| she/her ⋆ nes ⋆ nineteen |
𓂃 ࣪˖ hi loves, i’m nes ♡
not a fic writer, just a professional tag explorer and fic collector ☁️📚
michael jackson ♡ jaafar jackson
free 🇵🇸 & 🇨🇩
thinking about chewing out michael in public and he’s right where he wants to be. he’s sitting down, holding your hips and running his fingers alongside your thighs up and down to somehow soothe you but you’re so fucking mad all you can do is cuss him out. you’re pointing a mean acrylic adorned finger in his face and he’s looking up at you with those pretty bambi eyes. he thinks you look so pretty right now and he knows he’s in trouble but he can’t help it when he feels a little excited. you asked him if he’s hearing you and he says yes but then you want him to repeat what you said, so he gets real shy. “oh, please—baby.. don’t make me. i got the message, okay? ’m embarrassed..” ARUGH!
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𝒔𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. ━━ ༉‧ 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 ━ 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗿, 𝖻𝗎𝗍... 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 .ᐣ
𝒑𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ━━ ༉‧ 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋.ᐟ𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝒙 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽.ᐟ𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋.
𝒄𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬. ━━ ༉‧ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿. 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅. 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆. 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅. 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.
𝒂𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. ━━ ༉‧ based on this thought i had at the beginning of the month. i believe it turned out fine .ᐣ and way cuter than i thought . . . also, writing a drunk person’s dialogue is harder than i thought it would be😭 enjoy .ᐟ thank you for reading and for the support .ᐟ
𝒕𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. ━━ ༉‧ @unknwnbrii @moonwalker4you @platanita @holyfujjj @jenniversity @faerieglitter555 @trizixi1 @absdoesnothaveabs @ruby-angel052 @meowswrites @thebrunetteswan @peritinkers @mrsshamone @equallyshaw @hotnmysterious7 @parasolprincss @realgibby @emma3078 @feenin4dietcoke @eternal-life94 @miratate @edna-skiffens @michaelswifejackson @softformj @argentinemango @misscowboyhat @pytforever @a-motherfcking-fish @iwannarockwu @lestatress
WHEN MICHAEL CAST one last glance at the clock perched above the fireplace, he let out a tired sigh. The television screen was the only source of light in the room, its images throwing muted colours onto the singer’s exhausted face.
It was almost three o’clock in the morning.
Michael was no stranger to sleepless nights ━ those endless nights when he would sometimes find himself swamped with work. Yet tonight, it wasn’t that he lacked the desire to sleep. For once, he was utterly exhausted.
But you still hadn’t come home, so there was no way in hell he was going to go to bed without you.
His fingertips rolled over his thighs in a rhythm meant to be comforting and patient. He had been wearing his checked pyjama bottoms and his old white t-shirt ever since you had left the house a good six hours earlier.
Michael was slumped on the sofa, a plate of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table, his eyes darting back and forth between Some Like It Hot and the clock, which, over the course of those six long hours, had become his worst enemy.
He felt as though every tick-tock was actually mocking him, a way for it to remind him that you still weren’t there and that, despite the hours ticking by, time was passing oh so slowly.
Michael had hesitated over whether to hurl the remote control at it or throw it into the fire. He wanted to put a stop to the taunts, but something told him that you wouldn’t appreciate him destroying your Canetti, which you had paid a small fortune for to fill that wall that had seemed too bare to you.
He regretted not having invested in a dartboard instead…
The singer shot another glare at his arch-enemy and, realising that only two minutes had passed, threw his head back, his curls falling limp against the velvet sofa. His stomach seemed to knot up again, and he found his lip caught between his front teeth.
You should have been home at least a good fifteen minutes ago. Not that Michael was keeping tabs on you or expecting you to come home at a set time ━ no, you were perfectly entitled to have fun, he had complete faith in you ━ but your friend had phoned him from the bar where you were partying to let him know you were on your way home…
And that had been twenty minutes ago.
Michael liked to tell himself that he wasn’t the sort of boyfriend who made his girlfriend feel as if she were in prison with him but ━ damn ━ right at that moment he regretted it.
He should have at least sent Bill.
That was what his mind kept repeating over and over. He should have asked him to come and pick you up to make sure you got home safely, but your friend had told him that you had slipped away in a taxi, and it had been too late to send anyone to fetch you.
Michael decided to wait another three short minutes before phoning Bill to ask him to come and pick him up so they could search the whole state for you.
If anything happened to you, it would kill him. You had been his whole world ever since he first met you a few years ago. Love at first sight, Michael had told you, and ever since then, he had been certain that if you looked up love in the dictionary, you would find your name in the definition.
You were going to walk through that door safe and sound, Michael was convinced of it; it couldn’t end like this. He took a twentieth deep breath, his foot unconsciously swaying from side to side on the coffee table.
Where the hell were you?
The metallic jingle of keys was enough to dispel the fear that was beginning to gnaw at him in the darkness of the living room.
Michael sprang to his feet and raced across the room, his long legs giving him the edge. His hands were trembling slightly as he grabbed the door handle and flung the door open. The wood banged against the wall; there would surely be a mark, but he didn’t care.
You had finally made it home safe and sound.
"Oh, God thank you," he whispered. "I was getting worried sick, baby…"
You had to cling to the door handle to stop yourself from falling. Your purse had slipped off your shoulder and was now dangling from your wrist, mirroring the pair of heels you were holding in your other hand. Your eyes were half-lidded, your lipstick had smudged and your eyeliner had run slightly at the corners of your eyes. You looked like a mess.
"’m fi… ne…" you hiccuped.
"Girl, you’re not fine," Michael chuckled, walking toward you. "Come here, let me help you get to bed━"
You flinched back, almost falling to the ground as you pressed yourself flat against the door.
"Noooooo!" you shouted suddenly. "Back… off! I have… a boyfriend, mis… mister. So… shoo!"
Michael blinked. He let his arms fall to his sides, his eyebrows gradually furrowing. He glanced behind him, as if to check that there was no one else there whom you might be addressing, before turning his gaze back to you, looking completely confused.
"You… you what now?"
"A boyfriend!" you declared, trying to stand up straighter. "He’s tall and… handsome and str… ong… and he will… beat your ass… if you get too close to… me."
If you hadn’t been so heavily intoxicated, Michael would probably have burst out laughing at the way you were talking. He wasn’t sure how you would react if he made fun of your hiccups.
He opened his mouth to try to talk some sense into you, but when he saw how close you were to collapsing to the floor, he decided to take a different approach instead.
