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PAIRING: mature era!michael x podcast host!reader (afab)

SUMMARY: michael listens to your podcast Off The Record and loves how you give celebrities the space to be themselves. when he insists (with the help of his PR team) to do multiple episodes with you, it turns your world upside down. you expect a polished version of the king of pop, but as you get to know him, you quickly find out there's more to him that his persona on stage.

WARNING: slow-burn romance, mostly fluff & eventual smut (implied smut in this part), 18+, age gap (Michael is in his 40s & reader is mid-to-late 20s)

PART 4 of ? (masterlist with parts 1, 2 and 3)

WC: ~3.6K

A/N: Here's part four of Off the Record!! This is definitely the peak of the fic (which you'll find out why while reading 😝) and the story is nearing probably at its midway point, but don't worry, there's at least 2-3 more chapters! I'm hoping this chapter is okay because I haven't had much time to proofread it (I'm very much a type-a personality and a perfectionist LOL) 😭 If you wanna be a part of my permanent taglist, you can comment here.

TAGS: @pulsingeternity @lanibuggg @thebabykashmere @animegamerfox @munsons-mayhem28 @styleslover-1994 @wildpandorasky @thatpettyho @cafe-lectura @ella-jolie @fiyerobridgerton @xoxogossipgirl02 @notyourusualnia @mydeerest1 @peacemakersbeloved @mazza-0 @justboredroaming @oidloid @sclareclipse7 @niadaboss @flesheatingvamp @gingerrsnapp @slowlikehoney-stronglikemusic @moontunee @lovelyreadersposts @ekoxeko @prettyscientist @bananarama-llama @khxna @lovingyeet @tafuller @mochikofi @alimarie1331 @luv4kook @asillysimp @thebrunetteswan @righteouslycrispylegend @weeweesparkles @tkb-edit @jazzyamb @phenomenalphysicslover @blkreaperkaneki @pompompush @lanaswhitefeather @thelittletobsterthatcould @kissedbyabee-30 @mayteaj @kgflosblog @tobeeatenalivee @ekoxeko @prettyscientist @bananarama-llama @khxna @lovingyeet

I’d like to mention, I am American. Specifically southern, like real southern. My mom is from the deep south Alabama and I was born there and lived there also. I used words like ‘momma’ in this chapter because that's what I call my mom and that's what my own kid calls me, and he is fully Irish! Also, I used soul foods in this chapter, because that is what I grew up on. I'm saying this because this is the food I'm most familiar with, so it's easiest for me to describe. But Id like to mention that I am NOT black. I wanna say that right now so nobody thinks differently, I am white! Though I grew up on these foods that are heavily involved and are in the black community, I wanna point out that I am white, because I do not want people to accidentally assume, and later down the line people feel betrayed by me or feel i did digital black face, (which is disgusting btw.) I was raised this way because a lot of my family happen to be people of colour, and they were the ones making my dinners and looking after me and we were dirty poor and this what we ate all the time. This is what I ate and lived like, this is literally my personal experiences. Ok rant over.

psst! want more? masterlist here..

<- go back the way you came...

words, 4.1k.

tw. angst, reader has a name.

୨ৎ pairing — michael x fem!reader

୨ৎ synopsis — you and michael have been arguing for weeks, he’s worried he’s losing you but there turns out to be a reason behind you being so hormonal

୨ৎ themes — basically just unprotected sex mixed with a whole load of angst & tension, dom!michael, oral (f!receiving), pregnancy, cr3ampie, secrecy, no use of y/n

୨ৎ word count — 6.6k (i like to deliver)

୨ৎ note — i literally blabbed so much here that there’s no real plot but i locked in and spent 2 days writing something hopefully good. can’t stop won’t stop writing about thriller era michael (i’m obsessed) but you can apply this to any era really. i think i went into a lil too much detail this time because my previous two posts were lowkey shocking, so i hope this makes up for it !!

୨ৎ part two out now — CLICK HERE

You and Michael had been locked in a bitter argument for the last few days, constantly at each other’s throats. It didn’t stop you from loving him. It never could. But this paralysing shared stubbornness kept both of your apologies shielded, spinning the conflict into a vicious cycle. Unbeknownst to him, you knew why. You knew why you had been lashing out and angry all at once. A volatile mix of hormones and raw anger consumed you all at once. Oblivious to the truth, all he could do was pour fuel on the fire, turning defensive every single time a minor trigger set you off. Daytimes consisted of you both trading blows whenever he was home, but by night, if he was back before you slept, you found him in between your thighs. Just the way you liked it. 

You were pregnant. 

A baby. You had only just uncovered the truth, a positive test still fresh in your mind. The timing couldn't have been more inconvenient. Michael was currently buried under the immense pressure of preparing for the Victory Tour, while you were celebrating a hard earned acceptance into a modeling agency upon recently signing a contract. It just went to show how unfair reality could be, it had a habit of tossing unexpected complications your way.

But Michael was entirely oblivious. You simply couldn’t summon the courage to tell him. You had known for nearly three weeks by this point, yet a perfect moment never presented itself, there was never a viable window amidst the endless, bitter standoffs and exhausting late nights. He spent the vast majority of his time buried in grueling tour rehearsals with his brothers, leaving you terrified of how he might react to such monumental news. Would he choose to continue the tour, leaving you abandoned and pregnant by yourself? Or would he deliberately sacrifice his career to stay back and tend to you? Neither of those options sat well with you. 

He had missed every single warning sign. The refused drinks, the hormonal storms, the empty calendar where your cycle should have been. Preoccupied by the relentless demands of his career, the thought hadn't even grazed his mind. And honestly? You were grateful for his distraction. It was safer with him not knowing… for now. 

You remained wide awake that night, a concoction of anxious thoughts entrapped within your mind while you lay strewn across the bed. Typical. The sheer weight of the situation had hit you all at once. You knew deep down that keeping this secret wasn't doing you any favours, but for the sake of peace, maintaining the lie felt like your only choice. It was almost laughable, the two of you had been at each other's throats earlier over a completely empty milk carton. He thought you were just being dramatic, never realising that milk was the sole anchor keeping your morning sickness at bay. It was the only thing that settled your stomach enough to avoid raising his suspicion if you suddenly hurled in front of him. The atmosphere between you remained thick, but you prayed he’d put the petty argument behind him by now.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally arrived home. You caught the sound of his footsteps almost immediately, tracking them as they made their way up the stairs and into the bedroom. In spite of yourself, a subtle smile touched your lips. He looked so handsome. Ridiculously handsome. The way a few loose curls perfectly framed his face and the unreadable mystery hidden behind those pitch black shades he wore made your chest tight. He was dressed in a crisp white button up shirt and black trousers. It was a simple combination, yet more than enough to make your knees wobble right where you laid. 

“You’re home early.” You noted, your gaze unashamedly mapping out his features. Your eyes lingered for much longer than they should have, a weakness you mentally blamed on your newly hyper sensitized awareness of him. Ever since you’d found out you were pregnant with his child, your body simply refused to look away.

“My brothers wanted to finish the session early tonight and I thought it was a good idea.” He spoke softly, offering a quiet reflection of your smile. Behind the dim shield of his shades, his gaze travelled deliberately upward from your ankles, taking in every contour of your body until it finally locked with yours. You couldn’t see his eyes but the heavy, unsaid weight of his gaze felt like a physical touch. “It gives me a chance to... make it up to you,” he admitted. A faint fluster embellished his cheeks. It always amazed you how even after countless nights of absolute passion, he still managed to get shy over the slightest hint of intimacy, even when he was the one initiating it. 

“Make it up to me how?” You questioned, rolling over slightly while keeping your gaze locked onto him. The shift in your position caused your breasts to press together, the natural pull of gravity creating a tempting display that instantly hijacked his attention. He stared down at you, captivated by the sight. You lay there, unapologetically beautiful, radiating an ethereal, soft glow that he couldn't quite take his eyes off of. 

“Oh… y’know.” He paused momentarily, letting the silence stretch just long enough to shift the dynamic. “By doing my job as a man to please you and make you feel good. As I should.” he whispered, as though your previous argument was nothing but a distant memory. It typically panned out that way. Argue, make love, repeat. A newfound wave of confidence had anchored his tone, the soft rasp of his voice sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine.

Your cheeks burned with heat, an agonising ache pooling between your thighs from nothing more than his whisper. You utterly loathed how easy it was for him. He merely had to say the magic words and the volatile cocktail of your hormones and libido were completely taken over, ensuring you were no longer dry before he had even crossed the room. 

“And how exactly do you plan on doing that?” You questioned, your tone laced with a dangerous invitation. You were intentionally coaxing him, hungry for whatever came out of his mouth next. Your body was already on high alert, your pregnancy fuelled senses completely taking over as a rhythmic throb pulsed down there in unison with every beat of your heart. 

Michael shuddered slightly, the vivid image of you entirely naked plaguing his already dirty mind. The world knew him for his innocent, quiet persona, but little did anyone guess how perverted he became the moment the two of you were alone. His cock twitched briefly, the fabric of his underwear uncomfortably tightening around him as he hardened with every filthy scenario that flashed through his mind. 

Lowering his chin slightly, he peered at you over the rims of his sunglasses, letting you see the dark intensity in his gaze. That familiar, knowing smirk crept onto his lips as he deliberately paced forward, stopping only when his knees pressed against the rim of the bed. 

“I’m going to make love to you. Or fuck you... whichever one you’re craving tonight,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register. He leaned in closer, the heat radiating off him. “But before that, I think I need a reminder of how good you taste baby. I think I’ve forgotten.” He added a playful, dangerous edge to the end of his sentence, pausing briefly as if trying to reclaim his fading self control. It was the only thing stopping him from pinning you to the mattress and taking you completely senseless until dawn. 

Your heart missed a beat, fluttering below your chest as a wave of adrenaline collided with the pit of your stomach. He had such a way with words. 

Before you could fully process his words, Michael had already shifted, positioning his body over yours on the mattress. A breathless thrill shot through you at his sheer impatience. He was so single mindedly intent on pleasing you that he didn't even waste a second to take off his clothes or settle in, even after a monotonous day of rehearsal.

He positioned his head between your legs, his hands coming up to rest on either side of them as he dotted a disorganised line of soft kisses up your right thigh, stroking your skin with such delicacy. Naturally, you would go between peeking at him and resting your head against the pillow to fully immerse yourself in the moment. To enjoy every last little sensation, knowing it would guide you to something better. A sigh broke free from your throat the closer his lips became to the jackpot. 

Michael brought his left hand inwards, stroking his thumb over the crotch of your panties as he watched the colour darken, your arousal seeping through the material in a protruding circle. You couldn’t help but whimper, every sense heightened now that you were carrying an unspoken secret inside of you. He tucked his index finger within the hem of your panties, ushering you out of them as he intensely pulled them down, tossing them onto the floor. 

“God you’re so fucking beautiful I just need to–” he halted himself. No more words. Just action. He buried his face abruptly between your thighs, positioning himself closer this time as he wasted not another second. Michael licked a stripe vertically up your glistening pussy as he groaned, the sweetness of your arousal a sanctuary to his tastebuds. 

Your neck formed an arch, your hand instinctively meeting with his head. Your slender fingers enmeshed with his jet black curls, grasp tightening. The friction of his tongue stimulating you was a godsend, something so perfect that not even words could encapsulate it. Only experiencing. “Fuck Michael yes-” You moaned out, eyes rolling to the back of your skull as your hips simultaneously jolted forward, your body naturally craving for more as he fed your addiction. Or perhaps you fed his. Literally. 

Michael grunted, his lips forming an ‘o’ as they encased your clit, sucking gently but enough to entice your flow of stimulation as his tongue rolled in calculated figures of eight. “You taste so perfect.” He mumbled without interrupting his motion, the vibration of his voice sending an electric current through your entire body. You could feel your climax arising with every second that passed by. 

Your thighs began to quiver beneath his grasp, muscles tense as you almost fed him your pussy. Very subtly bucking your hips up into his face, just the way he liked it. Savouring every last drop of you on his tongue as he ravished you, treating your pussy like a deathrow meal. 

“I–I’m gonna cu-” The words broke apart before you could finish them, swallowed whole by the wave that had been coiling at the base of your spine. It hit without warning, a deep, pulse of pleasure that detonated low in your belly. Your walls clenched in tight, helpless contractions, each one dragging a sound from your throat you didn't recognise as your own. Your back arched off the sheets, fingers fisting hard into his hair as your thighs trembled against him. Not a gentle quiver, but a full body shudder you had zero control over. A ragged moan tore past your lips and dissolved into something closer to a sob as the intensity crested and held. Your legs fell wider apart, shaking violently. Every nerve felt raw and lit up like a live wire. But he didn't relent. His rhythm stayed exactly where it was, deliberate and undying as he dragged you through the peak instead of letting you fall gently from it.

