and he’ll do a dozen takes under the guise of perfection, and although that’s partially true, he just wants an excuse to aid his fantasy. anything to relive the tension building in his abdomen and that ache throbbing at his girth.

pervy thriller!michael knowing you scare easily, and convincing you into watching a horror movie with him. and it’s all to watch you wiggle and squirm next to him, latch onto his chest or arm when the movie is too much for you to face. god forbid there’s a jump scare and you’re nearly leaping in his lap the way your entire body is scrunched against his. and he’s constantly sneaking glances at your cleavage whenever you jump in fear, watching the way they recoil and slightly spill over your top. mind you he’s scared too but saving face for the sake of perversion.

pervy thriller!michael intentionally wearing his short shorts low on his hips during the summertime so you can get a peak at his happy trail :3

pervy thriller!michael is always inviting you over for a sleepover, and of course at some point you gotta shower! he’ll stupidly ask la toya where you’ve wondered off too knowing damn well where you are, he just wants the satisfaction of the confirmation.

“she’s in the shower, michael.” her tone is flat and uninterested in whatever he’s plotting, not bothering to take her attention off of whatever task she’s invested in. and all he can do is hum in response, cause he’s already painting a scene of you in his rottenly perverted mind.

absolutely soaking wet, possibly sweaty from the heat of the shower. water rolling against the curves of your back and arching along the swell of your ass. thighs jiggling when you scrub against them with your washcloth, your eyes are probably closed in concentration making the task all the more intimate in his mind. and in the mist of feeding his wicked fantasy his senses finally catch on to the rose scented body wash that seeps through the crack of the bathroom door, and into nostrils. and he nearly whines when his girth begins to stiffen.

pervy thriller!michael assisting you in helping you out of your clothes, he’s only being a good friend. he can’t imagine how exhausted you are, there’s no way you could undress alone after a busy day! unzipping dresses, unbuckling belts, softly sliding off pantyhose, carefully slipping off shoes and he’s on one knee, staring though his lashes with his doe eyes. he even offers a foot message, a friendly one! he does it for everyone, he swears !!

pervy thriller!michael never failing to invite you to hayvenhurst for the summer, since you’re so close to the family n’ all. and he will sometimes catch glimpses of you by yourself in your element. maybe sunbathing in their back yard, laid in the grass. the shortest of shorts tuck themselves in between the nook of your ass, full thighs swallowing the fabric whole. your legs lazily swing in the air while you mindlessly read whatever book you’ve challenged yourself to finish for the summer. and like clockwork michael is staring—from afar. still inside, he peers at you through the window, nearly fogging the glass and ruining his vision with the way he’s panting.

‧₊˚ thriller.michael being the biggest eater

If anyone had told you that the sweetest, most soft-spoken superstar on the planet was secretly a ravenous, borderline-obsessive fiend behind closed doors, you would’ve laughed. But now? Shaking, sweating, and gripping the headboard of his massive master bed for dear life, you knew the terrifying truth.

Michael was a munch. A total, unapologetic eater.

"Michael, please," you gasped, your thighs twitching violently as his warm, heavy hands locked your hips in place. "I'm—I can't. I’m too sensitive, baby, stop—"

He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. Michael just peeked up from between your legs, his damp curls clinging to his forehead, his lips glistening with your slick. His dark eyes were wide, blown-out, and completely shameless as he swiped his tongue slowly from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your aching clit, making you sob out loud.

"Shh," he murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly contrast to his usual high pitch. "I didn't say you could close your legs, beautiful. Keep 'em open for me. Let me taste how much you love me."

He was a perv, plain and simple. It didn't matter if you were trying to watch a movie, winding down after a long day, or literally just woke up; if Michael got a whiff of you, he was diving in. He treated your body like his personal, five-star buffet. He was highly addicted, completely obsessed with the natural, warm scent of your skin, especially when your everyday scent mixed with your natural wetness. He’d bury his nose in your neck, trail his lips down your stomach, and just inhale deeply between your thighs before his tongue even touched you.

He had absolutely zero boundaries, too. If you were sitting on his lap while he was writing music, his large hands would inevitably slip under your skirt to check your moisture. If you were even a little wet, he’d instantly drop to his knees on the floor, pulling your panties to the side right there. He was so incredibly visual, preferring to turn on all the bedside lamps just so he could watch his long fingers parting your rich, folds, blending beautifully against your skin. He'd even pull your lips apart himself, whispering muffled, dirty praise like, "You taste so sweet, baby... look at how much you're leaking for me," as he swallowed every single drop.

"Michael, seriously, I'm going to pass out," you whined, trying to push his head away as a fresh wave of overstimulation hit you.

