that this accidental slip up not only told the entire world but now told his entire family what he was meant to tell them at tomorrow’s dinner.

As if on cue, the telephone on the coffee table rings loudly making both of you flinch.

His heart sinks, barely anyone calls the phone except his mother

Reaching his hand out he places his finger on his lips signalling for you not to speak before he raises the receiver to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Michael.”

“….Yes mother?” He says calmly despite the phone in his hand become slippery from his sweaty fingers.

“Would you care to explain to me why i had to find out through live television that i have a daughter in law and a potential grandchild?”

“Mother i swear, i was gonna tell you tomorrow.”

“Tell me what tomorrow Michael!? so it’s true?”

He practically flinches at the uncharacteristic raise of his mother’s usual soft voice.

He glances towards you where you’re still sat beside him with a worried and anxious expression on your face, the guilt in him only growing more—this was the last thing he wanted for you and the baby, to stress you out. He reaches out holding your hand gently stroking his thumb back and forth.

“Yes mother….it’s true. I-ive been with her for two years….we’re married and…and she’s pregnant mother.”

The other end of the line is so silent michael has to pull the phone away from his ear to see if she hung up

“Mother?”

“So you’re telling me i had to hear from news reporters about my son’s personal life before i hear it from my actual son?” His mother says her voice filled with hurt causing michael to swallow hard looking down in shame

Knowing her son well and how his silence signifies that he’s feeling bad she asks in a more calmer tone

“Is she alright?”

Michael blinks in surprise at the switch of subject before answering.

“Y-yeah, yeah she’s good.”

“Good. Are you taking care of her? Giving her what she needs? Taking her to her appointments? I can’t even imagine how she must be feeling right now Michael” She scolds.

His heart tugs more as he turns to look at you squeezing your hand.

“She’s okay mother, i’m taking good care of her i promise…i swear i was gonna bring her to the gathering tomorrow and tell you all everything. My big mouth just had to ruin it all today.”

“Why tomorrow though michael? Why not two years ago when you had met the girl? did you not think we’d support you? that i wouldn’t support you?”

He closes his eyes trying not to get emotional at his mothers words.

“I’m sorry mother i never meant to keep this from you, it’s just that- Joseph would’ve gotten into my head about focusing on my career and i just wanted one good thing for myself, i didn’t want anyone telling me how to live.”

He hears the soft sigh of his mother through the line signifying that she’s no longer angry but understanding.

“You’re my son Michael. Not the pop star everyone loves. I would’ve defended your happiness no matter what.”

The tears he was trying to hold back slowly roll down his cheek as he feels your hand reach out wiping them away.

“Now you ignore your father. He’s not even home we haven’t seen him in days okay? you bring that pretty girl over tomorrow me and your siblings are meeting her and it is not up for discussion.”

Hearing his mother’s words his shoulders relax a bit including your own after hearing what she said to him through the phone.

“I want to meet my daughter in law.”

Is the last thing Katherine says before hanging up the phone.

Soft silence fills the living room before Michael lowers the receiver placing it back down letting out a big sigh and turning to you grabbing your hand to press kisses on your knuckles looking at you with a hopeful expression.

“So i guess the dinner is still on.”

𓂃⋆.˚

“Baby i promise you look amazing.”

Michael says watching you check your hair and outfit for the millionth time in hallway mirror.

“My love we’re going to be late.” He says checking his watch.

“Michael i am meeting my in laws for the first time ever, after my existence was exposed on live television i am allowed to panic on how im gonna look.”

He smiles warmly at your sass.

“i know baby of course, but i promise if you’re worried about first impressions? their jaw is going to drop seeing you.”

His eyes appreciatively wander over you admiring your pregnancy glow and how your curves are becoming more pronounced in the elegant dinner dress where your small bump is resting in front.

“is this too much? i don’t wanna go overboard, how does your family usually dress for this sort of thing?-”

“Angel breatheee.” He chuckles placing his hands on your shoulders leaning in and kissing your forehead making you blow out a breath.

“You really think they’ll like me?”

“I don’t think baby i know. Now cmon i gotta defeat Randy’s saying of me always being late to things.”

𓂃⋆.˚

40 minutes later you both stand hand in hand in front of the brown oak wood door of Hayvenhurst. Michael didn’t say it in order to make you feel less anxious but you could practically feel his anxiety vibrating off him.

“Nervous?” You ask.

“Who? Me? No way.”

You hold back a snort, kissing his arm before reaching forward and pressing the door bell before he could as his eyes widen.

“Baby wai-”

The door immediately swings open revealing Katherine Jackson in all her beautiful glory, her eyes soften seeing her beloved son before they lower onto you.

Your heart hammers violently in your chest as her kind non judgemental eyes slowly look at you up and down before locking onto your small baby bump making her softly gasp placing her hand over her mouth.

“Come in. Come in. Both of you!”

She steps aside as Michael’s hand grips onto yours tightly whilst you both step into his famous family home. Leaning down he hugs his mother placing a kiss her cheek.

“Hi mother…i have someone very important to me that i’d like you to meet.”

With that, he urges you closer his hand still in yours as you timidly make proper eye contact with her.

“It is an honour to finally get to meet you Mrs Jackson.”

Your shaky voice says hoping you’re not coming across as too nervous but when you see the kind smile light up on his mother’s face, every ounce of anxiousness you felt in meeting her melts away.

“It’s lovely to meet you too honey, both of you.” She responds referring to your baby bump as her eyes melt and water slightly.

“And please, call me Katherine.” She says before her comforting perfume fills your nostrils as she leans in to give you a warm motherly hug as if you’ve known her for years.

Michael smiles widely watching the interaction, when your eyes meet his over his mother’s shoulder he winks giving you ‘i told you so’ look.

“Are they here? Are they finally here?”

You hear three feminine voices rushing in at the same time as three stunning females come into the foyer which you assume are Michael’s sisters— Latoya, Rebbie and Janet.

When they lock their eyes on you and your bump they practically ignore their brothers existence and rush up to you with their own hugs and introductions.

Michael playfully rolls his eyes waving his hand “I’m here aswell yknow?” His sisters laugh before giving him their own hugs finally getting to tease and ask him in person about his secret marriage and parenthood.

Not long after, all five of his brothers come downstairs whom you shake all of their hands and introduce yourself with the same shy politeness.

Marlon, decides to tease his brother by giving your knuckles a kiss after he shakes your hand

“I wasn’t expecting my brother to bring home such a pretty thang, how did you manage to get her Mike?

You almost choke on your spit holding back your laugh feeling the way Michael lets go of your hand to wrap his arm possessively around your shoulder pulling you to his side.

“Watch it Marlon.”

His siblings and mother laugh shaking their head both in amusement and admiration at how possessive michael is over you.

The dinner is everything you didn’t expect it to be—it was natural. You felt as if you’ve known his mother and siblings for years. They were all so free spirited and funny, constantly cracking jokes to the point where you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

You finally got to see where michael got his amazing personality and aspirations from. Midway through the dinner Michael’s older brothers start to tease him even more.

“So Mike you really hid a wife?” Jermaine starts.

“A WHOLE entire wife! Man where was our invite to the wedding!?” Tito instigates.

“Not to mention a baby aswell!” Jackie adds on dramatically.

“Now it makes sense why he moved out so early!” Randy laughs.

“And you all said it would be me to do that!” Jermaine says making everyone at the table tip their heads back laughing.

You cover your mouth laughing turning to your husband who’s beside you with his eyes squeezed shut in bashful amusement at his siblings relentless roasting.

“Okay okay i get it!” He says as his own laughter slipping out.

“How far along are you? and what’s the gender?” Rebbie asks softly the question everyone’s been wondering as the laughter dies down putting the attention back on you and your small baby bump where Michael’s hand is resting.

“Almost 17 weeks…and it’s a girl.” You say with a warm smile hearing the soft gasps and awes around the table. You rest your hand over Michael’s, the gold band on your finger resting perfectly beside his own as his family’s eyes soften at the sight.

“You should’ve told us mike, yknow we’d have your back no matter what.” Randy says as his siblings all nod and agree in unison.

Michael gives a small smile of appreciation at his families support before responding “Thanks guys, i love you. I promise not to keep anything like this from you again.”

“You better not! if you want poor ol’ me to live longer!” Katherine says as Michael reaches over squeezing his mother’s hand reassuring her that he won’t scare or shock her like that again.

The joyful and lively dinner is short lived when the sound of the front door in the hallway opens and shuts…

He wasn’t supposed to be home.

The conversation dies down as the heavy footsteps enter the dinning room, Michael’s smile disappears seeing the sight of his father—Joseph Jackson shrugging off his jacket and pulling out a chair.

An instant mood kill washes over destroying everyone’s appetite as Janet crosses her arms looking away and Jackie clears throat to ease the awkwardness.

Before sitting down Jospeh looks at Michael with the same lack of warmth he’s always given him before flickering his gaze down at you.

Sensing Michael beginning to tense beside you, you reach where his hand is resting on the table holding it as his shoulders gradually become less tense and he turns to look at you with a small smile as you give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Joseph’s eyes land on the action seeing your gold wedding bands glistening in the chandeliers light before drifting his eyes over the subtle yet there curve of your stomach.

“So…” His deep voice breaks the painful silence

“This is the woman?”

“My wife.”

Michael speaks up correcting him. It was clear as day that this was one of the first times Michael corrected his father, you could see the nervousness radiating from his siblings as Joseph took his seat.

But Joseph doesn’t acknowledge Michael’s response he turns his eyes to you. Reading you.

You keep your face neutral despite immediately not liking the man both from the stories Michael has told you and from the way his presence was so off putting.

“You love him?” Joseph says directly to you.

Everyone on the table turns to look at you waiting for your response. You sit up straight not cowering over his attempt to intimidate you with his gaze.

“I wouldn’t have married him if i didn’t.”

Michaels lips curl up into a smirk of pride at your response that’s my girl he thought to himself.

Expecting Joseph to say more or lash out he takes everyone by surprise by giving a bored uninterested nod “Fair enough.” He replies before dishing his food out.

Side glances are exchanged by everyone unable to even process the fact that joseph is being so strangely calm and unbothered.

“Y’all gon eat or stare all day?” He says before everyone grabs their utensils again.

You turn to look at Michael giving him a soft smile before leaning in to kiss his cheek “See that wasn’t so bad” You whisper in his ear as he blows out a breath before continuing to eat, looking at his father cautiously.

Marlon breaks the remaining high tension snorting into his drink whilst everyone resumes their conversations ignoring Joseph who’s eyes occasionally look between you and Michael as if in disbelief at his son’s bold decision.

At the end of the dinner after saying goodbye to everyone Katherine sees you and Michael out. Before you can turn to enter Bills car she grabs your arm, taking you by surprise she pulls you into a tight hug in which you melt into feeling her maternal warmth.

When she pulls away her eyes are glossy with unshed tears. “Thank you…for giving my Michael the happiness he deserves…and for bringing our family a new blessing.” She says before placing her warm hands on your bump with an affectionate smile.

Swallowing back your own emotional tears you lean back down hugging her again.

“Thank you for making me feel welcome, and raising such an amazing son.”

When you pull back from the hug she squeezes your hands again telling you to stay in touch before giving you a bag of leftover food telling you to keep her grandchild well fed before you finally enter the car.

𓂃⋆.˚

Two months later after the dinner, life evidently looks and feels more free.

You and michael weren’t living in secret anymore—not in terms of his personal life at least. The world didn’t know your identity but they knew you existed and that was Michael’s own adamant decision in order to protect you and his unborn child forever.

His family knew and loved ones knew and that was all that you ever wanted. You felt their love and support every single time you answered their phone calls despite his father deciding to stay out of the picture completely.

Resting your back on his chest, his warm strong hands soothingly caress your now six month old beautiful bump that’s fluttering with the strong kicks of your soon to be here daughter as he sings gentle melody’s aloud for her to hear.

“Michael?” You ask softly.

“Yes angel?” He responds pausing his singing to kiss your temple and tilt his head to listen to you.

Rubbing your hand that’s over his on your bump, you turn to look at him with a soft content expression on your face.

“I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

You say referring to everything that’s gone down in the past two years.

Meeting him at the arcade

Crushing and falling for him fast

Him proposing

Getting married to him

Getting pregnant

Him confessing it on live television

With a knowing smile and a matched expression of content he leans forward connecting your lips passionately allowing you to feel the love and warmth through the kiss that he was unable to say in words as you flutter your eyes shut giving him the same passion and mirrored affection.

“Me neither baby.”