“Mmm, that's the perfect sweetheart. Let it all out.” He whispered, his eyes closed so he could savour the moment himself, his tongue continuing with those intense, familiar motions. Your thighs buckled, tensing around the sides of his head. Your body’s way of confirming he was sending you into overstimulation. 

“Please, I can’t take it.” You whimpered, a veiled note of desperation bleeding into your voice. He pulled away, a smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, glossy with your slickness. 

Both of your chests rose up and down, frantically attempting to draw in oxygen. But Michael wasn’t yet done with you and you both knew that. He crawled upwards menacingly, his crotch landing directly where he’d just overstimulated you. You could feel, even through his pants, how hard he was. How hard he got just from pleasing you. It was somewhat flattering. 

“Was that good?” He asked curiously, flashing you a playful smile, his demeanour softening a little, as though he was seeking your approval. He wanted to hear that he’d done good, that his job had sufficed. 

“Perfect. A billion times over.” you reassured him, giggling softly as you grabbed a quick glimpse of the imagery between your legs, in which Michael was wedged. You noticed the outline in his pants, practically ready to burst its way through the fabric. “Someone’s incredibly impatient.” You joked, gesturing to his blatant bulge. 

Michael laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… maybe if you didn't look like that, it wouldn't be a problem."

Before he could form another word, your needy fingers were already at work, unbuckling his belt, sliding the leather free from its loops and letting it fall to the floor with a clink. Then came the buttons of his shirt, one by one, each pop of fabric sending a fresh wave of anticipation through the air. Your fingertips grazed his skin with every button undone, deliberate and slow, savouring the way his breath hitched beneath your touch. A few seconds later, his shirt joined the belt in a crumpled heap. In one fluid motion, you were both completely naked, skin against skin.

Michael nibbled gently on his bottom lip, his gaze sweeping over your face and figure with a hungry reverence. One last moment of stillness before he unleashed everything he had been holding back. His eyes traced the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, the parted readiness of your lips. A possessive heat flickered in his expression. He intended to ruin you. To leave you trembling, breathless and utterly undone. A complete, beautiful mess beneath him, with no thought left in your head but his name.

“Wait one second.” He whispered, reluctantly pulling back for a brief moment. You watched as he reached toward the nightstand, the sharp crackle of a condom wrapper tearing open cutting through the quiet bedroom. “Just to be safe.” He murmured. The phrase hung heavily in the air, a striking contradiction to the reality he was completely oblivious to.

Oh boy, little did he know. 

Without a coherent thought, your fingers closed around the foil packet in his hand and you tore it away, flinging it somewhere into the shadows of the room. The crinkle of plastic against the floor was the only sound before you locked your legs around his waist, thighs clamping tight, sealing him against you with no room for retreat. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through the damp hair at his nape and you pulled him down into a kiss that was less about tenderness and more about possession. A deep, open mouthed distraction that said you didn't want anything between you. Not tonight. Not with the ache pooling hot and heavy between your thighs, demanding nothing but the feel of him. Skin against skin. No barriers. No pretense.

The moment your legs tightened their hold, his body surrendered to gravity, his hips dropping forward in a single, fluid motion. His cock found your entrance as if it had always known the way and he slid into you in one long, unbroken stroke. It was slow at first, then he sunk deep, filling you completely. The sensation drew a trembling whimper from your throat, mirrored by the low, guttural sound that escaped his lips as your bodies fused together, the kiss breaking just long enough for both of you to gasp into the heated space between your mouths.

The thought of the condom evaporated from Michael's mind the instant he sank into you. The scorching grip of your walls pulling him deeper rendered any memory of latex utterly irrelevant. This was a sensation no thin layer of rubber could ever replicate. The raw, silken clutch of your body yielding around him, squeezing him with every flutter of your inner muscles, claiming him in a way no barrier ever could.

He broke the kiss just long enough to drag in a ragged breath, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice a low growl that vibrated against your lips.

"Fuck."

The word was half curse, half prayer, lost immediately as he crashed his mouth back into yours. The kiss turned sloppy, desperate. Tongues tangling in a wet, rhythmic dance as they slid past each other, tasting and exploring. He didn't waste another second. Whatever fragile thread of self control he'd been clinging to snapped entirely as his hips drove forward, plunging into you with a desperate, punishing rhythm. The heat of your body enveloped him completely, each stroke sliding through your wet folds before sinking deep. The raw, velvety clutch of you pulled him in with every frantic thrust. Every fight, every bitter word from the past days was eclipsed by the wet, slapping sound of skin meeting skin, by the way your legs tightened around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as if you were holding him hostage. He set a feverish pace, relentless and hungry, each drive of his hips pushing deeper, burying himself to the hilt until he was seated fully inside you. Your body gripped him like it never wanted to let go. His breath came in ragged, broken grunts against your mouth, the only sounds in the room besides the obscene, wet rhythm of your bodies colliding.

The bedroom was filled with the sound of breathless groans and heavy sighs, your fingers tangling at the nape of his neck as the intense pacing drove you wild. He moved against you with an unyielding heat, his lower body colliding with yours. “We do this every night and it somehow... always feels better than the last.” He managed to mutter, his voice broken by desire. You squeezed your eyes shut against his shoulder. You had always used condoms, yet a split weeks ago must have been the silent catalyst for your pregnancy. Now, the rules were completely thrown out. He drove himself into you without a second thought, entirely unphased by the lack of protection, intoxicated by the raw, barrier free heat of your body. 

Michael’s hand pressed flat against the headboard, knuckles taut, while the other curled around your thigh, fingers sinking into the soft skin just enough to hold you steady. He slid his hand between your legs, tracing slow, deliberate lines through your flesh until he found your clit, aching and already desperate beneath his touch. He circled it gently at first, each rotation a little more insistent, building a rhythm that pulled you both closer to the edge. He wanted nothing more than to come undone at the exact moment you did, to feel your release shudder through you as his own broke free, the two of you spilling together in divine timing.

“That feels so good don’t stop-” You whimpered, the words falling out of you in broken, desperate pieces, shredded apart by the ragged gasps tearing from your chest. Your back arched involuntarily, pressing into him as pleasure coiled tight and hot in your core, like a fire spreading through every nerve ending. His cock stretched you open with deliberate strokes while his fingers worked your clit in tight, knowing circles. The dual sensation was almost too much, almost unbearable. Your thighs trembled, slick with arousal and every thrust dragged a helpless sound from your throat. He knew exactly how to move, exactly when to press harder, when to slow down just enough to make you ache for more. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, mixing with your moans and the sheer filth of it only pushed you closer to the edge. You were completely wrecked beneath him and he hadn't even finished with you yet.

You were close again. For the second time that night, pleasure was cresting inside you like a wave about to break and there was nothing you could do but let it take you.

His curls hung loose and wild around his face, damp with sweat, swinging with every powerful snap of his hips. You watched him, really watched him. His jaw clenched tight, lips parted around breathless groans that sounded almost pained. His body moved like something primal, muscles coiling and flexing beneath his skin, completely lost in the wet heat of you. And the sight of him unravelling like that, losing himself inside of you, sent a sharp thrill of satisfaction through your haze. All you had to do was lay there, spread open, flushed, looking up at him with those pretty eyes and he came undone.

"Let me fill you." He rasped, voice dropping into a low, wrecked growl against your throat. "Please, baby."

His restraint was gone. You could feel it in the way his grip tightened on your hips hard enough to bruise, the way his thrusts turned sloppier, chasing something raw and desperate. Inhibitions had dissolved into nothing. Consequences didn't exist. All that mattered was the tight pull of your body around him and the overwhelming need to push as deep as he could go and stay there. To spill himself inside of you and leave something of himself behind. An unspoken claim. A mark no one else could see but you'd carry all the same.

The risks were dangerous. But he was too far gone to consider that, too lost in you to realise that the worst case scenario had already taken root.

After what felt like an eternity of relentless thrusts, broken only by deep groans and the soft, ruined whimpers falling from both your mouths, Michael shattered.

His body seized above you, hips stuttering hard as he buried himself to the hilt and came with a broken groan against your neck. Warm, thick pulses spilled deep inside you, one after another, each one pulling a ragged sound from his throat like the orgasm was being ripped out of him. The sensation was primal, a fiery heat blooming low in your belly and spreading outward.

This wasn't some cheap, performative fuck from an 80s porno. It was deeper than that. Messier. More real. The kind of sex that couldn't be captured or replicated. Only felt.

Your walls clenched around him instinctively, milking every last drop from his cock with each greedy contraction. He groaned, low and broken at the sensation, his forehead pressed against yours. Your nails bit into the skin of his neck, crescent shaped marks blooming red against his flushed skin. But it wasn’t until then you realised that you were falling too. Your orgasm crashed through you like a second wave, pulling a sharp cry from your lips as your back arched off the bed.

Finishing together felt like something sacred. Your bodies locked, trembling and pulsing around each other. Two people reduced to nothing but the aftershocks still rolling through you in devastating waves. Like your souls had been threaded together and pulled tight. Like nothing outside that bed existed.

— — — —

Three days later.

The pharmacy bag crinkled against your hip as you fumbled with your keys at the front door, your mind still reeling from the conversation with the pharmacist.

Prenatal vitamins. Folic acid. Take one daily with food.

It all felt so clinical, so sterile, for something that had turned your entire world upside down. You stepped inside, dropping your bag onto the kitchen counter with a heavier thud than you intended.

That's when you heard the shower shut off.

Your blood ran cold.

You lunged for the bag, fingers scrambling against the paper as you tried to shove the small pharmacy bottle deeper inside, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it from the bathroom. But your hands were shaking and the bottle slipped, rolling across the counter with a hollow plastic clatter that might as well have been a gunshot.

Footsteps. Fast.

Michael appeared in the kitchen doorway, damp curls clinging to his forehead, a towel slung low and loose around his hips, water still dripping down his chest. His eyes found you first, frozen, guilty, one hand still reaching for the bottle, then dropped to the counter.

Silence.

"What's that?" His voice was calm. Too calm.

"Nothing." You denied, as you grabbed the bottle and shoved it behind your back like a child caught stealing. "It's nothing, Michael."

He was already moving toward you. Not fast, not aggressive, but with a deliberate stride that made your stomach drop. He reached you in three steps and before you could react, his hand closed gently but firmly around your wrist, pulling it forward. The orange bottle caught the light.

Prenatal Vitamins. With Folic Acid.

His eyes scanned over the words, over and over again, jaw tightening.

"How long?" His voice was low. Controlled. But his eyes, almost hurt, told a different story.

"Michael–"

"How long?" He cut you off abruptly.

“Three weeks." You admitted, swallowing the achy lump that had manifested in the back of your throat.

The silence that followed was suffocating. He released your wrist and stepped back, running a hand through his wet curls, the muscles in his jaw working like he was physically biting back everything he wanted to say.

"Three weeks." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. Just disbelief. "You've known for three weeks and you didn't tell me?"

"I was figuring out how to-"

"Figure out how to what?" His voice rose, sharp enough to make you flinch. "How to keep it from me? How long were you going to let me walk around not knowing that you're carrying my-" He stopped himself, pressing both hands flat against the counter, head dropping between his shoulders. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter but rougher. "How? We were careful. I always-" Every sentence he spoke was cut short with an apparent uncertainty.

"The condom broke." You said softly. "That night. You didn't notice, but I did. I thought…it only takes one time, Michael."

He stared at you. Something shifted behind his eyes, recognition perhaps. That night. The second time. When he'd been so lost in you that neither of you had stopped to check. When consequences had been the furthest thing from his mind.

But then something else flickered across his face. A memory surfacing. His brow furrowed and when he spoke, his voice had dropped to something dangerously quiet.

"Wait." He held up a hand. "That night. A few nights ago. I went to grab a condom and you-" He paused, eyes narrowing. "You stopped me. You pulled me back and told me not to bother. I thought…" His jaw clenched so hard you could hear his teeth grind. "You already knew. Didn't you?”

It wasn't a question.

"That was after you found out." He continued, his voice rising with each word. "You already knew you were pregnant and you let me, you encouraged me to…" He broke off, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. "What was the point of that? You were already pregnant. It didn't matter anymore, did it? So why bother with the condom?"

Something inside you snapped.

"Oh, that's rich." Your voice came out sharper than you intended, but you didn't take it back. "You didn't seem too bothered about the condom when I took it from you Michael. You didn't pause. You didn't ask questions. You just-" You gestured at him, frustration burning hot behind your eyes. "You were perfectly fine with it then. But now suddenly you're mad at me for being secretive? You didn't want answers three days ago. You wanted to get laid. So don't stand there and act like I manipulated you when you were very willing. I didn’t see you hesitate."

