tito

❤︎ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ kitten kisses. ⸝⸝ off the wall era michael jackson x fem reader

│ summary: your boyfriend thought shit was sweet to skip out on your very important day (21st bday) and he has to surprise you with the best gift possible at your doorstep and beg for forgiveness. │ byi: 18+ (suggestive - no smut.) reader implied to be hispanic. │ a/n: hes so cute in this pic. (i have a longer fic planned to come out tmr i just wanted to crap this one out) │ w/c: 1.8k (short n sweet)

Michael relentlessly tugged at the neckline of his sequin shirt and was constantly readjusting how his tie sat. It had already been five hours, and the clock just struck ten p.m. The American Music Awards stage lights burned behind his eyelids as he waited for what's-his-name to finally wrap up the awards so he could get home to the comfort of his quiet and private room.

The after-party chatter buzzed around him, but Michael's mind was already miles away. He smiled politely through a few more handshakes, signed a couple of autographs, then slipped out as soon as he could without seeming rude.

The drive back to Encino felt longer than usual, the city lights blurring past the windows while "Rock With You" played softly on the radio—his own voice mocking him a little. Bill had occasionally checked in on Michael, asking how he felt with the sudden success and boom in business.

Michael had brushed it off with his usual shy smile, saying he was fine, but the truth was the whirlwind of Off the Wall had him spinning. Everything felt like it was moving too fast.

When he finally stepped into the quiet house, everyone was already in bed, asleep. He sighed, and made his way to his room, but not before downing two glasses of orange juice. He kicked off his loafers at the door, and hung his jacket on his desk chair and faceplanted right into his (unmade) bed. He would have fallen asleep in the next five seconds with all his clothes still on if it hadn't been for the blinking red light on the answering machine.

He groaned, sitting up rubbing his eyelids, and pressed the play button.

Your voice filled the room—soft, hopeful, and so familiar it made his heart fall flat in his chest.

"Hey baby… it's me. My mom made that flan you said you liked. Just wondering when you'll get here? I miss you already."

Then another, an hour later. "Michael? The AMAs should be wrapping up soon, right? Call me when you’re on your way."

Michael felt the dread and panic set in after every message. If he felt like falling asleep five seconds earlier, now he was wide awake, heart at full attention.

Your tone grew quieter, more worried. "Baby, it's getting late… I waited up. Mom keeps peeking out the window asking where you are."

By the later messages, the hurt was unmistakable. "Mike… I guess you got really busy. Just... get home safe, 'kay? I love you. Goodnight."

Michael sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. Fish sticks, he thought.

Your twenty-first birthday. He'd promised he'd be there. The opal necklace he'd picked out for you weeks ago sat wrapped and forgotten in his dresser drawer. How could he have let the entire night slip away like that?

He sat up and paced the room, looking for his post it notes. The ones that always reminded him of every little thing going on in his life. There was no way he let it slip by. But there it was on his desk calendar, circled in red: Her 21st – be there, dummy. He'd even written a little heart next to it. Michael groaned again, running a hand through his curls.

What made is incredibly worse, was that this was the night he was going to meet your mom. He had a whole vision: showing up with flowers, practicing the spanish phrases he'd been quietly rehearsing for days in the mirror (even with Janet catching him in the act), sitting at the table with the two of you, proving he was worthy of her daughter. Instead, he'd left you both hanging.

He got so mad he tossed a monkey plush off his desk and spiraling into his closet. He gripped the desk firmly, and looked back at the closet, regretting his decision. He sluggishly walked over to the closet and cradled the monkey carefully, whispering "I'm sorry."

Even in his frustration, he couldn't stay angry for long. Michael sighed, setting the plush back on his bed with a gentle pat before collapsing beside it. The guilt kept him awake most of the night, tossing and turning until dawn.

By early morning, he was up, dressed in a soft green turtleneck and black slacks, and quietly heading out the door to run some very last-minute errands with Bill.

No less than two hours later, there was a soft knock on the door, Michael stood on your front porch, heart hammering. In one hand, a bouquet of sunflowers, and in the other, enough balloons to lift your house away if it wasn't cemented down. Behind him, Bill stood a careful distance enough away with something tucked securely behind him.

Your mom opened the door first. She gasped, her hand flying to her chest.

Michael was not anticipating for your mom to be at the door at this hour. His eyes widened, the carefully rehearsed spanish phrases scrambling in his head as he fumbled to reach in his pockets for the flashcards, he somehow remembered to bring with him.

"¡Ay, Dios mío!" your mom breathed, staring at the young man on her porch.

Michael swallowed hard, cheeks flushing deep. "G-Good morning, Señora," he managed, voice soft and nervous. "I… I'm so sorry about last night."

Your mom disregarded everything, pointing erratically towards him, "Y—You are Michael Jackson!"

Michael froze for a second, then gave a shy, sheepish nod. "Yes, ma'am… I am."

Before your mom could fully process, you appeared behind her, eyes wide at the sight of the balloons, flowers, and Michael struggling to explain why he, a famous popstar was at her doorstep.

"Michael…?"

Then, like out of a movie, Michael set the sunflowers down gently and moved toward you, dropping to his knees right there on the porch. He wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered, voice thick. "I completely forgot. I left you waiting—especially on the night I was supposed to meet your mom. I hate that I did that to you."

He sniffled into your stomach, trying his best not to cry. "I'm such a dummy..."

Bill awkwardly cleared his throat, and your mother was completely baffled. Feeling embarrassed, you urged Michael up without words, gently tugging him to his feet as your cheeks burned.

Michael stood, still holding you close, his arms reluctant to let go.

You finally spoke, hesitant, "Michael..."

"Wait, before you finish—" He turned around swiftly, encouraging Bill to hand over the secret things he had tucked behind him. Bill passed him a small basket covered in a soft blanket, then gave a nod to both you and your mom before discreetly heading back to the car.

Michael pulled back the blanket to reveal two tiny, sleepy kittens: a sleek black one with bright green eyes and a fluffy calico with big brown eyes.

You gasped, immediately reaching out for the one that called out your name first, "Michael!" You scooped up the calico kitten, holding it to your chest where it started pressing the sweetest sandpaper kisses under your chin and purring like a little engine.

Michael smiled that cute dorky smile that always made your heart skip, watching you with pure adoration. He reached in for the other black kitten, gently placing it in your mother's arms. "For you, uh, Señora." He awkwardly nodded, with a big smile.

The black kitten immediately into her, purring loudly as if it already knew it belonged there. Your mom's eyes softened completely, her hand coming up to stroke its fur as she murmured in spanish, "Qué preciosa..." Your mom retreated back into the house as if her mind was already made up about him.

Once leaving you two alone, Michael spoke again, "I'm really sorry, baby," he whispered again, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. "I had everything planned… and I ruined it."

You looked down at the little kitten now batting at your necklace, who was absolutely saving Michael from being turned away at your door. You looked up at him, a smile slowly forming despite your anger, "You're making it very hard to stay mad at you."

Michael let out a soft, relieved laugh, his big brown eyes shining as he cupped your face with both hands. "Good. Because I don't ever want to make you mad again. Especially not on your birthday."

"You'll wish I wasn't mad like this anymore. Cause next time, even cute kittens won't be enough for me not to shut the door in your face."

"Then I'll just have to bring three kittens next time…"

You rolled your eyes and shook your head playfully. "You idiot."

Michael kissed the top of your head, "You love this idiot though."

Just as you were about to invite him in to properly meet your mother, Bill's voice cut through the moment, "Hey Joker, you want the rest of these gifts now or should I just leave them in the car?"

You shot Michael a look, "The rest?"

Michael rubbed the back of his neck, "I… might have gone a little overboard this morning. I wasn't one hundred percent sure those kittens were gonna be enough save me."

You giggled, placing the kitten down to let her down into your house to get acquainted with her new home. You watched her zoom across the room, "So, does she have a name?"

Michael shook his head, tucking his hands in his pockets, "I figured I'd let you both name them yourselves."

You thought for a moment, before thinking of one yourself, "I think I'll call her... Darla. Cause she's just so darling."

Michael smiled, nodding, "Cute. Just like her momma."

You blushed, tracing your hands up his chest, before grabbing a fistfull of his shirt and pulling him in, "I know another way you can really make it up to me, angel." You pressed peppered kisses along the corners of his mouth and jaw.

Michael blushed, letting out a soft whimper, "B—Baby... Not in front of your mom..." But his arms tightened around you anyway, one hand sliding to the small of your back as he tilted his head to catch your lips properly.

When you pulled away to catch your breath and speak, you smiled, "Well you don't look like you're too embarrassed about it." You started peppering his face again with kisses, and letting your hands get under his soft sweater, feeling your cool hands against his warm smooth skin.

