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𝔠arpe 𝔡iem

[urelliee]

݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ ²⁰⁰⁶ ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ n’oublie pas de vivre. (18+). elľa, twenty-years old, filipina, gemini.

— 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖐𝖘 (𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔰) coming soon!

[lady-in-your-life]

[urelliee]

LMAO

[urelliee]

— ₊˚ପ⊹ out of time.

— type: ˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗ a short one-shot.

— theme: ·˚ ༘ angst, romance, heartbreak, established relationship

— pairing: ⋆˚꩜｡ 1987 michael jackson x female reader

— contains: ⋆˚࿔ thriller!michael interface, marlon being a best-man, breakup, emotional distance, career vs. love, failed engagement, mutual heartbreak, bittersweet ending, no cheating, mature themes.

╰┈➤ SUMMARY: you spent years loving michael jackson. there was no betrayal, no scandals, no shattered trust. just two people slowly drifting apart beneath the weight of ambition, responsibilities, and dreams that demanded more than either of you could give. when familiarity begins to feel heavier than happiness, you’re forced to choose yourself over the future you once imagined together.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

loving michael has never been an aggravating thing in your life, nor did he ever do anything to make you doubt anything about him and your relationship.

he’s been known to be such a faithful man, a loving fiancé, and generally the most gracious person you’ve ever met. there was no reason for you to give up on such a beautiful and compassionate relationship.

up until michael’s recent album came out, he’s been unreachable, difficult to skim through, and mostly blasé. you didn’t find it to be such a dilemma because everyone has their own battles to fight, and getting in the way of michael’s struggles wasn’t a choice to make.

the relationship between you two had developed precipitously. you had been set up by marlon, who was a close friend, acquaintance, and the older brother you had never had. being an only child had its challenges, after all.

marlon knew you had a thing for michael, and he was never the type to turn down being a nosy jerk. (un)fortunately, he, unbeknownst to you, had set up a blind date at a restaurant in encino way back in the 80s. he rented out the whole restaurant for the day, had the audacity to be a chaperone for you before arriving at the place, and then left you alone at the spot for which the staff at the front desk had assisted you to the middle of the place with the most intricate interior and a lavish table.

and most definitely, the two of you felt an immediate affinity. it’s miserably poignant because of how nostalgic it feels.

you were now standing in the depths of your relationship, reflecting alone. you’ve always been alone. you’ve tried your absolute best to understand, to put yourself in his shoes, and to try and make do with the little left of some silver lining.

as ill-of-luck would have it — you’re losing yourself in the process of finding a brighter side to all of this.

you’ve also played your part in the process of this fading relationship. times together, physical contacts, and words felt more of a burden than anything else that felt worth staying together. it wasn’t only him that was estranging.

you wanted to fight, but michael wasn’t giving you any reason to want to. you’ve tried to talk to him about it, but it was always the same verbatim that had emitted out of him, and you’ve grown to fall ill with the way he rejects some things as unimportant. you didn’t deserve any of these, and you knew it.

“baby, please-“

“not now, hun’.” he was sorting through multiple documents, which he always does after rehearsals.

“right.” and by right there, you knew the relationship had run its course. there was no more “saving” needed to be done at this point forward. everything happened for a reason, after all.

a few months went by, and the two of you were on a different wavelength. he released his latest album, bad, whilst you ran your father’s enterprise. there wasn’t a way to cross your path-of-field with him. the two of you only bonded together when you both had minimal amounts of time, and that wasn’t enough anymore to sustain both of you.

you’ve always been a confrontational person, an intimidating woman, had possess a strong sense of humility, and are absolutely business-minded. but with him, you were the opposite of what you were when you’re in business. completely unguarded, eccentric, and very much blithe.

unpropitiously, you feel the loss of who you were or what he turned you into, and the confrontations had become more habitually intense. the affaire-de-coeur became something metamorphosed.

“i don’t want this any longer.” pathetically, you felt the pit in your stomach as the utterance of what had left your lips escaped. yet you were too far away to stop anymore.

“what do you mean, dove?” his fawn-like eyes had captured the little left of youth in him, and maybe right there, you felt your resolve deteriorating, but you knew this cycle all too well already to try and stop yourself from doing what needs to be done.

“i mean us, michael. i don’t want this anymore.”

“baby, come on. you don’t mean that, right?”

“no, i do mean it.” the tears were starting to well up in your eyes, a lump growing in your throat, and you felt too weak to keep forcing eye contact with him. “this whole situation makes me feel so locked up, and i want to put myself first for once. to pick what is the reality over familiarity. i am so exhausted of entertaining myself with so little of what you give. i deserve to let myself have the freedom of not having to worry anymore.”

“where is all this coming from, baby? why would you let yourself carry all these thoughts alone?” michael had asked in such a manner that seemingly felt impossible not to fall back into the same position over and over again, but you knew the finality of this predicament was more important than what you both felt.

“alone? michael, i was trying so hard to keep in touch with you. we’ve barely even gotten time to cross paths, and you never gave me a chance to state what i feel.”

“you know how exhausting and painfully difficult releasing an album is, my love. you know how hard i try to balance it with both of us, and especially with the upcoming tour.”

“michael, maybe we were meant to happen way back then, but you too know that i am a busy woman. this will only get us nowhere. you did propose to me, and i thought that this setting was enough to make the both of us feel content for a yes to your proposal, but now i admit that i’m wrong.”

“i admit that i’ve lacked in every single aspect that there is within a relationship, but come on-“

“i’m done choosing familiarity over practicality.” the finality of your tone had settled intolerably into him, and there he felt the realization that he really was losing you.

“i see.” michael’s lips fell into a purse as he looked up at you one last time, fully capturing the one last moment of clarity and warmth that sat between you and him. the words sat between you like a death sentence.

“thank you, michael.” that was all that came out of you. that was all that was left to say.

and for a moment, neither of you moved. the room suddenly felt too large, and maybe too quiet. too aware of the distance that had somehow grown out between two people who once couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

michael looked down at the engagement ring resting on your finger. it caught the reflection and glimmered into the soft light. he hated that he noticed that because his mind immediately wandered back to the day he’d slipped it onto your hand with shaking fingers and a smile so bright it made you laugh.

you followed his gaze. and you knew right there that it was time. so then, you slowly pulled the ring off.

it should’ve felt haunting. instead, it felt horrifyingly ordinary. the end of years together reduced to a small piece of metal resting in your palm.

michael’s jaw tightened, not enough to cry, not enough to break, just saddened enough to look ordinarily human.

you stepped forward and placed it on the table between you. he stared at it and neither of you touched it. “i never wanted this for us,” he admitted quietly.

tears threatened to burn. “i know.” because you were well-aware.

there had been no betrayal, no screaming, no cheating, and mostly no catastrophe. just two exhausted people slowly watching each other disappear.

the photographs, the records, the gifts. they were all there. the traces of a future neither of you would have anymore.

you remembered being twenty-something and hopelessly infatuated with him. remembered marlon’s stupid setup, the way michael had smiled at you across the restaurant, the goofiest way he had talked for hours, and the way you’d gone home that night knowing your life had changed. and now it was changing again.

just not in the way you once imagined.

“are you happy?” michael suddenly asked. you looked at him hurtfully because he wasn’t asking if you loved him. he already knew the answer. “no.” his eyes closed briefly. “me neither.”

maybe you wanted him to stop you, maybe you wanted him to say something that would make all of this make sense, maybe wanted him to tell you that you’d survive this, and maybe you only wanted him to fight and say all of the nice things you needed to hear.

but he didn’t.

because for the first time in your relationship, the both of you understood the same thing. it was that love wasn’t the problem. it had never been the problem.

sometimes people simply arrived at the end and there was nothing left to negotiate.

choosing a career over love can sometimes be the best option, especially when you’re both working towards a beautiful future while you both are apart. it’s scary, yet so rewarding. choosing practicality over familiarity is the best way to respect your own worth.

and who knows? perhaps they’ll both cross paths again someday?

°❀

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this story hurts because nobody is necessarily the villain. i’ve always found it more devastating when relationships end not because somebody cheated or stopped loving the other person, but because life quietly gets in the way. because sometimes love survives while the relationship doesn’t.

i wanted this fic to feel frustratingly realistic. michael isn’t cruel here. reader isn’t selfish. they’re simply two people who met at the right time, loved each other deeply, and then found themselves growing in directions that no longer aligned. i think that’s what makes it tragic.

the idea of choosing practicality over familiarity has always fascinated me. familiarity is comforting. it’s warm. it’s safe. it’s the person you’ve spent years building a life around. but practicality asks harder questions. it asks whether love alone is enough. whether waiting endlessly for things to get better is worth losing pieces of yourself in the process. and maybe that’s why this breakup feels so quiet. there are no slammed doors. no screaming matches. no dramatic accusations. just two exhausted people finally admitting what they’ve both known for a long time.

there’s something especially heartbreaking about michael understanding. not fighting. not begging. not trying to force her to stay. because deep down he knows she’s right. sometimes the greatest act of love is letting someone go before resentment replaces affection.

i also wanted the ending to leave room for possibility. not necessarily reconciliation, but possibility. because life is strange. people change. paths cross again. maybe they’ll meet ten years later, maybe they won’t, maybe they’ll always be each other’s almost. either way, they loved each other. and sometimes that’s all a relationship was ever meant to be.

i’m truly sorry for not being able to keep you updated regularly! my birthday just happened, and i had to take care of some other matters.

anyway! thank you for reading. ♡

[urelliee]

Hello everyone! I apologize for not updating as frequently as I should have. My birthday was today, and work was incredibly hectic. I’ll make sure to post a new update soon!

[urelliee]

— in the name of love?

— era: pre!bad & dangerous.

(requested by an anon avid reader)

— genre: angst, romance, celebrity drama, soulmates, hurt/comfort, pining, emotional infidelity, public love confession

— pairing: michael jackson x female reader

— contains: diana ross interference, mentions of mj’s previous traumas, jealousy, heartbreak, years of unresolved feelings, michael making the wrong choice, emotional manipulation, longing, public apology, tears, soulmates who can't let each other go, happy ending

SUMMARY: for years, you stood beside him while history, loyalty, and guilt pulled him away. you were the woman who understood him better than anyone. the woman he always came back to. just never the woman he chose. until one award show changed everything.