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Michael stared at you. His mouth opened. Closed. For a brief moment, he looked like he'd been physically winded, like you'd reached across the counter and slapped him. His jaw worked, but nothing came out.

Then his expression hardened.

"Don't turn this around on me." His voice was low. Dangerous. "Don't you dare turn this around on me. I didn't know what I was getting into. You did. That's the difference." He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his soap, close enough that the water still clinging to his skin cooled the air between you. "You had all the information and I had none. That's not me being unhesitant sweetheart. That's being kept in the dark."

He turned away from you, pacing toward the window, towel riding dangerously low on his hips as he dragged both hands down his face. Then he stopped, slowly turning back to you. And the look on his face had shifted into something worse than anger, it was a realisation.

"And the last few weeks." He murmured slowly, like he was assembling a puzzle he hadn't known existed. "The snapping, the attitude. Every time I asked you what was wrong, you bit my head off like I'd done something. I really thought-" A bitter laugh escaped him. "I thought I was losing you or that I'd done something wrong. I was lying awake at night replaying every conversation trying to figure out what I'd fucked up and the whole time… the whole time, it was hormones!”

He pointed at you, not accusingly, but like he needed you to acknowledge it. "You let me think it was my fault. You let me believe that."

"I didn't know how to explain it without-"

"Without telling me the truth? Yeah. I'm getting that." He exhaled hard through his nose, turning his back to you again, one hand gripping the back of his neck. "Three weeks. Three weeks of me walking on eggshells. Three weeks of you already knowing and you let me spiral."

He was quiet for a long moment. A moment that felt like years taken off of your life. Your heart ached beneath your chest, a mixture of fear and dread instilling within you. It made you feel sick, nausea nibbling at your gut. 

"I leave for tour in two weeks." His voice was low now. Wrecked. "Two weeks. The boys are counting on me. We've been planning this for months and now…" He gestured wildly between you, his expression caught somewhere between fury and something close to disappointment. "Now you're telling me I'm about to be a father?"

"Michael-”

"I'm not finished." He spun to face you, eyes blazing. "Three weeks. You sat across from me at dinner, you slept next to me, you let me talk about the tour like everything was fine and the whole time you knew." His voice dropped, rough and bitter. "That's fucked up. You know that's fucked up, right?"

Tears burned behind your eyes, but you held his gaze. "I was scared." You admitted, hopeful that perhaps he would understand. Maybe if he acknowledged that you were afraid, he would’ve comforted you.

"You were scared?" He let out a hollow breath, bracing one hand on the doorframe. "I'm about to get on a stage in front of thousands of people and pretend like my whole life hasn't just flipped upside down and you were scared."

The kitchen fell quiet except for the drip of water from his curls hitting the tile floor.

He didn't leave.

He should have. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight enough to snap, jaw aching from how hard he'd been clenching it and the way you were standing there. Arms wrapped around yourself, eyes glassy, chin trembling just slightly like you were fighting to hold it together, was doing something dangerous to the part of him that still wanted to fix everything for you.

But he didn't leave. Not yet.

"You know what the worst part is?" His voice had gone quiet. Not calm, simply quiet. The kind of quiet that came after the storm had already torn through everything worth destroying. He wasn't even looking at you anymore. His gaze had drifted to the counter, to the pharmacy bag, to the evidence of something that had detonated both your lives. "The worst part isn't that you kept it from me. It's that I can't even be angry properly without feeling like shit about it."

Your breath caught within your throat. 

"Because I know you were scared." He swallowed and his throat worked visibly, his damp curls hanging in his face. "I know that. And I hate that I know that, because it means I can't just- I can't just be mad. I have to sit here and feel guilty for being mad at the woman who's carrying my child and that's…" He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, blinking hard at the ceiling. "That's a really shitty place to be.”

"Michael, I—" you cut in before being sharply interrupted yet again. 

"But I'm also.." He held up a hand and his voice wavered for the first time. Just barely. Just enough to notice. "I'm also really fucking angry and I don't know how to be both. I don't know how to hold both of those things at the same time."

The kitchen was thick with everything unsaid. Every sentence that started with I'm sorry or I understand or please that neither of you could bring yourself to say because the words felt too small for what was actually happening.

You watched his hand tighten around the edge of the counter. Watched his knuckles go white. And something inside your chest cracked open, not into tears, not yet, but into something worse. A guilt that was heavy and suffocating, settling into the spaces between your ribs like wet concrete.

Because he was right. Every word. He was right and you'd known he would be. That was exactly why you hadn't told him.

"I should've said something sooner," you whispered, words breaking into pieces through a sorry attempt to choke back your tears. Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. "I know that. I knew that. I just… every day it felt like there was a new reason to wait, and then one day turned into a week and then a week turned into-"

“Three.” He exhaled. Long and slow. The kind of breath that sounded like it cost him something. Then he pushed off the counter.

You watched him move toward the doorway, his towel still low, water still dripping, shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact and for one horrible moment, you thought he was going to say something else. Something that would either break this completely or start to mend it and you weren't sure which one you were more afraid of.

He paused in the doorway. One hand on the frame. His back to you.

"I need.." He stopped. His head dropped forward and you could see the tension running down his spine like a wire pulled too tight. "I need to not be in this room right now."

"Michael."

"I'm not leaving you." His voice was rough. Edged with something that might have been an apology if he'd let it be. "I just.. I can't look at you right now without wanting to either hold you or walk out that front door and I don't trust myself to pick the right one."

The words hit you like a knife in the chest.

He disappeared down the hallway. A door closed, not slammed and not the bedroom, but the spare room. The one with the pull out couch and the door that didn't lock because neither of you had ever needed it to.

And then silence.

You stood in the kitchen for a long time. Long enough for the light through the window to shift. Long enough for your tea to go cold… when had you even made tea? Long enough for the tears to finally come, quiet and slow, slipping down your cheeks without your permission.

He was right. All of it. The hormones, the condoms, the three weeks of silence. He was right and you’d known he would be and you'd kept it anyway because some stupid, terrified part of you had convinced yourself that if you just held it long enough, you'd figure out the perfect way to say it. The perfect way to make it okay.

There was no perfect way. There never had been.

You pressed your palms flat against the cool counter and let your head hang forward, hair curtaining your face, breathing shallow.

Down the hallway, Michael sat on the edge of the pull out couch which sat still unmade, still folded into itself with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

The anger was still there, loud and justified. But underneath it, curling up from somewhere deep in his chest, was something that tasted a lot like guilt.

He'd seen your face. Right at the end, when his voice had dropped and the words had come out crueler than he'd meant them, he'd seen it. The way you'd flinched. Not dramatically.

Not like he'd hurt you, but like you'd expected it. Like you'd already been bracing for the worst version of him and had stood there anyway.

That messed him up.

Because you were carrying his child. His baby. And he'd just stood in that kitchen in a towel and torn into you like you were an adversary instead of the woman he'd chosen. The woman who'd chosen him. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw stars. Three weeks. She kept it from me for three weeks.

The thought looped. Over and over, like a broken record stuck on repeat. And every time it surfaced, the anger surged back, but then immediately, like clockwork, it was followed by the image of you standing there, arms wrapped around yourself, saying 'I was scared' in a voice so small it barely reached him.

And then he felt like shit for being angry. And then he felt like shit for feeling like shit. And round and round it went.

He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that amplified every sound, the hum of the fridge, the tick of the clock in the hallway, the faint, almost imperceptible sound of breathing from the kitchen that he couldn't tell if he was imagining or not.

He should go back in there.

He should go back in there and say what? I'm sorry? He wasn't sorry. Not yet. Maybe not for a while. It's going to be okay? He didn't know that. He didn't know anything right now except that in two weeks he was supposed to be on a stage and in several months he was supposed to be a father and the woman he loved had been carrying both of those truths without him for twenty one full days.

He should go back in there. But he didn't.

Neither of you slept well that night.

You heard him move around the spare room once, the creak of the couch, the soft thud of something hitting the floor, maybe his book, maybe a pillow he'd thrown and you laid in your bed with the sheets pulled up to your chin, staring at the ceiling, counting the seconds between his movements. At some point, close to 2am, you thought you heard him say something muffled. Maybe your name. Maybe nothing.

You didn't go to him and he didn't come to you.

synopsis; ‎ꫂ᭪݁ you're too occupied with your 'boyfriend', and it's breaking michaels heart.

cw; you two faced ho.....and a little bit of jealous michael #yummersssss #angst

"I'm upset because he gets to do all the things I have to ask for."

"I'll do anything, I swear, just please."

"I'll wait. I'll give you time. I'll do whatever you need me to do. Just choose me." Those were confessions, confessions from past conversations of you two.

You caught Michael's eye when you walked up to him with a small record in your hand, with the biggest eyes and cutest smile. That smile got you whatever you wanted. You wore a little babydoll dress that moved softly with each step, the fabric hanging sweetly around your figure. Your fro framed your face perfectly, so so cute.

"Mr. Jackson, can you sign this please?" you asked sweetly, teasing him just a little.

He was almost starstruck for a moment when he saw you, and of course, he signed it, for you. He signed his name carefully with the red marker, then handed it back with a small smile.

"Gosh, my boyfriend is gonna love this!," you said happily.

Hearing that made Michael's smile fade, boyfriend, he thought. At that point, Michael knew he should have left it alone. But he didn't. The glances you both gave each other were more than friendly, and more than enough to keep Michael around you. He would secretly talk to you on the phone, if the phone bill was a little 'higher' than usual, he'd pay it with no problem. He'd have a small place where you both could hang out, sometimes the studio, sometimes at his home. You didn't mind it. If anything, you welcomed it, even if a small part of you knew you shouldn't.

In the beginning, it was fun. You shared your first kiss with him in his studio, kissing him slow with soft chuckles that fell underneath you two. But overtime...this secret started eating you alive. You started feeling guilty when your boyfriend came around you, you couldn't tell him you were speaking to another man, the man being Michael Jackson. It was complicated. Your boyfriend wasn't just someone you were dating anymore, he had become woven into your life. Your parents adored him and every family gathering somehow ended with him sitting at the dinner table. Breaking up with him wouldn't just break his heart, but it would leave questions you weren't ready to answer.

You didn't want to let Michael go either, so, you just kept it quiet.

ʚɞ Present.

Michael's fingers tapped against the arm rest. He sat firm in his chair wearing his usual polo and slacks. He waited all afternoon to hear from you, just waiting for any sign that you were thinking about him the way he was thinking about you. He was patient about a lot of things, but when it came to you, his patience seemed to run thin.

I need to see her.

I need her.

Michael hated how easily those thoughts came to him. He had spent the whole day trying to convince himself that he was fine, that he could give you space. So he worked on some music, scribbling some lyrics in his notebook and playing around with the music board. His fingers pressed over the board, he tried to keep himself busy.

But the truth was, he missed you. And painfully so.

The worse part about this whole thing was, he couldn't really talk to you. After all, you had a boyfriend. Everything had to keep quiet between the two of you, you didn't want word getting out to any family members or news media. With Michael's name growing bigger every day, the last thing either of you needed was rumors spreading about a secret relationship.

That was another reason you had to keep quiet. You were proud of Michael. You always told him that. You told him how happy you were seeing him succeed, how much you believed in him.

And Michael loved hearing that.

He just wished, for once, he didn't have to share you with someone else.

The man who could have anything he wanted, wanted you. But he couldn't, at least not at this time. He would have countless talks with you about it, beg even, and you'd always say "Just give me some time."

He'd convinced himself he could live with it. That if waiting meant eventually having you, then it would be worth it. But seeing you with your boyfriend made every promise he'd made to himself fall apart.

Michael never really knew what to make of him. He wasn't rude to you, he wasn't cruel. In fact, this almost made it harder. If he had been some terrible person, maybe Michael could've found a reason to dislike him. But he couldn't.

He was just… there.

The man who got to stand beside you in public, the man who could hold your hand without worrying about who was watching. The man who didn't have to wonder when he would hear from you again.

Michael didn't care much for him, but he couldn't deny one thing. He thought it was almost amusing how much the man admired his music.

He heard the way your boyfriend would talk about his songs, how he'd compliment his voice, his performances, the way he moved on stage. It was strange, almost ironic. The man who had the one thing Michael wanted was also one of the many people who looked up to him.

Sometimes Michael wondered if he knew...

If he knew the person he listened to on the radio was the same person who stayed up late talking to his girlfriend. The thought made him feel guilty, because he knew this wasn't right. He knew there were lines he shouldn't be crossing.

But he was still human.

᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

Eventually, he had enough of sitting around waiting. He grabbed his jacket and left, convincing himself he only needed to clear his head.

But he knew the truth, he wanted to see you.

It didn't take long to find you. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it was God. Either way, Michael's eyes found you almost instantly. There you were, laughing with your boyfriend, smiling so freely it almost made his chest ache.