But he loved when you tried to fight it. He loved the control, often pulling your hips right over his face to anchor you down, whispering, "Smother me, baby. Don't be shy." Even after you’d just had a screaming, toe-curling orgasm and your legs were shaking like jelly, Michael’s greed knew no bounds. He’d wait barely thirty seconds—just long enough for you to catch your breath—before his tongue was right back on your swollen clit. As you cried out and tried to wriggle away, he simply pinned your wrists to the mattress, looking up at you with a dark, teasing smirk. "Just a little more, mama. I need to taste my baby"

July 16th, 1988

Btw he’s literally singing “mama”

ᴛᴡᴏ,

ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

michael is your best friend, but he's also the person you dream about kissing, holding, and touching. when the two of you finally cross that line, you're convinced that what happened meant something, you confess your feelings-only for michael to admit he isn't sure he feels the same way. heartbroken, you move on. somehow, you're able to. michael isn't.

tags: michael jackson/reader, angst, heavy angst, mutual pining, unrequited love, right person wrong time, lost love, what could have been, michael jackson pov, slow burn, heartbreak, regret, michael jackson needs a hug, emotional hurt, emotional confessions, pregnancy, married reader, lisa marie presley, no cheating, canon-divergent, bad tour aftermath, bittersweet, open ending, hurt/no comfort

3 years later.

santa barbara airport

the blinding flashes were strong enough to hurt his eyes even with him wearing sunglasses. it was common knowledge that michael hated to go on tour since he was a kid. having to share bedrooms with his brothers or spending hours inside a bus. it was an unsettling experience.

❛ can you keep a secret? ❜ · 𓐇˚ִִ ꒱ ❪ 5.8𝒌 ❫ ╱ a 3-part mini series based off the feature film "Dirty Dancing" ˖‿◞ ྀི﹒⋆

𝓬ontent 𑄹 ྀི◟.。❤︎︎ ﹕ coming of age. summer romance. dirty dancing au. off the wall!michael jackson as johnny castle. no use of y/n, reader is referred to as ‘baby’ ofc. class differences. lots of teasing & awkward flirtation! michael being effortlessly charming. close proximity. sensual dancing, im talking bumping and grinding.

  ݂𐄢˖ᐧ sullivan county, new york — summer 1979   ݂𐄢˖ᐧ

you had spent every summer since you were a child going to kellerman’s mountain house resort, where you never really did much of anything.

the drive there always felt longer than you remembered. winding roads climbed steadily through the mountains while your father kept one hand relaxed against the steering wheel, occasionally pointing out familiar landmarks as though none of you had seen them every august for nearly as long as you could remember. your mother sat beside him with the resort brochure folded neatly across her lap, reading aloud from the new summer schedule despite already having circled several activities for you in blue ink. beside you, your older sister had spent the last hour complaining about the humidity, the cramped back seat and the possibility that the talent coordinator might have already assigned someone else the song she wanted to perform.

“you could always choose another one,” you suggested, keeping your face turned toward the window as green hills and scattered cabins passed behind the glass.

your sister stared at you as though you had proposed something unthinkable. “it’s the only song that suits my range,” she replied, speaking with the solemn conviction of someone discussing a matter of national importance. she adjusted the scarf tied around her hair and leaned forward between your parents’ seats. “mom, tell her.”

your mother did not need to tell you anything. you had heard every detail of your sister’s performance plans before the car had even left the driveway that morning, from the pale-blue dress she intended to wear to the exact moment she planned to lift one hand dramatically toward the audience. by the time the weathered wooden sign for kellerman’s finally appeared between the trees, you were willing to personally guarantee her the closing spot in the talent show if it meant she would stop rehearsing the final note beneath her breath.

the resort emerged gradually beyond the tree line, appearing almost exactly as it had the summer before and every summer before that. the main lodge stood at the center of the grounds with its broad stone steps and long white balconies, surrounded by carefully maintained lawns, tennis courts and clusters of guest cabins tucked beneath the mountains. employees dressed in crisp uniforms hurried toward the arriving cars, collecting suitcases and greeting returning families with practiced smiles while music from the outdoor pavilion drifted faintly across the property.

your mother brightened the instant the car rolled to a stop. your father stepped out with the pleased expression of a man returning somewhere that made him feel important, stretching his arms before offering his hand to help her from the passenger seat. your sister nearly struck you with the car door in her eagerness to escape, immediately searching the lawn for anyone she recognized from the previous summer.

you climbed out last, smoothing the creases from your skirt as warm mountain air settled against your skin. nothing had changed. the same flowers lined the walkway. the same families stood beneath the lodge awning, embracing one another and announcing how much the children had grown. even the same bellhop seemed to be reaching for your father’s luggage, though his smile looked slightly more exhausted than you remembered.

mr. kellerman descended the front steps before your family had managed to gather all of its belongings. he greeted your father first, clasping his hand warmly and asking after his medical practice with genuine interest. he kissed your mother’s cheek, complimented your sister’s hair and turned to you with both arms spread as if your arrival had completed the summer. great.