(A/N: okay LISTEN 😭😭😭 this story hurt my feelings while i was writing it because michael is literally his own worst enemy here. i wanted him to be frustrating in a way that's actually heartbreaking, because sometimes people don't lose the love of their life from lack of love. they lose them because they keep putting them second. also yes diana is PUBLIC ENEMY #1 in this fic i'm sorry (not sorry, i hate her guts) ✋ this is obviously fiction and heavily dramatized for the plot but i needed the yearning, the jealousy, the "choose me for once" energy. and michael's speech at the end??? yeah. that's the entire reason this story exists.)

people always talked about michael joseph jackson as if he belonged to the world, and that was precisely the problem because nobody ever stopped to ask whether the world deserved him or whether michael knew how to belong to himself.

you met him during a time when he was already fractured in ways most people couldn’t perceive. While everyone else saw the records, roaring crowds, and his diamond gloves with moonwalks along the seemingly impossible levels of fame, you witnessed the cracks beneath the surface.

you saw the man hiding beneath it all, the one who endured his father’s abuse and believed that love could only be earned through suffering because his mom always condoned his father’s abuse and mostly the one who couldn’t tell the difference between loyalty and sacrifice. that was exactly his tragedy. he would hand pieces of himself away until there was almost nothing left then apologize for not having more to give.

the first thing he ever said to you was strange, and of course it was. normal conversations never interested him.

he looked at you during a party neither of you wanted to attend and asked, “do you think people can miss somebody before they’ve met them?” you stared at him. “that’s a weird question.” he smiled. “that wasn’t an answer.”

you should’ve known then. you should’ve known you were doomed because nobody had ever looked lonely the way michael did. he was not even when surrounded by thousands, especially not then.

the relationship happened slowly. not because either of you lacked feelings, but because both of you understood exactly how complicated they were.

he wasn’t easy to love, and unfortunately that man was a disaster. beautiful, very gentle, brilliant, and funny. but emotionally? a complete catastrophe.

he loved with his entire soul and then panicked whenever somebody tried loving him back.

he’d call you at three in the morning because he couldn’t sleep then disappear for three days because the conversation meant too much. he wanted closeness, and maybe needed it. but intimacy terrified him so much to the point where you became the only person capable of navigating those contradictions.

you were the only person who understood that michael wasn’t difficult because he didn’t care, in fact, he was difficult because he cared too much. and for a while, everything worked out despite the struggles.

until diana came. the thing about diana wasn’t that michael loved her, of course he loved her. it was so obvious from the start. the point being was that diana existed inside his life like gravity.

everything bent toward her including him. maybe especially him.

it wasn’t romance of some sort, not was friendship. it also wasn’t mentorship. it was something that had rooted itself so deeply inside michael’s identity that he couldn’t separate where her influence ended and where he began and diana knew. that was the part that made your stomach twist.

some people possess power and never use it and others possess power and forget they have it. though, diana possessed power and exercised it effortlessly like breathing.

she’d enter a room and michael’s attention would shift before she even spoke not because she demanded it. he offered it freely like muscle memory.

the first time it hurt was small, it was almost insignificant.

it was at a charity event with you and michael laughing together. his hand resting against your lower back, his bambi eyes shining bright and happily.

then diana arrived and it was like somebody flipped a switch. his body physically turned toward her, focus followed, and energy followed. everything followed.

you watched yourself disappear in real time not because he stopped loving you, but because he forgot to choose you. there was a big difference and somehow that’s more pathetic because intentional cruelty can be confronted. unintentional neglect leaves you arguing with ghosts.

your friends had reassured you that, “you’re imagining things.” or that, “he didn’t mean it.” or that it was, “that’s just diana.”

you grew to hate those words. as if those words explained every wound. every disappointment, those multiple occasions that somehow became hers, and every moment michael abandoned before realizing he’d left.

you began noticing a few repeated moments, patterns nobody else wanted to acknowledge. diana would appear and michael would orbit. you would become invisible in a way you would never have imagined. again and again.

it wasn’t dramatic, maybe that would’ve been easier. it was death by a thousand shards of glass. it was those small and constant moments. moments that accumulated until one day you woke up exhausted.

you weren’t competing with another woman, you were competing with his story. and unsurprisingly, his story was winning.

the worst argument happened in private, and of course it was private. the worst heartbreaks always do. nobody remembers them except the people they destroy.

you’d been together at neverland and the sun was setting. everything should’ve felt beautiful, and instead it felt like standing on the edge of a cliff. because diana had called and michael was leaving again.

you don’t even remember what started the fight. only how it ended and the feeling of standing in the middle of neverland while the sun disappeared behind the hills, watching the man you loved more than anything look everywhere except at you.

it had probably started over something small. it kind of always did. a phone call with you, those damned canceled diners, and another promises postponed. another moment that somehow became about someone else. it was always her, it always came back to her somehow.

the argument had been building for years anyway and this was just the first time neither of you could stop it. “why is it always her?” the words left your mouth before you could soften them.

michael froze and his shoulders tensed along with his gaze dropping immediately and somehow that hurt more than if he’d yelled back because he already knew.

you saw it on his face that he knew exactly what you were talking about: he just didn’t know how to fix it.

“look at me.” only to be faced with silence, “michael.” still nothing. your chest tightened. “why is it always her?”

he swallowed and looked away. that absolutely told you everything.

you laughed, except it didn’t sound like laughter. it sounded wounded. “so much for words.” your eyes burned. “wow.”

“don’t do this right now, please-” he finally looked up, though you wished he hadn’t because there was guilt in his eyes. there was so much guilt, in fact, that guilt was worse than denial. guilt meant he knew.

you stared at him as his jaw clenched. “make me choose.” the world suddenly went quiet. you actually had to pause because for a second you couldn’t believe what you’d heard. then your expression shattered. “make you choose?” you repeated softly. pathetically soft. “that’s what you think this is?”

“you’re misunderstanding what this is.”

“then what did you mean?”

he opened his mouth then soon pursed it. nothing came out and suddenly you were exhausted. just tired, so unbelievably tired. “i’m not asking you to stop loving her.” your voice cracked. “do you understand that?”

he stared at you.

“i have never asked that.” another breath. “i have never once asked you to stop caring about her.”

“i know.”

“no, michael. i don’t think you do.” your eyes filled. “because if you understood me, we wouldn’t be standing here, and i wouldn’t have been so insecure with this whole thing we have going on.”

he looked devastated, and for once, you didn’t feel any guilt nor remorse. great. “everybody says she’s important to you.” you laughed bitterly. “every single one.” another step backward. “nobody ever asks what it’s like to be the person standing next to that.”

his face fell yet you kept going because this was years worth of heartbreak pouring out at once. “do you know what it’s like?” your voice shook. “to walk into a room and immediately wonder if i’m about to lose you again? and also to watch your attention disappear the second she walks through a door?”

“to spend entire nights pretending i’m okay because i know if i say something, i’ll be the bad guy?”

he looked sick but you didn’t stop. not anymore. not again.

“the worst part is that i know you love me.” his eyes widened. you laughed again with that same horrible sound. “because if you didn’t, this would’ve been easy.” a tear stripped down your cheek. “if you didn’t love me, i could leave. and if you didn’t love me, i could hate you. but you do love us.”

your voice broke. “you love me and somehow i’m still standing here begging for scraps.”

“you’re not—”

“stop.”

and he did stop immediately.

“don’t tell me what i’m feeling.” you wiped your face angrily. “i’ve spent years understanding you.” your chest hurt. “i just wish you’d spend five minutes understanding me.” the silence afterward felt uncomfortable. finally, you asked again. quieter this time. more broken in fact.

“why is it always her?”

michael looked down and his hands trembled.

then came his whisper, “because she was there before everyone else.” the words landed like a gunshot and for a second you just stared.

and you wished he could have added more context, but there wasn’t and somehow that was the answer.

the sound of a heart finally understanding its own death. “and what happens when somebody comes after?” his face crumpled. you stepped closer. “what happens when someone loves you after?”

your voice rose. “what happens when somebody stays?” another step. “what happens when somebody chooses you every single day?”

“what happens when somebody gives you every piece of themselves?” tears blurred your vision. “what happens then?”

he couldn’t answer because there wasn’t one. and that was the pathetic part of it all. there never had been.

“you know what breaks my heart?” you whispered. his eyes squeezed shut. “if she called right now…” your voice cracked. “…you’d leave with no thought behind for us.”

his silence was immediate and instinctive and you nodded slowly because there it was. there was your answer.

“see?” you laughed through tears. “we both know i’m right.”

“it’s not like that.”

“then tell me i’m wrong.” nothing. your heart shattered right there. “you always come back.”

he looked up desperate and hopeful because he thought that meant something.

you saw it happen and somehow that hurt too.“that’s what makes this so cruel.” his expression collapsed. “i know you’ll call tomorrow.” your voice softened. “i know you’ll apologize.” tears slid down your face. “i know you’ll cry.”

“i know you’ll mean every word.” you shook your head. “and somehow that doesn’t fix anything anymore.”

“please.” his voice was barely audible.

you almost broke right then because you loved him. if you didn’t love him, this would’ve been survivable.

“i feel stupid.” your voice trembled. “because every time you walk away, i tell myself it’ll be the last time.”

he stared at you completely shattered.

“and every time you come back…” you swallowed. “…i let you in again.” his eyes filled with tears and you hated that they did because now you wanted to comfort him even now.

even while your own heart was breaking, you were still worried about his. you were still choosing him. and he still wasn’t choosing you.

“i don’t think diana is the villain.” he blinked and was surprised. “i think the villain is the fact that you know exactly how much this hurts me…” your voice broke. “…and you still can’t stop.” he physically flinched. that’s great. let him drown in his own sorrows. let him feel one fraction of what you’d been carrying.

“you make me feel loved.” your words came out small and fragile. “and you make me feel abandoned.” his face crumpled with your words.