Michael's jaw tightened the moment your boyfriend stepped away somewhere, probably the restroom. He had spent the last few minutes watching from a distance, trying to convince himself he wasn't bothered, but seeing you with him had only made that familiar ache return.

The second he was alone with you, Michael made his move.

He adjusted the sleeve of his jacket before making his way over to you. His appearance was simple, almost ordinary. A pair of dark glasses covered his eyes, and a jacket rested over his shoulders, hiding him just enough from wandering looks. It might have worked on strangers, but not on you.

You would know him anywhere.

It was in the way he carried himself, the way he moved, the quiet confidence that followed him even when he tried to disappear. Michael could cover his face, but he couldn't hide from someone who knew him as well as you did.

"Hey," he called to you quiet.

His voice was always so soft spoken, that's one of the reasons why you liked him. He never was quick to anger.

You turned your head, a little caught off guard in shocked. "Michael," you whispered his name. You felt your face get a lil too warm, the feeling that came in was close to embarrassed.

"What are you doing here?" You asked him.

Michael shrugged before answering with a little, "...I missed you."

He then tilted his head at you, studying your reaction, there was a quiet disappointment sitting behind his brown eyes. "I took off some time from the studio waiting for you. I thought you were gonna come down and well...." he didn't finish his sentence, but you knew what he was going to say.

He just wanted to spend time with you, like before. He thought you were going to choose him for once. The nights were you'd sneak out and kiss him so secretly behind your porch. Hands running all over his face, lips trembling against his so feverishly. He remembered every kiss you gave him and where it was. He remembered the way you would look at him before leaning closer, the way your smile would soften when it was just the two of you

So when he saw you do the same with another man, he couldn't help but feel jealous.

He looked at you for a moment, not saying anything. You shook your head slightly, "Michael I'm sorry, today just wasn't a good time." 'It's never a good time,' Michael thought to himself.

He then leaned up off the wall, "...You could have told me, I'd understand."

"I know...but..." the words couldn't leave your lips so Michael finished it for you.

"But you were too busy with your boyfriend?"

You scoffed quietly, the comment hitting a little too close to home. The way he said it made you feel exposed, it made clear how much of two faced you were being. He stared at you, eyes low. "Yeah, I was," you replied to him.

"Funny," Michael said quietly.

"You had time to go out with him," he said, his voice calm but carrying a quiet frustration. "You had time to laugh with him, spend the afternoon with him, kiss him…"

He paused, "But I couldn't get one phone call?"

"It was just a kiss on the cheek Michael, and I was going to call you," you insist.

"I know where the kiss was y/n," Michael scoffed under his breath, "It's not the point."

"I left you all alone, thinking you would pick up the phone and you didn't...I just....it's iffy." he shook his head. He then shifted his weight onto his other foot, almost uncomfortable at the situation.

"...I've been seeing you for months," he shakes his head again. "Months, you won't even hold my hand outside."

"But him..." his eyes finally meet yours. "...he gets all the things I gotta imagine."

Your heart tightened hearing that. Michael was hurting. You gently bit the inside of your cheek, your gaze drifting to the pavement as you searched for something, anything that would make this easier. Every excuse sounded the same before it even left your mouth. Slowly, you looked back up at him.

"It's just… a bad time, Michael."

He'd heard those words enough times to know they didn't mean anything anymore. It was always a bad time. Slowly, he nodded, though the motion felt more like surrender than understanding. "Yeah…" he murmured, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

The silence between you settled heavily, filled only by passing conversations and the distant hum of the city around you. After a moment, he looked away with a faint, tired smile that never quite reached his eyes.

"...You know, I wanted to have you today so you could hear the song I've been writing."

Your brows knitted together. "The one you've been workin' on?"

If only you knew what he meant then. He nodded at you, his eyes ran over your pretty face before meeting your eyes again.

"You've been askin' me about it, figured I'd finally play it for you." He glanced toward the area where your boyfriend had disappeared before looking back at you. Whatever hope had been sitting behind his eyes only moments ago had quietly faded.

"I guess…" he paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Guess you'll hear it when everybody else does." And with that he walked away. You stood there, feeling some type of way.

It sounded like Michael meant more than what he just said, but you couldn't understand.

ᨳଓ .

A month had passed. Not a single phone call, no voicemail, not a knock at your door. Nothing.

Michael hadn't reached out once, and truthfully… neither had you. Where you both over? No, you didn't think so. At first, you told yourself he probably just needed space. After everything that happened, maybe it was for the best. But as the days stretched into weeks, the silence became harder to ignore. Was he avoiding you?

Maybe, and rightfully so. Every time you thought about picking up the phone, guilt settled in your stomach, convincing you it'd be easier to stay where you were. Hiding away with your 'boyfriend,' seemed better than talking out things with Michael.

That afternoon, you laid comfortably against your boyfriend's chest while the radio played softly in the background. His fingers lazily traced circles along your arm as station after station played songs that barely held your attention.

You were just about to drift off when a gentle melody filled the room. It was sweet, almost dreamy.

Without thinking, you nuzzled your face further into your boyfriend's chest, a small smile tugging at your lips. 'Finally, something good,' you thought to yourself. Then, a cheerful voice came through.

"Girlfriend, I'm gonna tell your boyfriend, yeah. Tell him, exactly what we're doin', yeah. Tell him what you do to me....late at night when the wind is free...."

It was Michael. On the radio.

Singing...about....

Your eyes widened in a quiet shock, but your boyfriend's face lit up almost immediately. He let out a small laugh, sitting up just enough to glance over at the radio before looking back at you.

"Hey!," he said with an easy grin, "ain't that Michael!?"

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

"...Yeah," you answered quietly, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. You tried to settle back against his chest, forcing yourself to relax, but your body refused. Instead, guilt slowly crawled up the back of your neck, hot and suffocating.

'Guess you'll hear it when everybody else does.'

His words echoed in your mind so clearly it was almost as if he were standing beside you. This is what he meant. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your boyfriend's shirt as you listened more carefully. At first, the melody had sounded sweet, almost innocent feeling. But now every lyric felt heavier than the last. They weren't just words anymore.

"We're gonna have to tell him, You'll only be a girlfriend of mine."

Your brows pulled together at that, then a quiet scoff escaped your lips as you shook your head, almost in disbelief.

"Unbelievable…" you muttered beneath your breath. So this was the song he'd been talking about, this was the one he wanted you to hear so badly. But you never could just give him the time of day. Irritation started bubbling heavily in your chest. Really, Michael? You wanted to be angry. You were angry. It felt unfair, like he'd taken something private and wrapped it in a melody for the whole world to sing along to.

But gosh… was it pretty. There wasn't any bitterness in his voice.

Maybe a small hint of teasing, a little mocking tone buried beneath the sweetness of it all, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

You then sat up, "I gotta go."

Your boyfriend blinked, looking over at you in confusion. "Already?"

Before he could ask anything else, you were already reaching for your shoes and purse, trying to come up with a reason that didn't sound suspicious. "I, uh…" You cleared your throat.

"I forgot my mom said I need to help my sister with her sociology homework." It wasn't exactly a lie, your sister did need help. Just not from you.

She was already on campus getting assistance from one of her classmates, but it was the only excuse you could think of in the moment. Your boyfriend stared at you for a second, clearly confused by the sudden change of plans, but eventually he just nodded.

"Alright. I'll see you later then..."

Normally, you would've leaned in. Given him a kiss goodbye. Told him you'd call him later. But you couldn't, not when your mind was somewhere else entirely.

"...Yeah, bye," you said softly before walking out.

ᨳଓ . The drive home felt longer than usual, always as if you were driving in circles until you came across your stone mailbox. Your hands stayed tight around the steering wheel, your thoughts running in circles. You replayed every word he'd said that day, every moment you'd avoided him, every time you convinced yourself the situation would somehow fix itself.

But now he had said everything without actually saying anything.

By the time you pulled into your driveway, you already knew what you were going to do. You rushed inside, dropped your purse onto the counter, and immediately reached for the phone.

Your fingers hesitated over the numbers for just a moment. Then you dialed and waited for him to answer.

One ring...

Then another

Then another...

You stared at the phone, your brows slowly raising. "Oh?" you scoffed quietly to yourself. A small, humorless laugh left your lips.

That's real funny.

After a month of silence, after leaving you with a song full of words he couldn't say to your face, now he wanted to act like he wasn't available. You shook your head, though the little ache in your chest betrayed you. You hated that you were even surprised, you got so used to him calling you, you didn't even know what it felt like to be waiting on the other line.

Maybe you deserved it. Maybe this was his way of making you feel what he felt.

The ringing continued until the line clicked. It was a quiet silence, neither of you spoke first. As bad as your nerves was, they suddenly calmed at hearing his breathing on the phone.

"Hello," was all he said. Nothing sweet, not how he usually did. You swallowed, staring down at the floor as if the answer was somehow written there.

"Nice song," you said getting straight into it, your voice carried a little more bitterness than you intended.

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Hm," Michael hummed quietly.

He knew you would call eventually. Maybe not that night. Maybe not the next day. But he knew. He had always been patient, that was one thing you could never take away from him.

"I'm glad it reached the right audience," he finally said, his voice smooth, almost sweet.

You immediately bit down on your tongue, of course he had to say it like that. He knew exactly how to relax and get under your skin, the same way you did him.

"Michael."

A small chuckle escaped him, but there wasn't much humor behind it. "Y/n," he said his voice becoming slightly firm again. He then leaned back in his seat while looking over some new lyrics he was writing.

"I'm a little busy right now. If you have something to say, say it to me in person." He paused. "Other than that, I'll be expecting you to pay your own phone bill."

You blinked, for a second, you almost laughed.

It was strange hearing him say that. Usually, he was the one reminding you not to worry about it. Usually, he'd insist on taking care of it before you even had the chance to argue.

But things were different now.

You scoffed softly, leaning your shoulder against the wall.

"So now you don't have time for me, Michael?" you asked, your voice calm, carrying that sweet little sarcastic edge he knew all too well. There was a pause, a long one which made you give a chuckle of your own.

"You're still mad about that kiss I gave him and not you?"

Michael's eyes glanced up from his notebook and looked onto the blank wall in front of him. The kiss...he felt himself getting irritated, again. He kept quiet, not saying anything.

For a second, you thought maybe you'd finally gotten a reaction out of him.

Then Michael quietly said, "I'm free tomorrow," and before you could respond, the line went dead.

The silence that followed rang in your ear. Your fingers tightened slightly around the phone as you stared ahead, caught somewhere between irritation and something you didn't want to admit.

He had gotten the last word but somehow, he still gave you a chance.

And yes, you were going to visit him tomorrow.

©cherrishkissed .ೃ࿔*:･

authors note; was listening to a song and got inspired, I had to write something that's it LMAO. not rlly proofread🌚

current taglist! °❀⋆

Michael Jackson x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Summary: It had been a week since your unexpected encounter with Michael Jackson. When you heard the news that he had left New York, you couldn't help but feel disappointed. You never expected anything to come from that night, but a small part of you had hoped you would see him again.

Content: slow burn, fluff, thrad era, no use of y/n

wc: 5.4k

A/N: this one took me a while, sorry to keep yall waiting 🫣 and the comments on my other parts💕 make me more confident and excited to write 😊 if you want to be added to a tag list let me know

Part 3 - “Designer Sunglasses”

Brooklyn, New York

A week had passed since your unexpected encounter with Michael. Life had mostly returned to normal. 

Mostly. 

Emeline had spent the entire week talking nonstop about Marlon, how they'd shared a taxi ride, every word he'd said to her, and, most importantly, how he'd somehow convinced Studio 54 to lift her ban. 

Good grief. The clubbing stories will never end, you thought.

She continued keeping tabs on the Jacksons, reporting on every rumour, appearance, and sighting she could find while they were in New York. Normally, you tuned her out the moment she started talking. This week, though, you found yourself listening.

Just out of curiosity, nothing more. 

Then one afternoon, Emeline casually mentioned that the brothers had flown back to California. For reasons you couldn't explain, your heart sank. It wasn't as though you expected to see Michael again. The two of you had met by complete accident, and he lived a life that couldn't have been more different from yours. Yet, some small, irrational part of you had liked knowing he was somewhere in the same city. Now that possibility was gone. You quietly shook the thought from your mind.

It had only been one night. You barely knew him. So why did it feel like you were already missing him? 

You hadn't told Emeline everything that happened that night. There didn't seem to be a reason to. Nothing had really happened. Well, nothing you could explain, anyway. Besides, if she found out you'd spent time alone with Michael hidden in hospital storage closets, eating sandwiches at four in the morning, and almost-

No.

She would never let you live it down. So you kept it to yourself. Yet, despite your best efforts to forget about it, your mind kept drifting back to him. To the way his soft brown eyes had looked at you. There had been something so gentle, so sincere, about the way he saw you that it sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. You weren't used to someone looking at you like that.