“and there she is,” he declared, smiling broadly while he looked you over. “our baby’s all grown up.”

you accepted his embrace because refusing would have required far more explanation than it was worth. you had been called baby for so long that the name no longer felt particularly strange, though hearing it from people who had known you since childhood had begun to make you feel permanently preserved at sixteen. mr. kellerman asked about college, told your father that anything your family needed would be taken care of and personally instructed one of the employees to place your luggage in the finest adjoining cabins available.

the young man nodded immediately, shifting two suitcases into his already crowded arms.

mr. kellerman’s smile disappeared the moment he turned away from your family. he told the employee to straighten his jacket, reminded him not to drag the luggage and warned that guests should never be left waiting in the heat.

you had noticed things like that more often as you grew older. kellerman’s was built around making families like yours feel as though the entire mountain existed for their comfort. meals appeared before you were hungry. beds were turned down while you attended dinner. employees carried bags, poured drinks and smiled through every impatient request, yet somehow seemed to become invisible the moment their service was complete.

your attention followed the chastened employee as he started toward the cabins. several staff members stood near the side of the lodge, waiting for instructions while mr. kellerman called out assignments. that was when you saw michael for the first time.

he stood slightly apart from the others with one hand resting against his hip, dressed in black trousers and a pale shirt tucked neatly at his waist. his name tag caught briefly in the sunlight when he shifted, though you were too far away to read anything printed beneath it. dark curls framed his face, stirred lightly by the mountain breeze, and while the employees around him listened with lowered heads, michael’s gaze remained calmly fixed on mr. kellerman.

there was nothing openly disrespectful in his posture. he was not smirking or rolling his eyes, but something about the stillness of his expression suggested he was merely waiting for the speech to end rather than absorbing every word. mr. kellerman spoke to him differently than he had spoken to your father, informing him that the afternoon dance demonstration was to begin precisely on time and that guests were not paying to watch the instructors socialize with one another.

michael answered with a quiet nod. then, as if he had felt your attention resting on him, his eyes drifted toward the driveway. they met yours for no more than a moment.

you should have looked away immediately. staring at staff members was hardly more polite than ignoring them altogether, but there was something unhurried about the way he regarded you. his eyes moved over your face with mild curiosity, lingering just long enough to make you aware that you were still standing beside an open car door with one hand wrapped around the strap of your bag. the faintest curve touched the corner of his mouth.

before you could decide whether it had truly been meant for you, mr. kellerman called his name. michael’s attention returned to him, and the moment disappeared so quickly that it left you wondering why it had unsettled you at all.

“baby, sweetheart, come meet someone.” your mother’s voice pulled you back toward the family. she had already arranged herself beside a somewhat-tall, young man wearing pressed white trousers and a pale-green polo shirt, her hand resting lightly against his arm with an enthusiasm that immediately made you suspicious. he was handsome in the clean, expensive way your mother always seemed to appreciate, with carefully combed hair and the self-assured posture of someone who had never questioned whether a room would welcome him. mr. kellerman introduced him as his grandson, neil.

“neil’s studying hotel management,” your father explained before neil had an opportunity to tell you himself. the approval in his voice suggested this was nearly as respectable as medicine. “he’ll be running this place one day.”

neil smiled as though the future ownership of the mountain had already been printed on his business cards. you put on the best, most convincing smile you could before he took your hand and held it slightly longer than necessary, telling you that he remembered seeing you around the resort the previous summer. you did not remember seeing him at all, though your mother seemed delighted by the possibility that the two of you had been quietly orbiting one another for years.

“i’d be happy to show you what’s changed,” neil offered. his tone was pleasant, but there was something rehearsed beneath it, as though he had made the same offer to several daughters of important guests. “we’ve expanded the golf course, and i’ve been helping grandfather organize some evening events for the younger crowd.” your sister caught your eye from behind him and lifted her brows suggestively. you responded by looking away before she could silently plan your first date with the kid.