Michael shivered at the contact, a quiet, needy sound escaping him as your fingers traced over his stomach and up his chest. His cheeks were burning, and he almost gave in. "Okay, seriously," he reached under your arms to grab your hands in his, and press a soft kiss to both, "before your mom comes back out here and disapproves of me more."

You pouted playfully, but let him hold your hands, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth one more time. "Fine… but later, you're all mine. I want you to make it up to me properly, Michael. Until I forget all about last night."

His breath hitched, cheeks flushing pink. "I will," he promised. "Anything you want, baby. I'm yours."

❤︎ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ behind those cameras. ⸝⸝ thriller era michael jackson x fem reader

│ summary: you're a news anchor for the local news, and you just so happen to be interviewing rising star michael jackson, who also is your secret lover. to make things more awkward, the two of you had a heated argument the night before. │ byi: 18+ (suggestive - no smut.) │ a/n: i kind of hate that i got lazy with this, but i was watching sitcoms so i got inspired! (don't ask how the song fits it just does ok) │ w/c: 2.4K

You smoothed your skirt downwards and checked the neckline of your dress where your microphone was clipped. The studio lights felt brighter and more annoying than usual, or maybe it was the lingering frustration from last night still simmering.

The argument had been ridiculous—something about you working too late again.

Michael opened the fridge with so much force he almost took the whole dang door off. "I'm just saying that you're with me, you don't need to work so much if it's money you're concerned about."

You'd been exhausted, reviewing the numerous flash cards about stupid facts for next week's story scattered throughout the kitchen island. "I'm not with you for your money, Michael. I have my own career. I like my job."

Michael rolled his eyes, mumbling something under his breath, digging through the utensils, searching for the biggest spoon for the ice cream tub he picked from the fridge.

You narrowed your eyes when you looked up at him, "What was that?"

"I said," he muttered, voice low but clear this time, "maybe you like the job more than you like coming home to me lately."

You scoffed, throwing your arms back in exaggeration, "Oh you're one to talk. You're always running off in the middle of the night, when we do have time together, because you've got to go in to record!"

Michael set the ice cream tub down harder than necessary, the spoon clattering against the counter. “Because the music doesn’t wait, baby. You know that."

You shook your head, "So what? I should just quiet my job just because you miss me?"

Michael's jaw tightened. He ran a hand through his curls, the way he always did when he was trying not to explode. "That's not what I said." He mumbled, hiding his eyes from you.

The fight had dragged on a few more heated minutes—words neither of you really meant—until he'd grabbed his jacket and disappeared into the guest room. Come morning, he was already gone. Petty silence and all.

Back in the studio the camera men were running around, getting the cameras and other light fixtured ready for your segment. You sat poised at the desk, heart beating faster than it should.

Well to be frank, Michael Jackson was on set, one of the most recent rising pop artists of the 80's, it was any normal reaction to be nervous and excited. But because you knew him personally, you were fired up for all the wrong reasons.

And just then, Michael emerged from the side entrance in a comfortable red cardigan and jeans, hair styled, and looking every bit the superstar.

He was followed by two makeup artists, still touching up his face as he moved, eventually swatting them away with his hand. The floor director called out, "Live in thirty seconds!"

You took a slow breath, got up and extended your hand to him, "It's an honor, Mr. Jackson."

Michael’s fingers closed around yours just a little too tight. His eyes met yours with the same intensity he showed you last night.

"Please, call me Michael." He replied smoothly, the same tone he used when he was trying to get under your skin.

You kept your expression pleasant and stoic as you both took your seats. The red ON AIR light blinked on.

"Welcome back, everyone," you said, voice smooth and professional, the perfect news anchor smile fixed on your face. "I'm honored to be joined today by the phenomenal Michael Jackson. His album Thriller has taken the music world by storm, and we many topics we will cover in today's special segment. Mr. Jackson, thank you for being here."

He leaned back slightly in his chair, man spreading just a slight bit. "Thank you for having me." He replied, flashing that dazzling smile toward the cameras.

You cleared your throat and picked up one of your flash cards scanning it over. "So, Mr. Jackson, tell me, how does it feel knowing that your album Thriller has taken the music world by storm? Millions of fans are obsessed, and many are wondering what's next for you."

Michael straightened a bit, crossing his leg over the other one. "It feels incredible. The response has been overwhelming. But success means long hours in the studio… late nights. Sometimes you sacrifice other things for the music." His gaze flicked down to your neckline again. "Or certain people sacrifice time with the ones who miss them."

You looked right at him, clenching the flash cards tighter than you had before. "Right," you tucked a tuft of your hair behind your ear, trying to compose yourself, "Tell me, Quincy Jones has been such an important collaborator on this album. Do you see yourself working with him again in the future, or are you planning to explore more personal, independent directions with your sound?"

Michael's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Quincy is a genius. We make magic together," he said smoothly. "And it's so comforting knowing that you have such an amazing supporter in your corner… even when things get a little tense at home."

Your eyelid twitched. Fine, if he wanted to act like that, two can play that game. You flipped to the next one, voice remaining perfectly stoic and professional.

"Fans are very curious about the more intimate side of your work. Here's a popular question: 'Michael, the passion in songs like "The Lady in My Life" feels so raw. Is there a special woman you've been seeing lately— maybe over work schedules—who brings out that desperate, sensual energy in you?'"

Michael's eyes narrowed for a split second, and he shifted in his seat. He let out a slow, breathy chuckle, "Not... Not anyone in particular," he started, clearly trying to play it cool at first. "At least, no one I'm ready to 'expose' on live television. She's... definitely 'something.'" He raised his eyebrows to emphasize that "something."

Your mouth parted slightly in shock, and you tucked your flashcards behind you, completely ditching the script you worked so hard on.

"That's… illuminating. Let's go deeper then, since the fans are so curious. Another question, or rumor, I should say, that's been submitted multiple times: 'Michael, what's the scoop on you and Brooke Shields? Are you two friends? It seems a little taboo to be going out with her in such intimate settings."

He sat up straighter, sucking his teeth and blowing out a heavy sigh through his nose. Anger and humiliation burned in his chest, clear in the way his jaw clenched for a moment before he forced that smile back on.

"Brooke and I are friends," he said, his voice still smooth. "We've spent time together, yes. She's a lovely person. But the tabloids love to exaggerate things, don’t they?"

You relaxed, leaning back into your chair, "Oh, sure they do. But if I remember correctly, there were quite a few photos of the two of you looking very cozy. Some might even call it dating. Unless you have something to counter that, Mr. Jackson?"

"Like I said," he replied, edged with irritation, "Brooke is a good friend. We enjoy each other's company. Nothing more. And please, call me Michael."

"It's good to hear it's nothing serious." You said, voice silky and polite. "The mystery woman you claim to be seeing would be very disheartened to see you going out in public with a very popular actress, yes Mr. Jackson?"

Anger flared in his eyes as he sucked in a sharp breath, the polite mask cracking. "She knows it's nothing," he shot back, voice tight with irritation. "She trusts me. I trust her."

You smiled sweetly, tilting your head as if you were genuinely curious. "She trusts you… how sweet. Every day I question how the partners of celebrities sleep comfortably at night."

Michael's composure finally cracked a little more. "Come on, you know it's nothing like that." he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

His eyes widened slightly as he realized how casual that sounded. He quickly tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly while forcing a laugh that sounded strained even to his own ears. "I mean… the woman I'm seeing knows... it's not like that."

An awkward silence filled the studio. The crew was staring. Michael looked mortified. His eyes locked on you with a mix of "I can't believe you're doing this" and "I want to drag you off this set right now."

Your manager made a rolling motion with his arms, signaling you to wrap this interview up as fast as humanly possible.

You kept your posture elegant, voice still perfectly professional despite the fire in your veins. "Well, on that note, we'll have to leave it there. Thank you so much for joining us today, Michael. It's always fascinating to get a glimpse into your world. Ladies and gentlemen, Michael Jackson!"

The red ON AIR light finally blinked off.

The second the cameras cut, the studio erupted into hushed chaos. Crew members exchanged wide-eyed glances, whispering furiously. Your manager looked like he was about to have a stroke.

Michael stood up slowly, jaw tight, smoothing his shirt down, before storming off behind the set like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

You followed a few moments later, heart pounding as you made your way down the narrow hallway toward the dressing rooms. The second you pushed open the door to his private room, Michael was already there — pacing, running both hands through his hair in frustration.

He whirled around the moment you stepped inside, cheeks red.

You couldn't help but feel really guilty. He looked so mortified and vulnerable. "...You okay?"

He said nothing, and turned away, sitting down on the couch behind him. "No," he said finally, voice rough.

You sighed, slowly walking over to him and sitting next to him, placing a hand on his knee.

He let out a shaky breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Everyone's going to be talking about this. The press… I slipped up because I was so mad at you I couldn't think straight." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Michael turned to look at you, his dark eyes still glassy with frustration but softening at the edges. "I love you," he whispered. "I hate that we fought last night. I hate that I left like a coward this morning. But you… you know exactly how to get under my skin."