You felt your cheeks grow warm.

"What are you so deep in thought about?" Emeline's voice snapped you back to reality as she wandered into the kitchen. You shifted on the couch, fiddling with the remote. 

"Nothing." The answer came a little too quickly.

She paused, narrowing her eyes at you. "...Okay then." You rolled your eyes, hoping she'd leave it alone. "Well, I'm off to work."

You gave a lazy wave from the couch. "Try not to get arrested." 

She gasped dramatically. “That was one time!”

"One time is enough." She laughed as she headed for the door. 

"See you later!" The apartment fell quiet once more.

You continued flipping through channels on the TV. For once, it was a beautiful fall day. The sun streamed through the apartment windows, casting a warm glow across the living room. And yet, you were spending your day off curled up on the loveseat with a stack of papers spread across the coffee table. 

Being a teaching assistant at NYU had its perks. Grading assignments wasn't one of them. You finished marking another paper before letting your pen fall onto the table with a sigh. You glanced toward the window.

This can wait. 

The weather was far too nice to waste time indoors. Besides, your stomach had begun reminding you that you'd skipped breakfast. The papers would still be there when you got back.

Throwing on your coat, you grabbed your keys and headed out the door. A quick trip to the bodega next to your building sounded much better than spending another minute staring at essays. As you stepped into the bodega, you headed straight for the deli counter.

"Afternoon, Sam," you greeted him with a smile. "I'll have my usual." Sam looked up from the grill with a knowing grin. 

"You wanna make that two?"

You furrowed your brows. "Why?"

Instead of answering, he pointed his spatula to the aisle behind you. You slowly turned around. 

Your heart dropped.

Standing awkwardly in the snack aisle was Michael. His hood was pulled over his curls, and a scarf covered the lower half of his face as he studied a bag of potato chips with far more interest than anyone reasonably should.

You turned back to Sam, confusion and shock visible on your face. He chuckled. 

"That boy you came in with last week," he lowered his voice. "Recognized him the second he walked in. Same jacket, same build." Your eyes widened. "He's been pacing around the store for about forty minutes."

"Forty?"

"I figured he was waiting for you," Sam smirked as he flipped a piece of bacon on the grill. "You should've told him you were running late."

"I-" You blinked several times. "What?" This couldn't be real. Wasn't he supposed to be back in California? 

Sam waved his spatula toward the aisle. "Don't keep the poor kid waiting. I'll have your sandwiches ready." He shoos you away. 

Still trying to process what was happening, you slowly walked toward the snack aisle. Michael hadn't noticed you yet. You watched as he picked up another bag of chips and put it back. Picked up another and looked at the ingredients. He was stalling. 

From behind, you reached out and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He spun around.

The moment he saw you, his entire expression changed. His eyes lit up.

"Oh…" He said softly. "Hey." He quietly placed the bag of chips back on the shelf.

"Hi..." You studied him for a moment. "I'm sorry, but," you gestured around the store. "What are you doing here?"

Michael glances away and rubs the back of his neck. "I just wanted another one of those sandwiches."

You stared at him. "Michael."

"Hm?" He looked back at you with those familiar doe eyes.

"This is New York."

He nodded.

"There are probably ten thousand bodegas."

"Probably."

"So you didn't have to come all the way to this one." 

A nervous laugh escaped him. Michael looked down at the floor, suddenly finding the old floor far more interesting than your gaze. "Well," His eyes met yours. "I wanted to see you again."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"I remembered what you said, about not having an authentic New York experience. I figured,” he paused, "...you'd be the perfect person to show me."

For a moment, you forgot how to speak.

The truth was, Michael hadn't stopped thinking about you since that night. Every day, you'd crossed his mind. He'd tried convincing himself it was just because the night had been unusual. But that wasn't it. He wanted to see you again. He wanted to be near you again. So when his brothers flew back to California, he'd found an excuse to stay behind for a few extra days. He’d deal with Joseph later. 

Bill hadn't questioned it. Not out loud, anyway.

This morning, Michael had asked Bill to drop him off outside your building. Since then, he'd spent nearly an hour wandering around the tiny bodega, pretending to browse snacks while trying to work up the courage to knock on your apartment door.

He didn’t make it far at all. And now, as you stand in front of him, he couldn't quite believe his luck.

You eyed him suspiciously, trying your best to hide the fact that you were internally freaking out.

"But you're you," you said. "And it's the middle of the day." You weren't exactly saying no, just really shocked. He is Michael Jackson after all. The sun was out, and the city was busy as usual. Someone is bound to recognize him eventually.

Michael smiled, as if he'd already thought this through.

"That's why I brought these." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of oversized black sunglasses. With a satisfied grin, he slipped them on. "See?"

You stared at him for a beat. Then rolled your eyes. "You're unbelievable." 

"Two bacon, egg, and cheese sandwiches!" Sam's voice echoed from behind the counter. "They're ready!" Both of you turn in his direction. 

"For us?" Michael asked, surprised. 

Nodding, unable to hide a small smile. The two of you walked over to the counter, where Sam handed each of you a warm foil-wrapped sandwich.

"There you go." 

Michael reached for his wallet. "How much do I owe you?"

Sam immediately held up a hand. "Nope." Michael looked confused. "It's on the house today."

"I can't let you do that."

"You can."

Sam grinned. "Just remember me when the big day comes."

Michael raised a brow. "The big day?"

Before Sam could elaborate, you quickly grabbed Michael by the arm. "Okay! Bye, Sam." You practically dragged him toward the door.

Behind you, Sam laughed. "You ain't fooling anybody!"

Heat rushed to your cheeks. "Have a nice day, Sam!"

“I always do!”

The bell above the door jingled as the two of you stepped out onto the sidewalk. Only once you were halfway down the street did Michael finally speak.

"Should I ask what he meant by 'the big day?'"

You groaned. "No." You had a feeling of what Sam meant, but you did not want to entertain the idea. 

"Was he talking about us?"

"No."

"He definitely was."

"Please stop talking." Michael laughed.

As the two of you continued down the sidewalk, the conversation faded into a comfortable silence. You walked side by side, eating your sandwiches as you went. Michael kept his hood pulled low and his sunglasses on, blending into the afternoon crowd better than you expected. You could still tell it was him. Everyone else, however, was too busy rushing to work, catching buses, or juggling coffee cups to pay him any attention.

For once, he was out in broad daylight, and no one was asking for an autograph or chasing him with a camera. He liked it. There was something strangely freeing about doing something so ordinary as walking through New York with a sandwich in hand like everyone else.

He found himself smiling.

"What?" you asked, noticing the expression.

"Nothing." He took another bite of his sandwich. "I've just never done this before."

"What? Walk?"

He laughed. "No." He looked around at the crowded sidewalks. "Just be."

You glanced at him. You understood exactly what he meant.

An idea suddenly sparked in your mind. "There." You pointed toward the subway entrance across the street. "Come on."

Michael followed your finger to the staircase leading underground. "The subway?"

"You said you wanted an authentic New York experience." A mischievous grin spread across your face. "Well," you started walking toward the entrance. "You haven't seen anything yet!"

Grabbing his wrist, you led Michael down the subway steps. The sounds of the city slowly disappeared, as the rumble of trains, echoed announcements, and hurried footsteps surrounded you. Michael had ridden the subway once or twice when he had first arrived in New York years ago. After that, Bill had driven him everywhere.

He could feel a knot of nervous excitement settling in his stomach, though he hoped it didn't show. Everyone around him seemed to know exactly where they were going. People rushed past without a second glance, too preoccupied with catching trains to pay attention to the hooded man walking beside you.

As you approached the turnstiles, you glanced around, then casually hopped over one. Landing on the other side, you turned back with a grin.

Michael looked at you with shock.

"You coming?"

He looked at the turnstile. Then back at you.

"Isn’t that illegal?" People continued to walk past him as he stood on the other side. 

You folded your arms. "Are you scared?"

"No."

"Then hurry up before security comes!" You motioned him over. "Live a little, be a little bad."

“I don’t know…” he hesitated. Michael looked around one last time. Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he hopped over. Landing beside you, he let out an involuntary laugh.

"I can't believe I just did that."

"I can."

Without another word, you led him deeper into the crowded station as he followed closely beside you. The platform was packed. People squeezed past in every direction, making it difficult to stay together. As the crowd thickened, his hand brushed against yours. You instinctively reached for it, wrapping your fingers around his hand.

"So you don’t get lost.” You said avoiding eye contact. 

His long fingers carefully intertwined with yours. You tried to fight the smile threatening to appear on your face as you kept your eyes fixed on the tracks ahead.

Beside you, Michael looked down at your joined hands before looking back at you. He noticed the tiny smile you were trying so hard to hide. He couldn't stop the grin spreading across his own face.

He had performed in front of sold-out arenas and stood before millions of screaming fans without flinching. Yet holding your hand in a crowded New York subway made him more nervous than any stage ever had.

As the train screeched to a stop, you gently tugged Michael inside before the doors could close.

The subway car was packed as people stood shoulder to shoulder. You managed to squeeze toward one of the metal poles in the center of the car and wrapped a hand around it. Michael stepped in behind you, reaching past your arm to grab the same pole.

His chest hovered close enough behind that you could feel the warmth radiating through his jacket. You caught the faint scent of his cologne. He smelled of amber, flowers, and vanilla, which hit your nose.

More passengers squeezed in before the doors slid shut. 

The train jerked forward. The sudden movement threw Michael off balance since he was not used to riding the subway; he lost his balance for a split second. Instinctively, a hand found your waist to steady himself

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice close enough that you felt it more than heard it.

He realized just how close the two of you were at the same time you did. His fingers twitched as if he meant to pull away. Instead, they stayed exactly where they were.

Neither of you moved. There simply wasn't room to.

The train swayed gently from side to side, and with every turn, the crowd shifted as one. Each movement nudged the two of you a fraction closer before settling again.

You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing behind you. 

Michael swallowed. He wondered if you could hear how fast his heart was beating.

You, meanwhile, found yourself focusing far too hard on the station map above the doors, pretending to study stops you already knew by heart. Anything to avoid thinking about the hand still resting on your waist.

You cleared your throat. "This is our stop." 

Michael reluctantly let his hand fall from your waist. For reasons you both were not going to admit, neither of you were in much of a hurry to step apart.

The train slowed, its brakes squealing against the tracks. As the doors slid open, the crowd surged toward the platform. Just as you stepped onto the platform, Michael caught your hand. 

He glanced at your joined hands, then back at you. "Don't want to lose you too," he said with a small smile.

You simply nodded and continued walking, trying not to think about how naturally your fingers fit together.

Exiting the station hand in hand, you led him toward one of your favourite hidden gems. The city buzzed around you as the two of you wandered through the streets, conversation flowing far more easily than you expected. You told him stories about working as a teaching assistant in NYU's theatre department, about students who forgot their lines, costume disasters, and your dream of one day working on Broadway.

He listened intently, asking questions that made it obvious he genuinely cared about the answers. Eventually, the conversation drifted to Emeline.

"She's the reason I was at Studio 54 that night."

Michael glanced over at you with a playful smile.

"Not because I was there?"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself."

He clutched a hand dramatically to his chest.

"I was sound asleep," you continued. "Then I got a phone call at two in the morning, having to come and save the day” 

Michael laughed.

For once, Michael wasn't the one carrying the conversation. It was nice. Eventually, he began sharing stories of his own, recording sessions that went late into the night, his brothers' constant teasing, and the chaos of touring as a child.

Before long, you rounded a quiet corner.

"There it is." You pointed across the street. "My safe haven."

Michael followed your gaze.

On the corner sat a weathered two-story bookstore, large front windows displaying stacks of novels. It looked like it had been there forever. It probably has. 

"It doesn't look like much," you admitted. "But it's my favourite place in the city."

Michael smiled. "I already like it."

You pushed open the door. A small brass bell chimed overhead. The scent of old paper and wood filled your senses.  

"It's perfect," you said quietly. "Besides you and me, it's usually just older people browsing. It's never crowded."

Michael slipped off his sunglasses and tucked them into his jacket.

"Perfect," he echoed.

Unbeknownst to you, bookstores have always been one of his favourite places. He'd loved reading since he was a child, especially fairy tales, fantasy novels, and stories that let him disappear into another world for a little while. You had unknowingly brought him somewhere that already felt like home.

The two of you wandered off in different directions. You drifted toward the horror section.

"The Shining." You smiled as you pulled the familiar novel from the shelf.

A voice echoed from the next aisle. "Hey." Michael's head peeked around the end of a bookcase. "Where's the fantasy section?"

"Upstairs."

He grinned. Without another word, he disappeared toward the staircase. Already holding your book, you followed more slowly.