"Oh, you got a man, huh?" he asked, taking a step closer to catch you just in case ━ he needed to get you to bed as soon as possible. "That’s a real shame, sweetheart. What’s he like, this boyfriend of yours?"
You beamed at the question, swaying lightly.
"The best… sings to… to me all the time…"
"Does he now?" Michael mused, taking another step. "And where’s that man of yours now, mmm?"
You face fell into a pout.
"Busy… works too much…" you answered sadly. "… but if you try anything he’ll ki… ck you!"
His amusement gave way to a sense of guilt. Michael knew he was working incredibly hard and was rarely at home these days. He had probably never realised just how much it might be affecting you until tonight, as he saw your eyes fill with tears. Michael panicked for a moment. He didn’t want to make you cry ━ he hated seeing you sad ━ so he stepped closer and placed a hand on your forearm.
"Alright. I hear you, I hear you. I’m not trying to steal you, I promise. I’m just here to get you to bed safely. Your man would want you safe, right?"
You looked at him suspiciously for a moment. His black hair curled around his face, with a stray lock resting against his forehead. He was looking at you with four large brown eyes that seemed strangely familiar to you. Surely, that wasn’t normal.
"You know… you kinda look like him… like, a little bit…"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah…" you nodded, stepping closer. "… Same eyes… same… same smile…" you squinted harder. "… but my man is prettier… like way prettier… no offense…"
Michael let out a laugh.
"None taken. I’m sure he is, baby," he was smiling now. "Come on, pretty girl, let's get you to bed. I promise, I'm just helping, that's all."
You let him guide you, but you kept your distance, your body tense. He led you to the hallway, his hands firm but gentle around your waist. You were mumbling things, your head rolling down to the side opposite his neck. The guy smelled of sandalwood and musk just like your boyfriend and it was enough to send you spiralling.
"Miss him sooo much… like so, so much… you know how much?"
"I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell me," he murmured, walking you around a corner.
"He has those eyes… big, brown, doe eyes that just… he looks like Bambi, you know?"
Michael flashed you a smile.
"From Disney?"
"Oh, yeah… but Mike’s waay cuter…" you missed a step. "Love kissing his nose too... so perfect... and his hair… so soft… he likes when I… run my fingers through it… he even purrs."
"I do not purr," he chuckled sheepishly.
"’course you don’t… you don’t have nice hair like him…"
"Right, right."
"... And his hands... things he does with his hands and his mouth, oh━"
"Okay! Okay, wow," Michael cut you in, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. "That's enough detail, don't you think, sweetheart?"
"You're just jealous..." you hiccuped. "He's the best... so sweet to me... makes me breakfast in bed and lea... ves notes for me when he goes to wo... rk... and dances with me in the kit... chen..." you let out a lovesick sigh. "Just love him sooo much..."
He gently eased you down onto the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you. Michael was looking at you with such a shy smile that he almost felt childish about it. No one had ever spoken of him as kindly and affectionately as you had.
He knew you loved him, even though you weren’t the sort to say it every day. In fact, you hardly ever said it, but he knew. It was written in all the small things you would do like giving him small things that made you think about him for no reasons at all or you staying up all night just to have a chance to see him after a long day at work.
"You really love that guy, huh?" he murmured, taking off your shoes delicately.
"With my whooole heart..." you patted your chest clumsily.
"He's very lucky to have you."
"’m luckier…" you hiccuped once more.
You peered down at him, your head tilted at an angle that was giving you a double chin. You could see white teeth flashing at you. Your eyes squinted, trying to focus on his face in the dim light.
"You look... familiar..."
"Do I?"
"Yeah... you kinda look like my Mi... ke... if i close one eye..." you squint harder. "... or both..."
Michael laughed at you, putting your shoes aside.
"Must be the lighting..." he bit his lips, trying to hide his giddiness. "Handsome guy?"
"Very..." you nodded eagerly. "... most handsomest of handsome perfectsome man..."
"Girl, that sentence makes no sense!" he threw his head back.
You simply hummed and sank into the mattress, your eyes already fluttering closed.
That was the moment Michael chose to get to his feet. He stood there for a moment, watching your chest rise and fall beneath your dress, which looked far too uncomfortable to sleep in. He would try to take it off you later, though Michael doubted you would let him in your current state. He was about to walk into the bathroom when he felt a hand grip his wrist.
He looked down at you.
"Tell him ‘m home... safe, 'kay? He gets so... worried when I go out... Don't want him to be mad..." you mumbled sleepily.
"Don't worry, baby, he's not mad at all," Michael reassured you, sitting on the bed next to you, the back of his fingers caressing your cheek lovingly. "He could never be mad at you."
"I know... he likes when I've fun... but... don't want to worry him..."
"It's okay, he's not worried anymore, sweetheart, you can sleep," he cooed, his hand never leaving your face.
For a moment, you seemed satisfied with his words, welcoming Morpheus gladly, but the very next second a wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows and your eyes flew open, your pupils almost swallowing your irises.
"You need to… back off... Told you I had a man... I'll tell him to... kick you..."
Michael laughed, pulling his hand away from your warm skin. He raised both hands in a gesture of peace.
"Alright, alright. I don't want any trouble."
He got to his feet and continued on his way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, as he reached for some cotton pads to remove your make-up, Michael looked at himself for a moment. His eyes scanned his face carefully and lingered on his nose. You had called it perfect, and it was true that you loved kissing him in that exact spot. Yet he was often embarrassed when you did it... But now that he had heard your drunken words, Michael couldn’t help thinking that perhaps... you were right.
summary: Your silent treatment is driving Michael insane, and he’ll do whatever it takes just to get your attention.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The silence in the house was louder than any stadium crowd Michael had ever performed in front of- and it was driving him absolutely out of his mind.
༻✦༺
It had started yesterday afternoon over something that, in hindsight, Michael desperately wished he could undo. You had every right to be mad at him. He’d made a careless promise, completely forgot about it due to a last-minute schedule change, and left you waiting for hours without a word. When he finally walked through the door with an apology on his lips, you hadn’t yelled. You hadn't thrown anything.
You had just looked at him, shut your bedroom door, and locked in a terrifying, impenetrable wall of silence.
And now? The silent treatment was in full effect.
༻✦༺
Every single movement you made became a high-stakes obstacle course for him. When you woke up and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, Michael was right behind you, hovering like a nervous, guilt-ridden shadow. He literally tiptoed on the balls of his feet behind you, wincing at every tiny squeak of the floorboards, holding his breath every time you paused.