“i don’t know how both things can be true.”

you looked at him. the person you’d spent years loving and the person you’d have followed anywhere. “i would’ve followed you anywhere.” a sad smile appeared then gone just as quickly. “that’s the embarrassing part.”

his eyes closed. “you never even had to ask.”

then came the final wound. the one neither of you would ever forget. “i think if you had to choose between losing me…” his breathing stopped. “…and disappointing her…” tears blurred everything. “…you already made that choice years ago.”

the uncomfortable feeling afterward felt endless and for the first time since you’d known him, michael jackson had absolutely nothing to say.

his face fell. because for the first time he understood that you weren’t asking him to stop loving diana. you were asking whether there would ever be room for anyone else. whether your future was permanently trapped inside somebody else’s shadow.

and michael couldn’t answer because deep down? he didn’t know and that was what destroyed you. not the uncertainty, rather the realization that he genuinely didn’t know.

months passed, then maybe years. you left. not dramatically nor angrily. you were just tired of being the escape route for his complications with diana. you can survive heartbreak and you can mostly survive betrayal. what you can’t survive forever is being somebody’s almost.

he stopped calling as often, stopped showing up, and stopped reaching for your hand. the silence between you became something living and something you grew accustomed with.

people assumed you'd broken up, and the truth was worse. there had never been anything official to end. just two people destroying themselves over a love neither could let go of.

you kept working, and he kept performing. the world kept turning and neither of you moved on. everyone could see it. maybe especially him. because every woman he stood beside wasn't you.

every room he entered felt emptier than it should, every award became heavier, achievements tasted wrong. he had chosen comfort over courage and it haunted him.

and that’s what you’d become, almost the love of his life.

you were always an almost. the person he wanted. almost. the future he dreamed about. almost. everything important. except chosen.

michael tried moving forward and the world assumed he succeeded. the world was wrong because success never fixed what was missing. awards didn’t fix it, stadiums didn’t fix it, and applause didn’t fix it. nothing unfortunately did.

he kept collecting achievements and somehow feeling poorer because grief does something worse.

it doesn’t always arrive when you lose someone, sometimes it arrives years later when you realize exactly what you lost and exactly why.

michael eventually reached a conclusion that terrified him. the greatest love of his life hadn’t left because she stopped loving him. she left because he never gave her a reason to stay. that realization haunted him like a ghost because regret is heavier than heartbreak.

heartbreak says it ended, regret says it didn’t have to, which brings us to the award show.

by 1996, the regret had become unbearable. you knew it, and he knew it. the entire industry knew it. nobody talked about it though. until the grammy awards, maybe where the night everything exploded. you'd been asked to present one of the biggest awards of the evening. the album of the year, cameras adored you, and the audience adored you. yet somewhere in the front rows you noticed where michael sat with diana. of course. you saw them before the show started.

your heart dropped to the floor when his eyes found yours immediately and they stayed there for far too long.

another speech and another headline, instead they witnessed a confession.

the night history finally cracked open. the audience expected another michael jackson victory.

you stood on stage presenting the award. elegant, composed, and very much untouchable. those years had sharpened you and made you stronger and harder to reach.

michael saw it immediately and for the first time in his life, it frightened him because you no longer looked like somebody waiting. you looked like somebody capable of leaving forever.

the winner was announced. his name echoed through the auditorium, and it was your voice that announced his win. the applause began and people stood. those haunting flashes of hollywood cameras flashed but michael couldn’t hear any of it.

because all he could see and hear was you, standing there, holding and presenting the award. the woman he’d spent years loving and years losing.

he walked toward the stage, past celebrities, past cameras, and past diana. past the gravitational force that had dictated so much of his life.

later, newspapers would obsess over that detail. the way he never looked at her. not once.

because for the first time since you’d met him, michael wasn’t being pulled by old loyalties. he was making a choice and he reached you, accepted the award. then stopped.

the audience sensed it immediately that something was happening. something bigger than music ever was, than fame, more than entertainment.

michael turned toward the microphone. his hands shook and it was not from nerves. from truth.

“all my life,” he began softly, “people have told me who i belong to.” followed up with silence that swallowed the room. “my family.” another breath, “my fans.” and another, “the world.” his eyes found yours. “and for a long time, i believed them.”

you didn’t (couldn’t) move, and neither could anyone else.

“i spent years giving pieces of myself away because i thought that was what love was.” his voice cracked. “i thought all love meant was having an obligation.” the room remained seemingly still. “i thought loyalty meant abandoning myself.”

tears filled his soft eyes. “i thought being grateful meant never leaving rooms i had already outgrown.” you saw it right then. the exhaustion from so many events, the regret, and mostly the weight he’d carried for decades.

michael looked like a man setting down something enormous, and it was something he’d been dragging behind him his entire life. then, he looked directly at you, and in an instant, the entire world around both of you vanished. “she loved me when i had nothing to offer except myself.” his voice broke completely. “and i was so busy giving myself to everybody else…”

his breath hitched, and you couldn’t help but feel pitiful for him. “…that i forgot to give myself to her.”

the audience was crying now openly; because some truths are too human to resist and some regrets are universal.

michael stepped closer, and his eyes never left yours. “the biggest mistake of my life wasn’t trusting the wrong people.” another step came. “it wasn’t fame.” and another, “it wasn’t success.” he swallowed.

“it was making the woman i loved feel like she was standing second in a story where she should’ve been first.” and right there? you felt your heart shatter then heal. all at once. and then finally, he said the thing he’d been terrified of for years.

not because it was difficult, but because it was irreversible. “i love you.” the room inhaled as he spoke: “i have loved you for years.” his voice grew stronger and steadier.

“and if history remembers me for anything…” he reached for your hand. “…i hope it remembers that eventually i found the courage to choose you.”

the applause was deafening but it sounded distant because michael was crying, and so were you.

somewhere in the audience, diana ross sat and watched. she wasn’t angry or furious; she was simply witnessing something she had never anticipated. for perhaps the first time in Michael’s life, he was not following the path of familiarity; he was finally walking in his own heart, guided by his own instincts. and somehow that was far more shocking than any declaration of love.

because the real confession wasn’t that michael loved you, everybody already knew that. the confession was that after all these years he loved you more than he feared disappointing everyone else. and for michael? that was the bravest thing he had ever done.

[urelliee]

I don't want to pile on you so it's just my suggestion. It's a little big but please give it a read.

World Music Awards -1996, Michael took the Princess of Monaco as his date for the event and Diana Ross deliberately came and sat in his lap and you can see that the Princess was upset.

Ross did the same thing during the shooting of Oz when Michael and Stephanie Mills were dating and Steph was playing Dorothy but Ross intervened and blackmailed her way to playing the character whilst also separating M and S.

So can you write something like that, set in the 90s or 2000s. Reader and Michael are perfect, she gets him, is whimsical, they are both just soulmates but Ross intervenes and Michael is always weak for her so maybe he goes away from the reader for a while but then during an award show, while collecting an award (Grammy or anything) where reader is also present, Michael wins the award, leaves Ross in the seats, comes up to reader presenting the award, takes her hand and bows his head down to her apologizing in front of the whole world. Reader is irrevocably in love with him already but Michael professes his love publicly for the first time and Diana Ross is gobsmacked.

I love the way you write complicated feelings and I feel you are the best to write this.

But no pressure, if you don't have the time it's okay 🙂

I love your work 💘 Big fan 😍

I’ve seen this request earlier and have begun working on it. It will be released soon.

[urelliee]

OKAY! i finally have time againn! 😝🤞🏻

[urelliee]

I’ve been incredibly busy lately! I’m sure I’ll be even busier this upcoming week! 😭

[urelliee]

— REPEATED INFIDELITY. MJ x F!READER

— type: angst / emotional affair

— genre: toxic romance, drama, hurt/comfort, infidelity, psychological romance

— contains: cheating, emotional dependency, toxic love, jealousy, possessiveness, emotional manipulation, complicated marriage dynamics, diana ross tension, screaming matches, longing, secrecy, obsession, heavy angst, emotionally messy relationship

SUMMARY: loving michael was never soft. it was hotel room arguments at three in the morning, trembling hands wrapped around cigarette smoke, and years of being hidden behind closed doors while diana ross still occupied pieces of him publicly. both married. both selfish. both hopelessly in love. every fight should’ve destroyed them, but somehow it only made them more addicted to each other.

the first time you realized loving michael was going to ruin your life, he was sitting on your kitchen floor at two in the morning eating cold peaches from a can with his fingers.

not because he was hungry, but because he was too emotionally exhausted to pretend to be human correctly.

you stood barefoot across from him in one of your husband’s old shirts while the apartment glowed dim yellow from the stove light. outside, new york traffic hummed endlessly below your building windows. inside, michael looked like the aftermath of something terrible. his curls were damp from rain, eyes were red.

his wedding ring kept tapping softly against the tin can every time his hand shook. “you drove here?” you asked quietly. he nodded without looking up. “from jersey?” another nod. “why?”

finally, he looked at you and there it was again. that horrible look he only got around you. like he had been holding himself together publicly for so long that being near you made his body forget how. “because i couldn’t breathe there.”

your chest tightened instantly. that was how it always started with him. never seduction and just emotional emergencies that somehow turned into intimacy.

you should have just left him alone there. instead, you sat beside him on the kitchen floor while he rested his head against your shoulder and breathed like somebody recovering from drowning.

that was the mistake between the two of you. you never crossed lines dramatically. you crossed them slowly until suddenly there were no lines left at all.

before michael, your marriage had already started decomposing. not loudly nor violently. it was silent.

your husband was powerful in the way men in the music industry loved to be powerful with that stupid polished smile, expensive watches, emotionally absent. he treated marriage like ownership. like you were another successful acquisition he could parade beside him at award shows.

he liked beautiful things. he just didn’t know how to love them gently. you spent years shrinking yourself to fit inside his world.

smiling at those fancy yet boring family diners, crossing your legs elegantly, and pretending not to notice when he flirted with women right in front of you because “that’s just how executives are.”

eventually you stopped fighting him because fighting required hope and you didn’t have any left.

then came michael. the soft-spoken michael, strange, yet beautiful and fractured michael. the first thing that unsettled you about him wasn’t his fame. it was how intensely he listened.

you’d mention something insignificant once, like a childhood memory, a song you hated, your favorite perfume and months later he’d remember it perfectly.

nobody had ever paid attention to you that carefully before. it made you feel naked. he’d call just to ask what you were doing. just to hear your voice while he worked. sometimes neither of you even spoke. he’d hum unfinished melodies into the phone while you read on the couch in silence. he felt domestic.

there were nights he sounded almost boyish and others where he sounded ancient. “do you ever get scared?” he asked once.