You nodded, and tilted your head, "That I really do..." You smiled despite the situation.

"I know you do," he murmured, voice quieter now. "And I know I pushed you too last night. I shouldn't have said you like your job more than coming home to me. That wasn't fair."

He brought your joined hands up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, then turned your hand over to kiss your palm.

You blushed a little, failing to cover your smile, "Are you saying sorry because you really are, or because I have the power to end your career on television and you just got a taste of it today?"

Michael let out a surprised little laugh, the sound warm and genuine despite everything. "Can I say both?"

His hands settled at either side of him, clenching the couch cushions.

"I'm really sorry, baby,” he said softly. "I was wrong to make it sound like your career doesn't matter. I love how passionate you are about your job. I just… miss you when you're working late. I get insecure sometimes, like... I'm not enough to come home to."

His adorable smile faded when he went to bite the inside of your cheek.

You frowned, getting off the couch to crouch in between his legs. "Aww, angel face. You know when I come home, you're the best thing after a stressful day at work."

He looked down at you, cheeks still faintly pink from earlier, but his expression softened completely at your words. One hand came down to gently cup your cheek, thumb stroking your skin with so much tenderness it made your chest ache.

"Yeah?" he whispered. "Even after I act like a jealous idiot and storm out?"

You giggled, "Yes, toddler and all."

"I love you so much," he murmured. "I hate fighting with you. I hate leaving angry. And today… You really had me squirming out there. But I guess deserved some of it."

You crossed your arms, "You guess?"

"Come here, baby," he giggled, tugging you up gently until you were sitting sideways on his lap. One hand behind your back, the other holding your thighs.

"I'm still a little mad," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "But mostly I just want to hold you." He bit his lip looking at the wall, then up at you with the best "sexy face" he could muster up. "....And maybe... I can show you how sorry I am for leaving you in the morning...?" Boldly, he let two fingers crawl across your thighs.

Just then, your manager swung the door open with such intensity the both of you scrambled up quickly, "Hey Mr. Jackson I just wanted to apologize for—"

Your manager froze mid-sentence, eyes darting between the two of you.

"Oh I was just— He was showing me—" you stammered, scrambling off his lap so fast you nearly tripped.

"She was— I..." Michael tried, voice cracking as he smoothed his cardigan down, face burning crimson. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Your manager stood there for a painfully long second, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Right. I… I'll just… come back later. Or never." He backed out quickly, pulling the door shut behind him with a firm click.

You sighed, closing your eyes, "Well we're screwed. They have that interview to talk about for weeks, and now," you gestured between the both of you, "us."

Michael stared at the closed door for a beat and forced a smile. "Surely they won't. ...Right?"

You exaggerated your hand movements, "Oh sure, what's more interesting than one of the biggest popstars arguing with their interviewer on live television who were later found fondling each other in his dressing room."

Michael sighed, defeated, "...Well when you put it like that..."

You turned towards him in disbelief, "What other way can I put it so that it doesn't sound exactly how it is."

"King of Pop caught canoodling with the news anchor who just roasted him on air."

Michael snickered, shaking his head, "Yeah right, 'King of Pop.' That'll be the day."

"Hey, don't doubt yourself."

❤︎ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ after party pillowtalk ⸝⸝ off the wall era michael jackson x fem reader

│ summary: your best friend happens to be renowned successful photographer who got invited to an all exclusive party at club 54, where many were celebrating the release of michael jackson's album "Off the Wall." luckily for you, she invites you as her plus one to come mingle among the high and mighty as a recent normal college graduate looking for some fun. that fun just so happens to be michael jackson himself. │ byi: 18+ (nsfw - smut!) phone sex, male masturbation, female masturbation, (mutual masturbation) │ a/n: i was originally gonna make this 2 parts but i kinda got carried away, and im still not happy with this, i rewrote it a gazllion times but i hate it! │ w/c: 3.8k (if there's spelling errors- no there isn't)

"Jenny, are you sure about this?" you asked, tugging nervously at the hem of your shirt as the two of you stood outside the glittering entrance to Studio 54. The line stretched down the block, pulsing with bass you could already feel in your chest.

Jennifer flashed you that confident, million-dollar smile of hers, camera bag slung over her shoulder. "Relax, babe. You're with me. Nobody's gonna card you or question you when you're my plus-one. Besides, you look hot. Those jeans are doing wonders, trust me." She winked, patting your butt two times before looping her arm through yours and pulling you toward the velvet rope.

Your friend Jennifer had landed and excellent internship a year ago for photography in Africa, and after the company posted her photos and credited her for every picture, they were plastered on almost every magazine out there and caught the attention of the biggest names in the industry. Now she was one of the most sought-after event photographers in New York, and tonight that meant Studio 54 was hers to capture.

You had barely just graduated college as an undergraduate a few months ago, still figuring out what came next. Late nights studying mixed with part-time jobs had left you feeling like an ordinary girl in a world that suddenly felt very glamorous. But Jennifer insisted you deserved a night to celebrate too.

After showing her photocard that hung from her neck to the bouncer in the back, and explaining that you were her plus one, the two of you were waved inside without a second glance. The heavy doors closed behind you, and suddenly you were swallowed by the magic of Studio 54.

Whatever you had imagined previously paled in comparison to the real thing. The air was thick with perfume, cigarette smoke, and pure electricity. Lights flashed in every color, sweeping across the packed dance floor. Music pulsed so loudly through the speakers, you could feel the vibrations in your chest. Celebrities were everywhere—faces you'd only seen in newspapers and on TV—dancing, laughing, living their most glamorous lives.

You felt like the black sheep in a herd of peacocks. However, Jennifer was in the zone, confidently working the room, snapping shots of unsuspecting people just doing their own thing.

Upon reaching a booth full of some celebrities you could name at the top of your head—Diana Ross and Quincy Jones, Jennifer introduced you with ease.

Jennifer sat casually on one of the armrests right next to Diana Ross, "Heyyy, how you two doing tonight? This is my best friend—she's joining us tonight because she's never been to one of these before!"

You smiled shyly, exchanging pleasant hellos while your heart raced. "Well, for good reason." You smiled meekly, clasping your hands in front of yourself. Way to seem so cool, you thought. These guys probably just thought you were mooching off your best friends' success to be invited to these kinds of things.

"Well hey, since I'm here, wanna get a couple of shots of you three together?" Jennifer suggested brightly, already lifting her camera lens to her face.

You posed awkwardly for a few photos with the legends, trying not to look too starstruck. After a bit more mingling and photos, Jennifer finally grabbed your hand. "Okay, enough of the professional stuff—let's go have some real fun!"

You followed with a very pale expression, "I can't believe I just got professional pictures done with Diana Ross and Quince Jones. Please tell me you're going to post those, I can so brag to my coworkers about them!"

Jennifer laughed and squeezed your hand. "Of course I will! Now come on, let's dance already!" She groaned, tugging you further into the crowd of people.

You both hit the dance floor, laughing and letting loose through several upbeat songs. For a little while, you forgot about feeling out of place. You let the music carry how you moved, the rhythm flowing through you with each sensational sway of your hips. You pretended you were the main character for just one night.

After a couple of songs, you were both worn out and breathless. Jennifer fanned herself. "Tell me that wasn't so much fun!"

You nodded, too breathless for words yourself.

Jennifer placed her hands on your shoulders to talk in your ear over the music. "I need to run to the bathroom real quick. Wait for me right outside the doors, okay? I'll be fast."

You nodded again, waving her to go off first, that you'll follow her. You made your way through the crowd and leaned against the wall near the restroom entrance, examining your nails, occasionally taking your teeth to the skin around them.

You were so lost in your task, you weren't really paying attention to those around you, and accidentally got bumped into. You almost lost your footing when a hand grabbed your upper arm to pull you back upright. "Oh my goodness, darling I'm so, so sorry. Are you alright?"

You could recognize that british accent anywhere. Snapping your neck up to look at the perpetrator, it was none other than Elton John himself.

Your eyes widened. "I—I'm fine! Really, it's okay," you stammered, cheeks burning.

"Look what you did you twat, almost knocking the poor girl off her feet." Another english voice emerged from behind Elton, one you also knew all too well. Rod Stewart slapping his friend Elton on the back with a tight smile towards you.

Your mouth dropped to the floor, hands clenching at your sides. "Oh wow— You're—"

Elton rolled his eyes, turning to look at Rod. "Don't you start with me because we both know how this is going to end. Spoiler, it's not pretty."

You couldn't help but laugh softly at their playful bickering. Elton gave you a kind, apologetic smile and grabbed Rod by the back of his neck forcing him to walk the other direction with him.

You barely had time to register everything that just happened before another voice spoke up right behind you, "Excuse me… those jeans really are incredible."