When you reached the kitchen to make coffee, he immediately darted to the cupboard to grab your favorite mug before you could reach it. He presented it with both hands, offering a sheepish, dimpled smile, his eyebrows knit together in pitiful, pleading arches. You didn't even acknowledge the mug. You simply reached around his slender frame, pulled a completely different cup from the shelf, and poured your coffee in total, agonizing quiet.
༻✦༺
"Baby? Please?" he tried, his voice barely above a whisper as he followed you to the living room, sliding onto the far edge of the sofa while you opened a book. "I'm really, really sorry. You know I didn't mean to"
You didn't even blink. You just turned the page, the crisp snap of the paper sounding like a tiny thunderclap in the quiet room.
Michael let out a soft, dramatic groan, dropping his head onto the sofa cushions. He shifted, crawling on his hands and knees across the rug until he was resting his chin on your knee, looking up at you with wide, glassy brown eyes.
"I'll do whatever you want," he wheedled softly, reaching up to gently tug on the hem of your shirt with two fingers. "You want me to cook dinner? I'll cook. I'll burn the kitchen down, but I'll do it. You want me to massage your feet? I'll do it all day. Just... look at me? Please? Just one tiny glance?"
You slowly lifted the book higher, completely blocking his face from view.
Michael’s bottom lip stuck out in a full, sulky pout. He sat back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest, muttering under his breath like a rejected toddler before scrambling up to brainstorm his next move.
༻✦༺
Desperate, Michael bought the most extravagant bouquet of your favourite flowers he could possibly find. When the arrangement arrived, he took it at the door and practically bounced back into the room. He presented them to you like a golden retriever bringing back a prize, holding the massive burst of blossoms in front of his face so only his wide, hopeful eyes peered over the top.
"I got these for you" he said softly, his voice trembling slightly with nervous energy. "They're your favorite. Aren't they pretty? Almost as pretty as you..."
You took the flowers, set them flat on the kitchen counter without looking at the attached card, and gave him a brief, lukewarm glance.
"Thank you," you said. Two words. Flat. Cold.
Then you turned right back around to pour a glass of water, leaving him standing there in total, unadulterated agony.
༻✦༺
By evening, Michael couldn't take it anymore. The frustration, the aching longing, and his own dramatic nature had officially boiled over. He was a man who lived on raw emotion, and being shut out by the person he loved most was pure torture.
You were in the living room, folding a throw blanket, when Michael suddenly stepped right into your path. When you tried to step to the left, he sidestepped to the left. When you moved right, he blocked you again, spreading his arms out wide like a goalkeeper.
"Michael, move," you muttered, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on his chest instead of his face.
"No," he said, his voice a chaotic mix of a childish whine and a firm, desperate demand. "No, I'm not moving! You have to talk to me! You've been ignoring me for twenty-four whole hours, and it's killing me. You're driving me crazy! Please, just yell at me! Scream at me! Throw a pillow at my head! Do whatever you want, but stop acting like I'm invisible!"
You finally snapped your head up to look at him, shoving your hands onto your hips. The sight of his messy curls, his wide, desperate eyes, and the sulky, petulant set of his jaw almost broke your resolve, but you held your ground.
"You want me to talk to you?" you snapped, your voice sharp enough to slice through the air.
"Fine! You were so inconsiderate, Michael! I waited for hours. You couldn't take ten seconds to have someone make a phone call? My time matters too, you know! I was sitting here worried sick, thinking something terrible had happened to you, only to find out you just forgot! I was hurt, and I have every right to be angry with you! You're lucky I didn't pack my bags and leave, that's what I've done to every other man who's disrespected me like that before!"
Michael didn't even care that you were scolding him-his face practically lit up like a Christmas tree just hearing your voice directed at him again. He nodded rapidly, taking a cautious, slow step closer, his hands raised in absolute surrender.
"I know, I know! You're completely right!" he pleaded softly, his demeanor instantly softening from sulky to deeply earnest as he saw the genuine exhaustion and lingering hurt behind your anger. "I was stupid and careless, and I hate that I made you feel like that. I hate it. I swear I'll make it up to you. I'm so, so sorry, beautiful. Truly, truly sorry. Please don't be mad at me anymore, I can't take it... please?"
He took another timid step forward, reaching out with just the tips of his fingers to catch the edge of your wrist. When you didn't pull away, his hope doubled. His hand slid down, his fingers gently wrapping around yours, holding on like a lifeline. He lowered his head slightly, peering up at you through his dark lashes, his lower lip trembling just a fraction.
"I hate when you look at me like you don't even know me. I'll do anything, lovey. I'll clear my entire schedule for a month, I'll stay right here with you, I'll never forget a single thing ever again. Just please forgive me... please?"
Hearing the raw, desperate remorse in his quiet voice, your shoulders finally dropped. The tight, painful coil of anger in your chest began to loosen, melting away under his earnest, unblinking gaze. You let out a long, heavy sigh, running your free hand over your face.
"You really drive me crazy sometimes, Michael," you grumbled, though the biting edge in your tone was officially gone.
Michael’s eyes widened slightly, catching the sudden soften in your posture. He held his breath, his hands still clutching yours, completely frozen as he tried to gauge if it was really safe to push his luck. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to your mouth, then darting back up to your eyes. He swallowed hard, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking terribly small and hesitant despite his height.
"Are... are you still really mad?" he murmured carefully, testing the air. "Or just... a little bit mad?"
"I'm still annoyed," you said, trying to maintain a stern line with your lips.
Michael gave a tiny, tentative tug on your hand, pulling you a mere inch closer. He bit his lip again, his face flushing a faint shade of pink as he hesitated, clearly terrified of ruining the fragile peace he had just won back.
"..Can I..." he started, his voice dropping into a breathless, barely audible whisper. He paused, searching your face for any sign of rejection, his dark eyes wide and pleading. "...Can I have a kiss?" he finally blurted out softly, looking so painfully sweet and uncertain that it almost made you laugh. "Just one? Please?"
You closed your eyes for a second like you were physically bracing yourself, then finally looked at him. The look you gave him was unreadable, but it didn’t stop you from leaning across the tiny space and pressing a quick kiss to his lips anyway. It was brief, barely even a second, a light peck-and the moment it was over, you were already pulling away and turning your head like nothing happened.
Michael went completely still beside you for a second, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh under his breath.
“I got a kiss,” he said softly, a brilliant glow washing over his features, and you immediately groaned and hid your face in your hand.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, i'm still mad” you warned, but your voice wasn’t nearly as firm as you wanted it to be.
And Michael, standing right there in the living room, just leaned in close with a triumphant smile that made it very clear he knew exactly what he was doing to you, completely overjoyed that he was finally out of the doghouse.