𑣲⋆｡˚

Thank you so much for reading <𝟑 .ᐟ

[mjslovrr]

𑣲.I JUST CAN'T STOP LOVING YOU

pairing: bad!michael x fem!popstar reader

summary: years ago michael thought you had stolen one of his songs, now two rival popstars are forced to perform together at the 1988 grammys (enemies to lovers), 18k wc

contents: porn with plot (mdni), angst, hurt comfort, complicated reader, nice guy who only hates you LMAO, cursing, fighting, injury, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), creampie, mirror sex, aftercare, nicknames (baby, mama), michael talking you through it, softdom!michael, 1988 grammy snub.

a/n: this is mostly inspired by the intro to the original pressing of i just cant stop loving you (he sounds so goddamn delicious there) i got a req for an enemies to lovers fic and i most definitely got carried away, tried hard with the slow(ish) burn, this is a long one y'all, but there's a reward at the end (michael destroying that kitty)

“No.”

The word was final, though no one in the room was willing to take it as such.

“Sorry?” Michael’s manager blinked, suddenly stiffening up in the plush office chair he occupied.

“I said no.” His manager awkwardly shuffled in his seat, rubbing his increasingly sweaty palms against his slacks.

Cutting through the silence was a feminine scoff, followed by the rustle of clothes against leather. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Michael’s eye flicked over to you, meeting you with nothing but contempt. “You want me to perform with…him?”

Your manager sighed, the corporate-looking woman rubbing tiredly at her face. “It’s already been discussed.”

“That wasn’t my question.” You snapped back, eyes singling on her as you turned to face the woman.

“Well…”Michael’s manager coughed awkwardly, “The recording academy is very excited about this.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Michael sighed, his large hands coming together as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I agree with him.” You couldn’t even bring yourself to utter his name. The simple act of agreeing with him seemingly irritating you as much as the audacious proposition.

His eyes met yours once again. Though there was no warmth, and there hadn’t been for a long time. You scowled at him, and he returned it with an emotionless glare. “For once.”

The hostility, the venomous nature of your relationship had been like this for years.

Wherever one of you went, the other seemed to follow.

Everything had become a comparison. Tabloids picked you both apart. Television segments devoting entire afternoons to discuss who was more talented, more influential, more deserving of the flowers they receive.

Every piece of media was determined to decide who was better.

The press had been running this story for so long that it was impossible not to think of the other when either of your names were mentioned.

The media exaggerated things. That much was obvious.

But they weren’t exactly wrong.

Michael didn’t like you.

Not one bit.

It started years ago, during the making of Thriller. He recorded a song, a small demo, a couple lyrics, a distinct melody, an idea that hadn’t yet become what he knew it could be. It was unfinished, unrefined, and private.

Eventually, he forgot about it. Life had gotten too busy, locked in an endless cycle of rehearsing, recording, touring and interviews. The demo was the last thing in his mind.

Then one soft summers day, where the birds chirped outside his car window and the morning sun reflected softly off the passing cars. He heard it.

His song. His melody. Playing through the radio and the angelic voice that was singing it wasn’t him, it was you.

His unfinished song had become your best-selling record. His art, his work, his idea. Stolen without credit.

Michael was as unconfrontational as they came. So, he never mentioned it, never asked about it, never giving you the opportunity to explain.

All he felt was betrayal. You heard his demo, had stolen his work and changed it just enough that you could call it your own.

And from that moment forward, his anger seeped into every interaction between you. It settled silently, festering beneath every conversation and exchanged glance, until that resentment and hatred had taken root so deeply that neither of you could remember what it was like not to despise the other.

So as the years followed, the industry caught up.

Rivalry sells.

Shock sells better.

So here you were, in a room full of executives and managers who had the audacity to suggest the two of you sing a love song together.

“I just can’t stop loving you?” You laughed at it, the proposition utterly unbelievable. “You’re all insane.”

Michael sighed loudly, pinching his nose. This was insulting. His work, his craft, his emotions and feelings that had all been poured into his music were being dangled in front of the press like bait. “Why wasn’t I told about this?”

“We tried.” His manager tried to explain. “But the recording academy wanted confirmation in a short amount of time.”

“So, you said yes and assumed we’d go along with it?” You cut in, interrupting his manager.

“Well…”

You interrupted him again, your hands squeezing onto the fabric of your dress. Your glare was piercing, sharp eyes dissecting every awkward movement that the man displayed “Well what?”

Michael’s manger looked down, unable to remain eye-contact with you. His posture crooked, hands tightly wrapped around the notebook in his hand, eyes focused on the small patch of carpet right in front of him.

Silence filled the room, looming over the office like a dark storm cloud. No one dared to answer you, not when they knew the reaction they were going to get. Your manager knew this was a risky move, to force you to dance romantically with your biggest rival.

“What’s the catch?” Michael asked. His voice was quiet, almost resigned. His hand came up to massage his temple, stray curls falling over his brows as he took in a shaky breath.  

Your manager straightened up in her chair, heels dragging across the carpet. Her voice shook as she spoke, her stutter a physical representation of how much she feared your reaction.  “The academy will remove your nominations if you do not fulfill the performance.”

The room became eerily quiet. The atmosphere shifted instantly, morphing into something murky and suffocating.

Slowly, you rose from your chair, smoothing down the fabric of your dress with shaking hands. “Are you serious?”

Everyone’s eyes were on you. Managers and executives alike watched you cautiously, assessing your posture bracing themselves for your inevitable outburst.

Slowly, your manager nodded, eyes meeting yours then quickly dropping down. “We tried to get them to rethink the decision.”

You put your hand up, motioning her to be quiet. You felt rage simmering within you. Forced to work with the one man you despise, forced to sing his song, this was a humiliation ritual disguised exposure.

Michael saw your shaking hands, your fingernails digging into the flesh of your palm, leaving crescent shaped indents. He wasn’t unbeknownst to the way the industry used musicians for their own stories. He hadn’t expected anything less from the over-bearing men in black suits who controlled the market.

But you hadn’t been a pawn in the game as long as him. While his rage was sedated, disappointment prominent in his stature. Your rage was burning like an inferno.

 Slowly, you lowered your hand, eyes singling onto your manager. “Fine.”

Monday – Four Weeks Until Grammy Night

Everyday that lead up to the rehearsal, the pit of dread grew larger in your stomach. You exhausted all of your resources, nothing was going to get you out of this agreement. For the next month, four days of your week would be spent forced next to who you thought was the most arrogant and cocky man you’d ever met.

Call time was 9am sharp. And by 9:30 you had gotten multiple calls from your manager and the choreographer beckoning you to arrive.

You begrudgingly arrived at around 10am, your manager trailing behind you, still attempting to explain why this performance was unavoidable. Though, you had tuned her out. There was only so much corporate nonsense about contracts, nominations and the Grammys that one woman could tolerate early in the morning.

Opening the large studio doors the first thing you heard was music. The music. Michael’s voice playing over the speakers, the lyrics so soft and intimate, telling a romantic love story.

Yuck.

You found Michael quickly, he stood in front of the large, mirrored wall, curls sticking to his forehead, an over-sized white tee draped over his frame and baggy sweatpants hanging off his hips.

His attention was fixed on the choreographer in front of him, attentively nodding to whatever was being explained to him. Your stomach twisted. Why did he look so comfortable? Did he also not spend the last several days trying to dig himself out of this predicament?

His head turned to you as you walked further in the room, brown eyes tracking your movements as you threw your large duffel bag onto the floor. “Morning.” You said to Michael and the choreographer, John.

“Good morning!” John replied with far too much enthusiasm.

Michael stayed silent. He didn’t turn to greet you either, continuing to stare at his own reflection in the mirror.

He couldn’t even muster up a good morning? You thought to yourself, trying to supress the urge to storm out of the room and never look back.

You turned toward him, sucking your teeth. “I said morning.”

Michael stilled, his eyes moving towards your reflection, still not facing you. “I heard.”

You felt your eye twitch. “Y’know if you weren’t so immature we could try and be civil through this whole thing.”

“Immature?” Michael scoffed at you. “I wasn’t the one who had to be dragged to the studio by their manager.”

“I wasn’t dragged.”

“If you say so.” He shrugged.

Any sane person would’ve walked away from him. But in no universe would you let Michael Jackson get the last word.

“Do you always act like a dick, or it is your time of the month?”

Michael span on his heels, “Excuse me?”

“Oh, aren’t you posh?” You let out a humourless laugh. “I’ve got spare pads if you need them.”

Michael’s lip twitched, your crude words irking him. “I don’t need anything from you.”

“Me neither.”

Michael scoffed at you, the memory of his demo flashing in the back of his mind. “Sure.”

The sarcastic tone of his voice set something off in you, blood rushing in your head as you used all of your patience not to throttle him.

John let out an awkward cough clapping his hands together. “Are you guys done?”

Michael’s head dropped slightly, letting out a quiet sigh. “Yeah…Sorry.” He muttered like a disciplined child.

You on the other hand were still trying to reel in the rage that was simmering off of you. “What are we even doing anyway?”

“We are going to be running through the choreo. It’s gonna be decently simple, because the focus is on the two of you and the chemistry that there is.”

“Chemistry?” You laughed out.

“I don’t care if you don’t have it. You’re going to convince me you do.” John replied back.

“Right.” You rolled your eyes. You were making absolutely no effort to hide your disdain for the situation you were in. You had no clue what you had done to Michael, but for years he had acted like you were the gum on the bottom of his stupid shiny loafers.

You and Michael moved to your starting position. You were so close, his breath brushing against your forehead. John messed with the backing tracks so you both awkwardly stood there. His eyes averted your gaze, looking straight above you, he was stiff, hand tightly wrapped around the microphone in his hand.

Despite your mutual disdain for one another, you were still professionals. Managing to stifle down the urge to gag as you felt Michael so close to you.

John jumped up, clapping his hands once. “Alright, let’s move through this fast! We are an hour behind right now!” You rolled your eyes facing Michael once again.

Michael’s eyes dropped down, mouth twitching into a smug grin about the schedule. You grumbled in return, muttering a string of vulgar words.

“Michael, this is going to start with your spoken intro.”

Michael’s body tensed immediately, eyes wide as he shook his head. “What? I didn’t know we were including that.”

“It will be such a good addition Michael! Can you imagine the shock of the world as you profess your love to her. No one will see it coming.” John spoke with excitement, hands moving in the air as he predicted the world’s reaction.

“Yeah, but they mean something.” Michael sighed. “They’re not just for anyone.”

“What? Am I not a suitable for the role?” You taunted. Michael responded with a harsh glaring side eye.

“It’s already decided. You two are in love now, I don’t care what you do outside of this studio. In here, I need to be convinced you two are the happiest couple in the world.”

Michael sighed loudly, running a hand over his face before rolling his shoulders back. He was resetting himself, dissociating from the Michael that wanted to crawl somewhere and hide, and becoming Michael Jackson.

John ran around you both moving your hands into the exact pose he wanted. Michael’s hand hovered just above your cheek, yours on his.

“I just want to lay next to you for a while. You look so beautiful tonight.” Michael whispered into the microphone, his eyes were squeezed shut, trying to erase your presence.

The words that were meant to be sweet and honest, struggled to escape him. His face grimaced with each line, mouth twitching into a frown as he was forced to whisper confessions to you.

You stood there rigid, frowning, foot tapping restlessly as you listened to the spoken word. Watching him be in such discomfort just being near you was insulting.

Yes, you didn’t like him. That didn’t mean you were repulsive.

Michael finished and he let out a sigh of relief, immediately stepping away from you, gasping for air as if your presence was beginning to make him sick.

“Again!” John called out.

You glanced over. “We just did it?”

“Yeah, and now we’re doing it again. Let’s look less sick of each other this time.”

A dramatic sigh left your mouth as you rolled your eyes. Michael’s mouth twitched upwards slightly, holding back a laugh.

“Did you just laugh at me?”

“No.”

“You did.”

“I did not.”

“Uhh yes you did?”

Michael looked at you with that same blank expression he had been giving you for years. “Can we rehearse?” There it was, that tone. It wasn’t angry, it wasn’t frustrated. It was dismissive and condescending.

“Sure!” You grinned sarcastically. “Wouldn’t want to be here longer than needed.”

His eyes narrowed, ignoring your snide remarks. “I’m here to work.”

“Yeah? So am I.”

Michael let out a shallow laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your eye twitched, head cocking to the side. “What did you say?”

Michael kept his blank expression. “That I’m here to work?”

“No. You said something else.”

“Hm, I don’t recall.” Michael shrugged.

God, give me the strength to not strangle this man. You thought.

You stared at him, eye boring into his. He stared back, his blank expression faltering for just one moment.

But you caught it.

That small flicker of irritation.

At least he felt something.

“Again!” John yelled in between both, obviously exhausted with the ridiculous arguing between you.

Michael moved to his position, whispering the words to you once again. He had his eyes open this time, staring right at yours.

It felt like a challenge. Was he testing you? To see if you’d break? Hoping that you’d timidly avoid his gaze like every other woman that fawns over him.