“that sounds lovely,” your mother answered for you. “baby never knows what to do with herself here.”

you resisted the urge to remind her that she had scheduled nearly every free hour of your summer without asking. neil continued describing the resort improvements, speaking mostly to your father despite supposedly addressing you. he explained staffing decisions, complained lightly about the difficulty of managing seasonal workers and referred to the employee cabins as though they were an unfortunate necessity hidden behind an otherwise beautiful property.

when one of the bellhops passed with your luggage, neil snapped his fingers and instructed him to take extra care with your mother’s garment bag. the employee adjusted it without responding. you glanced toward the side of the lodge again, but michael was gone.

by the time your family settled into the cabins, your mother had already accepted neil’s invitation on your behalf to attend a welcome mixer the following evening. your sister spent most of the afternoon unpacking dresses across both beds and asking which one made her appear older, only to reject every answer you gave. when you attempted to read near the window, she practiced vocal scales until you finally abandoned the cabin altogether.

the rest of the week unfolded exactly as every previous summer had. you begrudgingly participated in the daily activities and games your mother signed you up for, offering halfhearted swings during tennis lessons and allowing yourself to be dragged into an afternoon charades tournament. you watched your sister rehearse for the end-of-summer talent show, applauding at the appropriate moments while she argued with the pianist over tempo. you wasted your quieter afternoons inside the lodge with a book balanced across your knees or beneath the shade of the same large oak tree you had claimed years ago. it was the only time you could appreciate the quiet sanctity of the busy-filled vacation.

though, neil appeared often enough to make you suspect your parents had given him a copy of your schedule. he joined your family for lunch, saved you a seat at bingo and spoke confidently about the future he expected to inherit. there was nothing particularly cruel about him, but every conversation felt decided before it began. he told you what you would enjoy, which events were worth attending and which people around the resort were worth knowing. he seemed perfectly satisfied with the world exactly as it was, perhaps because it had been arranged to benefit him. you found yourself craving something you could not properly name.

your glimpses of michael only worsened the feeling. you saw him teaching dance lessons on the terrace, patiently guiding guests through safe, respectable steps while several women giggled over the attention he gave them. you watched him and penny perform one afternoon near the lawn to promote dance lessons. their bodies moving with such effortless precision that the applause began before the routine had ended. occasionally, you caught him crossing the grounds with other employees, his laughter carrying toward you before he vanished behind the service buildings. he belonged to a part of kellerman’s you had never been invited to see.

but this summer was supposed to be different. you were twenty now, much too old to spend another august following your parents around like a child, smiling politely at people you did not care to know while your father discussed medical school and your mother hinted at all the respectable young men staying at the resort. this summer, you were not going to sit around and let every opportunity for fun pass you by. at least, that was what you had promised yourself.

you had been doing a rather terrible job of keeping that promise until one particularly warm evening, when the walls of the lodge seemed to close in around you.

your sister was rehearsing the same verse for what must have been the twentieth time, standing before the mirror with a hairbrush clutched dramatically against her chest. your parents had gone downstairs for drinks with the kellermans, leaving you with strict instructions to join them before dinner. you had every intention of obeying until you heard music drifting through the open window.

it was faint, carried from somewhere behind the guest cabins. the rhythm was nothing like the careful orchestra playing in the ballroom below. it was heavier, livelier, interrupted by distant laughter that did not sound restrained or polite causing you to lower your book. your sister continued singing, entirely unaware as you crossed toward the window and listened more carefully. the music seemed to rise from beyond the main grounds, somewhere near the buildings guests were never given a reason to visit.

you could have gone downstairs. you could have changed for dinner, taken your expected place beside neil and listened while he explained another improvement his grandfather intended to make. instead, you slipped out of the cabin.

the paved walkway gradually disappeared as you moved behind the lodge, giving way to uneven dirt and grass softened by the evening humidity. you followed the music between the trees, lifting the hem of your dress away from low branches while the familiar glow of the resort faded behind you. the farther you wandered, the less the mountain resembled the kellerman’s you knew. employee uniforms hung from clotheslines between small cabins, crates were stacked beside service entrances, and voices carried freely through open windows without anyone lowering them for the comfort of guests. you knew you were not supposed to be there. that realization should have frightened you into turning around. instead, it sent a bright, nervous excitement fluttering through your stomach.

the music grew louder as you approached an old building tucked behind the staff quarters, its windows glowing amber through the darkness. shadows moved behind the curtains, quick and indistinct, while the muffled beat vibrated faintly beneath your shoes.

you were so focused on the building that you nearly walked directly into someone coming around the corner. a young man stopped in front of you with a startled expression, balancing one side of a wooden crate filled with watermelons against his hip. you recognized him vaguely from around the grounds, usually laughing with michael near the dance pavilion. up close, there was enough similarity around his eyes to make you wonder whether they were related.

“you shouldn’t be back here,” he told you, glancing over his shoulder as though someone might already be searching for you. he adjusted his grip beneath the crate and looked pointedly toward the path you had come from. “your parents are gonna be livid if they find you out here.”

you offered him your most innocent expression, the same one that had rescued you from lectures and unwanted introductions throughout most of your childhood. it did not appear to affect him nearly as much as you had hoped.