Pairings: MatureEra!Michael x Younger!Reader Headcanons
Genre: Pure Fluff !
Warnings:: Age gap(?) Reader is 30, Michael is in his 60s. Reader's referred to as 'mom' like once. Perhaps Michael in a bonnet. aside from that, None :)
Summary: Michael gets a new phone, how bad could it be?
W.C: 829
Author’s Note: I love love LOVE this one! Let me know what you think in the comments, reblog if you love it. As always, happy Reading!
-Love, B. 🤍 ↪ The Archive.
OlderHusband!Michael who decided it was time for a new phone after eighteen years of loyalty to his little IPhone 3G. He chose (was forced) to upgrade to a 15pro Max because he found the newest models “too intimidating”
OlderHusband!Michael who regrets his decision immediately. He mourns the loss of his home button, doesn’t quite understand the mechanics of FaceID, and absolutely hates the little woman that starts talking whenever he holds the power button. You promise he’ll figure it out, but in his head Michael seriously considers bringing back telegrams
OlderHusband!Michael who asks how to put your number on speed dial. When you tell him that feature is long gone, he nearly returns the phone all together.
“What good is this thing if I can’t call anyone quickly?”
You do your best to explain that the phone is designed to be fast, and that he won't have to worry about it, but the look he gives you makes it hard to keep a straight face.
OlderHusband!Michael who and all but begs you to teach him how to use social media properly. You started small, with Instagram, showing him all the steps to make a post and how to caption it. Michael decides his first post should be a Christmas photo from about two years ago of you, him, and the kids in matching pajamas. He captioned it “Fanily :)”, since he couldn’t really see the keyboard, which you thought was the cutest thing.
OlderHusband!Michael who tried, keyword: tried, to get on tiktok. He wasn’t really a fan of the short-form style, and the content geared to a new user put him off.
“I don’t like this application, honey. I really don’t see how you spend so much time on here.”
OlderHusband!Michael who, despite his distaste, still tries to learn how to use the app just so he can share something with you. There was a video of some bendy doll with his face on it. Michael thought it was cute, and tried to send it to you. Instead, he bought fifty of those little dolls and laughed himself sick when they arrived. You suspect that it wasn’t an accident, but ultimately decided to just let him have his fun
OlderHusband!Michael who is tucked in next to you, bonnet on, winding down. He’s quickly found himself addicted to the little videos and shows you every single one. Some make you laugh, others make you tell yourself to watch your husband carefully.
“Angel, look, this dog is dancing on two feet!”
“...Mikey, honey…that’s A.I”
OlderHusband!Michael whose frustration grows larger by the millisecond. All he wants to do is text his children goodnight, but the keyboard is too blurry. He’s also dreading having to do it three times over. This is when you step in and introduce him to the beauty of group chats. He physically relaxes when he realizes he can send a mass message, but tenses again when it comes time to type it out.
You’d offer to do it for him, but you know he’ll want to figure it out on his own. So, you propose an alternative: voice messaging. When you explain the concept, he raises a brow
“Baby, that’s just a one-sided phone call.”
“Michael, do you want to send the message or not?”
OlderHusband!Michael who struggles more with sending a vm than he did with texting. He kept having to rerecord because he was accidentally deleting his messages. Eventually he gave up and decided that his kids would know he loved them, even with a few typos.
As soon as he sends the message, Paris calls your phone to ask if he’s had a stroke. You explain that he’s fine, and just wanted to text them before you went to bed. She then tells you to get him a stronger prescription next time he visits the optometrist.
OlderHusband!Michael who, a few days later, sends you a text while you're working. When the notification pops up on your screen, a smile forms on your face. You really can’t wait to decipher what your man is trying to say to you this time.
You open the app and let out a surprised laugh, it’s a voice message! To you, this is a milestone. Michael did something on his phone without you there to coach him through it. You open the chat thread and press play.
“...Baby… It’s me, Michael! I think I figured this out! I just want you to know I love you, and I hope you have a good day. Okay, bye now.”
Your heart melts as you think about your husband with his little glasses probably fighting for his life just to send this to you. There are a few more seconds on the message which you assume are just silence, but then,
“ — Okay Prince, how do I send this to your mom?...No, I want her to think I did it myself.”
summary: security is looking everywhere for michael, but he secretly pulled you under the stage right before the shoe just to steal one last kiss for good luck.
contains: one final kiss, soft michael, a little humor, and thousands of fans waiting unaware.
word count: 942 (one shot and short fic)
COLLAB WITH: @thrillerbyers LOVE YOU!! she is posting on wattpad! go check it out and boost! ❤️
november 1993
backstage, the air buzzed uncontrolled chaos. stage managers hurried past with clipboards, and dancers stretched one last time taking deep breaths before going out in front of the swarm.
michael’s dangerous tour was coming to an end so the security team was just slightly more on edge than usual.
security guards were checking every exit and entrance. in the middle of all the chaos. someone frowned at their walkie talkie.
“has anyone seen michael?!”
another voice crackled back. “no its five minutes until showtime!!”
“and no one can find michael?”
“no!”
and there you were, being dragged below stage. michael holding you by your wrist.
“shh, be quiet,” michael had his finger to his lips.
you bit back a laugh. “michael, your entire security team is looking for you.”
“i know.”
you shook your head, trying not to smile. “you’re unbelievable.”
he glanced over his shoulder, listening as muffled footsteps passed somewhere above you. after a second he looked back, his voice barely above a whisper.
“just.. stay quiet, ‘kay?”
you nodded, trying not to laugh.
he led you a little farther until the narrow hallways opened into a small space beneath the stage. thick steel beams stretched overhead, cables snaked across concrete floor, and every few seconds the platform above trembled beneath the weight of dancers taking their places. even from down here, the roar of thousands of fans poured through the structure like distant thunder growing louder with every passing moment.
every few seconds the entire structure shivered beneath the dancers taking their places above them. dust drifted lazily through thin shafts of light slipping between the floorboards, and somewhere overhead the opening notes of the intro music echoed through the stadium.
michael finally let go of your wrist, exhaling as he leaned back against one of the support beams. for the first time since pulling you away, he seemed to relax slightly. his shoulders dropped, and he shut his eyes for just a seconds, letting the noise wash over him.
“…i think we lost ’em.”
you laughed, trying to catch your breath.
“you’re acting like we’re fugitives.”
“aren’t we?”
“no.”
“feels like it.”
another wave of footsteps thundered overhead, followed by the muffled crackle of someone’s walkie talkie.
“check under stage left.”
michael’s eyes widened.