You whirled around on your heels and everything else faded away.

Michael Jackson stood there. Glowing under the club lights. Soft fro framing his face. He wore a sleek navy-blue vest over a crisp red and purple striped shirt, and those big, expressive brown eyes met yours.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Michael Jackson. The Michael Jackson. You were a huge fan. Actually, you were the biggest fan. And screw everyone else who claimed to be.

"O—Oh my gosh, you're... I'm— You're—" You caught yourself, forcing a deep breath and trying desperately to play it cool even as your head wanted to start screaming and jumping up and down. "Hi. I mean… wow. Hi."

He gave a gentle, bashful laugh, adorably way that made your knees feel weak. "Hi. I'm Michael." His voice was soft and warm, like he was just as nervous as you were.

You nodded before you spoke. "How could I not know who you are?"

"I guess my albums have been everywhere." He said shyly, dragging his foot across the tile floor. He then quickly looked up at your through his lashes. "N—Not to brag or anything."

You couldn't help but laugh softly, the sound warm. "No bragging at all. Off the Wall has been on repeat in my apartment for weeks. It's incredible. Really." You tried to keep your voice steady, but the fan-girl inside you was doing backflips. Still, talking to him felt surprisingly natural.

Michael's cheeks flushed a little, but his smile grew brighter. "I'm honored."

The conversation flowed like you'd known each other for years. You told him about graduating college a few months ago and still figuring life out. He listened with sincere curiosity, sharing his own thoughts about the whirlwind success of the album.

You fiddled with the hem of your shirt between your fingers, peering up at him with the best sultry look you could, "So, Michael, are you usually this sweet on the ladies?"

Michael's eyes widened for a second, a surprised laugh escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Me? Sweet? I… I don't know about that," he said, his voice soft and a little flustered. "I just… I like talking to people who feel real. And you feel really real." He tried to hide the smile that was forcing its way to his face but failed miserably.

The way he looked at you made your stomach flip. Out of all the people in this glittering, larger-than-life club, Michael Jackson was looking at you like you were the most interesting person in the room. The connection was instant and deep—like long-lost soulmates finally finding one another.

Then the opening beats of "Get on the Floor" hit the speakers.

Your eyes lit up. "This is my favorite!"

Michael's face broke into the brightest smile. "Really? Mine too!" He paused for a moment, looking back to the crowd of people rushing to hit the dance floor, then offered his hand to you, "Come dance with me?"

You took his hand without hesitation. His grip was gentle as he led you onto the floor. He was graceful and full of energy, but he kept being silly—doing funny dance moves that made people turn their heads and laugh at him.

But above all, Michael was in his element. He danced like there was no one watching, like the music just poured right into him, and he was releasing that energy right back out.

You danced together like it was the most natural thing in the world, the chemistry between you electric and effortless. You laughed until your sides hurt, spinning and moving in sync as if you'd done this a thousand times before.

You were lowkey throwing it back on him during the slower parts—feeling the heat of his body close behind you. Surprisingly, but also not so surprisingly, Michael didn't say anything but matched your pace, basically letting you do whatever while his hands stayed respectfully off of you.

When the song faded and the smooth, romantic melody of "Reunited" by Peaches & Herb began to play, you sarcastically said, "I suppose you don't want to slow dance, huh?"

"Actually… I'd really like that," he said, his hands hovering and stopping right next to your waist, fully serious. You smiled, stepping into him as he gently pulled you closer.

You put both of your hands around his neck, while his found themselves on your waist. Your bodies fit perfectly.

Around you, everyone found their own partners to waltz around slowly to the song, but it felt like the rest of the club had faded into the background. It was just you and Michael.

You looked around, before looking back up at Michael through your lashes. Completely at a loss for words for the fifth time tonight.

Michael smiled, his cheeks heating up, "What? Don't look at me like that."

You bit your lip, trying (and failing) to hide your smile. "Like what?" you teased softly, even as your heart raced.

"Like… like you're seeing right through me," he admitted quietly.

He was so sweet, so adorable, you felt your heart melting. The night felt like pure magic.

When the song finally faded into another upbeat disco track, you stayed close for a few more moments, neither of you quite ready to let go.

After a few more tense awkward moments of staring deeply into each other's eyes, Michael finally let go, clearing his throat.

"C—Can I call you sometime?" he asked shyly, pulling out a small notepad. "I'd really love to keep talking to you. You made tonight feel so special."

Your eyes lit up and so did your entire face. No way, you thought.

"Of course!" You gave him your number, watching as he wrote it down carefully, a sweet smile on his face.

Just as Michael seemed like he was gonna confess his unyielding love for you (probably not), Jennifer popped in out of nowhere.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as she looped her arm through yours. "I've been looking all over." She then looked over to see who you were talking to, "Michael!"

Michael gave her a polite, sweet smile. "Hey, Jennifer. Nice to see you again."

Jennifer's grin turned mischievous as she glanced between the two of you. "Oh, I see how it is. I leave you alone for five minutes and you steal the man of the hour?" She teased, nudging you playfully.

Michael rolled his eyes playfully, "Come on Jenny, it wasn't like that, really."

Your face deepened into a frown, "It wasn't?" You crossed your arms over your chest, pouting playfully.

Michael's eyes widened, a flustered laugh escaping him as reached out to touch your arm. "No, no! I mean— it was… I really enjoyed talking to you. It's just that she—"

You giggled, pushing him lightly, "I'm just messing with you, Michael!"

Michael let out a relieved laugh, his shoulders relaxing as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "You got me," he admitted. "I thought I messed up already."

Jennifer watched the exchange with an amused smirk. "You two are adorable. But seriously, babe, it's getting late. Let's get you home before you have to explain to your boss why you were late tomorrow."

Michael nodded, his expression softening as he looked at you one last time. "It was really nice meeting you. I meant what I said—I'll call you soon."

You smiled, your heart still racing. "I'd like that. A lot."

The entire ride home, you couldn't stop smiling, replaying every moment in your head. After waving goodbye to Jennifer, and practically running up the stairs of your complex, you kicked the door open with the back of your foot, light streaming in only from the outside.

The TV was still faintly playing sound from today’s news, and the occasional fast car speeding down your empty street. You began to pluck your earrings off, and peeling off your jeans and shirt into some more comfortable soft pjs.

Upon brushing your teeth and leaving some wet food out for your cat, Candido, you faceplanted on your couch, tired enough to lay down, but still not enough to sleep in bed yet.

Just as you lifted your head to the side to blind yourself with the glare of the TV, your landline began to ring.

Your heart jumped. You knew it could only be one person this late.

You scrambled up, nearly tripping over your own feet as you rushed to answer.

"Hello?" you said, trying to sound casual.

"Hey… it's Michael." His voice was soft, like he was smiling on the other end. "I'm sorry, I hope I'm not calling too late."

"No, no, no, you're fine, I was just uh, watching TV." You sank back onto the couch, phone pressed tight to your ear, a giddy smile already spreading across your face.

Michael let out a soft, relieved laugh. "Good. I… I couldn't stop thinking about tonight. I had so much fun with you. Like, more than I've had in a long time."

Your stomach flipped. 'I had so much fun too. You’re even sweeter in person than I imagined." You twirled the phone cord between your fingers, the feeling all too familiar for a young teenage girl in high school. "The way you danced, the way you looked at me… I kept replaying it the whole ride home."

He got quiet for a second, then you heard that little chuckle. "You're gonna make me blush over the phone."

You bit your lip, shifting on the couch as heat shamefully pooled low in your belly. "Good thing, I hope."

Michael sighed through the phone deeply, "Of course."

The conversation turned easily, warm and flirty. You complimented him a lot—how sweet he was, how his smile made your heart race. Every time you did, he got more flustered, laughing softly and trying to deflect with "You're too nice to me" or "I'm just happy you had fun too."

Eventually, the tension thickened. You were the one who gently steered it there.

"You know Michael, I kept thinking about how warm your hands were." You murmured, voice dropping. "I wish you were here right now."

Michael's breathing hitched. "Yeah?" he said softly, flustered but clearly affected. "I… I wish I was there too."

"I'd do a lot of things if you were here, Michael."

Michael’s breathing quickened audibly on the other end. "Yeah?" he said softly, his voice already a little shaky. "Like… what?"

You smiled, shifting on the couch as heat spread through you. You kept your voice gentle, leading him slowly. "I'd sit you down on my couch, kiss your neck the way I wanted to when we were dancing. Feel your hands on my waist, maybe a little lower this time."

"That sounds… really nice," he whispered, voice trembling a little as he got more worked up.

"Yeah?" you murmured, voice low, but inside you were screaming. Who the heck were you to be so dirty with him? "You're so sweet, you know that? I didn't think you could be so gentlemanly."

Michael let out a soft, shaky breath. "I… I try to be," he whispered, voice already trembling a little.