“i was only taking a walk,” you explained, although the distant music exposed the lie before it had fully left your mouth. your attention drifted past him toward the old building nestled farther between the trees. its windows glowed a muted amber, shadows moving rapidly behind the curtains as laughter and music poured from somewhere inside.

his gaze followed yours before returning to you with renewed urgency. “then take a walk back to the guest cabins.”

he started moving again, expecting you to listen. you followed alongside him instead. every attempt he made to discourage you only deepened your curiosity. “what’s in there?” you asked, nodding toward the old building tucked between the cabins.

“nothing.”

“then why’s everybody going?”

“they’re not.”

you looked pointedly at the steady stream of employees disappearing through the doorway. “they definitely are.”

he sighed through his nose, shifting the crate higher against his hip before continuing toward the building. “you really oughta head back.”

“well, is it some kind of party?”

“no.”

“a meeting?”

“no.”

“then what is it?”

“none of your business, kid.”

his answers grew shorter with every question, though they never quite managed to discourage you. if anything, they only made you more curious. you matched his pace beside him, carefully stepping over exposed tree roots while your eyes kept drifting toward the music spilling through the windows.

“i’ve been coming here my whole life,” you said. “how come i’ve never seen this place before?”

“because guests aren’t supposed to.”

“well, i’m here now.”

“yeah,” he muttered, glancing sideways at you. “that’s exactly the problem.”

he stopped beside another stack of watermelons and lowered the crate with a tired exhale, rubbing one hand against the back of his neck. you remained standing beside him, waiting expectantly for an answer he clearly had no intention of giving. you immediately bent down and wrapped both arms around the largest one you could find, barely managing to lift it against your stomach.

his eyebrows rose. “what are you doing?”

“helping,” you said breathlessly, tightening your hold when the slippery weight nearly escaped your arms. the watermelon was heavier than you expected, pressing awkwardly into your ribs, but setting it down would have felt like admitting defeat. you looked toward the glowing building and then back at him, waiting.

he studied you for another long moment. whatever argument remained in him seemed to fade beneath the determination written across your face. finally, he leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the trees themselves might overhear.

“can you keep a secret?” he asked. you nodded much too quickly.

that was how you found yourself climbing the narrow wooden steps with an enormous watermelon braced against your body, following a near stranger into a place you had spent your entire life visiting kellerman’s without knowing existed.

the moment the door opened, the music swallowed you whole. heat rushed over your skin first, followed by the heavy beat of drums and bass vibrating through the floorboards. the back house was crowded with employees you recognized only in pieces. waiters who carried silver trays through the dining room were laughing with their shirts unbuttoned at the collar. housekeepers who moved quietly through the guest hallways were spinning beneath raised arms, their dresses catching the warm light. kitchen staff, groundskeepers and young entertainers filled every corner of the room, no longer performing politeness for anyone.

they looked freer than you had ever seen them. the polished dances from the ballroom seemed painfully stiff in comparison. there were no careful steps or respectable spaces maintained between partners here. bodies moved close enough to share breath, hips following the restless pulse of the music with an ease that made your face grow warm. hands settled on waists and lower backs. skirts lifted and fluttered with every turn. the entire room seemed to move as one living thing, reckless and unashamed beneath the dim lights.

you almost forgot you were still holding the watermelon. michael’s cousin glanced over his shoulder, quietly amused by the stunned expression you could not hide. he guided you through the crowd, occasionally placing one hand near your elbow to keep you from being knocked off balance as dancers passed. you tried not to stare and failed almost immediately. there was too much happening at once, too many movements your parents would have considered inappropriate and too much joy accompanying every one of them.

when you finally reached a table near the wall, you lowered the watermelon with aching arms and remained beside him, unsure of what else you were permitted to do. neither of you spoke for a while. you simply watched the crowd together, though he observed them with familiarity while you studied them with intrigue as though you had wandered into another world.

“they do this every night?” you asked, keeping your voice low despite knowing the music would have buried it.