“…okay, maybe we are.”
you both laughed uncontrollably.
michael held onto your shoulders, “okay, okay, shh..”
his smile lingered, but it slowly softened into something quieter. he looked down at the concrete floor, rubbing his hands against his thighs nervously before speaking again.
“before every show..” he murmured, “everybody wants somethin’ from me. wardrobe’s askin’ questions, the bands askin’ questions, security’s talking, managers are talkin’..” he let out a small breath. “it’s loud.”
“too loud.”
you stepped a little closer, saying nothing, close enough that your shoulders almost touched.
“i just..” he glanced up at you, his expression gentle.
“wanted one minute with us where i could be myself.”
he absentmindedly rubbed his thumb over one of the rings on his fingers.
the words settled between you above your heads, the crowd suddenly erupted into another wave of screams, loud enough to rattle beams overhead. somewhere backstage, a muffled voice shouted his name through a walkie talkie, followed by hurried footsteps crossing the stage above.
you smiled warmly. "well... you've got your minute."
his eyes never left yours. a shy smile slowly returned to his face as he rocked back on his heels.
"...one more thing."
he rocked gently on his heels.
you tilted your head. "what?"
he laughed under his breath, suddenly looking almost embarrassed. "don't make fun of me."
he opened his mouth.
closed it again.
“what?”
“…nothin’.”
“michael.”
“…it’s silly.”
“tell me.”
he smiled sheepishly, “…promise you won’t laugh?”
“i promise.”
“…cross your heart?”
you laughed.
“cross my heart.”
he looked down, suddenly fascinated by the floor.
he hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before meeting your eyes again.
"...good luck kiss?"
your lips curled into a smile. "i was wondering when you were gonna ask."
his eyes lit up immediately.
“…really?”
“really.”
“that easy?” he raised his eyebrow slightly.
“did you want me to say no first?”
he laughed.
“…no.”
“good.”
his cheeks flushed, and he let out a bashful laugh before closing the distance between you.
his lips met yours in a soft, lingering kiss, gentle enough that it made the chaos raging above your heads disappear. for a few precious seconds, it was just the two of you beneath the stage, the distant roar of thousands of fans fading into the background.
when he finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours with a grin.
"now i'm ready."
“…i think it worked.”
you laughed, “you haven’t even gone on stage yet.”
“i already feel luckier.”
you rolled your eyes, “yeah.. okay.”
almost on cue, a muffled voice echoed through the steel beams overhead.
"michael! thirty seconds!"
you both froze.
“that’s probably for you.”
he sighed dramatically.
“…i was hoping if i stayed quiet long enough they’d cancel the concert.”
“that’s not how concerts work.”
“…worth a shot to stay with you.”
he dropped his arms to his side.
"welp, that's my cue," he murmured, giving you one last quick peck before turning toward the stairs. with a final smile over his shoulder, he disappeared up the steps. you watched every step he took, and a heartbeat later the stadium erupted as he ran out into the spotlight.
the opening music shook the beams overhead.
thousands upon thousands of voices screamed his name all at once.
you couldn’t help but smile.
only a minute ago, he’d been hiding beneath the stage because he needed one quiet moment.
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18+ 𓈒 ݁ ݂ mature!michael 𝑥 f!reader { 0.5k } ❤︎ aug '08
❤︎ you wake up with a craving… (∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗) ︎
“God, you’re so sexy, I wanna eat you,” you murmured into his bare chest. It was nine in the morning, and neither of you wanted to get out of bed.
Michael chuckled, kissing your head wordlessly, and so you continued.
“Baby, I really need to suck your dick.”
“You really need to?” he smirked down in amusement.
You smacked his bicep. “Yes.”
“Well, y'can’t, honey, 'cause the kids are down the hall.”
With an eye roll, you sighed. “Ugh, Michael—they’re older now—they’re not gonna come runnin' in like they did when they were babies. They know the distinction between their rooms and mommy and daddy's room.”
“That’s not the point,” Michael laughed, still not giving in. “It’s mornin’ and they’re down the hall.”
“Well, a blowjob’s quieter than sex,” you pointed out, ignoring his disagreements.
He raised a brow. “I didn’t suggest sex either.”
“No, you didn’t—but you wanna please your lady, right? Give her what she wants?” you murmured sultrily, running your manicured nails over his chest.
“Oh, I think I’ve pleased her enough over the years,” Michael countered.
“She disagrees,” you pouted, to which Michael pulled a face of faux-shock.
“She’s also kidding,” you giggled, then nestled further into him, tucking your head into the crook of his warm neck. “Ugh, baby, please let me do somethin'. What if we just have cuddly, really slow sex so no one hears a thing?”
“Mama, what is with y' this mornin'?” Michael chuckled, intertwining your legs as he shifted so that you were now both on your sides. “Here I was, thinkin' sex drive was supposed to slow at this age.”
“I don't know, maybe it's somethin' to do with having the sexiest man in existence lying in my bed.”
“’m really not that at all, honey…” he sighed with a soft nudge, because after all these years he would still never admit how beautiful he was.
“Don’t give me your self-deprecating bullshit now. I have eyes—I know what I see,” you spoke firm. “And I also know how I feel down there, so that's physical proof of the impact your gorgeous body has on me.” You giggled now as he shied away, and you had to literally tug him back when he tried to roll onto the other side in his bashfulness.
Finally, in a bid to stop your incessant praise of his appearance and partly as a response to his growing member below the silk, he accepted your proposal.
“Alright, I'll give it to y', honey, but we need to make it quick 'cause Blanket really will be at the door askin' for us if we take any longer to come down for breakfast.”
You laughed, wreathing your fingers through his hair as you pulled him into a kiss. Your leg hooked over his thigh, and he tugged the comforter up over both of your bodies to envelop you in his protection.
The sex was slow and sleepy, just as you’d craved, but Michael had to speed up when he remembered that it was now almost nine-thirty. One of the maids had knocked on your door to ask a question, but she’d heard the tell-tale sighs and moans amid the quiet (though audible) rhythmic creak of the bed, so had left the two of you alone. You’d see to the outside world later.
You all love to imply Michael was a freak but what if he wasn’t? Would you still over sexualize him and write porn about him without his consent? It’s weird how you assume he would like this, that’s so assault sounding you do not know this man
First, turn anon off bookie let’s see who this is and second of all, Michael used to literally indulge in fanfics about him on an old y2k site literally called fanfiction.com like please and third of all, yall only like to attack people who write for Michael, where was this discourse for Elvis fanfics or jfk fics?? Cmon now.