“of what?”

“that nobody actually knows you.”

you laughed softly. “all the time.”

he went quiet after that. then: “i think that’s why i love you.”

that word sat between you both for a full month afterward. love? neither of you addressed it again but everything changed after it. the touching became different. it felt lingering and charged. his hand at the small of your back too long.

your fingers brushing his jaw absentmindedly while he spoke and eyes meeting across rooms with too much understanding inside them.

people noticed. you wished they didn’t. chemistry like that poisoned the air around it. there were whispers at parties. looks from mutual friends. your husband became colder. michael became possessive. not publicly, privately per sé.

he’d ask strange questions. “who was at dinner with you?”

“why didn’t you answer my call?”

“was your husband there?”

it should’ve irritated you. instead, it thrilled you in some ugly selfish way because michael wanted you desperately but tried to hide it beneath politeness and desire always looks more scandalous when it’s restrained.

the first time he kissed you, he looked miserable afterward. not guilty. miserable. like he’d spent years holding back something that finally tore through him violently.

it happened in the studio and it was raining outside with dimmed lights that he always loved.

you were laughing at something stupid when he suddenly grabbed your face and kissed you so hard you stumbled backward into the mixing console. then immediately he pulled away breathing unevenly. “i’m sorry,” he whispered instantly.

but his hands were still gripping your waist like he couldn’t physically let go. you stared at him and suddenly both of you understood your lives were over.

after that, the relationship became catastrophic fast. because michael loved like a starving person, yet it felt destructive.

he wanted constant reassurance while simultaneously hiding half his emotions. he needed you endlessly but hated appearing needy. every insecurity inside him sharpened once love became real. especially about your husband.

he became obsessed with him without ever saying the word jealousy aloud. “does he make you happy?”

“michael—”

“just answer me.”

“sometimes.”

his entire face darkened at that. “sometimes isn’t enough.”

“neither is this.” that shut him up because deep down, both of you knew your relationship existed in borrowed space. those hidden hotel rooms, the late-night drives, backstage hallways, and sometimes those stolen mornings.

you belonged to each other emotionally while legally belonging to other people. it made everything feel contaminated but so addictive.

and there came diana ross.

diana ross? you tried so hard not to resent her because how could you compete with history? she knew versions of michael you never would. the child version, the desperate ambitious version, and the lonely young star version during thriller.

she touched him naturally. effortlessly. like she’d earned permanent access to him long before you arrived and michael softened around her in ways that made your stomach twist.

not romantic exactly, but you knew it felt familiar to him.

you noticed every little thing. how his voice changed around her, how she adjusted his collars, and how she interrupted conversations by grabbing his arm possessively. and how he never pulled away.

once, during an awards afterparty, you watched her wipe lipstick off the corner of his mouth with her thumb while he laughed quietly. you felt something black and poisonous bloom inside your chest.

afterward, michael found you outside smoking angrily beside the valet stand. “there you are.”

“mhm.”

he studied your face carefully. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing.”

“just be honest.”

you laughed bitterly. “funny coming from you, michael.”

his expression dropped immediately. “okay,” he said slowly. “what did i do now?”

“nothing.”

“you’re angry.”

“observant.”

“tell me.”

you turned toward him finally. “does she know about me?” his entire body stilled.

his entire body froze because there it was. answer enough. you smiled coldly.

“it’s complicated-” “that’s always your excuse.” “because it is.”

“or maybe you just like keeping women in separate boxes.”

his jaw clenched. “that’s unfair.”

“is it?”

“yes.”

“then why do you let her act like she owns you?”

his eyes flashed dangerously then. “because she’s family to me.”

“and what am i?” that question disrupted him. you noticed how his adam’s apple bobbed. you felt humiliation crawl up your throat instantly. “right,” you whispered.

he grabbed your wrist before you could walk away. “don’t.”

“let go of me.”

“you know what you are to me.”

“why couldn’t you answer then?”

his grip tightened slightly to the point it felt desperate. michael was always most frightening when he got afraid because fear made him cruel. “you think this is easy for me?” he snapped quietly. “you think i enjoy feeling split in half all the time?”

“you’re not the only one hurting.”

“then stop making me choose.” that sentence hit you like a slap because suddenly you understood something awful.

he wanted all of you. he just didn’t want consequences. and maybe neither did you.

the fight that finally shattered everything happened months later in new york. industry gala and photographers everywhere.

your husband beside you all night with his hand possessively glued to your lower back and michael were across the ballroom looking beautiful and miserable in black velvet. diana attached to him constantly laughing against his shoulder, holding his hand during conversations, and fixing his tie.

at one point she kissed his cheek and whispered something that made him smile so genuinely your stomach physically hurt.

you spent the rest of the evening drinking too much champagne and pretending your heart wasn’t splitting open publicly. the second you got into the hotel suite afterward, everything exploded. “you embarrassed me tonight.”

michael looked stunned. “i embarrassed you?”

“yes.”

“how?”

“don’t play stupid.”

his face hardened immediately. “i’m not doing this.” “of course not,” you snapped. “because you hate accountability.”

“what the hell are you talking about?”

“diana hanging all over you all night while i stand there looking like an idiot.”

“she’s my friend.”

“she acts like your wife.”

“you’re being ridiculous.” “and you’re being cruel.”

that made him pause only for a second. then anger came back harder. “cruel?” he repeated incredulously. “you walked around with your husband attached to your hip all night.”

“because he is my husband-“ “exactly.”

the room went silent. you stared at each other breathing hard. years of resentment suddenly sitting exposed between you both. “say it,” you whispered.

he looked away first. what a coward.

“say it.”

“don’t.”

“no, michael, say it.”

his voice cracked slightly when he finally answered. “i hate him.” that hurt more than expected because of how honest it sounded.

“i hate the way he touches you,” michael continued quietly. “i hate when people look at you together. i hate knowing he gets parts of your life i never will.”

you swallowed hard. “then leave your wife.”

michael looked devastated instantly. “you know i can’t.”

“why?”

“because everything would collapse.”

you laughed bitterly. “but i’m allowed to collapse?”

“that’s not what i mean.”

“it’s exactly what you had pertained.”

his eyes became glassy with frustration. “why are you doing this?” “because i’m tired,” you whispered. “i’m tired of loving you like something shameful.” that sentence nearly destroyed him.

his shoulders sagged as his breathing changed. suddenly he looked less like the biggest star in the world and more like a frightened little boy trapped inside a famous man’s body. “you aren’t shameful,” he said softly.

“then why do you hide me?”

he opened his mouth. closed it. opened it again. only for nothing to come out. because there was no answer that wouldn’t hurt.

you started crying first quietly which was worse somehow.

michael crossed the room immediately like instinct dragged him there. his hands cupped your face carefully. “don’t cry,” he whispered shakily.

you laughed through tears. “look what we became.” his forehead pressed against yours. “i know.”

“we’re horrible for each other.”

“i know.”

“then why can’t i leave?”

his eyes closed and for the first time in your entire relationship, michael looked completely defenseless. “because i think you’re the only person who’s ever loved me without wanting something from me.” that broke you instantly.

because underneath all the toxicity, all the jealousy, all the lies and damage and betrayal, there was still love. real love. the kind that survives even when it probably shouldn’t and maybe that was the cruelest part. not the cheating. not the screaming part. not diana ross or your husband or the secrets.

the cruelest part was that every time you tried to leave each other, the world felt unbearably empty afterward like your bodies had learned each other too deeply to function apart.

[urelliee]

hear me out… jermajesty x popstar!reader (possibly sabrina carpenter inspired) who casts him as like the love interest in one of her music videos, but none of her fans can figure out if they’re actually dating or they’re just really good actors🌝

OH WOWWWWW, DEFINITELY!!!!

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH WTFFF

[urelliee]

i wrote a lot in the span of 2 days. damn, that’s how much i love you all.

[urelliee]

— she’s out of my life.

— type: angst w a happy ending, childhood best friends to strangers, to lovers, slow burn! requested by an anon avid reader.

— genre: romance, angst, and music industry drama

— pairing: Off The Wall! michael jackson x female reader

— contains: mutual pining, emotional repression, unresolved feelings, abandonment issues, childhood friends growing apart, loneliness, fame isolation, crying, hurt/comfort, “she’s out of my life” inspired plot, years of separation, soft reconciliation, michael being emotionally confused and stupidly in love

SUMMARY: you and michael jackson grew up together long before the fame swallowed him whole. he was your best friend, your home, the one person you loved too much to survive quietly. but when you confess your feelings, michael pulls away in fear and the two of you stop speaking entirely. years later, he releases “she’s out of my life” — and you realize too late the song was always about you.