At the back of the second floor, tucked between towering bookshelves, was your favourite corner. You slid down until you were sitting on the wooden floor, your back resting comfortably against the shelf. 

You became so absorbed in your book that you barely noticed Michael walking over until he quietly slid down beside you, shoulder to shoulder against the bookshelf.

You glanced over at the book resting in his lap. "Peter Pan and Wendy?"

He nodded, unable to hide his excitement.

"It's a first edition." He carefully ran a thumb along the cover. "I can't believe I found it here."

"Why that book?"

His expression softened. "To me, Peter Pan represents magic." His eyes lit up as he turned toward you. "He never loses that childlike sense of wonder. He believes anything is possible." He smiled to himself. "I think I relate to that."

His voice had grown quieter and more vulnerable. "I've been working like an adult since I was a kid." He looked back down at the worn pages in his hands. "So books like this, let me escape for a little while." 

He absentmindedly traced the edge of the page with his thumb. Whenever the pressure of the world grew too heavy, he found himself returning to stories like Peter Pan. Neverland represented everything he longed for: a place where he could be free, where there were no responsibilities, no expectations, and a place where he couldn’t feel the weight of the world resting on their shoulders.

"Neverland is a place where nobody expects anything from you. A place to be yourself. " His fingers continued fidgeting with the corner of the paper. “I just hope to be a Peter Pan to others someday.” 

You gently placed your hand over his, stopping his restless fingers. The movement made him look up.

"You already are, Michael," you said quietly.

Michael's face flushes. 

"I've seen the newspapers. The hospital visits, the children's charities, the way those kids look at you." You smiled. "To them, you already are a little bit of magic."

Michael's brown eyes softened. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. No one had ever phrased it that way before. 

His lips slowly curled into a smile. "So," he said after a moment, a teasing glint returning to his eyes, "you do keep up with me?"

You immediately rolled your eyes. "Oh, don't ruin the moment."

He laughed.

"I'm serious." You said. 

"So am I."

He studied your face for a second longer, searching for any sign that you were only saying it to be nice. There wasn't one.

"You really think that?"

"I do."

The teasing disappeared from his expression. The words seemed to steal the air from his lungs.

The bookstore was silent except for the faint creak of the old building and some murmurs downstairs. Like the time in your apartment, he looked at you. Really looked at you.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he lifted a hand and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

His palm lingered against your cheek.

"You have no idea what that means to me," he whispered. Your heartbeat quickened. You didn’t look away. 

The distance between you seemed to disappear. Michael leaned forward, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn't. 

Instead, you closed the remaining space yourself. 

His lips brushed yours in a soft, tentative kiss before he kissed you back just as gently.

He had wanted to kiss you ever since that night a week ago. Now that it was finally happening, he didn't want to rush it. He wanted to savour every second. His hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his touch warm and careful as he drew you a little closer.

You instinctively leaned into him, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his jacket. A quiet moan escaped you before you could stop it.

Michael smiled against your lips. 

Wanting to be closer, you shifted without thinking, carefully straddling onto his lap without breaking the kiss. The sudden movement caught him by surprise. The kiss broke for only a second. A soft breath escaped him as he looked up at you, his hands instinctively steadying your waist. 

When your eyes met again, something had changed. The warmth in his gaze had darkened, making your pulse race. Unable to resist, you leaned in again. This kiss was less hesitant than the first.

Your fingers slipped into the soft curls at the nape of his neck, gently threading through them as you drew him closer. Slowly sliding your tongue in his mouth, you deepened the kiss. Michael let out a quiet, involuntary whimper against your lips, one hand tightening ever so slightly at your waist before he kissed you back with equal enthusiasm. 

This kiss was hungrier as his tongue tentatively met yours. It was warm and uncertain in the best way. It was like he hadn’t done this in ages. But this is Michael Jackson, you thought, he could have anyone he wanted. 

His lips moved against yours with quiet urgency now that there was little space left between you. 

“Michael,” you groaned. Hearing you say his name like that sends him into a frenzy. You could feel him beneath you. A growing hardness pressed against your thigh as he shifted slightly, he pulled from the kiss and started kissing your jaw. 

Then footsteps. Someone was coming up the stairs. Reality came rushing back.

You both immediately pulled apart. You quickly moved off his lap, settling back onto the floor beside him as you tried to compose yourself. The two of you sat there in silence, listening as an elderly woman slowly walked past the aisle without giving either of you a second glance.

Only when she disappeared did you look back at Michael. His lips were slightly flushed and swollen, and his hair a little messier than before.

You touched your own lips, realizing you probably looked just as dishevelled. A laugh escaped you.

What is my life? You thought.

Michael buried his face in his hands. "I can't believe we just did that in here," he whispered.

You looked over at him, a small smile forming. "Do you regret it?"

His hands lowered as he looked at you. "No." The answer came immediately. He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. "I think we both know I don't."

‧₊ ♪˚⊹

After purchasing your books, the two of you stepped back out onto the street. The afternoon had slipped away without either of you noticing. The sun was beginning to sink behind the buildings, bathing the streets in a warm golden glow. You walked hand in hand down the block.

It felt natural.

You had no idea where any of this was leading, but for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to simply enjoy the moment.

Beside you, Michael had returned to his "disguise," with his hood pulled low and sunglasses hiding his eyes. Every now and then, he'd glance over at you, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He still couldn't quite believe this was his life right now. A week ago, the two of you had been complete strangers. Now he was walking through New York hand in hand with you, without a care in the world. 

A few blocks later, you pushed open the door to an old neighbourhood diner. The familiar scent of coffee, fries, and grilled burgers greeted you immediately. You slid into a secluded booth near the back while Michael sat across from you. Satisfied that the diner was practically empty and no one was paying attention, he slipped off his sunglasses. After looking at the menu for a couple of minutes, with a pen and notepad, a waitress came by ready to take the order. 

"Hmm" you hummed, scanning the menu. "I’ll get the double chocolate milkshake."

Michael looked up from his own menu. He pointed confidently. "The orange cream shake."

Scrunching your nose, you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself. 

A few minutes later, the waitress returned with two towering milkshakes. You didn't waste a second taking a sip of your chocolate shake, your eyes widened.

"Oh," you leaned back against the booth. "That is amazing."

Michael smiled, amused by your reaction, before taking a sip of his own. His expression immediately changed. He swallowed. Then looked back at the glass.

"...Huh."

You raised an eyebrow. A smug grin spread across your face as you thought back to the time in your apartment. "Haven’t I told you that orange sucks?"

"It does not."

"It absolutely does."

Michael glanced from his milkshake to yours. Then, before you realized what he was doing, he reached across the table and stole your glass.

"Hey!"

He took a sip. His eyes immediately lit up. “Trade?”He slid your milkshake toward himself. You quickly snatched it back.

"No way." He frowned dramatically.

“One more sip, please?” 

You narrowed your eyes.

"One." A grin spread across his face. He took another sip before sliding the glass back across the table. "Worth it."

You shook your head, trying not to smile.

As the afternoon went on, the two of you kept talking in the small booth. He told you stories about his animals. You had known he owned unusual pets, but hearing him speak about them, it was obvious they meant far more to him than a novelty. He knew each of their personalities, their little habits, the things they liked. He spoke about them with so much affection that you found yourself smiling more at him than at the stories.

"You really love them, don't you?" you asked.

Michael nodded without hesitation. "They're honest," he said simply. "They don't care who I am."

Something about that answer tugged at your heart. The conversation flowed effortlessly after that. Somewhere along the way, your hands had found each other across the table.

As he talked, his thumb absentmindedly traced slow circles over the back of your hand, his fingers fidgeting with yours as though he couldn't quite stop himself from touching you.

You didn't mind. In fact, you found yourself doing the same.

For a little while, the rest of New York disappeared. It felt as though the two of you existed inside your own little bubble.

"Found you." 

A camera flashed. The bright burst of light made you both flinch. Michael's hand slipped from yours instantly.

"What-?"

Another flash. 

Then another.

"There he is!"

"Over here!"

Within seconds, several photographers rushed through the diner doors, cameras raised.

Flash.

Flash.

Flash.

Your heart lurched into your throat. You instinctively lifted a hand to shield your face from the relentless lights. Michael immediately stood, stepping slightly in front of you.

"Please," he called, trying to remain calm. "Can you give us some space?"

No one listened. The questions came all at once.

"Who's the girl?"

"Michael, are you dating?"

"What's her name?"

"Is this your girlfriend?"

The flashes became blinding. You could barely think. Everything was happening too fast.

Michael looked back at you. The panic on your face made his stomach drop. He was used to the chaos of the press, but you weren’t. He didn’t want you to experience this. Without thinking, he spoke to the paparazzi. 

"She's no one, okay?" Michael said quickly, trying to get ahead of the questions. "She's just a fan who wanted to talk. I love my fans. Why would I turn them away?"

The photographers exchanged skeptical looks, ready to fire off another round of questions. Before they could, the waitress stormed over.

"Out! All of you!"

After several loud protests and one final round of camera flashes, she managed to shove them back outside and lock the diner door. Silence settled over the room. You slowly turned to look at Michael.

She's no one.

The words echoed in your mind. Only moments ago, you'd been laughing across the table. Now it felt as though an invisible wall had appeared between you. A reminder that, despite everything that had happened, he is still Michael Jackson.

And you were just no one.

Michael sat back down across from you. Thinking the danger had passed, he reached across the table for your hand.

You pulled it away. His smile faltered. "What's wrong?"

You stared down at your milkshake. "If I were someone else," you said quietly, "would you have said that?"

He frowned. "What?"

"If I were Diana Ross or Brooke Shields. Would I still be 'just a fan'?"

Realization washed over his face. "No, that's not what I meant. I was trying to protect you."

"By pretending I don't matter?" Your voice wasn't angry. That somehow made it hurt even more. Michael leaned forward.

"The media twists everything. If they thought we were..." He sighed. "Things would get crazy."

"Why does it have to get crazy?"

"Because," He started. “I'm Michael Jackson, and you're just an ordinary girl."

The moment the sentence ended, he wished he could take it back. You looked away. It wasn't exactly what he meant, but it was what you heard.

An ordinary girl.

Someone who could never belong in his world. Deep down, you already knew that, but it still hurt. You two had spent the entire day in your own little bubble, and you both forgot about the real world. Until it reminded you.

You slowly stood from the booth.

"I have to go."

"Wait." He jumped from the booth, gently catching your wrist before you could take another step." Please don't leave."

You pulled your wrist from his hold. You finally looked at him. Your eyes were glassy. A sad smile crossed your face.

"I'm no one, remember?"

Michael's heart sank. "No..." He reached for you again. You took a step back.

"I think we both forgot, for a little while, that our worlds don't really fit together." You swallowed hard. "Bye, Michael."

Before he could find the words to stop you. You were already walking towards the waitress, who guided you out the back door. Michael stood there for several long seconds, staring at the empty space where you had just stood.

Then, slowly, he sank back into the booth. The milkshakes were still sitting on the table. Yours was half full. His orange cream shake sat untouched.

He picked up his sunglasses with shaky fingers and slipped them over his eyes, hoping they would hide the sting behind them.

The booth suddenly felt far too quiet.

PAIRING: mature era!michael x podcast host!reader (afab)

SUMMARY: michael listens to your podcast Off The Record and loves how you give celebrities the space to be themselves. when he insists (with the help of his PR team) to do multiple episodes with you, it turns your world upside down. you expect a polished version of the king of pop, but as you get to know him, you quickly find out there's more to him that his persona on stage.

WARNING: slow-burn romance, mostly fluff (some angst in this part) & eventual smut, 18+, age gap (Michael is in his 40s & reader is mid-to-late 20s)

PART 2 of ? (part 1 can be found here)

WC: ~5.5k (I went overboard LMAO)

A/N: hi lovelies!! tysm for all the love on part one, I appreciate you all 🥺 I hope that you enjoy part two!!! I apologize that it took so long, I wanted it to be a bit longer than part 1 and editing took me a few days to do <3 if anyone has requests for AUs they'd like to see, feel free to send me a request! I also have a couple of ideas lined up for future Michael fics 🫶🏽

TAGS: @pulsingeternity @lanibuggg @thebabykashmere @animegamerfox @munsons-mayhem28 @styleslover-1994 @wildpandorasky @thatpettyho @cafe-lectura @ella-jolie @fiyerobridgerton @xoxogossipgirl02 @notyourusualnia @mydeerest1 @peacemakersbeloved @mazza-0 @justboredroaming @oidloid @sclareclipse7 @niadaboss @flesheatingvamp @gingerrsnapp @slowlikehoney-stronglikemusic @moontunee @lovelyreadersposts

Backseat Butterflies…

✧ a/n: That is adorable!! I LOVE YOU

✧ Contains: otw!mj x fem!reader, fluff, smut, kissing, making out, inexperience michael, bit experience reader

✧ wc: 2,2k // masterlist & taglist

You and Michael have been dating for a year now, and your anniversary is coming around the corner. Michael still remembered your first kiss like it was yesterday, after walking you home late at night from another casual date, you figured it was time to show him how much you love him, you stood on your tip toes reaching for his lips. The pillowy feel of your lips, the sweet taste of your gloss, it put him in a trance that he’ll never forget.