You hated Michael.

You hated losing more.

You kept your eyes focused on his, your hand hovering over his cheek, sucking on the inside of your mouth as he continued to speak.

“I just want to touch you. And hold you. I need you, God, I need you.”

When the music finally stopped, John looked between you enthusiastically clapping. “Amazing! Yes! That is what we want!”

Michael chuckled softly. “Thankyou.”

“This is what I’m talking about. There is something there!”

“Yeah. Mutual hatred.” You laughed, stepping away to grab your water bottle.

For the next two hours the cycle continued. John would demonstrate the choreo. You would question it, complain about the situation. Michael would offer some sort of correction or snide remark. You’d argue with him and repeat.

This was going to be one long month

Monday – Three Weeks Until Grammy Night

By the following week you had learnt two things.

One. John had absolutely no sympathy for your hatred of Michael Jackson.

Two. Michael was a lot more irritating when you had to be within him four days a week.

The first week of rehearsals had all been quite similar. You all argued to John’s deaf ears about the intimate choreography, Michael continuously corrected your timing, you would tell him he’s the most insufferable man you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting and he’d brush you off with a quiet remark that made you wish he’d just yell at you like a normal person.

Though as you two got more acclimated to each other the sharpness off your arguments began to dull.

You’d learnt that when Michael was particularly quiet, he was concentrating, he hated being late and he hated when he got something wrong. While you were sitting down to take a break, he’d stay in front of the mirror marking the choreography over and over until he got it right.

Michael, against his will, had learnt that you became quite argumentative whenever you were tired, becoming even more agitated when you were hungry. That you hummed under your breath when you were concentrating, softly biting your lip as you fought to remember the choreography. He learnt that you tended to deliberately exaggerate your movements whenever he had annoyed you, using your entire body to display your unhappiness.

Neither of you discussed these observations.

Well.

Neither of you discussed anything.

“Again!” John called from the back of the room.

You were glistening with sweat, hair sticking to the back of your neck. John had been making you repeat this sequence for hours now, and you were beginning to think he had some sort of personal vendetta against you.

From one side of the studio to the other you and Michael were meant to move in sync, his hand in yours as you both twisted and turned across the floor. The footwork was intricate, keeping up with it and remembering your lines was becoming all too much to do next to Michael, who somehow managed to do it perfectly every time.

“John. If I do this again, I’m going to throw myself through that window.”

John pouted. “Aw. Too bad its locked.”

Your jaw dropped open, staring at him with wide eyes.

In your ear, you heard a soft snicker.

You head snapped towards Michael. “Do you have something to say?”

“No.”

“You did that thing.”

“What thing?” Michael raised his eyebrow, trying to keep the smug grin off his face.

“Y’know that little.” You mocked his snicker, deliberately exaggerating the sound.

Michael’s jaw dropped. “Never in my life have I made that noise.”

“You just did.”

“I do not sound like that.”

“Uhhh, yes you do.” You mocked him again.

“Hello? Are we rehearsing or doing impressions?” John asked loudly.

“I can multi-task.” You scoffed going back to your starting mark.

Michael let out another snicker as he strode across the room.

“You did it again!” You exclaimed, pointing in his face.

“I really didn’t.” Michael said blankly this time.

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“That’s interesting coming from you.” Michael mumbled, moving behind you.

 His hand hovered over your waist in a practiced manner.

You stiffened.

Your head whipping around to meet him and even John straightened in his seat, closing his eyes with a deep breath.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You sneered, cocking your head to the side.

“Nothing.” Michael cursed at himself, regret bubbling in his chest as he realised what he let slip.

“Nah. Say what you meant.” You stepped closer to him, your voice growing sharper.

John sprung up from his seat, stepping between you before the argument could escalate.

“Okayyyy. Whatever unresolved psychological warfare you two have going on, save it for after the rehearsal because I do not get paid enough to break up a brawl.”

You muttered a couple swears under your breath, hesitantly turning away from Michael. Your eyes still stared into him through the mirror, manicured hands squeezing the microphone in your hand.

You were a lot of things. Brazen, bitchy, annoying.

But you weren’t a liar.

“Great. Now again!”

As soon as the music started, it went wrong.

Michael had turned too early, going just a beat too fast. Your shoulder collided with his chest as you turned, his foot catching onto yours as you both toppled sideways.

Your hands reached out and grabbed onto his arms to catch yourself, his large hands catching your waist instinctively before you hit the wooden floors.

Michael’s eyes were wide as they met yours, breathing heavy from the sudden movement. His hands remained grasped tightly onto your waist as his eyes moved over you quickly assessing whether you were hurt.

But your eyes flicked down to your entangled feet. “Was that your fault?”

Michael’s worrisome expression faded back to irritation, his jaw fell slack. “My fault?”

You looked back at him unimpressed, hands still gripping onto his arms. “You turned early.”

“I did not.”

“Well, I was on time.”

Michael blinked slowly, trying to get his head around the whiplash he got from being worried you were hurt to having to defend himself. “You turned into me.”

You let out a loud laugh. “No! I was following the choreo.”

“Well so was I.”

“Well maybe you should follow it properly.” You sneered.

Michael’s brows pinched together, his upper lip twitching. “I know the choreo.”

You laughed at him again. “Oh yeah. Clearly.”

“You walked into me.” Michael said calmly.

“What world are you living in!” You exclaimed, the volume of your voice a stark contrast to his calm demeanour.

“The one where you walked into me.”

“I did not walk into you. You moved too early.”

“No.” Michael shook his head, his voice still calm, but the slightest bit of irritation creeping through. “You moved into me.”

Instead of responding with words, you let out a loud groan of frustration, shutting your eyes tight and exhaling slowly as you tried to stop yourself from jumping up and strangling him.

When you opened your eyes, you finally glanced down to see that you two were still tangled together. “Can you let go?” You sneered.

Michael followed your gaze. His eyes dropped to where his hands were still wrapped around your waist, only just realising they were there.

He immediately released you, gently pulling you back to your feet before stepping away. He turned his back to you, straightening his shirt. “Y’know if you watched where you were going-”

“Oh, don’t start.”

“I wasn’t starting anything.” Michael said this time a little laugh escaping him.

He tried to supress it he really did. But the utter absurdity of the argument had finally caught up to him. How were two of the biggest names in the industry spending several minutes arguing like children over a minor mistake in some choreography?

You stared at him unamused. “Are you laughing? Seriously?”

“It’s just-” He shook his head, the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he turned to face you once more. “Never mind.”

“No say it.” You demanded

“It’s just funny.”

“Yeah. Funny to you. I almost tripped and died.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Michael chuckled, reaching up to push the soft ringlets that had fallen across his face.

“Yeah, yeah whatever.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Silence filling the studio like a warm fuzzy blanket.

Your eyes met his, and there was no irritation, no contempt. Just a strange, fleeting warmth that felt foreign between the two of you.

Michael’s expression softened. “Did you hurt yourself?” Michael asked quietly.

The question caught you off guard, blinking a couple times before you shook your head. “No…No, I’m fine.”

In return, Michael gave you a warm, knowing smile “See? You are a drama queen.”

You scoffed this time but didn’t bother hiding the smile creeping onto your face. “Shut up.”

Thursday – Eleven Days Until Grammy’s Night

The novelty of rehearsal’s had long worn off.

You were tired.

Not the kind of tired that could be fixed with a night’s rest. It was the sort of tired that settled deep into the fibres of your body, making every inconvenience and error feel deeply personal. Your muscles ached, your throat was beginning to feel raw and the fact you hadn’t slept well in weeks was all beginning to catch up to you.

And somehow, the one thing you just couldn’t get right, was the simplest part.

The line was right at the end of the song. A short vocal exchange between you and Michael that required you to sing immediately after his note.

You had sung it perfectly countless times. In every rehearsal you had gotten it perfect.

Today, you hadn’t got it right once.

You heard John’s disappointed sigh as the music stopped. “C’mon, that was the fifth time.” he said tiredly. “Again.”

“I know.” You said frustrated, eyes shutting tightly.

“If you know then why do you keep getting wrong?”

“I’m coming in late.”

“Great. So…let’s not do that next time?” John was equally as annoyed as you, and he didn’t care enough to hide it from you. He wanted this performance perfect, not for either of you to be comfortable.

Your jaw clenched, nodding silently as you held back the string of curses that threatened to fly out of your lips.

Michael stood beside you, his microphone hanging loosely in his hand. He hadn’t said anything about your previous attempts, but you could still feel his piercing gaze digging into the side of your face.

The music started once more, Michael singing his line waiting expectingly for yours.

You came in late again, missing your cue once more.

You hand came up to your face massaging your temple. “I’m sorry.” You mumbled under your breath beginning to pace. “Can we just-”

“You’re thinking about it too much.”

Your hand dropped quickly, looking up to him. “What?”

He shrugged confused at your sharp tone, unaware of the dangerous territory he was breaching. “You’re thinking about when you’re supposed to come in instead of listening to the music.”

Your eyes bored into him, face falling flat. “I know how to sing.”

Michael shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah? Well, you implied it.” You scoffed rolling your shoulders back, trying to rid of the growing tension in your body.

“No.” Michael’s brows furrowed taking a step closer to you. “I’m trying to help.”

“Well, you’re not.” You snapped.

Michael sucked in a breath, holding back his temper. This was literally his song, so why were you so adamant on not taking any help from him?

Maybe you only liked to take his music not take notes.

“It’s fine. Just play it again John I’ll get it.” You shook your hands, trying to shake off the nerves that were firing inside of you.

The familiar music played once more, and you missed it again.

“Fuck!” You screamed out tossing out your microphone across the room, it crashing against the floor.

Both John and Michael froze, scared to move, not wanting to aggravate you more.

“I’m getting a coffee!” John sprung up. Michael’s head snapped towards him fear in his eyes. He was frantically shaking his head, begging to not be left alone with you but John just grinned and sprinted out of the room.

Coward.

“You’re thinking about it too much.” Michael said quietly. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to comfort you. Not when all he would get in return was your nasty attitude. “You’re trying so hard to get it right, you’re not listening to the music.”

“Oh really?” You asked him sarcastically.

“C’mon…” Michael frowned.

“You seem to know a whole lot about me, don’t you?”

“No, I didn’t-”

“No. It’s fine.” You stomped over to where you microphone had landed, tapping it to make sure it wasn’t broken. “I’ll try harder.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You shrugged, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. Michael watched as you move to your position. He wanted to say something, to explain himself better but his mouth stayed shut.

The music played once more.

You followed the choreography, Michael’s voice filled the room, and you waited for your cue.

It was right there. Just one step and one note and you’d finally get it right.

But just as he said, you were thinking about it too much. Your mind was ahead of your body, moving through the movement’s to fast as you focused on the vocal cue.

Your foot landed awkwardly, your ankle rolling beneath you before you had time to realised you mis-stepped. A sharp bolt of pain shot up your leg, stealing the breath from your lungs as you toppled towards the floor with a started groan.

Michael moved before you could catch yourself. His microphone clattered against the wooden floor as he reached for you, one arm wrapping around your torso. He had managed to stop you from collapsing completely, but your palms still struck the floor hard enough for it to sting.

“Woah- Jesus Christ. Are you alright?”

You sucked in a shaky breath, more embarrassed than in pain. You immediately pushed yourself upright, sitting on the floor as another hiss of pain left your lips. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

You attempted to stand, refusing to meet Michael’s worried gaze, but the moment your injured foot touched the floor, a sharp cry of pain escaped you. Michael’s grip tightened instinctively around your waist, keeping you from putting any more weight on it. “Stop. Don’t move.”

Something about his voice made you pause and actually listen.

There was no irritation, no sarcastic or snarky remark waiting behind his words, no trace of the usual impatience that seemed to follow with every interaction between you.

He sounded genuinely worried.

“Michael. I said I’m fine.”

“I know what you said.” He response was firm, but compared to the seriousness in his expression, it was somewhat gentle. His eyes flicked down to your ankle, before returning to your face. “Can you move it.”

You swallowed, testing it carefully by trying to move your foot to the side but even the smallest movement sent sharp pulses of pain through your leg. “I…I don’t know.”

Michael stood up, holding one of his large hands towards you.

“What’re doing?” You glanced up at him, confusion evident on your face.

“Helping you up.”

You shook your head quickly. “No it’s- it’s fine. I can get up.”

Michael gave a look. The same look he’d give you when you’d pointlessly argue with him about corrections, or hiss out a witty insult, except this time there was none of the usual disdain behind it.

“Can you just accept help for once?” His words were slightly exasperated, but they were wrapped win something softer.

Michael didn’t want to win another argument with you. He just wanted to help.

You were hesitant to accept it, but slowly you reached out, letting Michael gently lift you back onto your feet.