“whenever they can,” he answered, leaning his shoulder against the wall. then he glanced at you, a teasing smile forming across his mouth. “try not to look so terrified. somebody might think you’ve never seen dancing before.”

you had seen dancing. you had taken lessons as a child, attended formal parties and watched couples move elegantly beneath the ballroom chandeliers. none of it had looked like this.

before you could defend yourself, the door opened again. the shift in the room was subtle at first, more something you felt than noticed. a few faces turned. someone near the entrance cheered, and the energy already running through the crowd sharpened with sudden anticipation.

penny stepped inside first. you recognized her immediately from the afternoon dance demonstration near the lawn, though she looked entirely different without the stiff costume and bright resort smile. she wore a flowing pink dress that floated around her legs as she moved, the fabric light enough to catch every current of warm air passing through the room. her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, and there was something effortless about the way she carried herself, as if she knew every pair of eyes would eventually find her and saw no reason to pretend otherwise.

michael entered behind her. he wore black trousers and a thin white shirt with the first several buttons left undone, the sleeves pushed carelessly toward his elbows. the clothes were simple, but nothing about him appeared ordinary beneath the hazy amber light. his curls were slightly damp around his face, and his smile came easily as people reached out to greet him. he moved through the crowd with an ease that suggested the room belonged to him without him ever having to demand it.

you had seen him around the resort throughout the week, usually from a distance. he taught afternoon dance lessons near the terrace, charming older women into attempting turns they would later describe breathlessly over dinner. sometimes you caught him crossing the grounds with penny, the two of them moving with the quiet coordination of people who knew one another’s bodies well enough to predict every step.

seeing him there was different, though. there was no polite smile fixed across his face and no kellerman’s name pinned neatly above his heart. he looked younger somehow, looser around the edges. more dangerous, though you could not have explained what made you think so.

penny reached for his hand before the next song had properly begun. the crowd parted for them with immediate understanding, leaving an open space near the center of the floor. michael let her pull him forward, his smile turning playful as she spun beneath his arm. the music changed into something slower and heavier, its rhythm rolling through the room, and they slipped into it without hesitation.

penny’s pink skirt swept around his legs as she turned. michael caught her by the waist, bringing her back against him so smoothly that the room erupted with delighted shouts. they seemed determined to outdo one another after that. every movement became more daring than the last, penny rolling her hips with theatrical confidence while michael followed close behind, matching her rhythm without appearing to try. they were showing off.

michael dipped her low enough that her hair nearly brushed the floor, holding her there for one suspended moment before drawing her upright again. penny laughed against his shoulder, and he answered by turning her away from him only to pull her back by the hand. their bodies met with the beat, separating and returning as though the music itself kept drawing them together.

you watched far more intently than you meant to. michael’s cousin leaned closer, muttering something amused about how neither of them knew how to behave when there was an audience yet you barely heard him. your attention had become fixed on the shape of michael’s hands at penny’s waist and the controlled movement of his hips against hers. it was impossible to reconcile this version of him with the charming instructor who gently counted steps for nervous guests beneath the afternoon sun.

then michael looked toward the wall. his eyes passed over the room once before stopping directly on you. the moment stretched far longer than it reasonably could have. his body continued moving with the music, but his attention no longer seemed to belong to penny. surprise flickered briefly across his face, followed by curiosity and something warmer that made your stomach tighten. you resisted the instinct to look away. you were not going to let him catch you behaving like a sheltered little girl who had stumbled somewhere she did not belong, even if that was precisely what had happened.

penny followed his gaze and noticed you as well. rather than appearing bothered, she smiled knowingly and turned beneath his arm once more before slipping away toward a group of dancers. michael remained in the center of the floor for a moment, his eyes still resting on you.

he began walking—well dancing—over but he wasn’t in a hurry. that somehow made it worse.

the crowd moved aside as he approached, though he scarcely seemed to notice. the music continued thudding through your chest while you forced your posture straighter and tried to decide what expression a person was supposed to wear when michael jackson was crossing a room toward them.

his attention shifted briefly to his cousin once he reached the wall. “what’s she doing here?” he asked, though the mild curve at the corner of his mouth made the question sound more amused than angry.

his cousin lifted both hands as though absolving himself of responsibility. “she wouldn’t leave.”

michael looked at you then, waiting for whatever explanation you might offer. up close, his presence was far more unsettling. his eyes were darker than you expected, framed by lashes that softened the mischief lingering in them. there was a faint sheen of perspiration across his skin from dancing, and the open collar of his shirt shifted gently with each breath.

you had every opportunity to say something clever. you could have explained that you heard the music. you could have admitted that curiosity led you there or teased his cousin for being so easily persuaded, any of those answers would have made you sound reasonably composed.

instead, you gestured toward the table and announced, “i carried a watermelon.” silence seemed to form around you despite the music.

michael’s gaze moved toward the fruit and then returned to your face. his lips pressed together, but not quickly enough to conceal the smile threatening to escape.

you carried a watermelon. of all the words available to you, those were the ones you had chosen. you wanted to reach into the air, gather the sentence and force it back into your mouth. perhaps you could still turn around and walk into the woods. perhaps the earth might split open beneath the floorboards and spare you from having to watch him process the most humiliating introduction of your life.