(A/N: this genuinely hurt to write because michael is the type of person who would realize he loves someone after they’re already gone. like he’d spend years grieving you without understanding why it physically hurts to hear your name. also “she’s out of my life” is one of the saddest songs ever actually because the rawness in his voice sounds like somebody trying not to fall apart in real time lol)

you used to think growing up with michael jackson meant you’d eventually become immune to him.

that one day his voice would stop making your stomach tighten. that his laugh wouldn’t feel so private anymore. that the world screaming his name would finally drown out the boy you knew better than anyone else. unfortunately, it never happened.

you met him before the fame became something dangerous. before the bodyguards were there, before the silk shirts and tabloid headlines and women who looked like they belonged in magazines, or before the world started treating him less like a person and more like a religious artifact.

you knew him when he still climbed through your bedroom window because he hated sleeping alone after nightmares, you knew him when he still stuttered during interviews and hid behind your shoulder at parties full of adults, you knew him before he became michael jackson.

back then, he was just michael. your michael. the two of you practically grew up stitched together. your father worked in music production, which meant your house was always filled with unfinished demos, cigarette smoke, and famous people pretending they weren’t exhausted. michael started coming around when you were kids because your dad helped arrange for the jacksons sometimes. at first, he was shy. painfully shy. he’d sit cross-legged on the studio floor with giant headphones around his neck and watch everyone instead of talking.

you were the first person who made him comfortable enough to speak freely. after that, he never stopped. you became inseparable in the quietest ways. he called you at three in the morning just to hum melodies into the phone.

you sat on studio floors together eating cold fries while he talked about how scared he was of becoming someone he didn’t recognize, and he’d drag you into empty rehearsal rooms and dance until he collapsed beside you, sweaty and breathless, grinning like a little kid.

sometimes he’d hold your hand absentmindedly while talking, or he’d fall asleep with his head in your lap during long recording sessions, and he’d look at you so softly it hurt to breathe afterward. and maybe that was the problem.

because michael loved people intensely. recklessly. in ways that blurred lines until you couldn’t tell friendship from something you should be grateful for and terrifying.

you spent years pretending your feelings weren’t growing depths, but loving him was inevitable. how could it not be? you knew every version of him. the exhausted one, the insecure one, the angry one he hid from the cameras, and the lonely one.

especially the lonely one.

you loved him through all of it and he loved you too. just not in the way you needed. or maybe he did. maybe he simply didn’t know how to differentiate them.

the night everything collapsed happened in 1978.

you remembered because the studio smelled like dust and overheated equipment and michael had spent nearly an hour trying to perfect one vocal run before finally giving up and dramatically throwing himself across the couch beside you.

“i’m retiring,” he groaned. you laughed. “you’re nineteen.”

“exactly. ancient.” he turned his head toward you then, cheek pressed against the couch cushion. his eyes looked tired. they always looked tired these days. fame was beginning to hollow him out around the edges. “stay with me tonight,” he said quietly.

your chest tightened. “michael—”

“please?” and damn it. that was always your weakness. him asking softly. so you stayed.

you ordered chinese food and watched bad television and listened to him ramble about music until the sky outside turned navy blue. sometime after midnight, the room got quieter.

he was sitting close enough that your knees touched, smelled like cologne and sweat and recording studio air. you could feel yourself unraveling.

“what?” he asked softly.

you hadn’t realized you were staring. “nothing.”

“you got that face again.”

“what face?”

“the sad one.”

you looked away. he nudged your shoulder gently. “talk to me.” and maybe if he hadn’t sounded so sincere, you would’ve kept your mouth shut.

maybe if he hadn’t looked at you like you mattered more than gravity itself, you could’ve survived loving him silently. instead, you said it. small and terrified. “i think i’m in love with you.”

the silence afterward felt catastrophic. you watched the words hit him and watched as confusion flicker across his face first. then panic. michael sat up slowly. “oh,” he whispered.

that single word destroyed you more than yelling ever could’ve. you immediately wanted to disappear. “forget it,” you laughed weakly. “seriously, i don’t know why i said that-”

“no, i just…” he looked overwhelmed and trapped. “i didn’t know.”

your throat burned. “yeah. well. now you do.”

he stared down at his hands and that’s when you understood. not because he rejected you directly. but because he looked guilty. guilt was actually worse. guilt meant he cared enough to hate hurting you. but not enough to love you back.

“say something,” you whispered. michael swallowed hard. “i love you,” he said carefully. “you know i do.” your heart cracked open anyway because of course he’d say that.

he loved everyone. “that’s not what i mean.”

he went quiet again. you could practically hear him thinking and calculating. trying to say the right thing. that hurt too. because if someone loves you, they don’t need to search for the answer. they just know. “i don’t think i can give you that,” he admitted softly.

there it was, clean and fatal.

you nodded like you were okay. you weren’t. not even close. “that’s alright.”

“please don’t be upset.”

you laughed then. “silly, why would i be?” because only michael would reject someone and still sound heartbroken about it himself. “i should go home.”

“don’t leave angry.”

“i’m not angry.” you were devastated and there was a difference. the ride home felt numb. afterward, things died slowly. which somehow hurt more. at first, he still called and showed up. tried to pretend nothing changed. but now every touch felt unbearable.

every smile felt humiliating. you started pulling away first. then he did too. months passed then a year.

eventually, you became one of those people who only existed in old photographs. sometimes you’d see him on television and feel physically sick from missing him. sometimes he’d almost call you.

you knew because your father mentioned it once accidentally.“michael asked about you,” he said casually over breakfast. you nearly dropped your coffee. “what?”

“said he misses you.” you stared down at the table so he wouldn’t see your expression. “that’s nice.”

but missing someone and loving them were different things. you learned that the hard way. by 1979, michael was everywhere. the world adored him and his face covered magazines.

girls screamed themselves hoarse at concerts and you hated yourself because some ugly part of you resented them for touching pieces of him you used to have all to yourself.

then one night, your father burst into the kitchen holding a vinyl record. his expression looked strange. “have you heard the new album yet?”

you frowned. “off the wall?” he nodded slowly. “there’s a song on there.” you didn’t think much of it at first.

until later that night when you finally sat alone in your room and lowered the needle carefully onto the record. the song started softly.

the piano was sad and quiet, more fragile. then michael’s voice filled the room. rawer than you’d ever heard it before.

“she’s out of my life.”

“she’s out of my life.”

“and i don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

“i don’t know whether to live or die.”

“and it’s cuts like a knife.”

“she’s out of my life.”

your stomach dropped instantly because you knew before the chorus even arrived, and before the lyrics sharpened into something unbearable. you knew. the entire song felt like reading his diary. every line sounded haunted and laced with regret.

like someone reaching toward a ghost too late. and when his voice cracked near the end.

you actually had to pause the record. you sat there staring at nothing while your chest caved inward. because suddenly all those years rearranged themselves in your mind.

the lingering stares and the jealousy whenever you dated anyone. the way he clung to you like losing you terrified him.

the panic on his face the night you confessed. not disgust. not rejection. fear, rather.

michael had never understood his own feelings until you were already gone. and somehow that realization sounded worse.

you avoided him for another month after hearing the song. mostly because you didn’t know what to do with the grief of finding out you had been loved after all. just too late.

then one rainy night, there was a knock at your apartment door then you opened it. and there he was.

michael stood in the hallway soaked from the storm, curls dripping water onto his jacket. for a moment neither of you spoke. he looked thinner and older somehow. fame had sharpened him into something beautiful and exhausted.

“hi,” he said softly.

your throat tightened instantly. “what are you doing here?”

“can i come in?”

you should’ve said no and ran away from him even if this was your apartment. instead, you stepped aside and he walked in slowly, glancing around like he wasn’t sure he belonged there anymore. maybe he didn’t. the silence between you felt enormous.

“you heard the song,” he finally said. not a question. you crossed your arms tightly. “my father told you?” he nodded. “figured he would.”

“so what now?” you asked quietly. “you came here hoping i’d congratulate you on writing about me?” his face fell immediately. “please, don’t do that to me. don’t talk to me as if i’m just some stranger.”

the anger in your chest cracked slightly at that because underneath everything else, you missed him so violently it sometimes felt terminal. “you made me feel miserable,” you whispered.

michael looked wrecked by the words. “i know.”

“do you have any idea what it was like watching you become the biggest person in the world while pretending i didn’t love you anymore?” he stepped closer carefully. “i tried to forget you.” you laughed bitterly. “clearly.”

“i’m serious.” his voice shook.

“i tried dating other people. i tried distracting myself. but every song i wrote somehow turned into you.”

your eyes burned but he continued softly, “and then one day i realized… nobody ever felt like home except you.” silence settled again as rain tapped softly against the windows.

“michael,” you whispered painfully, “you told me you couldn’t love me like that.”

he closed his eyes briefly. “because i was scared.”

“of me?”

“of needing someone that much.” that hit harder than expected. he looked at you then with the same unbearable honesty he used to have as a boy.

“you knew me before all this,” he said quietly. “before everybody wanted something from me. before i got… complicated.”

your chest ached. “you’re still complicated.” a tiny smile flickered across his face. “yeah.” then it disappeared again. “but losing you was worse.” you looked away because suddenly crying felt close. he noticed immediately. he always did.

“hey,” he whispered in that tone. that stupid soft voice that still dismantled you after all these years. “look at me.”

you did. his eyes were glossy now too. “i’m sorry,” he said. “for not understanding sooner.”

your lip trembled despite yourself. “i hated you for a while.”

“i know.”

“and the worst part is i still missed you every day.”

he exhaled shakily like the confession physically hurt him. “me too.”

you stared at each other for what felt like forever. all those years, that distance, everything got wasted time sitting between you like wreckage.

then michael stepped closer again slowly enough that you could stop him.

yet you didn’t. his fingers brushed yours carefully and familiar. “i don’t know how to do this right,” he admitted softly. “i think i ruined it already.”

“probably.”

he laughed weakly through his sadness. “yeah.” another silence. gentler this time. then he said quietly, “but i love you.”

your breath caught. the words sounded terrified coming out of him like he’d spent years choking on them.

“i love you,” he repeated. “and i think maybe i always did. i just didn’t understand it until you were gone.”

you started crying then. not gracefully nor romantically. just exhausted tears from carrying years of hurt alone.

michael immediately pulled you against him on instinct. and for everyone’s sake, that feeling nearly destroyed you. home. he still felt like home.

his arms tightened around you while you cried into his jacket. “i’m sorry,” he kept whispering against your hair. “i’m so sorry.”eventually you laughed shakily through the tears. “you’re kind of an idiot.” he snorted softly. “yeah. i’ve been told.”

you pulled back enough to look at him. his hands stayed on your waist carefully, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you. “so what happens now?” you asked quietly.

michael smiled then. small yet real. the kind of smile you hadn’t seen since you were kids lying on studio floors together dreaming about impossible futures. “i think,” he said softly, “i spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

and for the first time in years, you finally believed him.

[urelliee]

— inevitably, stupidly, and inescapably yours again.