Michael loved to be adored and fantasized by his fans (obviously there’s an extent, don’t be weird) dude literally said he’s married to his fans so take that as you will, not to mention the songs this man has made, the way he would dance?? yeah it explains itself and you would know that I’m sure if you actually paid attention to mj media but I’m very sure you’re just a miserable being on the internet. You don’t like how us writers write about him, cry about it somewhere else. Now get tf on please.
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A lot of yall (nonblack fans) really need a daily reminder that yall are stanning a BLACK MAN! It’s genuinely ridiculous how yall will make this fandom a unsafe environment then be surprised when the tags aren’t as active
When I see old news segments from when Michael just released thriller in the 80’s and he’s like taking over the damn world and blowing the fuck up I get the worst fomo of my fucking life especially talking to my mom about him because she also loves him so much and she just tells me how he was absolutely everywhere when she was a kid and how much she loved him and she had his posters on her wall and shit and ugh god I was born too fucking lateeee!!!!!!
summary: Your silent treatment is driving Michael insane, and he’ll do whatever it takes just to get your attention.
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
The silence in the house was louder than any stadium crowd Michael had ever performed in front of- and it was driving him absolutely out of his mind.
༻✦༺
It had started yesterday afternoon over something that, in hindsight, Michael desperately wished he could undo. You had every right to be mad at him. He’d made a careless promise, completely forgot about it due to a last-minute schedule change, and left you waiting for hours without a word. When he finally walked through the door with an apology on his lips, you hadn’t yelled. You hadn't thrown anything.
You had just looked at him, shut your bedroom door, and locked in a terrifying, impenetrable wall of silence.
And now? The silent treatment was in full effect.
༻✦༺
Every single movement you made became a high-stakes obstacle course for him. When you woke up and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen, Michael was right behind you, hovering like a nervous, guilt-ridden shadow. He literally tiptoed on the balls of his feet behind you, wincing at every tiny squeak of the floorboards, holding his breath every time you paused.
When you reached the kitchen to make coffee, he immediately darted to the cupboard to grab your favorite mug before you could reach it. He presented it with both hands, offering a sheepish, dimpled smile, his eyebrows knit together in pitiful, pleading arches. You didn't even acknowledge the mug. You simply reached around his slender frame, pulled a completely different cup from the shelf, and poured your coffee in total, agonizing quiet.
༻✦༺
"Baby? Please?" he tried, his voice barely above a whisper as he followed you to the living room, sliding onto the far edge of the sofa while you opened a book. "I'm really, really sorry. You know I didn't mean to"
You didn't even blink. You just turned the page, the crisp snap of the paper sounding like a tiny thunderclap in the quiet room.
Michael let out a soft, dramatic groan, dropping his head onto the sofa cushions. He shifted, crawling on his hands and knees across the rug until he was resting his chin on your knee, looking up at you with wide, glassy brown eyes.
"I'll do whatever you want," he wheedled softly, reaching up to gently tug on the hem of your shirt with two fingers. "You want me to cook dinner? I'll cook. I'll burn the kitchen down, but I'll do it. You want me to massage your feet? I'll do it all day. Just... look at me? Please? Just one tiny glance?"
You slowly lifted the book higher, completely blocking his face from view.
Michael’s bottom lip stuck out in a full, sulky pout. He sat back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest, muttering under his breath like a rejected toddler before scrambling up to brainstorm his next move.
༻✦༺
Desperate, Michael bought the most extravagant bouquet of your favourite flowers he could possibly find. When the arrangement arrived, he took it at the door and practically bounced back into the room. He presented them to you like a golden retriever bringing back a prize, holding the massive burst of blossoms in front of his face so only his wide, hopeful eyes peered over the top.
"I got these for you" he said softly, his voice trembling slightly with nervous energy. "They're your favorite. Aren't they pretty? Almost as pretty as you..."
You took the flowers, set them flat on the kitchen counter without looking at the attached card, and gave him a brief, lukewarm glance.
"Thank you," you said. Two words. Flat. Cold.
Then you turned right back around to pour a glass of water, leaving him standing there in total, unadulterated agony.
༻✦༺
By evening, Michael couldn't take it anymore. The frustration, the aching longing, and his own dramatic nature had officially boiled over. He was a man who lived on raw emotion, and being shut out by the person he loved most was pure torture.
You were in the living room, folding a throw blanket, when Michael suddenly stepped right into your path. When you tried to step to the left, he sidestepped to the left. When you moved right, he blocked you again, spreading his arms out wide like a goalkeeper.
"Michael, move," you muttered, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on his chest instead of his face.
"No," he said, his voice a chaotic mix of a childish whine and a firm, desperate demand. "No, I'm not moving! You have to talk to me! You've been ignoring me for twenty-four whole hours, and it's killing me. You're driving me crazy! Please, just yell at me! Scream at me! Throw a pillow at my head! Do whatever you want, but stop acting like I'm invisible!"
You finally snapped your head up to look at him, shoving your hands onto your hips. The sight of his messy curls, his wide, desperate eyes, and the sulky, petulant set of his jaw almost broke your resolve, but you held your ground.
"You want me to talk to you?" you snapped, your voice sharp enough to slice through the air.
"Fine! You were so inconsiderate, Michael! I waited for hours. You couldn't take ten seconds to have someone make a phone call? My time matters too, you know! I was sitting here worried sick, thinking something terrible had happened to you, only to find out you just forgot! I was hurt, and I have every right to be angry with you! You're lucky I didn't pack my bags and leave, that's what I've done to every other man who's disrespected me like that before!"
Michael didn't even care that you were scolding him-his face practically lit up like a Christmas tree just hearing your voice directed at him again. He nodded rapidly, taking a cautious, slow step closer, his hands raised in absolute surrender.
"I know, I know! You're completely right!" he pleaded softly, his demeanor instantly softening from sulky to deeply earnest as he saw the genuine exhaustion and lingering hurt behind your anger. "I was stupid and careless, and I hate that I made you feel like that. I hate it. I swear I'll make it up to you. I'm so, so sorry, beautiful. Truly, truly sorry. Please don't be mad at me anymore, I can't take it... please?"
He took another timid step forward, reaching out with just the tips of his fingers to catch the edge of your wrist. When you didn't pull away, his hope doubled. His hand slid down, his fingers gently wrapping around yours, holding on like a lifeline. He lowered his head slightly, peering up at you through his dark lashes, his lower lip trembling just a fraction.
"I hate when you look at me like you don't even know me. I'll do anything, lovey. I'll clear my entire schedule for a month, I'll stay right here with you, I'll never forget a single thing ever again. Just please forgive me... please?"