“i can see that,” michael said gently, his smile finally appearing.

your face burned. “i didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“how’d you mean to say it?”

you had no answer, which only seemed to amuse him further.

his cousin laughed beside you, and you cast him a look of betrayal. michael’s attention remained on your face, studying you with an interest that felt far more intimate than it should have. you became suddenly aware of every detail of yourself beneath his gaze, from the loosened strands of hair near your cheeks to the dust gathering along the hem of your dress.

another song began, the opening rhythm slower than the last. michael glanced toward the dance floor before looking at you again. “you dance?”

the sensible response would have been to say no. at the very least, you should have clarified that whatever you knew certainly did not resemble what you had witnessed inside that room.

“a little,” you answered and in response he extended his hand.

you stared at it for half a second too long. when you finally placed your fingers into his, his palm was warm and slightly rough, closing around yours with an easy confidence that made your pulse stumble. he led you away from the safety of the wall before you could reconsider, guiding you into the space where he and penny had been dancing only moments earlier.

you felt every eye in the room turn toward you, even if most people were probably too occupied with their own partners to care. the floor seemed much larger from the center. there was nowhere to hide, nothing to hold and no idea what michael expected you to do.

he stepped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes.“don’t watch everybody else,” he murmured, placing one hand lightly at your waist. his touch was careful at first, barely more than the pressure of his fingertips through the fabric of your dress. “you’ll start thinking too much.”

you were already thinking too much. his other hand caught yours and guided it toward his shoulder. the movement brought you nearer, close enough to feel warmth radiating from his body. your breath shortened, but you refused to let it show. michael seemed like the type of person who noticed nervousness and found subtle ways to tease it out of you.

“jus’ listen to the beat,” he explained, his voice nearly lost beneath the music. his hand settled more securely around your waist, encouraging you to sway. “it’s already tellin’ you what to do.”

at first, your body resisted him. you moved cautiously, trying to measure each shift of your weight and anticipate where he intended to lead you. michael noticed immediately. his thumb brushed once against your side, not quite a caress, though it sent a strange warmth unfolding beneath your ribs.

he moved his hips slowly, exaggerating the rhythm enough for you to follow. “you’re still thinking.”

“i’m just trying not to step on you,” you replied, concentrating on his chest because looking directly into his eyes had become far too distracting.

“nah, eyes up here”

you looked up, and when you did, something changed the moment your eyes met his. perhaps it was the quiet approval in his expression or the steadiness of his hand against your waist, but the room gradually began to disappear around you. the laughter and cheering blurred beneath the music until all you could properly feel was the beat beneath your feet and the gentle pull of his body guiding yours.

your movements started to soften, michael smiled when he noticed. he shifted closer, bringing one leg between yours just enough to change the angle of your hips. his hand moved from your waist to the curve of your lower back, drawing you into the rhythm with him. you followed instinctively, your body answering his before your mind could interfere.

the motion was far more intimate than anything you had done before, the sinful movement making your adrenaline rush. his hips met yours through the thin layers of your clothing, rolling slowly with the beat before easing away again. heat rushed toward your face, but you held his gaze with stubborn determination. you would not embarrass yourself again—not in front of michael.

the faintest hint of amusement appeared in his eyes, as if he knew exactly how flustered you were and admired your refusal to admit it. he turned you beneath his arm and caught you again before you could lose the rhythm. this time, your back settled briefly against his chest. both of his hands found your hips, guiding them in a slow circle while his own followed behind yours.

your breath escaped before you could stop it. michael lowered his head slightly, his curls brushing the side of your temple. “there you go,” he encouraged, the words warm against your ear. “just feel it.”

you tried, oh god you were trying. you allowed the music to move through you instead of treating it like something that needed to be solved. your hips followed the firm direction of his hands, swaying against him as the bass rolled beneath the floor. the embarrassment never entirely disappeared, but something bolder began taking its place. you could feel it growing each time michael released you only to draw you back, each time his smile deepened because you had managed to follow without hesitation.

for those few minutes, you were no longer the well-behaved daughter who spent her summers watching other people enjoy themselves. you belonged inside the heat of the room, beneath michael’s large hands and within the reckless pulse of the music.

he turned you around to face him once more. your bodies were still close, your hips moving together in a slower rhythm now. neither of you looked away. then, just as you began to believe you understood what was passing between you, michael’s hand slid into yours and he sent you into one final spin.

your skirt lifted gently around your thighs as the room blurred. when you came to a stop, you expected his hand to steady you again.

it never did. michael had already slipped backward into the crowd, his smile lingering as dancers closed around him. within seconds, he disappeared among raised arms and moving bodies as though he had never been standing in front of you at all.

you remained alone in the center of the floor, tiny beneath the warm lights and uncertain what to do with your hands.