— type: continuation of the previous fic & enemies to lovers, requested by an anon avid reader!

— genre: angst, toxic romance, emotional slowburn, tension-heavy drama, AND SMUT!

— pairing: BAD ERA! michael jackson x choreographer!reader

— contains: toxic obsession, unresolved trauma, screaming matches that sound like confessions, emotional dependency, jealousy, possessiveness, late-night rehearsals, complicated power dynamics, vulnerability issues, kissing fueled by anger, sexual tension, emotionally raw dialogue, mutual destruction, fame-related pressure, toxic yearning, fear of intimacy, arguments turning intimate, michael being emotionally repressed but deeply obsessive, reader struggling between resentment and love, unhealthy attachment, crying, emotional manipulation, desperate affection, and two people ruining each other because they don’t know how to stop. foreplay, making out, and p in v sex, unprotected!

SUMMARY: hating michael jackson used to be easy until the hatred started sounding too much like love. after years of resentment, ruined careers, and emotional damage, being forced back into his world turns every rehearsal into a war zone. now the tension between you feels dangerous, addictive, and painfully intimate and neither of you know how to survive it anymore.

this story honestly feels like smoke, sleepless nights, emotional dependency, and kissing somebody you should absolutely stay away from so the playlist has to sound obsessive, sensual, messy, and devastating at the same time.

— “do i wanna know?” — arctic monkeys

— “wicked game” — chris isaak

— “i wanna be yours” — arctic monkeys

— “the color violet” — tory lanez

— “west coast” — lana del rey

— “pink + white” — frank ocean

— “closer” — nine inch nails

— “glory box” — portishead

— “after hours” — the weeknd

— “in the air tonight” — phil collins

— “jealous” — labrinth

— “love drought” — beyoncé

— “dress” — taylor swift

— “partition” — beyoncé

— “untitled (how does it feel)” — d’angelo

(A/N: i didn’t back down on the “hate” because i genuinely think this is one of the most emotionally exhausting things i’ve written. they’re both horrible for each other but also understand each other too much which is honestly worse. i wanted michael to feel human here. not just “michael jackson” but a man who’s terrified of being unloved. anyway this fic hurts me so much. bye.)

the aftermath of kissing michael jackson felt less like romance and more like surviving a car crash. nothing softened afterward. that was the concerning part.

people always think finally kissing someone fixes the tension. like love magically untangles damage. but with you and michael, it only made everything uglier because now there was no distance left to hide behind.

you knew how he tasted now. knew the sound he made when he lost control. knew what it felt like when his hands shook against your skin like he was terrified of wanting you too much.

and michael? michael became unbearable afterward. because once he let himself cross that line, something inside him stopped pretending.

the next morning at rehearsal, he looked at you differently. still sharp, still intense, but no longer guarded. that should’ve felt comforting. instead it made panic curl violently in your chest.

you walked into the warehouse already exhausted from not sleeping. your mind replayed the kiss on a loop all night long until you genuinely thought you might lose your mind.

and michael? he was standing center stage talking to producers when you arrived. black slacks. black button-up rolled to his elbows. curls still damp slightly like he’d rushed out of the shower.

he looked up immediately the second you entered. the room disappeared, and it happened so fast it made your stomach twist. his eyes found yours instinctively like breathing. and then his expression softened.

not publicly enough for anyone else to notice. but you noticed. you noticed everything about him now. your chest tightened painfully.

michael excused himself from the producers almost immediately and walked toward you while the entire crew stayed busy pretending not to stare. “you left without saying goodbye,” he said quietly once he reached you.

you blinked at him. that was his opener for a conversation after everything? “we kissed,” you whispered harshly. “we didn’t survive a war together.”

his jaw flexed slightly. “felt similar.” you looked away first because if you kept staring at him too long, you were genuinely afraid you’d do something catastrophic.

“last night was a mistake.” the words came out automatically and michael went completely still.

for half a second, real hurt flashed across his face before the walls slammed back up. “don’t say things you don’t mean.” anger sparked instantly because how dare he sound so certain. “you don’t know what i mean.”

“i know you.”

“that’s the problem.” silence stretched tightly between both of you.

then michael leaned slightly closer, voice dropping lower. “you kissed me back like you were angry i existed.” your pulse stumbled violently. “that doesn’t exactly scream mistake.”

you hated him, hated how easily he dismantled your defenses now. before you could answer, one of the backup dancers called michael’s name from across the stage. a woman. tall and beautiful. laughing at something one of the choreographers said.

you recognized her immediately. nia. one of the newer lead dancers michael had become close with during rehearsals. she touched his arm casually while asking him something. and something ugly tore straight through your chest before you could stop it.

michael noticed instantly. of course he did. his eyes flickered back toward you sharply. “don’t,” he said quietly. your face went cold immediately. “what?”

“do that thing where you pretend you’re not jealous.” you laughed once in disbelief. “you are genuinely insane.”

“am i?”

“we kissed one time, michael.”

“and?”

“and you do not get to act possessive over me.” his expression darkened slightly. “i’m not possessive.” that was almost funny because suddenly every interaction between michael and anyone else over the next few days became unbearable to watch. especially women. you never realized how magnetic he actually was until now. everybody gravitated toward him constantly.

makeup artists lingering too long, assistants laughing too hard at his jokes, and dancers touching his shoulders casually during rehearsals like they belonged there. and michael? he always flirted without meaning to. that was the worst part.

he didn’t even realize the effect he had on people anymore because he’d lived inside it too long. his softness. his voice. the eye contact. the way he made people feel seen for half a second before moving on.

you hated watching it. hated how irrationally angry it made you, and unfortunately michael noticed that too.

one afternoon during rehearsals, nia was helping him adjust choreography positioning while you reviewed lighting notes nearby. she laughed at something he whispered. michael smiled back automatically.

and suddenly your stomach turned so violently you slammed your clipboard down harder than intended. the sound echoed through the room. everybody looked up including michael.

his eyes locked onto yours immediately. you smiled tightly. “sorry.” liar. his expression shifted subtly like he knew.

later that evening he cornered you backstage near wardrobe fittings while crew members rushed around nearby. “what’s wrong with you today?”

you scoffed. “nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“not everything is about you.”

“this is.”

you crossed your arms angrily. “you’re unbelievable.”

“you looked like you wanted to kill nia.”

“i looked annoyed.”

“you looked jealous.”

“i was not jealous.” michael stared at you for a long second before stepping closer. “you know,” he said softly, “you get this vein right here when you lie.” his fingers brushed lightly near your forehead.

your entire body betrayed you instantly. you pulled away immediately. “stop acting like this means something.”

that had hit him. you saw it immediately in the way his expression tightened. “that’s not fair.”

“fair?” you laughed bitterly. “you wanna talk about fair now?”

“i’m trying here.”

“well trying is not an answer for the great pain you’ve caused me.”

silence settled. michael looked at you carefully then, too carefully infact like he was trying to figure out which version of you he was speaking to.

the angry one? the frightened one? or the one who kissed him back like she’d been starving. “you know what i think?” he asked quietly.

“i don’t care.”

“i think you’re terrified this matters as much to you as it does to me.” your chest physically hurt because he was right. again.

you hated how often he was right now. before you could answer, nia appeared backstage holding revised choreography sheets. “michael, they need you onstage.”

her eyes flickered between both of you briefly. she wasn’t stupid. nobody was anymore. the tension between you and michael had become visible enough that entire rooms felt it now.

michael didn’t move immediately though and kept staring at you like he was waiting. for what, you didn’t know. finally he stepped back slowly. “we’ll finish this later.”

you laughed coldly. “there’s nothing to finish.” but his eyes lingered on your face one second too long before leaving with nia, and that should’ve been the end of it.

instead you spent the rest of rehearsal watching them together until it made you feel physically sick. because nia was easy around him. easy in ways you never were.

she made him laugh. touched him casually. understood rehearsal rhythms without fighting him every five seconds. she looked good beside him. too good.

and suddenly a horrible thought started rotting through your chest: maybe michael only wanted you because conflict addicted him, maybe the obsession was never love, and maybe you were just the one person who challenged him enough to keep him interested.

the realization gutted you so badly you left rehearsal early without telling anyone.

you sat in your car afterward gripping the steering wheel while tears burned behind your eyes for reasons you couldn’t even explain properly because jealousy felt pathetic after everything the two of you survived.

you’d spent years hating him and years of rebuilding yourself after him. now you were crying in parking lots because another woman made him smile. humiliating. completely humiliating.

your phone rang around midnight. michael. you stared at the screen until it stopped. then rang again immediately. you answered angrily. “what?”

silence for half a second then his voice came quieter than expected. “where’d you go?”

your chest tightened involuntarily. “home.”

“why?”

“because i wanted to. i was done with my part.” another silence. you could hear him breathing faintly through the phone.

“you left without saying goodbye again.” something about the disappointment in his voice made anger flare hot through your chest. “you seemed busy.”

michael went quiet immediately. too quiet. “…is this about nia?”

“don’t flatter yourself.”

“you think i want her?” you laughed bitterly. “i think you want everybody to want you.” that hit him hard enough you heard his breathing change.

“that’s cruel.”

“is it wrong?” long silence then finally michael spoke again, voice rougher now. “you really think i’d kiss you like that if this was casual to me?”

your throat tightened painfully. “you don’t get to say things like that and then stand there flirting with other women in front of me.”

“i wasn’t flirting.”

“oh puh-lease.”

“i wasn’t.”

“you smile at her differently.” another silence. then quietly: “because she’s easy.”

that hurt more than you expected. you laughed softly without humor. “wow.”

“that’s not what i meant.”

“no, i think it is.”

“you’re making this so complicated again.”

“am i?”

his voice sharpened suddenly. “you wanna know the difference between you and everybody else?” you closed your eyes tightly. fuck. this conversation felt like it should stop. “stop-”

“nobody else gets under my skin like this.” your breath caught.

“nobody else leaves rehearsals and suddenly the whole room feels wrong afterward.” his voice grew rougher now. more honest. “nobody else makes me this fucking angry and this fucking-”

he stopped himself too late. your pulse slammed violently against your ribs. “say it.” silence. then finally: “…insane.”

that word wrecked you. because michael jackson never sounded helpless. ever. you pressed your forehead against the steering wheel weakly. “you’re gonna ruin me again.”

his inhale caught audibly through the phone. “i know.”