As Michael sits below the sun — floating on his pool thinking deeply for ideas on what to do on your one year anniversary, he couldn’t help but eavesdrop on his brothers who were playing sports just out next to the pool.

They were talking loudly per usual so it wouldn’t even be considered as eavesdropping, Jackie was teasing Marlon about his relationship, and the countless mentions of doing second base. That’s got Michael thinking, the idea of doing second base isn’t foreign to him — for a guy who hasn’t even done it. But maybe that’s what you and Michael could do as a celebration for your one year anniversary — taking the next step of your relationship.

After hitting the showers, Michael paced around his room, overthinking the situation on how it’s going to be. He had zero experience on doing anything like that, the thought of being alone with you in a room, doing god knows what… he could only imagine his face burning more before actually doing anything. And asking his older brothers was clearly out of the question.

Michael sits down on his bed, rubbing his face one last time before picking up the phone. “Hello..?” You answered, “hey it's me, how are you?” Michael started off simple, “oh hey Mikey, I was just about to have dinner, is everything alright…?” You happily answered. “Yeah that’s great uhm — I was wondering for our anniversary maybe, we could go see a movie —maybe a drive-in?” you smiled at the other line “yes, alright that’s sounds fun” you chewed your bottom lip from excitement. “Okay I’ll pick you tomorrow” Michael beamed.

After you hung up the phone you lay back to bed, covering your face giggling and kicking your feet, you couldn’t wait for tomorrow. You and Michael have never been to a drive-in before as a couple. As often naive you could be, you knew exactly what couples do in drive-ins. And you were surprised that Michael even suggested the idea.

Your first kiss with him took lots of build up, there were countless times where you had a strong feeling he would make the first move. But his endearing shy demeanor always makes him back out at the last second.

You’ve spent enough time to know that Michael is an absolute gentleman, and he is just as naive as you are — perhaps maybe even more. So making the first move on the first kiss was very much needed. But the point still stands — that maybe Michael sees this as nothing more than a movie date for your anniversary and it's safe to assume he won’t try anything, and as much as you secretly love seeing him acting all shy and flustered if you decided to try anything bold, it would be cruel to do it on your anniversary. So if anything happens, you promise yourself to make it easy for him.

It was the next day — your one year anniversary. You and Michael were at the drive-in, headlights were turned off, already halfway through the movie. It was dark, the only source of light was the one on the big screen playing the movie Grease, the smell of the wool carpet with a clean, slightly earthy scent lingered in the car. 

Michael had his eyes glued on to the screen, at first glance it could just be him invested in the movie he had actually already watched before and loved it, but in reality — his mind was racing, he was thinking a million different ways on how to approach this, he was considering backing out and just enjoying the movie. No, he can’t abort now, not with a setting like this. 

As Michael rambles through his own head, the corner of his eye catches noticeable movements from the car beside him. He turned his head slightly — getting a better look, although he couldn’t tell through the window, the harsh rocking movements the car repeated — he knew what the couple inside were doing. And that was also a heavy reminder on what he should be doing with you at any moment.

“How do you like the movie so far…?” Michael whispered, his head turning towards you. “Great! all the songs have been amazing so far” you answered with a quiet tone, "although to be honest, this is actually my second time watching it, my first watch was with my friends last week” you confessed, Michael grin teeth on full display “really? Well if that’s true, i’ve also watched this movie before” Michael confessed “this is your second time as well?” you exclaimed “actually fourth” Michael quietly laughed.

You both laughed quietly “well then i guess we could just call this date a rewatch” you joked. After that small bickering, your eyes went back to the screen. Michael on the other hand, saw this as an obvious opportunity, his eyes darted to his feet, still thinking a few last thoughts before building up the courage to make a move.

Michael stretched out his arms out, trying to smoothly wrap his arm around your shoulder, you immediately notice — you turn over to where his hand landed. “You know, since we know how the movies gonna end, we could maybe — do something else to pass the time…” Michael teased nervously. 

You glance at Michael, feeling utterly surprised by his boldness, you promise yourself you aren't gonna play games with him — that you should let him do what he wants whenever you get the chance. So without hesitation, you bit your lip — staring at his, “well then what are we waiting for…?”

Michael smiled widely, but he also felt a single sweat racing down his forehead, this is really it he thought to himself. He leaned in to you for a kiss, which you have no trouble cooperating. Just like your first, the kiss was soft and light, savoring every feeling your lips moved, a rhythm Michael could easily remember and follow.

“D… Do you wanna take this in the backseat…?” Michael murmured “yeah sure..” you breathed out excitingly. You carefully hopped through the armrest to the backseat of Michael’s car, once you were there you noticed some throw pillows on both sides of the car, you couldn't help but grin, he had definitely planned all this.

You lay your head down to the pillow, stretching your legs till it met the door handle, then Michael carefully manoeuvred himself to the back as well, immediately hovering over you — as much as how much room Michael’s roll-royce had, it still manages to make the atmosphere incredibly straggled.

Michael’s heart beat was racing non-stop, feeling like it could burst any minute, you were inches apart, not just your lips — but your whole body, he could feel where his chest pressed against yours, your core pressing hard on his… lord save him cause he might just pass out. He leaned in for a kiss — taking it nice and easy, after a few more pecks he parted just to look at you.

God you were just breathtaking under his gaze. This angle of you felt very forbidden to him, towering over you — making you look small, you lay there waiting for something to happen, your big eyes stare at him — pleading, begging for him to touch you. 

“Don’t look at me like that…” Michael murmured, his head dropped — letting out a shaky breath, he felt like he was falling apart, “like what…?” you teased, the promise you made yourself was now been broken. “I’m sorry I just… I'm not used to looking at you like this…” he explained,  you brushed his hair with your fingers, then gave it a small tug, just to get him to look at you again. 

He looks at you “how about you close your eyes” you jokingly suggested, demonstrating with your eyes closed, Michael laughed with you "I'm serious…” “then be serious” you cooed “i know… but– you just look so…” Michael trailed off  “so what…?” you questioned. 

“…I’m a gentleman.” Michael taking a short hesitant pause before answering, you chuckled amusingly “well… maybe just for tonight you don’t need to be one” you pouted

“you know i can’t do that… “ Michael tilt his head, his tone slightly changes into something serious “then how about i’ll guide you… we’ll take it slow” you suggested “slow… okay” michael repeated then agrees.

“Kiss me…” you ordered, the two of you kissed passionately, from what it felt like lightly grazing each other's lips earlier to now occasionally letting your tongue slip in, Michael would jolt whenever he felt your tongue, and the faster your mouth moved the harder for him to keep up.

Michael’s hands were glued to the leather seat, he couldn’t dare to touch you, but that soon changed where you guided Michael’s hands to your clothed waist “slip your hand in Mikey…” you murmured, Michael breathed out another shaky breath, letting his hands sink in under your shirt.

The immediate contact of your skin with his made Michael choked mid kiss, his hands slowly worked his way up till he felt your bra, Michael swallowed his breath, not knowing what to do next. 

“unhook it…” you ordered again, Michael turned to you “are you sure?” he asked, you quickly nodded your head. Michael then nervously used both his hands, finding the hook on your back — after a few seconds he managed to unhook your bra, letting it loose, Michael’s hands slowly started climbing up to your breast — giving it a very light squeeze, his head dropped down buried in to your neck couldn’t help feeling shy as he lets out a whine “…you feel amazing" 

You feel satisfied by his reaction, you were giddy. “you know you could roam your hand around a little lower if you like “ you whispered into his ear “no..! n-not yet please… save it for another day” Michael quickly blurred out. You giggle by his quick response, pulling him closer to you for another kiss. 

As your lips press against each other, Michael played with your breast gently, carefully giving it a squeeze with every deep push onto your lips, his thumb circling your cold hard nipple, you let out a moan “Mikey… keep doing that” you beg, Michael understood he then started kissing your jaw gently, giving every peck a time of their own.

Soon he trailed down to your neck, your shirt and bra were now fully rolled up, every peck his soft lips grazed on your skin, felt like utter bliss. “Can I… kiss lower…?” Michael murmured into your neck — his voice vibrating on your skin. “Please…” you allowed.

He then started to kiss your lower stomach, trailing kisses everywhere, you arch your back, your finger buried deep to his curls. After that, his eyes glanced up to your face, but unintentionally got a good view of your bare chest. His eyes widened, this was his first time — he didn’t even care it looked like he was obviously staring for a long period of time.

His mouth finally opened, slipping out his raw reaction “…uhm” he fumbled his words, completely in a trance “keep going…” you snapped him out, he looked at you for a brief second before going back to your chest.

You could tell he was extra shy as his lips brushed on to your breast, taking his time extra slow. Both of his hands wrapped around your waist, he then carefully pulled out his tongue — licking each one of your nipples, you moaned softly at his touch. Michael’s brows furrowed, his heart was racing, the taste of your skin felt like his forbidden fruit, a gentleman shouldn't be enjoying this too much, but him admitting to himself that would be a straight up lie. 

“Oh Mike… Michael…” you moaned out, hearing the way you called his name was a new thrill to him, he finally went back to your face to give you kiss, this time he slipped out his tongue — kissing you passionately, his hand remains on your breast, never planned on letting go, you pulled him closer, arms slung on to his shoulders.

For what it seems like to be an eternity in heaven, you two were suddenly interrupted by a sharp knock from the backseat window, you were both startled — Michael looked turned to the window behind him seeing a silhouette outside. As he stumbles to roll down the window, you quickly pull down your shirt — hooking your bra back on, fixing your hair as well. 

EXHIBIT A

❤︎ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ thrill her night. ⸝⸝ thriller era michael jackson x fem reader

│ summary: its halloween night, and your best friend janet has the perfect night planned. that is, unless you get caught sneaking out. unfortunately, fate does not seem to be on your side tonight! │ byi: 18+ (smut - nsfw.) │ a/n: im so sorry this fic came out way later than i wanted it to augh (don't work holiday weekends they're actual hell) │ w/c: 6.0K (sorry got carried away with plot)

You and Janet both had your heels in your hands as you carefully crept down the stairs of the Hayvenhurst mansion. The house was fairly quiet except for the whole movie gathering in the den where everyone was watching scary movies. It was Halloween night, and you two had planned everything perfectly, just like last year.

Just freedom, music, and a wild Beverly Hills party on Janet's itinerary.

You reached the bottom step, exchanging triumphant whoops, when a familiar voice cut through the darkness.

"And just where do you two think you're going?"

Katherine Jackson stood at the hallway entrance in her robe, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Janet froze. You tried to hide your heels behind your back.

"Momma! Hey! We we're just..." Janet quickly shot you a look

"Going Trick or Treating?" you offered weakly, flashing your most innocent smile.

Katherine's eyebrow arched higher. "At this hour? In those costumes?" She shook her head, clearly unimpressed.

Katherine sighed, cuaght in her own trap, she figured the best thing to do was beg. "Momma, please, we'll be fine on our own. You know me."

Katherine gave her a long, knowing look. "That's right. I do know you. Which means you're going with one of your brothers."

Janet sighed dramatically, still pleading, "Mommaaa, pleaseee—"

Katherine shook her head and started to walk toward the den. "Marlon! Come here for a second sweetheart!"

"If they're going to that party I said I'm not taking them!" Marlon called back from the den, sounding thoroughly uninterested.

Katherine sighed again and turned. "Michael!"

Michael sighed, throwing his head back agaisnt the couch cushions, "Why's it always gotta be me..." he muttered, but he still dragged himself up.

He trudged into the hallway with a plain white tee, plaid pajama pants, and socked feet. "Yes?"

"Change your shirt and drive the girls to their party," Katherine said firmly. "They're not going alone."

Michael glanced at you and Janet in your costumes, heels in hand, and let out another soft sigh. "...Ma... I was watching—"

"No arguments," Katherine interrupted gently but decisively. "Go on. And don't wake the whole house up when you return."

Michael gave in with one last resigned look and headed upstairs to change. A few minutes later he came back down in his red and yellow jacket, a cap, and a pair of tinted sunglasses, ready to play reluctant chaperone.

"Oh yeah, real convincing Mike, use the exact same jacket you used for your music video." Janet rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "That's sure to totally not get us caught!"

Michael groaned, yanking the door open, "Can we just go?"