"But I wouldn't mind if you weren't for a little bit," you murmured, voice low and teasing as you leaned back fully on the couch, your legs spreading just a little.

Michael let out a soft, shaky breath. "I...."

Silence. Just the occasional sigh through the other side of the receiver.

You could practically hear him blushing. You smiled gently, "Michael?"

"...Mhm?" His voice was so quiet you had to focus hard to hear it.

"Are you touching yourself?"

Michael let out a soft, embarrassed sound, almost a whimper. "I… yeah," he whispered, voice barely audible.

You smiled, sliding your hand down your stomach. "It's okay, Michael." You bit your lip as your fingers dipped under your sleep shorts, your middle finger pressing lovingly against that lovely bundle of nerves through your panties. "I'll do it with you, okay?"

He let out a shaky breath. “Okay… yeah. I… I don't really— I don't usually—"

You giggled again, "Mike, I told you, it's okay." You shifted a little, letting your panties and shorts fall to your ankles, your fingers now prodding and smearing your slick all over your heat. "If it helps, I'm really wet. And it's all because of you."

He whimpered softly, the sound so genuine and overwhelmed it made you throb.

You pressed firmly enough on your little nub and started slow circles, your breathing turning more ragged each time you spoke, "You sound so adorable honey."

Michael let out another soft, shaky whimper. "You're… you're making me feel so good," he whispered, voice trembling.

You let out a soft moan after pushing two fingers inside yourself, tenderly exploring your warm insides. "You gonna tell me what you look like? What it looks like?"

Michael sighed, but you could tell he was smiling, "You're so dirty!" He was silent for a moment, but caved—he let out a soft, embarrassed whimper. "I… I'm in my bedroom. Lying on my bed. I'm… I'm really— it's really hard..."

His voice was so shy and flustered it made you clench around your fingers. "Mmm, I bet you look so pretty like that. All flushed and shy for me. I'm so wet, Michael… fingering myself thinking about how you'd feel inside me."

He whimpered again, letting out a little squeak, "...Mhm... I… I'm stroking myself a little faster now. Is that okay?"

You nodded, biting your lip, but realized he couldn't have possibly seen that, "Mhm, yes— keep going, 'm so close baby..." You curled your fingers now, nudging that sweet spot inside, thumb circling your nub faster.

"You sound so cute when you get all shy like this. I'm imagining you on my bed, all flushed and hard for me... I'd make you feel so good."

Michael let out another soft whimper, "That sounds… You feel so good in my head."

You put everything into the pace of your fingers, slipping in and out of you with a perfect rhythm, the coil in your belly burning hot. "Michael.... Michael— I'm— 'm gonna come!" You whimpered into the receiver, which was now loosely gripped in your other hand.

He'd be lying if he said the sound of his name on your lips didn't go straight to his dick.

Michael let out a shaky whimper, breathing hard. "I… I'm close too," he admitted softly. "You sound so pretty like that…"

You came first, moaning his name as your walls clenched around your fingers, pleasure crashing over you in waves. Michael followed shortly after with a sweet, overwhelmed whimper of your name, "Oh— oh... baby I'm—" His spend covered his lower stomach and fingers in filthy little ribbons.

Afterward, the line was quiet for a moment except for your shared heavy breathing. Then Michael let out a breathless laugh. "Wow, that was— you were incredible. I don't think... I can't honestly say I've ever felt something as good as that."

You smiled, curling up on the couch, body still tingling and warm. "Me too. Not bad for our first "date."

Michael's face fell, "Awh, no— This can't be... Let me take you out proper. I— This isn't very gentlemanly of me..."

You giggled softly, "Michael, relax. I wanted it. And... I wouldn't mind a date." You twirled your finger around the cord of the receiver.

Michael let out a relieved sigh. "Good. Because I really want to see you again. Like, a real date. Dinner, maybe a walk… whatever you'd like. How about tomorrow?"

You bit the inside of your cheek, "Mmm, I work tomorrow honey."

Michael sighed, defeated, "Oh, okay... Uhm..." He thought for a hard moment, tapping his finger on his pillow, "How much do you get paid a day?"

You sat upright, confused, "What?"

Michael also sat upright, pulling out his checkbook from his nightstand, "I'll pay you double—no—tripple."

You burst out laughing, falling back onto the couch. "Michael! You can't just pay me to skip work!"

He chuckled on the other end. "Why not? I want to see you. And it's not like I can't afford it. Please? I'll make it worth your while. A nice dinner, maybe some more… just us."

You shook your head, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt. "You're ridiculous. I'm sure my boss wouldn't care too much if I called out sick."

Michael's voice lit up. "Really? Great! I'll call you in the morning to figure out the details. Sleep well, pretty."

"Goodnight, Michael." You placed the receiver back on the box of your landline, the line going dead. You squealed quietly, and immediately went to wash up in the bathroom.

❤︎ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ your girl is ... mine? ⸝⸝ pre thriller album release michael jackson x fem reader

│ summary: your boyfriend is being extremely distant, so hooking up with his partner seems like a great way to get over him. │ byi: 18+ (nsfw - smut!) unprotected sex (DON'T do this.) use of daddy (not seriously.) │ a/n: i would killl to have both of them lowk...

Michael looked back up at the clock on the wall for the fifth time now.

2:10 p.m.

He sighed, sinking back further into the couch. He and Paul were supposed to be recording at 1:30, but still, he wasn't here.

Michael ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake the uneasy feeling in his chest. This wasn't like Paul—well, actually, it kind of was lately. The sessions for "The Girl Is Mine" had been going okay, but the energy in the studio felt off more often than not. Pauls girlfriend, you, had also been coming along with him, to watch the recordings.

You'd been a quiet but bright presence the past few days— poised, with that smile that made the whole room feel warmer. Michael had tried not to stare, but it was getting harder. You were very recently publicized with Paul maybe a couple of months ago. And since reading the newspaper, Michael couldn't believe you were paired with him. Not that he'd ever say that out loud.

Quincy leaned back into his rolling chair, sighing and looking at the time on his watch, "If he doesn't walk through those doors right now, I'm hopping on the mic myself."

The door finally swung open at 2:25. Paul strode in, irritation etched across his face, barely acknowledging anyone with a small nod. You followed a few steps behind, looking small and sad in your oversized cardigan, eyes puffy like you'd already been crying earlier. You didn't look up at all, and settled onto the couch across from Michael, knees pulled up tight.

Michael's heart clenched. He sat up quickly, probably a little too quickly and looked between you and Paul, worry clearly painted across his face, "Everything okay? You look—"

Paul cut him off with a loud and heavy sigh. "We're fine. Let's just work." He headed straight into the booth without another word to you.

You didn't respond, just curled tighter into the couch, eyes fixed on the floor. Michael's brows furrowed, and he clenched his jaw. Without another word, he followed right after Paul.

Michael tried to focus on the session, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere, the bright presence he'd come to look forward to now dimmed. Quincy noticed the off energy with not only you and Paul, but now Michael, but kept things moving.

The takes dragged. Michael flubbed a couple of lines, too distracted by your mopey self and Paul's irritation now. When the producer finally called for a break, Paul muttered, "Need some air," and walked out without checking on you.

Michael waited only a minute before he slipped out too. He noticed you were no longer on the couch, listening like you always did. He figured maybe you were outside, and that's where Paul was headed. He turned down the long hallway, trying to find the bathroom, when he noticed light coming from under a supply closet, he decided to inspect further. Something about conserving energy for Mother Earth.

He pushed the door open gently.

There you were, sitting on a stack of boxes, crying silently with your face buried in your hands.

"Hey..." Michael's voice was soft, almost hesitant. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "What's wrong?"

You looked up, startled, quickly wiping your tears with the pad of your thumb. "Angel face... it's nothing. Really. Go back to the session." You sniffled, placing your hands in your lap.

Michael's cheeks warmed at the nickname. He crouched down in front of you, close enough that you could see the genuine concern on his cute face. "It's not nothing," he said gently. "You're crying."

You turned your face away from him, then side glanced him. Those pretty little eyes staring right through every lie or excuse you might muster. You sighed, letting your shoulders slump over. "It's... It's Paul." You sniffled again, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your cardigan. "But I'm sure you could tell with how much of an ass he was being."

Michael listened quietly, his expression full of sympathy. He inched just a smidge closer, pushing his luck, he lets his hand rest just beside your crossed legs.

"He's... Well, he's just so full of shit, you know," you continued, voice cracking. "He cancels everything. Makes up excuses about being too busy. I feel like I'm just… there. Like background noise in his life right now. I don't even know where we stand anymore." Your voice wobbled as you tried to fight back the tears that pricked in the corners of your eyes again.

Michael's brows furrowed, genuine hurt for you clear in his eyes. "That's not right," he said softly, humble and sincere. "You're too good for that." He said so plainly, those eyes staring so lovingly into your eyes. So much so you flushed at his words, not being able to hide your smile.