“and the worst part is i think i’ll let you.” michael went completely silent after that. when he finally spoke again, his voice sounded devastated. “don’t say things like that unless you mean them.”

but you did mean it. that was the tragedy of all of this. because somewhere between hatred and obsession and understanding, michael jackson had become the one thing you could never survive losing correctly. and both of you knew it now.

the next few days became unbearable in the most intoxicating way possible because now every interaction between you and michael carried the memory of almost losing control.

every glance lasted too long, argument felt charged, and accidental touches became catastrophic. somehow the tension only got worse after the phone call.

you walked back into rehearsal trying to act normal. what a huge mistake.

michael was already there standing near center stage reviewing visuals with producers, dark glasses hiding half his face. but the second you entered the warehouse, he looked up immediately like he felt you arrive before he saw you. your stomach twisted violently. you hated this.

because now you noticed ridiculous things: the way his sleeves rolled up exposed his forearms while he worked, the rasp in his voice after hours of rehearsals, and those sweat dampening the curls near the back of his neck.

it felt humiliating. worse, michael looked just as wrecked by it.

you noticed it every time he got too close during rehearsals. his jaw would tighten slightly. his breathing would change. sometimes he’d stare at your mouth for one second too long before catching himself.

and the fights? the fights became lethal afterward. because underneath every argument now sat the terrifying awareness that both of you wanted each other badly enough to destroy yourselves over it.

one night rehearsal ran late again. of course it did between you. the warehouse emptied slowly until only scattered crew members remained adjusting equipment in distant corners.

you stood near the lighting board arguing with michael over stage pacing while exhaustion frayed both your tempers raw. “the choreography needs more depth,” you snapped.

“it kills the energy.”

“not everything has to feel aggressive.”

“and not everything has to feel like an emotional foreplay.” silence. your stomach dropped instantly. michael realized what he said too late.

crew members nearby suddenly became very interested in cables and floor tape. you stared at him in disbelief. “did you seriously just say that?”

his jaw flexed sharply. “forget it.”

“no, explain that actually.”

“i said forget it.”

“what, suddenly you’re shy?” his eyes darkened immediately. you recognized that look by now. it was the same look he got right before kissing you.

“careful,” he said quietly. “or what?”

michael stepped closer slowly. too close. close enough that your pulse immediately started misbehaving.

“i’ll fuckin’ kiss you right here, right now.” he murmured. your throat tightened. crew members wisely disappeared from the area one by one. cowards. “michael—”

“you stand there looking at me like you hate me,” he continued softly, eyes locked onto yours, “but every time i touch you, you stop breathing.” your face burned instantly because he was right. again.

you hated how observant he’d become with you. like he memorized every physical reaction against his will. “you’re insufferable.”

“and you’re nervous.”

“i’m not nervous.”

his mouth twitched slightly. that almost-smile would kill you someday. “liar.” before you could answer, one of the producers called michael’s name from across the warehouse asking about camera placement. the moment shattered immediately.

michael looked away first, dragging a hand across his mouth roughly like he was frustrated with himself. “five minutes,” he called back without taking his eyes off you. then quieter: “don’t leave.”

your pulse stumbled violently and you should’ve ignored him. instead you stayed. pathetic, ain’t it?

fifteen minutes later you found yourself alone backstage searching for revised performance notes when michael appeared behind you silently enough to startle you. you spun around sharply. “what the fuck?”

“you stayed.” your chest tightened immediately at the almost-relief in his voice. “don’t sound so surprised.”

he leaned against the doorway watching you carefully, black shirt partially unbuttoned now from rehearsals, and sweat cooling against his skin.

eyes exhausted and too intense all at once. the air shifted immediately. it always did with him now.“you’ve been avoiding me all day,” he said quietly.

you scoffed. “that’s rich coming from you.”

“i’m serious.”

“so am i.” silence stretched. then michael stepped into the room fully, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. your heartbeat spiked instantly. “michael.”

“what?”

“let’s not.”

“do what?”

“make this more scary than it already is…” you finally said the unsaid words between both of you.

his expression changed slightly. “too late.” your breath caught because there it was again. that horrible honesty he only seemed capable of around you now.

you should’ve walked away. instead you stood there staring at him while tension wrapped tighter and tighter around the room. michael looked exhausted.

like wanting you had become something painful.

“you know what’s really fucked up?” he asked softly after a long silence. you crossed your arms defensively. “what now?”

“i used to think fighting with you was the most intense thing i’d ever experienced.” your stomach twisted violently. “and now?”

his eyes dropped briefly to your lips again. slowly.

“now i think not touching you might kill me.” your breath left your lungs completely. the room felt suddenly too small. too warm. “you say insane things.”

“only to you.” that hit way harder than it should have. because michael jackson flirted with the world constantly without realizing it.

but this? this felt different. more raw. like every word cost him something. you tried to steady your breathing. “you’re making this complicated.”

“it was always complicated.”

“no,” you whispered shakily. “it used to just hurt.”his face changed instantly at that. softened. then michael moved closer again until your back nearly brushed the table behind you.

your pulse was so loud now you were sure he could hear it. “and now?” he asked quietly. you stared at him.

at the exhaustion in his eyes, the tension in his jaw, and the unbearable vulnerability he only ever showed you in moments like this. your voice came out barely above a whisper. “…now it hurts differently.”

silence. then michael lifted one hand slowly like he was giving you time to stop him. you didn’t.

his fingers brushed lightly against your waist. the contact burned. you inhaled sharply despite yourself. michael’s eyes fluttered briefly at the sound.

he looked just as affected as you felt. “see?” he whispered roughly. “you do that breathing thing again.”

“shut up.” a soft laugh escaped him then. warm this time. it wrecked you instantly because suddenly he didn’t look like michael jackson anymore. not the icon, not the performer, and not the impossible man the world worshipped.

just him. just a man standing too close to you looking like he wanted you badly enough to lose sleep over it.

your hands curled instinctively into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself. michael noticed immediately. his breathing changed hard.“there you are,” he whispered again.

your stomach flipped violently. “i still hate dislike.”

“you don’t hate me anymore?” he asked in that teasing tone of his. his thumb brushed slowly against your waist.

your entire body reacted instantly and you hated how obvious it probably was. michael’s forehead dropped lightly against yours with a shaky exhale. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

your voice cracked slightly. “this is still a terrible idea.”

“probably.”

“we’re gonna destroy each other.” his eyes lifted toward yours again then. dark, wrecked, and honest. “maybe,” he whispered. then after a pause: “but tell me you don’t love this anyway.”

after a few weeks of no rehearsal due to some events, the sound of the door slamming against the wall echoes through your small apartment, a violent intrusion that makes you jump. you don't even have to turn around to know who it is. the air in the room shifts, thickening with a familiar, electric tension that tastes like ozone and old regrets. michael stands in the doorway, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and rimmed with a desperation that borders on mania. he looks frayed, the carefully constructed image of the icon stripped away to reveal a man who hasn't slept in days.

"get out, michael." you keep your back to him, your fingers gripping the edge of the kitchen counter so hard your knuckles turn white. your heart hammers against your ribs, a trapped bird screaming to be let out.

"i can't." his voice is a jagged whisper, raw and trembling. he moves into the room, the distance between you shrinking with every heavy step.

"you can't do what? leave? you've spent years leaving and coming back whenever you decide i'm a convenient place to land."

"this is different. i'm dying here. i'm actually dying without knowing where i stand with you."

you spin around, your eyes flashing. anger is your only armor, the only thing keeping you from collapsing into the gravitational pull he exerts over every room he enters. "you stand exactly where you've always stood. on the outside. i'm done being the only one who remembers how much this hurts."

michael stops inches from you. he smells of expensive cologne and cold rain. he reaches out, his hand hovering near your cheek, not touching but radiating a heat that makes your skin prickle. "you think i don't remember? i wake up with the ghost of you in my life every single day and night. i see your face in every crowd. i can't breathe because the air is full of you, and i'm suffocating in it."

"stop it. stop saying these things. you just want the chase. you want to know you still have power over me."

"fuck the power," he hisses, his composure finally snapping. he grabs your waist, pulling you flush against him. the impact knocks the breath from your lungs. "i don't want power. i want you. i want to be consumed by you until there's nothing left of me. tell me you don't feel it. tell me you aren't shaking right now."

"i'm shaking because i'm angry," you lie, your voice cracking.

"you didn’t have to lie," he whispers.

he crashes his lips onto yours, and the world dissolves. it isn't a gentle kiss; it's a collision. it's the sound of two starving people fighting over a scrap of bread. his tongue forces its way into your mouth, tasting of mint and desperation, sucking on your tongue with a greedy intensity that leaves you lightheaded. you moan into his mouth, a sound of surrender that you hate yourself for making. your hands find his hair, pulling him closer, trying to merge your skin with his.

"please," he gasps against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. "please, i can't stop. i've tried to stop for a lifetime."

he lifts you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. he carries you toward the bedroom, neither of you breaking the kiss, the exchange of saliva messy and wet. he drops you onto the mattress, the springs creaking under the weight of his obsession.

he strips your clothes off with frantic, clumsy fingers, ripping a button from your blouse in his haste. you scramble to get him out of his clothes, your nails scratching at his back, leaving red welts that only seem to fuel his hunger. when he is finally bare, you see the way he looks at you—like you are a miracle and a curse all at once.

"you're so beautiful it hurts to look at you," he whimpers, his voice small and broken.

he moves between your thighs, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. he pinches your nipples, rolling them between his fingers until you arch your back, a sharp cry escaping your throat. he leans down, his mouth replacing his fingers, sucking the peak of your breast into his mouth with a wet, slurping sound. you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"michael, please... just... now."

he doesn't wait. he reaches down, his fingers sliding into your wetness. you are drenched, your pussy pulsing around his touch. he finds your clit, rubbing it in fast, rhythmic circles that send sparks of electricity shooting through your nerves. the sound of his fingers sliding in and out of you is a loud, wet shlicking, the lubrication creating a squelching noise that fills the quiet room.