It hurt too much to stand properly, those same sharp pains making you groan in agony. Your body weight rested against Michael, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist as he helped you across the room and settled you on a small bench.

You stared down at your ankle, eyes burning with the threat of tears. Though, they weren’t from pain. It was just…everything else.

You hated this.

You hated being the person who couldn’t get anything right.

And most of all, you hated that Michael had been the only one to witness it.

“It’s not that bad.” You mumbled, staring at your ankle.

“You don’t know that.”

You just shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t afford to be injured right now.”

Michael was sitting on his heels in front of you, slowly lowering your sock to inspect the angry bruising around the joint. “You need to rest it.”

“I can’t do that.” You laughed at his idea, shaking your head.

“You need to.” He insisted.

“This stupid performance is in eleven days.”

“You won’t be performing anything if you make this worse.”

You let out a bitter laugh, looking down as you rubbed your aching palms against your thighs. “I can’t keep messing everything up.”

You didn’t mean to be so vulnerable with him. You preferred to not have any conversations with Michael, especially ones that involve your feelings. But the way his big brown eyes were gazing up at you laced with worry and concern brought out a softer side of you.

“It’s one note.” Michael said. “It’s not everything.”

“You don’t get it.” You shook your head, starting to regret opening up near him.

“Then explain it.”

The room felt far too quiet now. He sat at your feet, patiently waiting for your answer as he gazed at you with sparkling eyes.

“Everyone is waiting for me to mess up.” You confess in a whisper.

“Who?”

You shrugged. “Everyone.” You clasped your hands together trying to silence the dull pain ringing in your palms. “Every magazine, television show, journalist has spent years trying to figure which one of us is better. If I mess up, they will drag it on for months.”

Michael nodded softly. He knew better than anyone the pressure the media could put on one person.

“The managers are saying it’s for shock value, and rivalry and whatever. But I know they just want me to look stupid next to you and just be some scapegoat in the stories they’ve already made about me.”

He stayed silent, an epiphany reaching him as you confessed your feelings to him. For the first time, he began to understand that all the arrogance he’d attributed to your behaviour may not have been arrogance at all.

Instead, it was fear.

And you were just incredibly good at making sure no one saw it.

“You’re not going to look stupid,” Michael said quietly, his expression completely sincere.

“I think you’re just saying that to make me feel better.” You said with a small chuckle.

“I’m serious.” Michael said firmer this time. “We’re here practicing 4 days a week, for hours and hours each day. You won’t look stupid.”

“I feel pretty stupid right now.” You pointed down to your swollen ankle. Michael looked down too, grimacing at the bruises on your skin.

“You should go home. Rest up over the weekend.” Michael stood up slowly.

“John’s not going to be happy.” You mumbled with a grin. “But…yeah you’re right.”

“I’m always right.” Michael said with a grin.

“Oh my god, be quiet.” You shooed him away with your hand, a bright smile appearing on your face.

After you had left, Michael stayed in the studio.

He told himself it was because there was work still to be done. The performance was less than a fortnight away, and he still wasn’t satisfied with certain sections of it. So he played his song again, and again, and again.

By the time he had finally stopped, he was gasping for air, shirt clinging damply to his back, his throat was burnt raw from singing and sweat had gathered along his hairline, dampening the curls that had fallen across his face.

The studio was much quieter now, devoid of its usual ambience. All that remained was the faint hum of equipment and the echo of his heaving breathing.

Michael lowered the microphone and stared at his messy reflection. For a short while, he just stood there, gazing at his dishevelled appearance.

But his mind wandered off, back to earlier.

He remembered the moment your body was pressed against him, unable to stand without his help. Or the way you continued to try and stand and move even in unbearable pain, the expression of your face, that soft wide-eyed hopelessness that appeared when you finally confessed how afraid you were of messing everything up.

He could still hear your voice, angelically ringing in his head. “Everyone is waiting for me to mess up”

His chest tightened painfully. He had no idea someone as confident and self-assured as you could be so afraid.

Or maybe, he never cared enough to look closely.

His gaze dropped down to the floor below him. Reminding him of the childish argument you both had had a week ago.

Michael’s mouth twitched, but he caught the smile quickly, it disappearing almost as quickly as it came.

“What am I doing?” He asked himself as his stare lifted back up to expression.

He saw the faint blush on his cheeks, He instantly frowned, embarrassed by his actions, rubbing a hand through his wet hair.

This was ridiculous.

You were still you. The arrogant, cocky popstar who had taken his demo’s and used them for her own good. Still the only woman who questioned every single thing he did, the one woman he had spent sleepless nights thinking of how he would finally confront you about his stolen song.

But a realization hit him.

And it hit him hard.

He no longer hated you. And even worse, he was beginning to realise he actually enjoyed your company.

Saturday – Nine Days Until Grammy Night

It was well past midnight, the bustling hotel lobby had emptied, leaving only the quiet hum of the air-conditioning and the occasional murmurs of the staff. You kept you head down as you crossed the marble floors towards the elevators, your puffy jacket pulled tightly around your body.

You had dressed yourself in a way that covered you head to toe, a common part of your routine now if you wanted to avoid the commotion that came with being one of the worlds biggest celebrities.

You hated being spotted when you weren’t ready, the looming fear of a camera flash that could expose your catered and perfected image you published into the world.

Your ankle had slightly improved since Thursday. Spending most of your time sprawled out in the hotel’s king bed, your foot elevated and wrapped in ice. Though the pain still resided with a dull ache that spread up your leg, forcing you to favour one side as you hobbled through the lobby.

You pressed the elevator button, leaning against the wall as you waited, trying to relieve some of the pressure against your foot.

With a quiet ding the metal doors glided open, the warm light of the elevator reflecting off the pristine mirrored walls.

You stepped inside, pressing your floor before turning around. You were halfway through adjusting your hat to cover less of your face when a hand suddenly appeared between the doors.

As much as you hated to admit it. You’d recognise those hands anywhere.

Your eyes widened as he stepped inside, his mirrored yours, just as shocked to see you.

“So, you’re following me now.” You scoffed out, bracing yourself against the metal rail, your injured foot hovering above the tiled floor.

Michael let out a small chuff. “Why would I follow you?”

You smirked, shrugging. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re obsessed.”

“With you?”

“Don’t sound so horrified.”

Michael shook his head, his finger pressing the floor above yours.

You saw his floor number. He was right above you. “You’re staying here?”

Michael nodded, crossing his arms as he rested against the wall opposite to you.

“Seriously?” You sighed. This had to be some sort of sick joke. Not only did you have to see him at rehearsal, now you had to risk the chance of bumping into him at your hotel.

“Don’t sound too excited.” He smirked. “I might think you’re the one following me.”

You let out a choked cough. “Me? Please. I could think of a million things I’d rather do.”

Michael responded with a shake of his head, a tiny grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

The elevator hummed as it began climbing, the small numbers above the door flickering to the next every couple seconds.

Michael’s eyes dropped to your foot, noticing the way you held it off the floor, your other taking all of the weight.

He felt an inexplainable ache in his chest, seeing you stand there with a brave face even though he knew your foot must’ve been killing you.

“How is it?” He asked, nodding his head forward your ankle.

You straightened, placing your foot back onto the ground. The ache began again but you ignored it. The last thing you wanted to do was show the pain you were in.

“How’s what?” You said defensively.

Michael blew out a frustrated sigh through his nose. “Your ankle.”

“It’s fine.” You said quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I wasn’t worried.” Michael scoffed. “I was just wondering.”

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes it is.” You taunted. Usually, he’d continue to fight with you, desperate to defend himself against your stubborn childish arguments. But today he just laughed, a breathy chuckle leaving his lips.

“And if I was worried?” He tilted his head, a smug grin plastering across his face.

“Well.” You looked away, unable to explain the heat that had suddenly hit your face. “Well. Don’t.”

Michael hummed satisfied at your startled response.

You hated that little sound. And more than that you hated the way he was looking at you. His eyes had settled on you, darting between his own reflection and you. You shifted awkwardly beneath his heavy gaze, pulling your jacket tightly around you, as if it could shield you from his imposing stare.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Michael blinked innocently, “Like what?”

“Like…” You gestured at him, moving your hand up and down, frustration crawling into your voice. “Like you’re judging me.”

Michael shook his head. “I’m not judging you.”

“You’re still looking at me.”

“No.” He grinned. “I was looking at myself.”

“Oh, how humble.” You rolled your eyes, pivoting so you were facing away from him. Though, the mirrors still revealed you to him, his eyes now focused on your reflection.

The elevator continued its slow climb, the soft hum of the machinery filling the silence between you. You tried to focus on the quiet elevator music, the mundane tune suddenly becoming the most interesting thing in the world.

You tried so hard to ignore him. The way his head dipped down, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to get a closer look at your swollen foot. His eyes gliding over you as he tried to translate your body language.

Before you knew it, you had been staring at him, gazing at the way his curls flipped out from under his glasses, the way his large hand wrapped around the metal bar, his body swaying slightly.

Your eyes lifted up to his face, noticing his smudged eyeliner, the defined dimples in his cheeks as he lightly smirked.

His eyes met yours, his smirk growing as he realised you were staring back at him. You let out a little gasp, eyes dropping back to the floor.

“So much for stop looking.” He chuckled.

“You’re so annoying.” You groaned arms crossed tight around your torso.

“Hm maybe.” He shrugged, unable to supress the grin on his face.

“Don’t be so pleased with yourself.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He whined playfully.

“You’re looking.” You said firmly. You felt your insides twist with how comfortable he was speaking with you. His stupid, dumb grin making the heat in your cheeks feel unbearable, your heart doing a flip at the way he comfortably bantered with you.

“And?”

“Stop.”

“Make me.”

Your stomach dropped, your throat going dry, the breath being stolen from your lungs. For once, you had absolutely nothing to say.

His words had been thrown at you so casually you were certain he hadn’t realised what he had done to you.

But Michael watched you closely through the reflection. Your lips parting and closing, his teasing expression starting to fade when he realised you’d gone quiet. Had he been too forward? He guessed he’d gotten a bit carried away, the privacy of the elevator seemingly bringing out a more forward side of him.

“Ew.” You scoffed out, words finally forming in your throat. “You’re so gross”

In an odd way, Michael was actually comforted by your insult. The familiar blanket of banter wrapping over him. “Yeah. You like it.”

“I do not.” You gasped out.

Michael snickered at your outburst. “You’re so easy to annoy.”

“No. You’re just the most insufferable man to ever walk this earth.”

The elevator finally dinged, an audible sign that you could be let out of this trap. The doors slid open, you carefully stepped forward, though you didn’t make it far before your ankle shot with pain, causing you to hiss.

Michael moved quickly behind you.

You shot him a glare, head spinning. “Don’t”

“I didn’t even do anything.”

“You were gonna.”

“….No.” He mumbled quietly.

You continued walking out of the elevator, prepared to walk to your room without saying goodbye to Michael.

However, Michael crept out of the elevator, following several steps behind you. You walked with a determined limp, unaware Michael was quietly trailing you.

Then a squeak reached your ears, the scratching sound of leather rubbing against the tiles.

You turned quickly, heat rising in your body. Why was he being so clingy? He didn’t have to hover over you like a child. You were perfectly capable on getting to your room by yourself.

Had you looked so weak to him that he felt like he had no choice but to walk you home like some sort of damsel in distress.

“Stop following me.”

Michael shrugged. “I’m not.”

You let out a loud annoyed groan. “You literally are!”

“I’m exploring.”

“Okay? Explore literally anywhere else. Go away.”

For a second he didn’t respond, standing there dejectedly, then his stare shifted to your ankle again.

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling increasingly annoyed at how helpless he thought you were. “Michael, I swear-”

“I didn’t say anything.” He countered.

You looked at him a while longer, trying to decipher the look in his eyes. “I’m fine okay.”

“You always say that.”

“Yeah but I mean it.” You sighed. “I’ll see you on Monday. Okay.”

His eyes lit up ever so slightly. After all this time, he had begun to look forward to seeing you, even when all you did was insult him and fight with him, there was something addicting about the way you acted.

“Y-Yeah.” He stuttered out, swallowing loud. “See you Monday.”

Monday – One-Week Until Grammy Night

The forced rest had been frustrating at first, stuck in the hotel dwelling on how much you had humiliated yourself. But by Monday you found yourself itching to get back in the studio.

Something about your last rehearsal had shifted your outlook on this performance, a strong sense of determination within you. You weren’t going to go onto the Grammy stage simply because you’d been threatened. You were going to perform because you wanted to prove to everyone who was counting on your down fall that they wrong.

Your ankle was still tender, occasional winces slipping past your lips whenever you put too much force into a movement, but you refused to let it slow you down. You’d spent the morning running through the performance section by section, repeating each part until John had finally ran out of notes to give you.