"You're just saying that," you giggled, crossing your arms and looking away from him.

Michael shook his head, a shy little smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not. I mean it." His voice was quiet, almost bashful. "I've… I've thought that since I first saw you with him in the papers a couple months ago. Paul's lucky. Real lucky."

You looked back at him, witnessing the most beautiful smile on this planet. Your heart did like fifteen backflips down to the bottom of your stomach. For the first time that day, a real smile broke through your sadness.

Michael rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, breaking the silence. "To cheer you up… after we wrap today, you wanna go to Studio 54 with me?"

Your face fell just a small fraction, weariness filling your mind. "Michael..."

Before you could protest further, he stammered quickly for an explanation. "J-Just casual, I promise." His eyes searched for your again. "I just… I hate seeing you like this." Too pretty to cry, he thought.

The sincerity in his voice, that hopeful look on his cute face, made it impossible to say no. You let out a soft sigh and nodded. "Okay. Yeah… I'd like that."

The rest of the session felt heavier than before. When it finally wrapped, Paul grabbed his things in a hurry and left the building, expecting you to follow. And you did, with one glance towards Michael, you smiled and followed without a word.

Michael hesitated for one second, and left his heart take control of his body. His heart pounded in his chest when he quickly sped up to catch up with you and Paul before you both took off.

"Wait—" he called out, a little breathless as he reached you. Paul turned, eyebrow raised. Michael swallowed, trying to sound casual. "I, uh, well— I was going out to Studio 54 tonight, if the both of you wanted to come?" His voice cracked on the last part, trying to sound fly.

You spoke up first, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Sure. Thanks Michael."

Michael exhaled through his nose, relief washing over his face as a smile also plastered across his face. "Great. Paul you—"

Paul cut him off with a dismissive wave. "I'm good. Got other plans." He shot you one last irritated look, got in his car, and drove off without another word.

Michael's eye twitched slightly, and for the first time in almost forever, he looked, mad? He wasn't appreciating being cut off for the second time today. Not to mention how disrespectful he was being towards you.

He took a breath, pushing the irritation down, and turned to you with that familiar smile. "Guess it's just us, then. Ready?"

You nodded, the small smile returning. "Yeah. Let's go."

Studio 54 was electric. The flashing lights, pounding bass, and vibrant energy helped push whatever ill feelings you had about Paul far into the back of your mind. Michael was adorably silly once he loosened up—spinning you under the disco ball, doing goofy little dance moves that made you laugh until your cheeks ached.

You sat at booth, a respectable distance away where you could watch people interact with each other without looking too creepy. You watched as Michael interacted with everyone around him. Even in a crowded club, he had this humble, magnetic charm—polite and kind to fans who recognized him, laughing at jokes. You felt a familiar warmth bloom in your chest. Too similar to the same feeling you felt when you first started seeing Paul.

When he finally slid back into the booth beside you, a little breathless and glowing, he gave you a bright smile. "Having fun?"

"More than I expected," you admitted, the warmth spreading as his knee brushed yours under the table.

"What?" Michael raised his voice higher over the music, leaning the side of his head closer to you.

"I said—"

"I'm just teasing!" Michael giggled, bumping your shoulder lightly.

You gasped, dramatically, "You doodoo head!" You pinched his sides, attempting to tickle him.

Michael let out a surprised, high-pitched laugh, squirming away from your fingers while trying (and failing) to keep a straight face. "Hey! No fair!" he protested between giggles.

You laughed with him, entranced by how adorable he looked. Eventually, you gave him mercy after a few more torturous seconds. He wiped away the little tear stuck in the corner of his eye from laughing too hard, sitting back upright. He inhaled, looking out to the crowd of people dancing, then back at you.

"I know you probably don't wanna hear this but... I'm real sorry about Paul." His voice was soft and genuine, the playfulness fading into that gentle concern again. The words hung between you.

You shrugged, looking down at your lap. "It's not your fault. He's been like this for a while now."

Michael nodded, his hand resting near yours on the booth seat. "Still. I just hate seeing you all sad. And especially don't like it when guys treat pretty girls like that."

He caught himself with what he said, and quickly snapped his head to the side to look at you, but before he could explain himself, your silent sniffling disturbed the silence.

"Aww, lovey... Don't cry." His voice was so soft, it was just almost a whisper. He shifted closer, hesitantly wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a gentle, respectful hug.

You gasped in an intake of air, hiding your face in your hands. "I'm sorry, I'm so emotional."

Michael’' hold tightened just a little, warm and safe. "Hey, it's okay," he murmured, rubbing your back slowly. "You don't have to apologize for that."

You let your head rest just ever so slightly on his chest. "Thank you, Michael."

He didn't say anything right away—just held you there in the booth, the pulsing music fading into background noise as the moment stretched. His heart was beating fast under your cheek, and he was sure it was about to jump right out and confess everything he felt towards you.

"Hey, it's getting late anyways. Bill's probably outside. I can take you home." He said, pulling just a little bit away to face you.

You wiped whatever tears were left on your cheek, and sniffled. "O-oh..."

Michael's brows pinched together. "What is it?"

"Well, its just that— I live with Paul and to be honest... I'm not really sure I wanna go back and face that chaos yet." you admitted quietly.

Michael's expression softened, his hold on you slightly loosening. "Right..." He thought for a moment longer, before a lightbulb appeared above his head.

"I'm staying at this house just a ten-minute drive from here. It's just a temporary spot while I'm recording." He gave you a quick smile, "Of course if you want. No pressure I promise."

You smiled up at him, your finger poking him in the chest, "Really? You'd let me stay over?" Your voice was silky smooth, almost like you were talking to your boyfriend. You leaned in probably a little too close for just "friends."

Michael gulped, his brain short circuiting at your endearing voice. "Yeah… of course," he said softly, almost whispering. "I'd like that. A lot." His palms became sweaty at his sides, his heart now hammering at the confines of his ribcage. He was unsure if he should flirt right back. Surely you were, but what would Paul say?

He pushed the thought down, focusing on you instead. The ride to the Airbnb was quiet but comfortable, the city lights passing by as Bill drove. Every once in a while, he glanced over to you, his hand twitching in his lap to resist the urge to put his on yours.

When you arrived at the cozy temporary spot, Michael showed you around—awkward but ever the gentleman. He offered you water, showed you the bathroom, offered spare clothes, made sure the room was clean—despite the copious number of random things he had piled in one corner—and insisted he'd take the couch while you took the bedroom.

"Michael, I really couldn't. It's your spot." You said, sliding one of this sleeping shorts. You decided to sleep in your bra, and just the shorts.

Michael forced his eyes to your face, though his fist clenched behind his back out from view. "It's fine, really," he mumbled, voice a little higher than usual. "Take the bed. I'll be okay on the couch."

You smiled then, plopping down onto the corner of the couch. "Thank you again Michael, really." You went to grab his hand, cupping it gently.

Michael's breath hitched, his fingers curling instinctively around yours. He slowly settled on the couch next to you, placing both your hand back in your lap. "Of course, lovey."

You stared at him. Really stared at him, taking it all in. The way his curls fell softly over his forehead, the warmth in those big brown eyes, the genuine way he looked at you like you were something precious. You bit your bottom lip. You really shouldn't do what you were about to do. But technically, Paul just left you for dead, right?

You finally asked, voice soft, "Michael… what are we doing?"

He blinked hard, swallowing thickly. "W-What do you mean?"

You took your hands out of his grasp slowly. "I mean, really, what are we doing?" You gestured to yourself and him with your hands. You scoffed, "This has gone far enough for me to end up in your house, on the couch, in my bra."

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning. "I… I don't know. I..." He struggled to find the right words to justify whatever was happening right now. But there were very little words tumbling from his mouth. "You're an amazing woman. Really... And I—I really think you're... Well—"

You didn't let him finish. You leaned in and kissed him. Michael made a soft, surprised sound against your lips, then kissed you back, hesitantly. Something in him was holding him back.

You leaned in further, pulling up your legs to kneel on them to settle between his legs. He whimpered in your mouth when you brought your hands to cup his cheeks. He would have completely let his hands roam your body freely, but instead his hands reached for your wrists, pulling them down gently while your mouths disconnected.

You sighed, catching your breath, "What is it? What's wrong?"

Michael's chest rose and fell quickly, eyes wide and full of conflict. "I just… I don't want to be the reason you regret anything,” he whispered, voice shaky. "You're hurting right now, and I care about you too much to take advantage. If we do this… I just need you to tell me this is really what you want. And not just because of Paul being..."

You cupped his face again, firmly this time. "Michael."

He breathed in shakily, "Yes?"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

Michael let out a soft, needy sound and kissed you back, tenderly, a hand coming to cup the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him. A little flutter stirred on your stomach, a little surprised by his boldness. He was so gentle and eager to please.