your heart was beating hard enough to embarrass you. your skin still remembered every place he had touched, especially the weight of his palm against the small of your back and the slow meeting of his hips with yours. you looked toward the crowd, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, but only found flashes of his white shirt between passing bodies.

michael’s cousin watched you from the wall with an expression far too knowing for your comfort. you slowly returned to him, attempting to gather what remained of your dignity. the watermelon was still sitting on the table exactly where you had left it, large and ridiculous beneath the dim light. you stared at it with quiet resentment.

it had gotten you inside, at least. and although you could already imagine the lecture awaiting you if your parents discovered where you had been, you could not bring yourself to regret following the music. not when michael’s voice was still echoing inside your mind, soft and close against your ear and the burning sensation of where his fingertips once laid.

ℳichael is adorable when he sleeps.

Usually he’s tucked into your side, inhaling you with each breath, his parted lips ticking hot air onto your neck. On nights when you’re still awake, staring up at the ceiling with an arm around Michael and the other behind your head, you’d catch him mumbling in his sleep.

It has become one of your favorite past times honestly, making out his dreams solely based on his incoherent babbles or sudden twitches in his body.

“M’Mickey…” you caught him mumbling into your skin one night. Uh oh, another Disney coded dream. You honestly back to bite the side of your cheek to restrain your laughter. “That’s my lady, ain’t she pretty…”

On another night, you even caught him talking to your “kids”, which made you heat up yourself. You imagined that Michael was dreaming of the two of you in your own, Tudor styled home, with a three floors and a big yard. You couldn’t make out the names of your kids, but boy there was a lot.

Michael became whiny when got up, complaining about how cold he is and how much he needs you. Tempting.

Even if when you’d shift, maybe to make a little bit of space between you or just simply adjusting your position, he pulls you closer. It’s like he has this sensor that goes off whenever you aren’t skin to skin.

But you both have work to do today, and you unfortunately can’t spend it cuddling with the best boyfriend in the world. Pulling back the sheets was like lifting a rock from a bug. He curls into your side of your bed, desperate for your warmth as he whined into the seam of your pillows, escaping the sunlight from the drawn curtains.

“Torture!” he croaks, rolling onto his back with a pillow pushed to his face. His shirt rode up at his torso, revealing that brown, toned stomach. If he knew how much you wanted to lay back down right now.

After spending ten minutes getting him out of bed, washing his face, and guiding him to the barstool seats at kitchen island, he still dozed off. You snorted as you moved around some bacon in the pan when you looked over your shoulder. Luckily the smell of breakfast woke him up a bit.

When you serve yourself and sat next to him, he lazily picked at his food, chin planted in his palm as he blinked slowly.

You laugh in amusement and adoration, “Don’t tell me I have to feed you as well.”

He tilts his head and with a raised a brow, like he’s considering your gracious offer, “that could happen.”

Michael was a greedy man. He craves your attention, your warmth, your presence. This whole “sleepy act”— whether it was real— was between him and the man upstairs. If that meant staying up late a night so he’ll be tired as hell in the morning… worth it. In the meantime… more of you time for him.

You let out a quiet giggle as your brought up the forked scrambled eggs to his lips, and he leaned in, planting his big hand on your knee to “stabilize” himself before he took the bite. He swallowed before yawning, “always cook so good, mama.”

Biting back a shit eating grin, you hold up his chin, your thumb rubbing his warm skin. Michael immediately leaned into your palm, even closing his eyes, relishing your sweet loving. “Thank you, sleepyhead.”

intro ✴︎⸝꙳.˖𖥔݁˖⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ( 3.6k ) childhoodbsf!popstar!reader x pre-otw!michael jackson ╱ entering adulthood, michael must simply watch from the sidelines and accept the circumstances as his best friend continually dates men who don't treat her right. if she were his girl, he'd take such good care of her. if only she knew ;; if only she loved him the way he loved her. . .

notes ♡⋆°୭ angsty fluff. bestfriend!michael. avoidant!reader. friends to lovers. he believes his love for u is unrequited. . . but that really isn’t true. small mention of slight sexual coercion. cuddles on the couch. jealous!michael. nicknames ; mickey n minnie, bambi, tink for tinker bell. mike is an emotional yearner. he just wants to protect u!

fanfiction has one of the most clearest non spoken rules : don't like it ? don't interact with it & don't go around bashing. because by you posting your opinion on stuff only gets in writers heads, and i'm saying this as a writer who already overthinks everything, but that shit doesn't make it any easier. and even if you're not trying to do that, you kind of are, there's peace in simply keeping your opinions to yourself ( redundant a little but i barely post shit like this - or even wording some people don't word what they're trying to come across right ).