“Alright.” John made direct eye-contact with you, his stare sharp enough to make your stomach drop. “We’re doing that line again.”

Your shoulders tensed instantly. A shuddered breath escaping as you looked towards the mirrored wall

You were nervous.

Undeniably so.

You knew it wasn’t difficult, it was actually painfully easy and that’s what made the whole thing so humiliating. This moment was so tiny compared to the rest of the performance and yet you’d managed to make it your personal enemy.

The last time you had performed it you’d failed so horrendously that it ended with Michael practically dragging you across the studio floor like a piece of meat.

Well. That was slightly dramatic. But still, the memory was enough to make your stomach twist.

Michael had been watching you all morning, his big brown eyes following your every movement, attention fixated on your ankle whenever you had to attempt one of your more demanding dance moves. Every now and then his hands would instinctively lift as though he expected you to stumble again, only for him to realise what he was doing and slap his hands back to his sides.

Two weeks ago, you would’ve already snapped at him.

You probably would’ve told him to stop hovering over you, that you didn’t need to be monitored like a helpless child and that you were perfectly capable of doing your job.

But something had changed. You didn’t want him to stop.

It was irritating to admit, even in the privacy of your mind…but there was something strangely comforting about having someone pay attention to you. You’d spent years thinking the only feeling he had towards you was hatred, so discovering he was actually capable of worrying about you had unsettled you in a way you couldn’t explain.

Michael noticed the tension gathering in your shoulders. He took a small step towards you, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re gonna get it this time.” He said softly, with a smile so genuine you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yeah. Of course, I am.” You said, quickly turning around before he could notice the smile lingering.

Michael shook his head, amusement flashing across his sharp features. “You’re meant to say thank you.”

“Yeah, and you’re meant to be in your position. Hurry up.” You waved him towards his mark, a desperate attempt to disguise the fact his words had affected you.

He chuckled softly underneath his breath as he moved behind you. You could feel him there without looking. His hands hovered carefully near your waist, just as practiced. You tightened your grip around your microphone, taking a slow steady breath as you waited for the music to start.

You noticed it immediately.

His cologne.

It was different to usual, or maybe you’d just never paid attention to it. It was amber and something faintly spicy. The fragrance lingering in the small space between you both. You inhaled another breath without even thinking, letting his scent settle within you.

You should’ve been repulsed by it.

 You should’ve pushed him away, made some stupid comment about how he drenches himself in perfume, anything to restore that normal distance between the two of you. Instead, you found yourself standing perfectly still, almost leaning back to settle against his chest.

You caught yourself immediately. What the hell was wrong with you?

The speakers crackled, forcing both of you to wait as John muttered under his breath and kicked the side of the speakers. “Stupid thing.”

The interruption left you standing there, Michael still behind you, neither of you quite sure what to do with the silence.

Your head turned toward Michael, craning your neck just enough to look up at him. “Thankyou.”

Michael’s brow lifted. “For?”

You hesitated. “Before.”

Recognition flickered across his face, followed by a soft, embarrassed laugh. “Oh…Yeah no problem.” Michael’s eyes nervously flicked between your eyes and just above you. “You didn’t actually have to say it” he added “I was joking.”

“I know.” You retorted, your familiar tone coming back. “I felt nice.” You turned back to look in the mirror, feeling a foreign heat on your cheeks. “Don’t get used to it though.”

Michael looked away, a grin growing on his face. “Didn’t plan on it.”

By the time rehearsal had finally ended, the sun had completely descended from the sky, the only light in the sky coming from the soft glimmering moon.

The night air was cool, the breeze nipping your skin. Standing on the pavement you pulled your jacket tighter around your frame. Your eyes darted over the carpark, a frown settling on your face.

The carpark was empty aside from one sleek black car that hid in the shadows.

You looked down at your watch. 11:15pm.

“For fuck sake.” You muttered under your breath, limping further into the carpark desperately looking for your driver. However, your search was fruitless.

The studio doors opened behind you, you didn’t have to look around to figure out who it was.

“You’re still here?”

You glanced over your shoulder to see Michael stepping outside, a large winter-coat draped loosely over his shoulders. “Obviously.”

Michael ignored your sarcasm and scanned the car park. “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you go figure that out Einstein.” You looked like a child throwing a tantrum, arms crossed angrily, bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

Michael just shook his head at you, a tiny grin appearing on his face. “Are you done?”

“My driver left.” You spoke.

Michael’s eyes widened slightly, taking another look at the carpark. “Well, my drivers still here.”

“Don’t have to rub it in.” You scowled at him.

Michael rolled his eyes, stepping closer to you. “I mean he can take you home, we’re going to the same place anyway.”

Your head snapped towards him, confusion evident in your features. “What? No. I’ll be fine.” The absurdity struck you. For years, the two of you had refused to be in the same space as the other, and now he was casually offering to drive you home, as if you were friends.

“But you’re still limping.” Michael said looking at your ankle.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“You’re most definitely not.”

“Are you always this observant?”

“Are you always this stubborn?”

You stared at him for moment, the corners of your mouth lifting into a grin. “Fine.” You muttered. “Only cause I’m tired…and it’s cold.”

Michael hummed, “Sure.”

“This doesn’t mean I like you now.” Your eyes squinted, giving him a playful look.

He just laughed in response. “I didn’t think so.”

You slowly walked to the car, limping slightly as your tired muscles ached with every step. Michael watched you carefully out of his peripheral, unable to not worry over you.

He opened the door for you, letting you slide into the warm leather seats before settling next to you.

For the first few minutes neither of you spoke. The city moved quietly beyond the tinted windows. You rested your head against the glass, watching the familiar streets blur into darkness.

Michael sat beside you, one hand resting against the middle seat, while he gazed out the opposite window.

“This is weird.” You mumbled quietly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Michael’s head perked up, gazing over at you. “What is?”

“You driving me home.”

Michael’s expression remained blank. “I’m not driving.”

You stared at him for a second, before you scoffed out a laugh. “You’re such a smartass.”

It was strange seeing Michael like this, wrapped in a large coat, his sunglasses resting on the top of his head, pushing his loose curls up so you could see his long lashes flutter, fighting the urge to finally rest his eyes.

“You tired?” You asked him quietly, the hum of the car engine playing quietly behind you.

Michael nodded. “Mhm…you?”

“Yeah.” You whispered out. “Y’know something?”

Michael’s tired eyes flicked back to you expectingly. “What?”

“You’re less annoying when you’re tired.”

Michael’s head fully turned towards you, one eyebrow lifting as he quietly laughed. Something about that smug little smile that tugged at his mouth made your stomach flip.

“Oh, how sweet.” Michael said sarcastically, sinking further into his seat.

You rolled your eyes, trying to act annoyed but the small smile on your lips betrayed you “Don’t get used to it.”

“I could.”

You choked slightly, eyes widening at his sly response. “Well…don’t.”

His smile lingered as he kept his gaze focused on your burning cheeks “Hm? I’ll try.”

Your eyes darted away from his stare, shaking your head as you turned to look out the windows again. “I take it back. You’re just as annoying.”

Wednesday – Five Days Until Grammy Night

The strange ease the settled between you and Michael in the car ride had seemed to follow you back into the studio.

Neither of you acknowledged it. There were no teasing mentions or conversations about the peaceful drive home. But something had shifted. Michael didn’t seem quite as guarded around you. Instead of your touches hovering as you danced, you both confidently rested against each other, flowing into movements as if they were second nature.

By lunchtime, John had disappeared, skipping out of the room with a wide grin on his face finally rejoicing that two weren’t at each other’s throats any longer.

You sat against the wall, legs stretched in front of you taking large sips of water to soothe your throat. Michael sat beside you, reading through the schedule of performance night.

Michael looked at you, biting his lip nervously. He couldn’t deny his liking towards you but he just couldn’t let his song go. If he could just speak up and finally ask his mind would finally calm.

It was itching within him, the urge to finally come clean, to explain why after all these years he’s treated you so rudely. The past couple weeks, a growing sense of guilt was gnawing in him.

He had seen a side of you that he never realised was there. He thought you were a hungry artist, willing to do anything to get to the top. He had now realised that beneath your tough persona was a woman who was just fighting against the same industry he’d been battling his whole life.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked softly.

You glanced over at him, putting your water bottle down. “Depends.”

“On what?” Michael chuckled.

“Whether it’s annoying.”

Michael grinned, shaking his head. “It’s not. Promise.”

“Hmmm fine. Ask away.”

Michael hesitated for a moment, his stomach twisting in anxiety. “Y’know your song…sunset driver.”

“Yeah? What about it.” You laughed. It seemed like a stupid question to you. Of course you knew it. It was your biggest selling record.

“When did you write it?”

You hummed for a moment. “Uh...I don’t know. Probably ’81?”

Michael’s brows furrowed for a moment. His hands clasped tighter onto the notes. How could you have written it…when they were his lyrics.

“And you wrote all of it?”

“No. My producers helped me. I wrote some parts of it though.”

“What about the melody?”

“I don’t know? Probably, it was like seven years ago.”

“You wrote the melody?” He asked again, his words coming out sharper.

“Michael.” Your voice mirrored his tone. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I’m curious.”

“You’re a bad liar.” You scoffed at him.

Michael shook his head. “I’m not lying.”

“Yeah sure.”

He let out a shaky breath. This wasn’t going how he wanted it to go. “I…I just remembered something.”

You let out a frustrated sigh. “You said this wouldn’t be annoying.”

“Just- Just let me finish.” He placed the notes down, turning to face you directly. “Do you remember hearing anything before you wrote it.”

“Like what.”

“A demo.”

Your brows pinched together, slowly you sat up straighter. “A demo?”

“My demo.” Michael was convinced he was going to throw up from the anxiety coursing through his veins.

“Your demo?” You let out shocked scoff. “What does that have to do with my song?”

Michael swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry. He could see the aggravation bubble in you, the way your brows furrowed, and you bit on the inside of your cheek.

 “I had recorded a demo…and um.”

“And what Michael?” Your head cocked to the side, glaring at him.

“It sounded the same.”

Michael expected you to shout at him, tell him he was being stupid, or to just shut up. Instead, a loud laugh left you. But when he looked up to meet your angry stare he knew you weren’t amused.

“Are you serious?”

“When I first heard it…I knew that-”

You cut him off angrily. “You knew what?”

“That it was my song.”

You looked around the room, as if you were searching for someone else to see his audacity. “I don’t know what you think happened. But I never heard your demo.”

“Are you sure?”

Him second guessing you made your eye twitch, a bubbling sense of…betrayal overcoming you.

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“You’ve truly never heard it?” Michael didn’t believe you. Your song had almost the exact same lyrics and melody as his. He figured you just didn’t want to admit to him that you had actually taken it.

“No.” Your answers were quick, becoming increasingly sick of this conversation.

“But the melody…”

“Stop.” You said firmly, putting your hand in his face.

In a moment that was completely out of character he grabbed your hand, moving it out of way. “I’m asking you a question.” He said firmly

“I gave you an answer.” You spat at him, ripping your hand out of his grip. “You’re asking if I stole your song.”

“I didn’t say you stole it.” He rebutted.

“You implied it.”

Michael let out a frustrated groan. “I just want to know what happened, and you’re  refusing to give me anything.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” You hissed at him. “You want me to tell you I stole it don’t you?”

“No. I just want to know how you got my demo.”

“I never got your demo!” You jumped up from the floor, unable to sit by him any longer.

Michael followed you quickly. He could feel his heartbeat thumping in his throat, every breath coming heavier as the frustration he’d been holding inside started to boil over. “Then explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

“How we wrote the exact same song.”

“I don’t know!”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes?” You scoffed at him. “What do you want me to say? That I broke into your house and stole your cassette? That I built my entire career off something you made?”

“No, that’s absurd.” Michael groaned. “But I heard it, with my own ears. Sunset driver is my song.”

“Is this some sort of sick way to take credit for my songs?” You were seething, chest rising rapidly as you refused to break eye-contact with Michael.

“What? No!” Michael threw his hands up, taken back by your accusation.

“Then why are you so adamant that you made the song!”

“Because I did!” Michael shouted.

He’d never raised his voice at you, even when you were on his last nerve, he’d always stayed quiet, ignoring your antics and continuing on with rehearsal.

He saw the way you moved away from him, backing away from him as your lips quivered.

You stayed silent, suddenly looking down, head dropping and looking at the wooden floors. He could hear your heavy breathing, the sound of your fingernails scratching against each other.

“Is this why you’ve hated me all these years?”

Michael felt his heart drop, his feet heavy, planted onto the floor. Shame came over him in harsh, brutal waves. Hearing you say it like that, made him realise how childish he had been.

He had spent years, ignoring you, giving you the cold shoulder because he was too scared to confront you about one song.