You barely left his lips when you reached back to unclip your bra, letting it slide off your arms, and falling down to the carpet. Michael eased back, and gratefully enjoy the view.

You blushed a little, shrugging your shoulder upwards, letting your breasts squeeze just a little bit together.

Michael's breath caught, eyes filled with desire and awe. "You're… so beautiful," he whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

"You can do more than stare at them." You purred, batting your lashes at him.

He gulped, blinking rapidly for a second before hiding his smile, "I... I have to tell you something."

You tilted your head, still straddling his lap, your bare breasts brushing against his chest. "What is it, angel face?"

He sucked on his teeth for a sec and let out a really quiet giggle, melting your heart with it. He swallowed hard, eyes struggling to focus on your face. "I've never done this before… I just… I want to make you feel good. I want this to mean something."

If it weren't for him helplessly covering the obvious tent in his jeans, and you being half naked in his lap, you might've started crying from how adorable and vulnerable he looked. You cupped his face, kissing him deeply. "It does mean something, Michael. Just let me take care of you."

He didn't say anything more, just let you take the lead from there. You pushed him gently onto his back, kneeling just in between his thighs.

Two of your fingers walked up high on his thigh, stopping slowly just before his zipper. "Can I see what's in here applehead?"

Michael let out a shaky laugh that turned into a whimper when you palmed him softly through his jeans. "Y-Yes…"

You unzipped him slowly, also pulling down the elastic band of his boxers. His pretty self sprang free, slapping his stomach softly making him jump slightly, letting out a quiet whine.

You smirked up at him, wrapping your hand around him, stroking slowly, and Michael's head fell back with a broken moan. "You're so beautiful, baby." You whispered softly.

Michael's hips jerked, a hand gently threading through your hair. "Lovey… you don't have to—ah!" His words dissolved into a whine as you leaned down, licking a stripe up the underside right up to his sensitive tip. "You shouldn't be down there... using your mouth on... that..."

You looked up at him with a mischievous smile, lips brushing the head of him. "But I want to," you purred, voice low and silky. "I want to make you feel good, baby. Let me."

Michael's protest melted into a broken moan as you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip before sinking down further. His hand tightened gently in your hair, not pushing, just holding on as if he needed the anchor. "Oh… oh… that feels… incredible," he gasped, hips twitching like he was fighting not to thrust into your mouth. "You're so… warm… and soft… I can't…"

He was so responsive—whimpering, moaning your name, eyes fluttering shut then snapping open to watch you with pure adoration. The sight of you between his legs seemed to overwhelm him, his free hand fisting the couch cushions.

"W-wait! I'm gonna..." Michael's voice broke into a high, desperate whine, his thighs trembling. You pulled off slowly; a thin line of your spit still connected to him from your lips. He looked up at you, his face flushed and dazed, and honestly a little sad you listened to him.

You smiled, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. "Okay, I'll wait." You teased, rubbing your hand up and down his thigh.

Michael pouted, still trying to catch his breath. "I— I didn't really mean it."

"Good. Because I want to feel you inside me now." You sat back, peeling your shorts off, then your panties.

He snuck one or two glances down there, hoping you wouldn't catch him. Of course, you did.

You smiled, straddling his hips, "Mike, it's okay to look."

Michael's cheeks burned, but his eyes drank you in with open wonder. "'M sorry. You're just… perfect," he whispered, voice thick with awe. "I can’t believe you're letting me see you like this… touch you like this. I don't wanna come off as weird." He shrugged, his hand twitching at his side, still unsure where to put them.

"Michael, you're not weird. Here." You took his hand and guided it between your legs, showing him how to touch you. Michael was a quick learner—his fingers circling your clit with gentle pressure, then sliding inside you, curling just right as you rocked against his hand. "Like this?" he asked, voice full of awe as he watched your face.

You ground down on his fingers harder, almost crushing his hand with your weight. "Oh gosh yes, right there!"

His fingers moved with growing confidence, stroking and curling until you were trembling above him, your moans filling the room. "You're so beautiful when you feel good," he whispered, eyes locked on your face. He focused on the way your brows pinched together, how you bit your lip trying to suppress those sounds that went straight to his groin. "You're so wet… so warm…."

You keeled over him, your forehead resting just on his chest. Breathlessly, you grasped his hand with your own, "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait—"

Michael froze instantly, concern flashing across his face. "Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?"

You shook your head, breathing hard, a small smile tugging at your lips. "No, baby… you're doing everything right. I just… I want to finish with you inside me."

You pushed him gently onto his back, sitting back up right, on your knees, hovering just above him. You reached under yourself, grabbing him, and guiding him right to your entrance.

You gave him one last look. "Ready?"

He nodded eagerly, eyes glued to where both of you were about to connect. Slowly, you sank down, taking him inch by delicious inch. Michael gasped, head falling back against one of the couch pillows, his hands finding purchase on the underside of your thighs, unsure if he wanted to lift you off or pull you down. He tried to bite his lip to suppress his moans, but they slipped through, "Oh... you feel… so perfect," he moaned, the words breaking into a whine as you took him all the way in.

You whimpered softly at the size of him kissing your insides perfectly. "Oh Michael..." You started riding him with slow and deep rolls of your hips, savoring every inch. The emotional weight of the day poured into every movement, turning it into something raw, passionate, and deeply intimate.

You braced your hands on his chest, rocking back and forth slowly, "You feel so good Mikey. You're so deep."

Michael's eyes squeezed shut for a moment, a high, needy whine escaping him. "D-Don't say things like that—ah..."

You smiled down at him as you rocked back and forth slowly, savoring the way he filled you completely. "But it's true," you breathed, voice husky with pleasure.

He whimpered again, tipping his head back and focused on trying not to spill inside you, yet.

You picked up the pace, bouncing on him with more urgency, your breasts bouncing with each thrust. "Mikey... Look."

Michael refused profusely, shaking his head side to side. If he looked right now, he might just burst.

You smirked, finding it so adorable he had to compose himself. "Angel face..." You reached forward, gently tilting his chin so he had to look—not just at you, but where you both were connected.

Michael's eyes immediately glued to your slick covering him—breath hitching as he watched himself disappear inside you with every roll of your hips.

You giggled dangerously low, "Look how full you're making me, daddy."

He whimpered, the sight pushing him dangerously close to the edge. His hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging in as he tried to hold back. He forced his butt to stay glued to the couch cushions, but the closer he got to his release the more thrusts slipped through.

The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping skin, your moans mixing with his soft, whiny gasps.

The constant pace you set made the coil in your belly tighten with warmth. "Mmm... Fuck—Baby, I'm close."

He nodded frantically—no room for words—and finally let himself thrust up to meet you halfway.

Michael's soft, needy whimpers grew higher and more desperate, his thighs trembling beneath you. "I'm... I'm... I'm... Gonna—"

You came first, clenching around him like your life depended on it, with a shuddering cry as waves of blissful pleasure crashed through you, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Michael sat upright quickly, wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face into your stomach as he came after. He bucked upwards routinely, his spend painting your insides a creamy white. He held you impossibly tight as he rode out the high, soft, broken whimpers vibrating against your belly.

Michael finally loosened his hold just to collapse backwards with his arms out like he was dead.

You giggled, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the lips, "You're so dramatic!"

Michael let out a breathless laugh, cheeks still flushed. "Can you blame me?" he murmured, voice breathless, "That was... You were incredible."

You pulled off of him slowly, adjusting yourself to lay on him comfortably, "I'm flattered." You smiled up at him, and in return he smiled back, holding you in his warm arms.

For a long moment, the only sounds were your slowing breaths and the faint city noise outside the window.

"I really meant it," he whispered after a while. "I... really care about you. And tonight… it meant everything to me. Whatever happens with Paul… I'm here if you need me. Just… I want to make you happy."

You traced little circles on his chest with your finger, "You'd love me more than he? Hm?"

"And endlessly." Michael quipped, booping your nose.

You giggled, snuggling closer to him, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In Michael's arms, you felt safe and wanted. But there was this lingering feeling of guilt. I mean, had you just cheated on Paul?

And just when you thought you could relax just for a few uninterrupted moments, a buzzing hum came from behind you.

Your phone.

You tried to ignore the call, closing your eyes. But a few seconds later, it started buzzing again. Frustrated, you reached over Michael, "Ugh, who the hell is calling at this time, seriously?"

You reached over and grabbed it from the floor where it had fallen earlier.

The screen lit up with Paul's name.

❤︎ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ do you want the house tour? ⸝⸝ pre thriller album release michael jackson x fem reader

│ summary: you invite your boyfriend into your apartment for a house tour, with no deeper meaning. right? │ byi: 18+ (nothing too explicit, yet.) │ a/n: hi! i had this cooking in my head all day at work and though it would be a super cute fic to throw together.... hope u enjoy ;D. probably making a part two for this!