"you're so wet for me," he groans, his voice deep and guttural. "you've been wanting this as much as i have." he positions himself, the head of his cock brushing against your opening. he pauses for a second, his eyes locking onto yours, searching for any sign of hesitation. you pull him down, your hips tilting upward.

"do it." he thrusts inside you in one heavy, desperate motion. the air is pushed out of your lungs in a sharp huff as your tight walls stretch to accommodate his girth. he lets out a strangled cry, his face contorting in a mixture of agony and ecstasy. he stays still for a moment, buried deep, his cock pressing against your cervix.

"oh god," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. "i'm home."

he begins to move, the pace slow and agonizing at first. each thrust is deliberate, designed to feel every ridge of your interior. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. the sound of your bodies colliding is a rhythmic slap, his balls hitting against your perineum with a wet thud.

as the tension builds, the pace quickens. he loses the soft control, his movements becoming frantic, almost violent. he's thrusting into you with a desperation that feels like he's trying to crawl inside your soul. the shlicking sound intensifies, a messy, slippery friction that smells of sex and sweat.

"i love you," he gasps, the words spilling out of him unbidden. "i love you so much it's killing me."

you can't answer; you can only moan, your head tossing from side to side on the pillow. the pleasure is too sharp, too focused. you feel the pressure building in your lower belly, a coil tightening until it snaps. you scream his name as your orgasm hits, your internal muscles clamping down on his cock in tight, rhythmic pulses.

michael lets out a guttural roar, his body stiffening. he thrusts one last time, burying himself as deep as possible, and cums with a force that makes him shudder. you feel the hot, thick jets of his seed filling you, splashing against your cervix in heavy waves. he collapses on top of you, his heart racing like a drum against your chest.

for a long time, neither of you moves. the only sound is the synchronized gasping of your breath and the slow drip of fluids onto the sheets. the desperation has faded, leaving behind a hollow, aching vulnerability.

he shifts, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked firmly against his chest. he pulls the duvet over both of you, his arms wrapping around you with a possessive softness. he kisses your temple, his lips lingering there.

"don't go back into your shell," he whispers, his voice sounding exhausted. "please. just stay here with me for a while."

you lean into him, the scent of him now etched into your skin. the fear is still there—the terror that this intimacy is just a bridge back to the version of yourself that he destroyed—but for now, the warmth of his body is the only thing that feels real.

"we're going to ruin each other, michael," you murmur, closing your eyes. “but i just can’t stop loving you.”

“neither can i, sweetheart.” michael whispered back. “i love you so much, and no negative feelings can make the both of us get exhausted with each other.”

he followed up with, “so, can i please be your boyfriend?”

of course, you said yes, silly.

[urelliee]

When are u gonna publish more stories like one shots

once i’m free from work stuff! i mostly do one-shots thouugh! you should look at my masterlist ✨

[urelliee]

can we pls get maybe like an angsty follow up / extra drabble of inevitably stupidly and inescapably yours which ends in smut which is romantic but still emotional 🥹🥹

BABYYY! i was planning on doing this! it will be out early tonight. i’ve been so busy with work shit, so i’m sorry for not being able to consistently post! LOOK OUT FOR IT 👀

[urelliee]

— lunch.

— type: a short one shot, requested by an anon avid reader!

— genre: fluff, slice of life, soft romance, family dynamics, coming of age vibes

— pairing: jermajesty jackson x reader

— contains: cookouts at hayvenhurst, loud jackson family chaos, chalk stains, just dance battles, teasing cousins, soft staring, emotional intimacy, subtle flirting, jermajesty being observant and quiet, michael jackson parallels, black family cookout energy, feeling seen, raw family warmth, awkward attraction, yearning hidden in casual moments

summary: being around the jacksons should’ve felt intimidating, but somehow it doesn’t. maybe it’s because the younger cousins immediately latch onto you, or because katherine keeps smiling whenever you speak. maybe it’s because jermajesty jackson won’t stop watching you from across the room. somewhere between sidewalk chalk, just dance, and family laughter, you become something dangerously rare to them: familiar.

(A/N: i’m ngl i loved writing this SO bad 😭 jermajesty is so interesting to write because he feels quiet in a very intentional way??? like he notices EVERYTHING. also the idea of the family seeing traces of michael in reader made me physically ill in the best way. i wanted this to feel warm and messy and alive like those summer cookouts where everybody’s loud and the air smells like smoke + lemonade. lowkey wanna live inside this story.)

the first thing jermajesty noticed about you was that you weren’t trying too hard. that mattered in a family like his.

people always tried too hard around the jacksons. too loud. too fake. too eager to prove they belonged there. they’d walk into hayvenhurst acting like they were entering church or disneyland. smiling too much. talking too much. staring too long at the gold records on the walls like they were holy artifacts.

you didn’t. you walked into the backyard cookout with your sandals half falling off your feet and immediately crouched down beside one of the little cousins drawing with sidewalk chalk. “is that supposed to be a dog?” you asked seriously.

the kid gasped. “it’s sonic.”

“oh. my bad.” and within ten minutes, there were four kids around you, all screaming over each other while you sat cross-legged on the concrete absolutely covered in pastel chalk dust.

jermajesty watched the whole thing from the patio quietly. he always watched quietly first.

that was the thing about him people never understood. they assumed because he came from that family he had to be loud or flashy or attention-hungry. but jermajesty was observant in a way that felt almost invasive sometimes. like he collected people before deciding if they were safe. and you looked safe.

he leaned back against the patio railing, sipping from a sweating can of sprite while music played through the outdoor speakers. old school stuff. earth, wind & fire. the isley brothers. some michael sprinkled in between.

his sunglasses hid his eyes, but not the little smile threatening his mouth when one of the kids accidentally dumped blue chalk powder all over your black shorts.

“oh, i look insane,” you muttered. “you look cool,” the little girl said.

“you’re right actually.”

jermajesty snorted under his breath and jaafar caught it immediately. “ohhh,” jaafar dragged out, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “there it is.”

“shut up.”

“you smiling at her.”

“i’m literally not.”

“you literally are.”

jermajesty rolled his eyes and looked away, but jaafar was grinning now because he knew him too well. jermajesty didn’t smile at strangers. not really.

he was softer than people expected, but guarded in that jackson-family way. years of cameras and headlines and weird people made all of them a little careful. even during family cookouts there was always this invisible understanding lingering in the air — protect the family. protect the peace. but somehow you slid into it naturally like you’d always been there.

an hour later, you were inside the living room absolutely demolishing the younger cousins at just dance. barefoot now. hair sticking to your forehead. screaming at the tv because one of the kids accused you of cheating.

“i’m not cheating, y’all just suck.”

“she’s cheating!” somebody yelled.

“i’m gifted!” the whole room exploded laughing. even katherine jackson, sitting quietly in her chair nearby, was smiling into her tea.

jermajesty stayed near the doorway watching again.

watching you throw your whole body into the dance moves without caring how stupid you looked, and easily watching how the kids gravitated toward you naturally.

there was something strangely familiar about it. something achingly familiar. janet noticed first. she leaned toward jermaine with a little smile. “she reminds me of michael.”

jermaine blinked. “yeah.” and it wasn’t about appearance. it was the energy that rare kind of person who made children feel seen instead of tolerated.

the way you listened fully when they talked nonsense, and the way your laughter filled a room instead of overpowering it. michael had been like that too. magnetic without trying.

jermajesty overheard them and looked at you differently after that because honestly? he’d already been thinking it.

you were sprawled across the carpet now, exhausted, while three little cousins climbed all over you like puppies. “i can’t feel my legs anymore,” you groaned.

“good,” one kid answered. “that’s evil.”

jermajesty finally pushed himself off the doorway. “move,” he said calmly. the kids looked up. “why?”

“because she’s dying.”

“i’m literally passing away,” you confirmed weakly. they whined but listened eventually, scattering toward the kitchen once they smelled dessert. you sighed dramatically. “thank you. i was seeing the light.”

jermajesty sat beside you on the floor, long legs stretched out casually. up close, he looked even prettier than he did from afar. unfairly pretty, honestly. soft eyes hidden behind dark lashes. jewelry glinting against brown skin. curls falling around his face messy and natural. he smelled faintly like sunscreen and smoke from the grill.

“you’re good with kids,” he said. you shrugged. “kids are easy.”

“nah,” he murmured. “they know when somebody fake.” that made you look at him.

because his tone changed slightly. quieter. more honest. you realized then that jermajesty jackson wasn’t detached. he was careful. careful with trust, and careful with himself.

you smiled a little. “you saying i passed the test?”

“maybe.”

“damn. high stakes.”

the corner of his mouth lifted. there it was again, that tiny smile that felt earned.

outside, somebody started grilling more burgers while music drifted through the open windows. laughter echoed from the backyard. one of the cousins ran through the hallway screaming for no reason. just the normal family noise.

or at least jackson-family normal. jermajesty looked over at you again, studying the chalk stains still dusted across your knees.“you know,” he said slowly, “my grandma likes you.”

“your grandma barely knows me.”

“don’t matter. she usually right about people.”

“that’s terrifying.”

“should be.”

you laughed softly. and for a second, jermajesty just stared at you.

not in a dramatic movie way, more like something quieter.

like he was trying to memorize the feeling of this exact moment because his family liking someone wasn’t small.

his family seeing someone wasn’t small either. especially not when the jacksons had spent most of their lives surrounded by people who only loved the mythology of them.

but you sat there sweaty and chalk-covered and teasing him about his serious face while one of the younger cousins braided random sections of your hair without permission.

and somehow you fit like a missing piece nobody realized the family had been waiting for.

[urelliee]

Can I request a Jaafar Jackson x reader angst to happy ending fic? Reader has been spending a lot of time helping Prince plan his proposal to his girlfriend. Jaafar has noticed the amount of time that reader has spent with his cousin and he can't help but feel jealous especially because he hears people saying all the time that reader and Prince should be together instead as they have similar personalities.

ooooooh! alriiiight, i see u girl! okaaay