“Yes.” The word tasted sour as it rolled of his tongue.

“You’ve hated me for something you’ve never even asked about?” You spat the words out fast and venomous.

“I- I didn’t know how.” Michael stuttered on his words, unable to compete with the anger radiating off of you.

You scoffed at him in disbelief. “You didn’t know how?”

Michael winced, his face scrunching up in embarrassment. “I was hurt. I thought-”

“You thought I was a thief.”

Hearing you say it so blatantly made it sound so much worse. He shook his head, trying to deny the facts.

“What else was I meant to think?”

You laughed in his face, eyes wide in disbelief. “You could’ve come to me!”

“I know.” Michael said shamefully, hanging his head down, curls falling across his face.

“You could’ve asked me.” you continued. “You could’ve just given me a chance, and we could’ve figured out what happened. and instead you what? Decided I had such a horrible moral compass that I’d use your demo?”

Michael nodded, too embarrassed to give you an answer. But his silence just made you feel worse.

You shook your head, blinking rapidly as tears had begun to gather in the bottom of your eyes. “I spent so long wondering what the fuck I’d done to you.”

Your curse made Michael look up, his eyes immediately noticing your glassy ones.

“I thought maybe I had said something to you, or that you hated that the press kept comparing us. I thought that maybe I had said something to you that I didn’t realise.” Your voice began to tremble. Cracks in your armour had begun to form and you didn’t feel safe letting Michael see them.

“But all this time…you thought I stole from you?”

Michael’s expression softened into something pained, and guilt-ridden. Every time he saw your lips quivered, he felt his heart crack. “I was wrong.”

“So what? That’s what you think of me? That I’m not talented enough to make it on my own?”

The accusation knocked the air out of him. “No! That’s not what I think.”

“Then what do you think Michael?”

“I thought you took something that was mine.”

You let out a scoff. “Yeah. Because I can’t create something myself.”

“That’s not what I said!” Michael groaned out. Everything he was saying was falling on deaf ears.

“No of course! Why would I be capable of standing beside you on my own. I’d got to have taken something from you to get here.”

Michael shook his head, “That’s not fair. You know it’s not.”

“Fair?” Finally, your tears broke, years of resentment finally spilling over. “You have spent years looking at me like I’m some sort of fraud! Like I had cheated my way into the same room of you.”

“I never thought you were a fraud.”

“No. You thought I was a thief.” You let out an unbelieving laugh. “Cause that sounds so much better.”

Michael stayed silent. He had no rebuttal. You were right. He had thought you were a thief, and he was too much of a coward to just ask.

“God I’m so fucking stupid.” Your words came out through clenched teeth. You immediately runed away from him, wiping beneath your eyes with the thumb.

The tears were humiliating enough without him standing there and watching them fall.

Michael stared at you, eyes wide with horror. He’d done this. He had taken the first genuine moments of softness and vulnerability you had shown him in years and crushed them within minutes.

“No, you’re not.” He whispered out taking a cautionary step towards you.

“Don’t”

He continued towards you, just wanting to pull you close to him.

“I said don’t.”

You felt yourself slipping, and you hated it. You hated the tremble in your hands and the burning behind your eyes. Most of all you hated that he could see it.

You rolled your shoulders back, and lifted your head high. You wiped your face roughly, your skin dragging against your palm.

Then you looked at him and all that softness was gone. “I was stupid enough to think you were beginning to like me.” You laughed bitterly. “No…The stupidest part was that I started liking you.”

Michael’s heart sank, his lips parting to say something.

“I actually let myself like you.” Your voice cracked, and you cursed under your breath, furious that you were being so weak. “Fuck me.” You swore, scrubbing at your cheeks again.

“Please just- let me explain.” Michael pleaded, he saw the way you were slipping away from him.

“Explain what? While you were being all sweet with me, touching me, laughing with me. Under all that you thought you were the reason for my success?”

Michael shook his head frantically. Did he think you had taken his demo…yes. But he never once questioned your talent, not once.

“For years you have treated me like I was beneath you, like I didn’t deserve to be in the same room as you.”

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, his voice cracking. “Please- just listen and I can explain it.”

You didn’t want to hear his excuses. You had already made up your mind. Just as he had decided what you were years ago. “You punished me for years. You started this rivalry, you let the media string us together and pick us apart because of something you weren’t sure I had done.” You paused for a moment, catching your breath. “Do you know how insane that sounds?”

Hearing it from another perspective, Michael was finally realising just how stupid he had been. He’d been too shy and too immature to just have a conversation. And in return he had deeply hurt you.

You. This beautiful woman who had been kind enough to let him in after all of these years of him pushing you away. This charming, funny, sensitive woman who worked herself to the bone. You. Who was so determined to prove everyone wrong about herself she was willing to push through hatred and injury to show the world what a star she was.

“I know.” Michael whispered out.

“Yeah, because you know everything don’t you?” You seethed, hands clenching into fists. “I should’ve never agreed to this stupid performance.”

“Just stop!” Michael cried out. “Please just listen to me.”

“No! Because I feel like such a fucking idiot!” You shouted at him. “I was sitting in your car last week, and I was laughing with you a-and I was looking at you and thinking. God, I was so wrong about him.” Your voice cracked once again. “And while I was daydreaming about some stupid fantasy, t-that you could actually like me. You were still wondering whether I’d stolen your stupid fucking song!”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Michael pleaded.

You just scoffed at him, turning on your heels, heading for your bag. Michael immediately stepped towards you. “Please don’t go.” he pleaded.

“I’m done.” You said defeated, your eyes red and watery. “I’m not doing this.”

“We have five days.”

“Then find someone else.” You hissed at him, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the sobs escaping you.

“Please.” Michael grabbed onto one of the straps of your bag, pulling you closer.

“Let go.”

“Please don’t go.”

“Michael. Let go.”

 “We worked so hard.” He paused looking at you. “You worked so hard.”

Your jaw tightened. “I know.”

“Then please just- just stay.” Michael’s fingers slipped off your bag. “I can’t do this without you.”

The desperation on his face almost broke you.

Almost.

“You’ll manage.”

The sound of the door slamming rung in Michael’s ears.

You were gone.

Thursday – Four Days Until Grammy Night

For the first time in a month, the studio felt empty. John had brought in a stand-in, but nothing was working. The timing was wrong, the harmonies sounded off. Even the simplest movements had Michael stumbling when you weren’t there beside him.

It wasn’t the stand in’s fault.

She just wasn’t you.

John had given up, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “I don’t care what you have to do.” He muttered. “She has to be here tomorrow.”

Michael just gave him a curt nod.

That night he couldn’t sleep. He was stuck thinking about you.

Your tear-stricken face, your heart-breaking confession, the anger that radiated off you.

He just couldn’t get your words out of his head.

I was stupid enough to think you were beginning to like me.

That one sentence was tearing him apart from the inside out. Because he did like you. He was no longer afraid to admit that every morning he woke up, he was excited to see you. That every time you made a quick joke or jab at him, he had to fight the heat the flushed on his cheeks.

His hand was wrapped tightly around the telephone, fingers hovering just above the number pad.

He had to get you back.

He couldn’t do this without you.

The phone rang, his heart pounding with each ring.

Then…“Hello?”

Michael froze, drawing in a sharp breath. Even through the telephone, your voice made his heart race.

“Hi.” He whispered.

There was a beat of silence. “Michael?”

“Yeah…it’s me.” He swallowed when you didn’t respond, breathing slowly, trying to get his words out. “I know you don’t want to talk to me.”

“I don’t.”

Michael ignored the pang in his chest. “I know…I just.” He rubbed his palm on his thigh, trying to gather his thought. “I wanted to call.”

“Why?”

Why wouldn’t he? Because he missed you, because he had spent the entire day looking for you, because he was terrified that he had ruined something he had only just realised he wanted.

“Because I needed to hear your voice.”

“Michael…” You murmured softly, closing your eyes.

“You weren’t there.”

“I said I wasn’t coming back.” You replied quickly.

“I know.” He was quiet, his voice barely audible as he recalled the moment you walked out of that studio. “We tried it with someone else…and it just didn’t work.” He could hear a soft chuckle on the other side of the line. “Everything felt wrong without you.”

“That isn’t my problem.” You said firmly.

“I know.” He whimpered out. “I’m not calling because it didn’t work.”

“Seems like it.”

“I need you.” He paused a fraction too long. “I need you to come back.”

“Michael…” You said, your voice softening.

“Please.” He whimpered. The desperation in his voice silencing you. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I know you never want to see me again.” You heard his heavy breathing on the phone. “Please come back.”

“Why should I?”

“I can’t do this without you.”

You swallowed, your throat feeling suddenly dry. “You have a stand-in.”

“I don’t want a stand-in.” He replied quickly. “I don’t want someone else. I don’t want another singer. I don’t want another woman standing beside me on that stage.” His voice softened into a desperate plea. “I want you.”

You felt that familiar sting behind your eyes once more. “Michael…”

“I know I don’t have the right. I don’t deserve to even call you right now.”

“You don’t.” But yet, you still kept the line open.

“Yell at me, scream at me, slap me I don’t care. I just need you there with me.” he pleaded, wrapping the telephone cord around his wrist. “Please come back.”

The line stayed quiet, all he could hear was your soft breathing in his ear. “Fine.”

Michael sat up, almost jumping out of his seat. “Really?” He couldn’t believe it, he expected you to yell at him and slam the phone down. “Like actually?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. “I still don’t forgive you.”

“I haven’t earnt it yet.” He nodded. “I will though.”

You let out a small laugh at his determination. “I won’t make it easy.”

“When have you ever?” Michael replied, that familiar banter coming back.

You didn’t respond only giggling softly before sighing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah…see you.” Michael nodded, before he heard the line disconnect. He lowered the receiver slowly, staring at it for a while. His heart pounded with gratitude, he wouldn’t let you slip away again.

Friday – Two Days Until Grammy Night

“Alright.” John announced, dropping himself onto his chair. “We’re doing the spoken intro.”

You looked at Michael, Michael’s head swivelled and turned to John. “No.” he frowned.

“Yes!” John grinned

“I thought we were just doing vocals today.” Michael said with a pout. The room was already tense, he’d spent all his courage calling you last night, he didn’t have anything else left in him to do that damned intro.

It should’ve just been words on a page. Ones he’d written himself. He’d practiced them with you many times over the past month but now it was different.

Now they meant something.

“Yeah, vocals included the intro. Get with the program.” John clicked fiddling with the sound system once more.

“You seem too happy.” You chimed in, squinting at him trying to see what he was planning.

“Because you’re both terrible at this. And it’s funny to see you both fail.” John grinned.

“You’re nasty.” You groaned. “You must be some kind of sadist.”

“A handsome one.” John quipped. “Okay, that’s enough. Both of you sit down before I wither away.”

With a groan you both followed his instructions, sitting on the bench. Michael left a careful few inches between your bodies.

It was a bit ridiculous.

You had been pressed against each other for weeks, His hands had held your waist, yours had travelled from his cheek down to his chest. And somehow, this felt far more intimate.

John handed Michael the microphone. “Be natural, don’t sing it really whisper it.”

Michael looked up at him like he’d asked him to walk on a tightrope blind folded. Looking at his panicked face you couldn’t help but let out a tiny chuckle.

“Hey.” He frowned at you.

“Sorry…sorry.” You laughed again.

“Okay! From the top!” John’s voice boomed through the studio.

The backing track started softly, he sucked in a shaky breath. “I just want to lay next to you for a while. You look so beautiful tonight.” The opening words came softly, describing the desire to have you close.

You’d heard the intro hundreds of times. But this time, Michael wasn’t looking away. He was looking right at you.

Your smug grin slipped off your face. His voice was always beautiful, even in the midst of your hatred you could admit that. But the words sounded different now.

They weren’t towards an imaginary woman.

They were directed at you.

Michael continued. “Your eyes are so lovely. Your mouth is so sweet. A lot of people misunderstand me. That's because they don't know me at all.”

The way he looked at you made your cheeks burn, hot flushes rising up your neck till the tips of your ears burnt.

Those words seemed to hit harder now. Because you had misunderstood him.

You still had lingering anger towards your fight. That hadn’t gone away yet. But the arrogant, cocky man you thought he was a month ago? You were so wrong about him.

His voicer faltered slightly before saying the next line, stumbling on his words. His eyes darted away from you, looking back down to the microphone in his hands.

You heard John’s loud sigh. “Oh for god’s sake!” he whined. “You two are making this so difficult!”

You frowned. “I didn’t even say anything! I’m just sitting here.”

“Exactly! You both look like you’re waiting at the doctors or something.”

You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh, Michael did too. The tension easing slightly.

“Closer.” John clapped his hands together.