The low hum of the tan Cadillac pulling into the curbside of your apartment complex was the only sound left on "Pretty Girl Avenue," which Michael himself liked to call it every time he asked Bill to either drop you off or pick you up.

Bill killed the engine with a soft chuckle, glancing at the two of you in the back seat through the rearview mirror. "Home sweet home, Miss. And Mr. Jackson, you want me to wait or—?"

"No, no, that's alright, Bill," Michael said quickly, his voice that soft, melodic lilt. He was still in his post-dinner mode—tie loosened just a little, curls slightly tousled from the breeze through the cracked window. "I'll make sure she gets inside safe. Thank you, as always."

You caught Michael's hand before he could fully pull away, squeezing it. "Actually… why don't you come up for a bit?" you asked, keeping your tone light and sweet, like it was the most casual thing in the world. "I could give you the grand house tour. It's only fair after that amazing dinner you planned."

Michael blinked those big, dark eyes at you, genuinely surprised. "A house tour? Right now?" He glanced at the apartment building like it was some grand mansion he'd never noticed before. “I mean… if you're not too tired. I don't want to impose or anything." He shyly shrugged, hiding the giant smile on his face.

Bill glanced in the rear-view mirror, squinting slightly. He obviously knew something Michael didn't. "You two have a good night," he said with a knowing little smirk. He cranked up the engine again once the two of you closed the doors to the car behind you.

You kept Michael's hand in yours as you led him up the stairs to your apartment door, the hallway light casting a warm glow on his flushed cheeks. He was already a little fidgety—fingers twitching lightly in your grasp, eyes darting around like he was trying to memorize every detail of the building.

Inside, you flipped on the soft lamp by the couch and turned to him with a playful smile. "Okay, official tour starts now. Shoes off, Mr. Jackson. Make yourself comfortable."

Michael kicked off his loafers neatly by the door. "This feels… kinda special. No one's ever given me a house tour before." His voice was quiet, almost reverent as he looked around your cozy living room—the little stack of records by the player, the throw blanket you'd left draped over the arm of the couch.

You took his hand again and tugged him toward the kitchen first, stepping just a little closer than necessary so your shoulder brushed his. "This is the kitchen… where I attempt to cook and usually end up ordering food instead." You opened the fridge, bending down a bit more than you needed to. "Want something to drink? Water? Or maybe something sweeter?"

He cleared his throat, eyes politely fixed on the fridge contents instead of you. "Water's fine! Thank you. You have… a lot of fruit in here. That's healthy. I like that." His cheeks were noticeably pinker now, and he shifted on his feet, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

You handed him the glass. "Thanks for noticing. I try." Leaning against the counter, you looked up at him through your lashes. "The living room's next… but maybe we should save the best for last."

He followed you obediently, sipping his water and complimenting your record collection with genuine enthusiasm—"You have the new Stevie Wonder? That's incredible!"—completely missing the way you kept fidgeting around, how you were biting your lip like you were about to bite into him.

When you finally led him down the short hallway and paused outside your bedroom door, you turned to face him fully, biting your lip. The air felt thicker now. You reached up and lightly adjusted the collar of his shirt, letting your fingertips graze the warm skin at the base of his throat.

"And this…" you murmured, pushing the door open behind you, "is my bedroom. The most important room on the tour. Super comfortable bed… nice lighting… perfect for relaxing after a long night out." You stepped backward into the room, one hand tucket behind your back, the other tugging him by the tie. "Come see?"

Michael's eyes widened a little, throat visibly working. He hesitated for half a second at the threshold, like crossing into your bedroom was some sacred line. "O-okay… yeah. It looks really nice in there. You've got good curtains—blocks out the streetlights perfectly, I bet." His voice cracked just a tiny bit on the last word, and he let out a shy little laugh.

"It’s really cozy in here," he said softly. "The colors are so… you. Warm and pretty. I like it a lot."

You turned toward him, heart fluttering with affection and a growing spark of mischief. Time to turn up the heat. "Thanks, baby. But you haven't even seen the best part yet." You reached behind you and slowly unzipped the side of your dress, letting the fabric slip off one shoulder as you kicked the door mostly shut with your foot. "These clothes are way too tight after that big dinner. Mind if I get a little more… comfortable while I finish showing you around?"

Michael's eyes flicked to your bare shoulder for a split second before he quickly looked away, cheeks burning. "O-oh! Yeah, of course. Make yourself comfortable. I can… um, turn around if you want?" He spun on his heel so fast he nearly sloshed water on the floor, facing the wall like a perfect gentleman. His free hand came up to cover the side of his face anyway. "Just tell me when it’s okay." He was fighting back a smile with all his might. He forced himself to stay a gentleman.

You let the dress slide down your body and pool at your feet, leaving you in just your lace bra and panties. You stepped closer, pressing yourself lightly against his back for a moment, letting him feel the warmth of your body as you reached around to take the glass from his hand and set it on the dresser.

"You can turn around now, Michael," you purred, voice low and inviting. Your hands slid up his arms from behind, resting on his shoulders. "The bed's the star of the scenic tour. So soft… perfect for laying down and unwinding after a long night. Want to test it out with me?"

He turned slowly, eyes squeezed half-shut at first like he was scared to look. When he finally opened them, his gaze landed somewhere safely around your collarbone. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "It… it does look really soft," he stammered, that shy smile trembling at the corners. "You always pick the nicest things. I bet it's great for sleeping. Or reading! Do you read in bed a lot?"

You took his hands and guided him backward until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed, then gave a gentle push so he sat down. You climbed onto the mattress right after him, kneeling beside him in your lingerie, close enough that your thigh brushed his. One hand rested on his chest, feeling his heart hammering under your palm. The other toyed with his loosened tie, slowly pulling it free from his collar.

"Michael…" you whispered, leaning in so your lips were inches from his ear, breath warm against his skin. "I've been thinking about this all night. About having you here… in my room… all to myself." Your fingers traced down his chest, lower, teasing the buttons of his shirt.

He swallowed hard, breath shaky, but his expression was still that sweet mix of flustered and confused. "Y-yeah?" His hands came up, but he wasn't sure where to put them. Definitely not on you, no. So he settled on his knees, where his fingers clenched them so hard he was sure to leave bruises.

"Me too. I always love spending time with you. Your place feels so nice and safe. I could stay and talk for hours if you wanted—"

That was it.

You pulled back, crossing your arms under your chest (which only pushed things up more) and hit him with the full pout—lip jutted out, eyes big and disappointed. "Michael Joseph Jackson, are you serious right now?" Your voice came out whiny and frustrated, though. "I've been dropping hints this whole time! I took my dress off, I'm practically naked, I keep touching you and you are on my bed… and you're talking about how nice my curtains are?!"

He blinked hard at the sound of his full name, swallowing whatever sense of reason down south. "I- O-oh… oh my goodness…" He looked you up and down for the first time before his gaze snapped back up to your face, mortified. "I'm so sorry, I didn't— I don't want you to think that I..."

He locked those beautiful brown eyes onto yours, voice shaky and sincere. "You're so beautiful… and I love spending time with you more than anything. But I don't… I don't want you to feel like you have to give yourself to me like some kind of reward for dinner or… or anything like that." His words tumbled out faster, flustered and earnest. "You deserve to be cherished, not… not just taken because we had a nice night. I would wait forever if that's what you wanted. I never want to assume or pressure you—"

You let out a soft, frustrated huff, as you shifted closer on your knees, cupping his cheeks in both hands so he couldn't look away.

"Michael," you said, voice laced with affection and impatience, "that's not what this is. I'm not 'giving myself as a reward.' I want you. I've been wanting you all night—on purpose. I invited you up here because I want to be close to you… really close." Your thumbs brushed his cheekbones, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. "You're such a gentleman it's driving me crazy. I love that about you, but right now I need you. Like, really need you."

He stared at you, lips parted, those big doe eyes wide—longing mixed with that sweet nervousness. His hands finally unclenched from his knees and hovered uncertainly in the air, like he was scared to touch you even now.

"I… I know," he breathed, voice soft. "You're all I see. You're… you're everything." He swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to glance down again at your cleavage just inches from his eyeline. "But a-are you sure? Really sure? I don't want to mess this up. You mean too much to me…"

His shyness was so genuine it made your heart melt. He was still fully dressed, sitting so politely on the edge of your bed while you knelt before him in nothing but lace, yet he looked like the one who was completely exposed.

You leaned in slowly, forehead resting against his, lips brushing the corner of his mouth in the lightest tease. "I've never been more sure. So please… stop being so respectful for two fricken' seconds and kiss me, dammit."

Michael let out the smallest little giggle. His hands finally settled, feather-light, on your waist, thumbs brushing your bare skin. He was still flushed to his ears, heart pounding so hard.

"I… okay," he whispered, with that beautiful smile. "You're such a tease."