Hearing the raw, desperate remorse in his quiet voice, your shoulders finally dropped. The tight, painful coil of anger in your chest began to loosen, melting away under his earnest, unblinking gaze. You let out a long, heavy sigh, running your free hand over your face.
"You really drive me crazy sometimes, Michael," you grumbled, though the biting edge in your tone was officially gone.
Michael’s eyes widened slightly, catching the sudden soften in your posture. He held his breath, his hands still clutching yours, completely frozen as he tried to gauge if it was really safe to push his luck. He chewed nervously on his bottom lip, his gaze dropping to your mouth, then darting back up to your eyes. He swallowed hard, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, looking terribly small and hesitant despite his height.
"Are... are you still really mad?" he murmured carefully, testing the air. "Or just... a little bit mad?"
"I'm still annoyed," you said, trying to maintain a stern line with your lips.
Michael gave a tiny, tentative tug on your hand, pulling you a mere inch closer. He bit his lip again, his face flushing a faint shade of pink as he hesitated, clearly terrified of ruining the fragile peace he had just won back.
"..Can I..." he started, his voice dropping into a breathless, barely audible whisper. He paused, searching your face for any sign of rejection, his dark eyes wide and pleading. "...Can I have a kiss?" he finally blurted out softly, looking so painfully sweet and uncertain that it almost made you laugh. "Just one? Please?"
You closed your eyes for a second like you were physically bracing yourself, then finally looked at him. The look you gave him was unreadable, but it didn’t stop you from leaning across the tiny space and pressing a quick kiss to his lips anyway. It was brief, barely even a second, a light peck-and the moment it was over, you were already pulling away and turning your head like nothing happened.
Michael went completely still beside you for a second, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh under his breath.
“I got a kiss,” he said softly, a brilliant glow washing over his features, and you immediately groaned and hid your face in your hand.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, i'm still mad” you warned, but your voice wasn’t nearly as firm as you wanted it to be.
And Michael, standing right there in the living room, just leaned in close with a triumphant smile that made it very clear he knew exactly what he was doing to you, completely overjoyed that he was finally out of the doghouse.
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𝒔𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. ━━ ༉‧ 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 ━ 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗿, 𝖻𝗎𝗍... 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 .ᐣ
𝒑𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ━━ ༉‧ 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋.ᐟ𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝒙 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽.ᐟ𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋.
𝒄𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬. ━━ ༉‧ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿. 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅. 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆. 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅. 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.
𝒂𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. ━━ ༉‧ based on this thought i had at the beginning of the month. i believe it turned out fine .ᐣ and way cuter than i thought . . . also, writing a drunk person’s dialogue is harder than i thought it would be😭 enjoy .ᐟ thank you for reading and for the support .ᐟ
𝒕𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. ━━ ༉‧ @unknwnbrii @moonwalker4you @platanita @holyfujjj @jenniversity @faerieglitter555 @trizixi1 @absdoesnothaveabs @ruby-angel052 @meowswrites @thebrunetteswan @peritinkers @mrsshamone @equallyshaw @hotnmysterious7 @parasolprincss @realgibby @emma3078 @feenin4dietcoke @eternal-life94 @miratate @edna-skiffens @michaelswifejackson @softformj @argentinemango @misscowboyhat @pytforever @a-motherfcking-fish @iwannarockwu @lestatress
WHEN MICHAEL CAST one last glance at the clock perched above the fireplace, he let out a tired sigh. The television screen was the only source of light in the room, its images throwing muted colours onto the singer’s exhausted face.
It was almost three o’clock in the morning.
Michael was no stranger to sleepless nights ━ those endless nights when he would sometimes find himself swamped with work. Yet tonight, it wasn’t that he lacked the desire to sleep. For once, he was utterly exhausted.
But you still hadn’t come home, so there was no way in hell he was going to go to bed without you.
His fingertips rolled over his thighs in a rhythm meant to be comforting and patient. He had been wearing his checked pyjama bottoms and his old white t-shirt ever since you had left the house a good six hours earlier.
Michael was slumped on the sofa, a plate of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table, his eyes darting back and forth between Some Like It Hot and the clock, which, over the course of those six long hours, had become his worst enemy.
He felt as though every tick-tock was actually mocking him, a way for it to remind him that you still weren’t there and that, despite the hours ticking by, time was passing oh so slowly.
Michael had hesitated over whether to hurl the remote control at it or throw it into the fire. He wanted to put a stop to the taunts, but something told him that you wouldn’t appreciate him destroying your Canetti, which you had paid a small fortune for to fill that wall that had seemed too bare to you.
He regretted not having invested in a dartboard instead…
The singer shot another glare at his arch-enemy and, realising that only two minutes had passed, threw his head back, his curls falling limp against the velvet sofa. His stomach seemed to knot up again, and he found his lip caught between his front teeth.
You should have been home at least a good fifteen minutes ago. Not that Michael was keeping tabs on you or expecting you to come home at a set time ━ no, you were perfectly entitled to have fun, he had complete faith in you ━ but your friend had phoned him from the bar where you were partying to let him know you were on your way home…
And that had been twenty minutes ago.
Michael liked to tell himself that he wasn’t the sort of boyfriend who made his girlfriend feel as if she were in prison with him but ━ damn ━ right at that moment he regretted it.
He should have at least sent Bill.
That was what his mind kept repeating over and over. He should have asked him to come and pick you up to make sure you got home safely, but your friend had told him that you had slipped away in a taxi, and it had been too late to send anyone to fetch you.
Michael decided to wait another three short minutes before phoning Bill to ask him to come and pick him up so they could search the whole state for you.
If anything happened to you, it would kill him. You had been his whole world ever since he first met you a few years ago. Love at first sight, Michael had told you, and ever since then, he had been certain that if you looked up love in the dictionary, you would find your name in the definition.
You were going to walk through that door safe and sound, Michael was convinced of it; it couldn’t end like this. He took a twentieth deep breath, his foot unconsciously swaying from side to side on the coffee table.
Where the hell were you?
The metallic jingle of keys was enough to dispel the fear that was beginning to gnaw at him in the darkness of the living room.
Michael sprang to his feet and raced across the room, his long legs giving him the edge. His hands were trembling slightly as he grabbed the door handle and flung the door open. The wood banged against the wall; there would surely be a mark, but he didn’t care.
You had finally made it home safe and sound.
"Oh, God thank you," he whispered. "I was getting worried sick, baby…"
You had to cling to the door handle to stop yourself from falling. Your purse had slipped off your shoulder and was now dangling from your wrist, mirroring the pair of heels you were holding in your other hand. Your eyes were half-lidded, your lipstick had smudged and your eyeliner had run slightly at the corners of your eyes. You looked like a mess.