Both you and Michael stayed frozen, retaliating against him.

“I’m serious.” He continued. “Scooch.” He gestured impatiently. “You’re singing a love song. So look in love.”

You shifted towards Michael hesitantly, the distance between you both feeling charged. Michael followed until his arm brushed against yours.

The track started again and Michael reached the part he had stuttered on. “I just want to touch you. And hold you.”  His voice was steadier this time.

You felt the same heat crawl up your neck again. Then without thinking you placed your hand on the bench between you.

Michael’s hand was already resting there, your fingers brushed against his. Immediately, you both stiffened.

John watched closely, already bracing to have to restart the track.

Michael’s heart almost lurched out his chest, his fingers twitching against yours. He wasn’t sure what came over him, whether it was the way you were staring at him or the intimate words he was whispering.

But he slowly turned his palm upward, a silent invitation. He closed his eyes, waiting for your rejection.

Instead, your hand delicately slipped into his. Instinctively, his large hand curled around yours, fingers squeezing the back of your hand.

For two people who had spent so long hating each other, it was unnerving how natural this felt.

He swallowed nervously, the last line stuck in his throat. They were so simple, and yet they made everything impossible to ignore.

“I need you, God, I need you. I love you so much.”

His eyes stayed fixated on you the entire time, his thumb brushing against your hand. Even as the music faded, he refused to let go.

“Yes! Finally!” John leapt of his seat.

You both blinked at him.

“Weeks! I’ve been trying to get that out of you for weeks!” John span his chair around, clapping. “Apparently, all I had to do was make you sit next to each other.”

You immediately yanked your hand out of Michael’s, placing it in your lap. “Oh my god. Shut up John.”

“Aw now you guys are embarrassed.”

“Am not.” You retorted.

“Sure.” He said smugly, cheesing at the way you glared at him. “Alright. Both of you up. We’re running this from the top.”

Sunday – Grammy Night

Backstage was utter chaos.

People rushed through corridors with headsets, pressed against their ears. Stagehands running past carrying equipment and clipboards, and somewhere beyond the curtains there was the eruption of applause as another award was announced.

You didn’t pay attention to any of it though.

You just needed to find Michael.

Pushing through the tight hallways you found him tucked away in his dressing room. His back was pressed against the wall, his head bowed into his hands.

He had changed into his performance outfit, a simple white t-shirt and blue button up. His hair was messy and his makeup had just been retouched. But despite his pristine appearance, you could tell immediately that something was wrong.

You gently closed the door behind you, walking up to him slowly. “Michael?”

He looked up and saw you. Your heart sank immediately, his eyes were wet. Not enough that any tears had fallen, but you could see the faint ring of red around them.

His jaw was clenched tight, lips pressed together in a tight line as he blinked rapidly forcing the tears back.

“Hey.” You whispered gently. He looked away from you, a shaky hand wiping his eyes.

“I’m fine.” The answer was fast. If he said too much, he was terrified he’d start sobbing.

“You’re not.”

“I said I’m fine.” He shot back out, immediately regretting raising his voice at you.

You didn’t shy away from him though. For once, you were determined to get closer to him.

“Michael.” You said firmly, your hand reaching up to take his hand away from his face. “You’re not. Don’t bother trying to convince me.”

Michael didn’t fight your touch, he let himself melt into your grasp. He opened his mouth to speak but all that escaped was a hiccupped cry. “I- I worked so hard.”

Hearing his voice break, you pulled him in tightly. Hands wrapping around his torso, forcing him against your frame. He instantly held onto you, his head dipping into the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh...Michael.” You whispered, your hands trailing up and down his back.

“Every category. It wasn’t me. I just- I just kept telling myself that it’d be the next one.” His voice cracked again. “And it wasn’t.”

“They’re fools.” You whispered.

Michael’s head lifted up, pulling apart just enough that he could look at you but close enough that he could still feel your skin under his fingertips. “They forced us here. They waved our awards in our face, forcing us to do our performance. Just so they could get their ratings and their publicity.”  His voice was getting increasingly strained, frustration finally cracking through the composure he’d been maintaining all night. “And they couldn’t even give me one.”

You didn’t interrupt him, your hand delicately soothing his back as he vented out his frustrations.

“I’ve been rehearsing for weeks.” He continued. “I’m exhausted, I’ve been working until my feet ache and my throat burns and I can’t remember the last time I slept properly all for what?”

You pulled him closer. “You deserved better.” You whispered. “I know how hard you worked for them. I can’t imagine how hard you worked on this album. They’re all idiots for not recognizing it.”

Michael nodded tenderly. “Thankyou.” His hands rested on the small of your back, fingers fidgeting with the sparkly fabric off your dress.

You both stayed in each other’s embrace. Despite the years of hatred, all Michael craved was you. He wanted to stay there forever.

He looked down at you, his gaze moving up and down your dress. “You look beautiful.”

You blinked. His compliment was so unexpected that you let out a muffled stutter. “Shut up.” You grinned, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

Michael let out a laugh, it was still raw from all the tears he held but it was real. “It’s gonna look real pretty on stage.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

You let out a small laugh, disguised as a scoff. “You’re gonna look good up there too.”

“I hope so.” He grinned. “Nothing compared to you though. Why couldn’t I get sparkles.”

“You’re not as cool as me.”

“Oh? Is that right?”

“Yeah sorry. You always gotta break some hearts.”

The comfortable banter settled between you both like a warm cloud. No matter how horrible this night had turned out to be, you had both found comfort in each other.

A stagehand knocked on the dressing room door. “Michael! You’re on in five!”

Michael let a heavy sigh, his hands falling from your sides. “You ready?”

“Mhm. Are you?”

Michael shrugged. “Yeah. Just…”

“Just what?”

“Thankyou.”

You grinned softly. “C’mon don’t get sappy with me. We have a performance to do.”

“Yeah” Then almost sheepishly, he added. “Wish me luck?”

“You don’t need it.”

Michael stood alone at the centre of stage, chest rising and falling heavily beneath the bright lights that had followed him through the final movements of Man in the Mirror. His hair was messy, stray strands sticking to his sweat ridden forehead as he stared out into the sea of people before him.

The applause was deafening, the thunderous claps vibrated through the walls of the music hall.

He was no longer thinking about the people who had doubted him, the ones who had decided his work was not worthy of recognition. That bitter disappointment that had followed him to the dressing room had not made it to the stage. He had been overcome with the buzzing thrill of performing, his fingers tingling around the microphone in his hand.

The lights slowly shifted, a soft melody playing through the speakers.

The audience’s claps begun to quiet, immediately recognising the opening of I Just Can’t Stop Loving You.

Michael lowered his microphone, eyes immediately searching for you. Then, right on cue the spotlight moved.

There you were the harsh light reflecting against the sparkly fabric of your dress. You looked…magnificent.

The reaction was instantaneous, screams thundered through the crowd, loud enough that you could barely hear the music beneath them.

No one had known you were performing. Not the press, not your colleagues, only your managers who had kept the black-mailed performance a classified piece of information.

For a month this moment had been kept hidden from the public, and now millions across the world were watching you stride the stage towards Michael Jackson.

You’d performed for sold out stadiums, toured the world, spent your whole life singing for whoever could watch. But all that time in the studio hadn’t prepared you for this.

The stage was intimidating, the lights were blinding and the crowd was deafening. But through all the chaos was Michael, one hand reaching out staring right at you like you were the only person in the room.

There was something different in his eyes tonight. No irritation, no suspicion or nervousness. It was hunger.

He was hungry for you.

Your hand slipped into his, giving him a knowing smile as the track was just about to reach his first line.

He gave your hand a small squeeze, moving you closer to him as he spoke into the microphone. That same intro played once again. The one he fought, the one he struggled against.

That same intro spilled from his lips as if you two were alone, hands twined together, faces so close that you could feel his shaky breath brush against the tip of your nose.

I just want to lay next to you for a while You look so beautiful tonight Your eyes are so lovely Your mouth is so sweet A lot of people misunderstand me That's because they don't know me at all I just want to touch you And hold you I need you, God, I need you I love you so much

For the first time, those words weren’t empty. They were charged, they were desperate and they were honest.

As he held you close, the woes of the night had disappeared and all there was.

Was you.

Your voices sung into beautiful harmonies, every movement that once felt ridiculous now seemed natural. His hand on your waist, yours on his cheek. The way you leant into him and the way he anticipated your presence.

Each movement made the touches between you more electrifying, fingers grazing the curve of your spine, yours tracing the line of his jaw.

For weeks you’d both fought against this. Every lingering glance you’d disguised as irritation and every touch you both shared silently, immediately retreating the moment you realised what you were doing.

On the stage, there was nowhere left to hide.

The final verse amplified around you, voice weaving together as Michael pulled you close once again. You knew exactly where he would be. The weeks of fighting somehow making your bodies intuitively connected.

His fingers bunched around the fabric, tips digging into the supple skin under your dress. Your free hand gripped onto his arm, one leg lifting into the air.

Michael let the microphone drop from his mouth, cradling your leg against his hip, the cool metal of the device biting your exposed skin. Your back arched, chest pressing into his.

The final note rung through the room.

You were meant to hold the position until the light dimmed, gazing into his eyes until he could finally set you back down.

But Michael didn’t intend to let go.

His face was so close, noses softly brushing. His eyes gazed deeply into yours, until they flicked down to your lips.

You saw the change in his stare, the minuscule moment as he considered his next move. He should’ve held the position, he should’ve followed the choreography.

Then with the spotlight centred on you, camera’s zooming in on your pose, he pulled you flush against him and kissed you.

The audience erupted, screams of shock booming through the room. The spotlight remained fixed on you both, the world beyond the stage blurring into darkness as white light engulfed you both.

You froze for a moment, hand stiffening as you felt his desperate lips press against yours. Your heart thumped in your throat, eyes slowly closing as you let yourself melt into him.

Instinctively, your hand gripped tightly onto his bicep, pulling him closer. The silent invitation of your tug broke something in him. His hand spread across your back. The irresistible urge to consume you, had begun to consume him.

His lips moved against you with a sudden, urgent passion. His tongue darting out to swipe across your bottom lip, desperate to taste you. His hand pulled your leg tighter around him, snapping your bodies together in a fast needy motion.

Your breath hitched, a quiet mewl leaving you, only to be instantly muffled by the smack of Michael’s wet lips parting against yours, sucking the soft tender flesh back into his mouth.

He kissed you with the desperation of a man who’d been owed. He needed this. He needed you. The way your hand travelled up his shirt, coming up to grasp his shoulder, made a shiver run down his spine.

As the lights had finally dimmed, leaving you both in a shadow of privacy he slowly brought you upwards, still not daring to break contact. His hands remained on you, secure against the your hip.

When you both finally pulled away a lewd string of saliva from your lips connected you to him. Chest’s heaving, each of you desperately trying to catch your breath.

Now that he had tasted you, Michael knew he was ruined.

He was certain he would chase that feeling for the rest of his life. The softness of your lips, the warmth of your breath, the way you melted into his touch. It was addicting.

If you thought he was unbearable before, you weren’t prepared for what came next.

Because now he had just a taste of what it felt like to have you. But he wasn’t satisfied.

He needed to devour you.

Sunday – After the Grammy’s

The door had barely closed before his hands were on you.

Michael’s large palm was pressed flat against the wood beside your head, the other finding the curve of your hip. The hotel room was similar to yours, glazed with soft lamplight and the soft hum of the heater.

Though, you didn’t pay attention too it. You were too busy focusing on the way Michael’s chest rose and fell like he had just ran a marathon, or the way his eyes darted towards your mouth, brown irises tracing the outline of your lips.

His kiss was rabid. No other word for it. His plump lips slanted over yours. Tongue sliding deep, teeth catching your lower lip just enough to make you gasp.

The sound seemed to undo something within him, a low grumble emerging up from his chest as he pressed you harder into the door. Hastily, he slid a thigh between your legs, the heat of your centre bleeding onto his pant leg.

“Michael-” You groaned out in between messy kisses, hands grabbing on his hair.

He didn’t answer, his mouth too busy dragging wet open mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw, slipping down the pulse point of your neck, his tongue licking a slow stripe against the sensitive skin.

You felt him suck in a sharp breath, his nose pressed flat against the curve of your neck. Your lips parted, a soft mewl escaping as you threw your head back, giving him easier access to your supple skin.

The hot soothing laps of his tongue worked down to your collar bone, leaving soft hasty pecks alone the edge of your chest. His mouth worked back up, suckling on the column of your throat, before crashing back against your lips.

Your hands had travelled down his back, knuckles paling as your gripped onto his overshirt.

“Let me see you.” He growled out, raw and broken against your lips. “Fuck- I needa see you baby. Please.”

You’d never seen him beg like this before, standing in front of you heaving, voice laced with desperation. The usual arrogance and cockiness that sat so comfortably in his voice had cracked clean open, revealing underneath something that was trembling, and almost shy. His pleads disguised the way he begged for permission to see all you, not sure how long he could stand there without indulging in every bit of your sweetness.

His hands reached down to the hem of your dress. The fabric rubbed together as he gathered it in his fingers, a slight tremor running through his hand. You felt it, the faint involuntary shake that showed just how bad he needed you.

He was hesitating, unable to continue until you let him. His forehead rested against yours, desperately waiting for you to give him the subtlest of signs to take you right there.

 You reached down, hands enclosing over his, dragging them upwards letting the fabric rise, slowly exposing your smooth skin to him. “Please Michael…wanna feel you.”

His grip tightened, pushing himself clad against you, lips roughly meeting yours in a desperate, and almost thankful kiss. “Gonna give it to you.” He groaned. “Give it to you real good.”

You mewled into his mouth as he begun to peel the dress off, stripping you the fabric off as if he was revealing something sacred. He only pulled apart from you to slip the thin dress past your head, throwing it across the room.

Your exposed skin reacted, goosebumps forming along your arms and legs. You were bare in front of him aside from a lacy pair of panties that did very little to cover you. Though Michael wasn’t one to complain.

He stood back for one moment, eyes raking of your body, salivating at the sight of your bare silhouette. You were so beautiful, draped in the warm light, nipples hardening against the gusts of the heater, lips wet and swollen, ready to be devoured.

“Fuck.” Michael whispered, the word barely making it past his throat. “God…you’re beautiful.”

You couldn’t help but bring your arms up, trying to cover yourself from his predatory gaze, his serene whispers making heat pool in your panties.

Michael’s hands moved, grabbing your forearms, slowly peeling them away from your frame. “Don’t” he growled. “I’m tryna look at you.”

“You can see fine.” You teased, eyelashes batting as you shyed away from him. It felt so unnatural for you, to be so exposed to anyone…especially him. And yet, the hot, flaming desire that burned for him deep within you was only growing bigger.

He growled, pulling you away from the door. “You always got something to say don’t you?” He said, turning you so you walked backwards towards the bed.

“You always listen.” You grinned.

“Mhm.” He purred. “Wanna hear you tonight baby.” He pushed you backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of the California king , your body falling against the soft, cotton sheets.

You gasped as you hit the bed, the breath leaving your lungs as you reacted to the sudden dominance. Michael was above you, one hand planted beside your head as the other stroked the inside of your thigh, fingertips softly grazing the lacy edge of your thong.

He slotted himself between your spread legs, his aching bulge pressing against your clothed pussy. Slowly, he tucked his head down beside your ear, one soft kiss pressing against your lobe. “You gon let me taste you?” You nodded in response, quick and frantic. Teeth sinking into your lip as you stifled back a moan. “Good girl.”

He pushed off the mattress, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. His knees settled against the plush carpet, his head fitted between your thighs, your knees hooked over his shoulders.

“M-Michael.” You gasped out feeling his hot breath against you.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Need you.” You whispered, rolling your hips desperate for friction.

Michael let out a low chuckle. “I’m getting there. You’re so needy.” His fingers hooked around your panties, dragging them off your legs.

There you were, fully exposed to him, your aching pussy right there in front of him. Michael sucked in a fast breath, his dick twitching against the confines of his pants. “Look at you.” He cooed, long fingers sliding along your folds. “So wet for me.”

You bucked against the sudden touch, heat rising up your neck at his words. “Oh my god, shut up-.”

His mouth was on you before you could finish your sentence. You jolted as if you’d been touched by a live wire. Hips bucked up against his mouth. Michael groaned against your pussy, the vibration humming through your clit.

His tongue continued agonizing patterns, dragging up from your opening, until it reached the buzzing bundle of nerves circling around it slowly. His hands hooked onto the insides of your thighs, spreading your legs further apart.

Michael ate like he was starving, tongue licking along your entrance, his lips finding your clit and sucking on it hard enough for you to see colour behind your eyelids. He alternated his technique, soft kisses, sharp flicks, occasionally shoving his tongue so deep inside that his nose brushed up against your clit.

You were a mess, fingers twisted in the sheets as your legs would wrap tightly around his head, only to be pushed back down by his large imposing hands. “Oh- Michael! Y-yes right there.”

He saw how close you were to coming undone on his tongue. Two thick fingers pushed inside you your tight entrance, curling them upwards at the same rhythm as his tongue. The new sensation was driving you over the edge, desperate mewls and guttural moans fleeing your throat. The pressure continued to build and build leaving you desperately crying out for your release.

“ ‘m gonna cum- f-fuck don’t stop..” You cried out, once again wrapping your thighs around his head.

“Go on baby.” He growled out, his hearty voice sending earth shattering vibrations through your pussy.

The tight coil in your core finally snapped, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, thighs tight around his head, back arching off of the mattress. Your pussy clenched around his fingers, a sob tearing out of your throat.

Michael didn’t move from your pussy until the last tremor passed, giving your clit one final tender kiss. He lifted his head from between your legs, his pupils blown wide, his chin slick.

You’d barely caught your breath before you reached for him. Swinging your legs over his head as you crawled towards him, kneeling on the edge of the mattress.

Michael stood in front of you, his zipper threatening to snap at the sheer size of his bulge.

“Let me see you.” You gasped out, one hand coming up to caress his thigh.

“Gotta say please first.” He said, the corners of his mouth curving.

You rolled your eyes at him, hands tugging at his fly. “You’re insufferable.”

“And your gorgeous.” He stated, his words heavy and desperate.

You got his pants open, tugging his pants and boxers down until he sprang free. All you could do was stare. He was big. Thick enough that your hand only just met around him, his tip was dark red and aching, leaking desperately.

Your mouth watered at the sight, slowly licking your lips as you admired the sight before you. “Fucking hell.” You whispered.

“What?” He said with a slight tremor in his voice, worried that he’d disgusted you somehow.

“If I knew you were this big, we would’ve gotten along a lot sooner.” You grinned, swiping his tip along your wet lips.

Michael let out a strangled gasp at the sudden sensation. “You p-play too much.” He whined, hips bucking towards you, desperate to engulf himself in your warm mouth.

You guided him towards you, tongue flat against the underside of his length, pushing him deep into your mouth.

“O-Oh fuck.” He groaned out, one hand entangling itself in your hair.

You hollowed your cheeks as you pulled back slowly, tongue swirling around his tip, teasing his slit before shoving him deep.

Oh, the sounds he made were so angelic, broken and desperate moans that sent volts straight back to your pussy.

“K-keep going…j-just like that baby. Oh fuck- your mouth feels so fucking good. sucking me so fucking good right now baby.”

It was no surprise to you that Michael was vocal, every stroke of your tongue pulled a new sound from his throat. A groan, a curse, a ragged praise that made you clench your thighs straight together.

You let him guide you, the hand in your hair pulling and pushing you on his cock, nose pressed flush against his pelvis before you came back up for air, saliva dripping down your chin, spitting it back onto his tip before going back in as if this was the first time you’d eaten in months.

When your hand braced against his thigh, the other cupping the heavy weight beneath his cock, you felt him twitch in your mouth, a string of curses flying out of his mouth. “F-fuck baby. S-stop I’m gonna-”

He pulled you off his length, his head bowing down to crash back against you in a wet, messy kiss. “Stand up.”

You looked up at him confused, brows furrowing. “Why?”

“Want you to watch.” He took your hand, gently guiding off the bed. He moved behind you, hands tight on your waist as he led you towards the floor length mirror. “Want you to watch when I fuck this pretty pussy.”

“Michael!” You squealed, palms flat against the mirror as your breasts pressed against the cool surface, your own flushed face staring back at you.

“You don’t want that baby?” He crooned, his lips nipping your earlobe.

“I do.”

Michael swept your hair to one side, letting it cascade over your shoulder, pressing gentle kisses along the back of your neck down to the space between your shoulder blades. As his lips worked on your skin, his hands mapped the curves your frame, trailing from your waist to your hips then to rest on your ass.

He was gentle as he positions you, using his knee to spread your legs far enough, tilting your hips until you were left wide open for him. He lined up to your entrance, running his head along your slick folds.

The first press of him made you gasp. He was so thick, your walls having to stretch to accommodate his size. He felt you tense beneath him, leaning down to give you soft kisses on your shoulder. “Breathe for me…just relax.”

You nodded, letting out a long breath as he pressed into you again, this time you clenched around him, head thrown forward. “S-so big.”

“Yeah baby…but you’re taking me so well.” He whispered, tracing soothing circles on your hips. “Almost there mama…being such a good girl f’me.”

You mewled at his words, a soft whine leaving your trembling lips. As he finally bottomed out you choked, you’d never felt so full before, he was so deep inside you, chest pressed against your back as let you adjust to the sheer size of him.

He began to pull out slowly, before pushing back into your pussy with a hard thrust. That was just the start of the brutal pace he set, skin slapping against each other as he held you close, rutting into your pussy.

The sounds of your bodies moving together was vulgar. Wet squelches as his cock pistoned into your sopping cunt. With each deep stroke he dragged against the sensitive spots inside of you, hips rolling in the punishing rhythm. His forehead fell against your shoulder, hands sliding up your front to cup your breasts. His breath was hot against you, punctuated by streams of husky praises leaving his lips. “So so good, so perfect for me- god this pussy was made for me, taking me so well, all mine…all mine.”

That same tight coil snapped once again, leaving you sobbing against the mirror, tears brimming your eyes, pussy clenching tight around his cock, uncontrollable whines escaped you.

Michael followed you soon after, buried deep inside, your name crying out desperately from his lips as he spilled inside you. Hot and thick ropes pouring inside you, so much that you felt his release drip down your thighs as he slowly pulled out. “So good f’me.”

Your legs gave in as he rested against you, his arm wrapping around your torso, easing you off the fogged glass. You were shaking, muscles twitching uncontrollably, still trying to collect yourself from the earth-shattering orgasm he’d just given you.

Michael slowly guided you back to the bed, laying you against the white sheets. “I’ll be right back.” He murmured, leaning down to give you a tender kiss to your temple.

Your head was still spinning, the ceiling swam as you tried to catch your breath. You heard the water running from the bathroom, and then he was back with a warm cloth, gently cleaning your thighs. “You feeling alright?” he asked softly, settling beside you on the bed, pulling the covers up over both of you.

“Yeah.” You huffed out. “I feel good.”

“Didn’t mean to get so…rough on you.” Michael said quietly, his arm draped over your side, his nose brushing against yours.

“I liked it.” You grinned tracing the contours of his stomach under his shirt. You paused for a moment. “I like you.”

Michael grinned, the apples of his cheeks reddening. “I think we’re past that.”

“I suppose.”

You both laid under the fluffy duvet for a while, neither of you feeling the need to fill the silence. Eyes shut, hands lazily moving against each other’s, the warmth of the blankets and the quiet comfort between enveloping you both.

Michael let out a shaky sigh, his hand halting. “I’m sorry.”

You turned your head towards him, eyes fluttering open in confusion. “Stop.” You said, your voice barely a breath. “Whatever you’re sorry about don’t be.”

“No.” He shook his head, hand squeezing the plush of your hip. “No, I’m sorry…I should’ve treated you better all these years. A-All that time I spent…being childish over something I could’ve just asked about.”

“Yeah, well I haven’t exactly been a saint either.” You chuckled, pushing a curl behind his ear. “And you were right.”

Michael’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The demo.” You murmured. “The producers I was working with…they reworked it before giving it to me. Saying it was something they made just for me. I had my lawyers look into it after you asked me about it.”

“Oh.” Michael whispered softly, his head reeling. All this time it wasn’t even your fault, and yet he treated you like you’d taken his song yourself.

“Yeah so…I guess I kinda did need you.” You looked down past his eyes.

Michael gasped, shaking his head frantically. “No.” He caught the hand that was caressing his cheek, squeezing it tightly. “You’re brilliant, you always have been.” He brought his lips to your forehead.

“Thankyou.”

“I could’ve had you for longer.” Michael murmured into your hair, the words quiet, but rough on the edges. “And I wasted all that time being a damn idiot.”

“You’re still an idiot.”

“Yeah yeah.” He grinned, huffing a laugh out.

You tucked yourself into his embrace, head resting against his chest, breathing him in. His hand continued to move up and down your spine, slow and steady as if he was memorizing your body with just his touch.

“I’m yours now.”

a/n: if i got here thankyou so so so soooo much for reading, im sorry if it was a bit long i def got carried, i also tried my hand at smut again (my second time #stillnervous). (if u have any reqs plz send mwahhh)

[lady-in-your-life]

imagine looking like this and tryin to be tuff😭😭😭 you aint tuff bro you sweeter than grandma cookies