"’m fi… ne…" you hiccuped.
"Girl, you’re not fine," Michael chuckled, walking toward you. "Come here, let me help you get to bed━"
You flinched back, almost falling to the ground as you pressed yourself flat against the door.
"Noooooo!" you shouted suddenly. "Back… off! I have… a boyfriend, mis… mister. So… shoo!"
Michael blinked. He let his arms fall to his sides, his eyebrows gradually furrowing. He glanced behind him, as if to check that there was no one else there whom you might be addressing, before turning his gaze back to you, looking completely confused.
"You… you what now?"
"A boyfriend!" you declared, trying to stand up straighter. "He’s tall and… handsome and str… ong… and he will… beat your ass… if you get too close to… me."
If you hadn’t been so heavily intoxicated, Michael would probably have burst out laughing at the way you were talking. He wasn’t sure how you would react if he made fun of your hiccups.
He opened his mouth to try to talk some sense into you, but when he saw how close you were to collapsing to the floor, he decided to take a different approach instead.
"Oh, you got a man, huh?" he asked, taking a step closer to catch you just in case ━ he needed to get you to bed as soon as possible. "That’s a real shame, sweetheart. What’s he like, this boyfriend of yours?"
You beamed at the question, swaying lightly.
"The best… sings to… to me all the time…"
"Does he now?" Michael mused, taking another step. "And where’s that man of yours now, mmm?"
You face fell into a pout.
"Busy… works too much…" you answered sadly. "… but if you try anything he’ll ki… ck you!"
His amusement gave way to a sense of guilt. Michael knew he was working incredibly hard and was rarely at home these days. He had probably never realised just how much it might be affecting you until tonight, as he saw your eyes fill with tears. Michael panicked for a moment. He didn’t want to make you cry ━ he hated seeing you sad ━ so he stepped closer and placed a hand on your forearm.
"Alright. I hear you, I hear you. I’m not trying to steal you, I promise. I’m just here to get you to bed safely. Your man would want you safe, right?"
You looked at him suspiciously for a moment. His black hair curled around his face, with a stray lock resting against his forehead. He was looking at you with four large brown eyes that seemed strangely familiar to you. Surely, that wasn’t normal.
"You know… you kinda look like him… like, a little bit…"
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah…" you nodded, stepping closer. "… Same eyes… same… same smile…" you squinted harder. "… but my man is prettier… like way prettier… no offense…"
Michael let out a laugh.
"None taken. I’m sure he is, baby," he was smiling now. "Come on, pretty girl, let's get you to bed. I promise, I'm just helping, that's all."
You let him guide you, but you kept your distance, your body tense. He led you to the hallway, his hands firm but gentle around your waist. You were mumbling things, your head rolling down to the side opposite his neck. The guy smelled of sandalwood and musk just like your boyfriend and it was enough to send you spiralling.
"Miss him sooo much… like so, so much… you know how much?"
"I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell me," he murmured, walking you around a corner.
"He has those eyes… big, brown, doe eyes that just… he looks like Bambi, you know?"
Michael flashed you a smile.
"From Disney?"
"Oh, yeah… but Mike’s waay cuter…" you missed a step. "Love kissing his nose too... so perfect... and his hair… so soft… he likes when I… run my fingers through it… he even purrs."
"I do not purr," he chuckled sheepishly.
"’course you don’t… you don’t have nice hair like him…"
"Right, right."
"... And his hands... things he does with his hands and his mouth, oh━"
"Okay! Okay, wow," Michael cut you in, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. "That's enough detail, don't you think, sweetheart?"
"You're just jealous..." you hiccuped. "He's the best... so sweet to me... makes me breakfast in bed and lea... ves notes for me when he goes to wo... rk... and dances with me in the kit... chen..." you let out a lovesick sigh. "Just love him sooo much..."
He gently eased you down onto the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you. Michael was looking at you with such a shy smile that he almost felt childish about it. No one had ever spoken of him as kindly and affectionately as you had.
He knew you loved him, even though you weren’t the sort to say it every day. In fact, you hardly ever said it, but he knew. It was written in all the small things you would do like giving him small things that made you think about him for no reasons at all or you staying up all night just to have a chance to see him after a long day at work.
"You really love that guy, huh?" he murmured, taking off your shoes delicately.
"With my whooole heart..." you patted your chest clumsily.
"He's very lucky to have you."
"’m luckier…" you hiccuped once more.
You peered down at him, your head tilted at an angle that was giving you a double chin. You could see white teeth flashing at you. Your eyes squinted, trying to focus on his face in the dim light.
"You look... familiar..."
"Do I?"
"Yeah... you kinda look like my Mi... ke... if i close one eye..." you squint harder. "... or both..."
Michael laughed at you, putting your shoes aside.
"Must be the lighting..." he bit his lips, trying to hide his giddiness. "Handsome guy?"
"Very..." you nodded eagerly. "... most handsomest of handsome perfectsome man..."
"Girl, that sentence makes no sense!" he threw his head back.
You simply hummed and sank into the mattress, your eyes already fluttering closed.
That was the moment Michael chose to get to his feet. He stood there for a moment, watching your chest rise and fall beneath your dress, which looked far too uncomfortable to sleep in. He would try to take it off you later, though Michael doubted you would let him in your current state. He was about to walk into the bathroom when he felt a hand grip his wrist.
He looked down at you.
"Tell him ‘m home... safe, 'kay? He gets so... worried when I go out... Don't want him to be mad..." you mumbled sleepily.
"Don't worry, baby, he's not mad at all," Michael reassured you, sitting on the bed next to you, the back of his fingers caressing your cheek lovingly. "He could never be mad at you."
"I know... he likes when I've fun... but... don't want to worry him..."
"It's okay, he's not worried anymore, sweetheart, you can sleep," he cooed, his hand never leaving your face.
For a moment, you seemed satisfied with his words, welcoming Morpheus gladly, but the very next second a wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows and your eyes flew open, your pupils almost swallowing your irises.
"You need to… back off... Told you I had a man... I'll tell him to... kick you..."
Michael laughed, pulling his hand away from your warm skin. He raised both hands in a gesture of peace.
"Alright, alright. I don't want any trouble."
He got to his feet and continued on his way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, as he reached for some cotton pads to remove your make-up, Michael looked at himself for a moment. His eyes scanned his face carefully and lingered on his nose. You had called it perfect, and it was true that you loved kissing him in that exact spot. Yet he was often embarrassed when you did it... But now that he had heard your drunken words, Michael couldn’t help thinking that perhaps... you were right.