You and Janet excitedly walked down the long driveway to Bill's car, talking distinctively to each other, "Maybe we can just pretend he isn't there." Janet whispered to you.

"You know I can hear you, right?" Michael said dryly from a few steps behind, shoving his hands in his pockets with a sigh.

Janet giggled while you tried to hide your smile. "Come on, he's not that bad, right?" you said, turning around to look at him.

Michael locked eyes with you, and your heart almost came up out of your mouth. He was smiling so genuinely that it made the corners of his eyes crinkle. For a second, he looked almost happy to be there.

You never saw Michael as anything more than Janet's older brother. And when he released those two albums, it shifted to your best friend's famous older brother you had absolutely had no chance with. But that didn't mean you weren't like every other girl who had a massive crush on him ever since he became just "Michael Jackson."

But right now, you realized how privileged you were to be as close to him as you were. In his house, going to a party with him, seeing him almost every day, holding conversations, smelling his cologne. You let those thoughts speak your next words for you.

"Yeah… he's not that bad," you added quietly, feeling a flutter in your chest.

Janet watched as you and Michael kept each other's eyes for too long, and interrupted, "Gross!"

You both snapped out of it with a laugh. Michael shook his head, the shy smile still lingering as he opened the car door for you two. "Get in before I change my mind."

"Is this is Janet?" Bill asked, peeking in through the rearview mirror. He had pulled in just by the corner of the driveway, where dozens of other cars piled together. The music coming from inside the house was loud enough to feel the bass in your chest even from the street.

Janet sat up and looked out the window, "Yup! This is it!" She quickly unbuckled her seat belt and tugged on your hand, "Come on girl, we're missing it!"

Michael shook his head, fixing his cap further down to cover his eyes the best he could, "This is so dumb... I'm gonna get recognized."

You giggled, undoing your belt and stepping out of the car with Janet and Michael, "You'll be fine, just... don't do the karaoke or they'll definitely suspect something."

Michael let out a soft laugh despite himself, adjusting the collar of his jacket. "No promises. Let's just get this over with."

Inside the Beverly Hills mansion, the party was in full swing. You and Janet immediately hit the dance floor, laughing and spinning under the flashing lights. Michael hovered near the wall, trying his best to blend in.

If there was one thing about Michael, he was an observer. He watched quietly from the sidelines as you and Janet danced, then his gaze flicked over to the various couples eating each other's faces, the very obvious illegal drug transaction happening next to him. He often wondered why Janet opted to these shit holes when he could get you and her both to way better parties than whatever this was.

He was mid sipping on whatever concoction they were serving in the punch bowl, when he saw you sipping on the exact same thing. The same exact thing that definitely had alcohol in it.

He swiftly pushed through the crowd of bodies all pressed up against each other, mumbling excuse me's and sorries while keeping his head down and voice low, until he was right behind you. You were just nursing on the red plastic cup when someone plucked the drink right out of your hand.

"Hey— What do you think—" You turned around quickly, ready to snap, but the words died in your throat when you saw Michael standing there, cup in hand, looking equal parts concerned and disappointed.

"What do you think you're doing,” he fired back softly, voice low enough for only you to hear over the music. "You're only nineteen. You shouldn't be drinking this."

The alcohol already warming your veins made you pout playfully. "It's just one, Mike. Come on… Like you didn't drink even younger than me." You swayed side to side with your head tucked in.

Michael's expression softened, but he didn’t hand the cup back. Instead, he set it down on a nearby table, his voice still gentle but firm. "That's... That's not the point. C'mon, let's get you some water."

He slid one arm behind you, just barely touching behind your back, guiding you towards the kitchen. You started going reluctantly, turning to look a t him as you walked. "You know, when Katherine asked you to chaperone us, I didn't think you would take it literal."

He gave a small laugh, glancing down at you. "Somebody's gotta keep you out of trouble. Janet's a bad influence, and you…" He paused, voice dropping softer, "well, you're just you."

The kitchen was less crowded, just a few people refilling drinks. Michael found a bottle of water and cracked it open for you, watching carefully as you took a sip. You leaned against the counter, eyes sparkling up at him, the alcohol making you bolder than usual.

"You're cute when you're all protective, you know that?" you teased, reaching out to lightly tug the zipper of his jacket.

His ears flushed pink under the cap. "Stop that," he muttered, but he didn’t move away.

Before he could say anything else, a tall brute in a vampire cape came slugging through the kitchen, clearly drunk and zeroed in on you. He shoulder-checked Michael as he leaned against the counter beside you.

"Ay, sweetheart, why you wasting time with this stiff? Let me show you a real good time." His eyes raked over you.

You smiled shyly, your arms instinctively coming up to wrap around yourself out of uncomfortableness. The guy started blabbing on about his sports cars, how his dad owned multiple dealerships, and how he could "show you a real ride." His breath reeked of alcohol as he leaned in way too close, completely ignoring Michael's presence.

Michael stood there stiff, fists clenched at his sides. He felt the need to intervene. But he also felt that it wasn't his place to do so. You were a grown woman. Still, when the guy leaned in even closer, his hand reaching out like he was about to touch you. Those gross hands who've probably so far down his pants? Heck no. So, by the might in everything in him, he spoke up.

"Hey man, I don't think she's interested." he cut in, voice ever so quiet, almost hesitant. Michael was never one for confrontation, but the sight of that guy making you visibly uncomfortable did a number on him.

The guy laughed, looking Michael up and down. "Buzz off, man. Who the hell are you, her dad? She can speak for herself."

You chimed in, ready to back Michael's claim, "M'sorry but I'm really not interested." You shook your head, uncrossing your arms to back away from him.

Michael swallowed hard, ears burning, but he didn't back off. "She already said she's not interested… so please just leave her alone."

You could see how tense he was—fists still clenched, shoulders tight, like he was ready to run out the door if the chance was given—but he was doing it anyway. For you.

The guy finally acknowledged Michael, for all the wrong reasons. He stood up tall, walking right up to him pressing his broad chest right against Michael. "Yeah? And what if I don't?"

Now, Michael wasn't exactly six feet tall and two hundred and thirty pounds of pure muscle, but if it's one thing he learned from growing up with four older brothers, he knew how to fight and defend himself.

Michael stayed planted, even as the much bigger guy pressed up against him. He took in a deep breath, and clenched his fist, ready to throw the first swing. Michael was all above confrontation, and definitely, was not a fighter, so when a girl in a flashy pink costume got in between the two of them and forced herself in Michael's line of sight, he nearly sighed a breath of relief.

"Are you—Oh—Oh my gosh, you're Michael Jackson!" She shrieked, pulling out her

The kitchen erupted.

"Michael Jackson?"

"Where?"

"Michael Jackson!"

"It's really him!"

"No way, let's go get an autograph!"

The vampire guy's aggressive stance collapsed instantly. His broad chest pulled back, eyes wide with shock as the crowd surged forward. He finally spoke, almost breaking down. "Michael Jackon... Dude, I'm like your biggest fan!"

Before you could process anything, Michael got sucked into a crowd of people, pushing and shoving to get past you to get to the superstar. The energy in the kitchen had completely flipped from tense standoff to chaotic fan frenzy in seconds.

Michael's eyes widened in panic. He tried to stay calm, even telling other people to mind each other, like trying direct traffic at a broken intersection.

You sunk back further into the crowd, looking for Janet. You tried the empty spots of the house that used to be alive with people bumping to music, when someone caught your wrist from behind.

You whipped around quickly, Janet. "Girl, what on earth is going on in the kitchen?" she asked, eyes wide with confusion and amusement.

You grabbed her hand, breathless. "Some idiot tried to fight Michael, then his cover got blown! The well you know the rest."

Janet's eyes lit up. "Oh my God, come on!"

The both of you bee lined to the door to the mansion, waving Bill down the block. He pulled up quickly, sensing the urgency, "Michael?" Michael, Janet, and you practically dove into the car. "He's still in there! They found him out!"

Bill didn’t need more explanation. He sighed, parking the car, and almost ripped the car door off its hinges before furiously marching into the storm, "I knew this was a bad idea."

A few tense minutes later, Bill re-emerged with a very frazzled Michael in tow. Michael's cap was crooked, his jacket rumpled, and his face was flushed from the attention. Behind them both, the crowd followed like zombies in an apocalypse.

Michael and Bill rushed to the car, Michael sliding into the car between you and Janet, breathing hard.

"Go, Bill. Please," Michael said quietly.

Bill didn't hesitate. He pulled away quickly, leaving the chaos behind.

"What in the world did you girls do?" Bill peeked back into the rearview mirror, all while keeping his eyes on the road.

Janet burst out laughing. "We didn't do anything! Some drunk guy tried to hit on her, Michael stepped in, then someone recognized him and the whole place went crazy!"

You leaned forward, still buzzing from the alcohol and adrenaline. "It was wild, Bill. Michael totally looked like he was about to throw a punch."

Michael sank lower in his seat, ears burning red. "Can we not talk about that part?" he mumbled, but there was a tiny smile tugging at his lips.

Bill just shook his head, chuckling. "I knew this was a bad idea from the start. You two especially are trouble."

The rest of the ride back to Hayvenhurst was filled with you and Janet happily babbling about how fun and chaotic the night had been, with Michael silently sulking in the middle seat.

Janet kicked off her heels by her bedroom door, "Oh my gosh did you see that girl totally flashing Michael?"

You burst out laughing, leaning against the wall in the hallway as you peeled off your own shoes. "I thought he was gonna melt into the floor! Poor baby was so red."

Michael, who had been trailing behind you both with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, let out a mortified groan. "You guys are sick. Sick!" His room was just across from Janet's.

Janet grinned like the cat who got the cream, blowing Michael a kiss before disappearing into her room, "Night Mikey!~"

The door clicked shut, leaving the hallway quiet except for the faint creak of the old mansion settling. Michael nodded to you, and mouthed goodnight, opening the door to his room and slipping inside quietly.

Outside, you stood there for a second, heart racing. Your cheeks still carried a warm blood, however, this time you weren't sure if it was the alcohol doing its thing.

It's no secret to anyone Michael was a cute young guy, not to mention hilarious, talented, gentlemanly, generous, kind, and a whole bunch of other things your buzzed mind didn't want to go digging for. He was, is, the perfect boyfriend. The perfect lover. And, probably, the best love maker.

You shook your head, embarrassed. The cocktail punch was still working its magic, making your thoughts hazy and your body warm. You shook your head, trying to push down the butterflies.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward and gently knocked on Michael's door. Your thoughts raced. Crap.

The door opened almost immediately, and Michael stood there in just his t-shirt and pajama pants, looking a bit surprised. "Hey… everything alright?" he whispered, voice low so he wouldn't wake the house.

"I... I just wanted to say thank you again... for sticking up for me at the party." You rubbed your socked feet together and twiddled your fingers. "That was really sweet of you."

Michael gave you that crinkly-eyed smile, leaning against the doorframe. "You don't have to thank me. I wasn't gonna let that guy bother you." He paused, noticing the way you were lingering, but decided not to make it awkward.

You looked up at him through your lashes, the hallway light casting a soft glow on his face. Your voice came out quieter. "...I think you're like—really, really cute, Mike."

Michael's eyes found yours for a second, and he let his head fall to hide the smile he had going on. He shifted his weight, one hand still on the doorframe like he needed the support. "…Thank you. That's… that's real sweet of you to say."

You stepped a little closer, the warmth in your chest spreading lower. The alcohol made everything feel softer around the edges. You reached out and lightly touched the front of his t-shirt, fingers lightly tracing the fabric. "I really mean it. Tonight… the way you stood up for me… it was hot. You're always so sweet, Mike. I've been thinking about it the whole ride back. About... you."

He swallowed hard, those big eyes flicking between your face and your hand on his chest. "You're tipsy..." he murmured.

You furrowed your brows, acting offended, "I am not!"

Michael's lips twitched like he was fighting a smile, but his eyes stayed soft. "Okay… maybe a little," he whispered. He glanced down the hallway like he expected someone to appear any second, then back to you. His hand came up, hesitant, and gently grabbed the top of your head to shake it a little. "You should probably get some sleep. We can… talk tomorrow if you want."

But you didn’t move. You stepped fully into his space, pressing your palm flat against his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

"I don't want to talk tomorrow," you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes. "I want… to thank you properly. Right now." Your fingers curled into his shirt.

Michael swallowed hard, his hands moving to hover at his sides. He thought hard. He never really had a reason to see you more than Janet's friend. And while yes, you threw your flirty and perverted jokes towards him, you did it to everyone. Including his brothers. Especially if you had been drinking. Now, Michael was never one to take advantage of a woman, especially if she had a drink or two.

His voice was gentle, almost like a plea when he spoke, "I don't… I don't want to take advantage."

"I know what I’m doing, Mike,” you cut in, pulling him just a little closer to your face by his collar, "Come on... can I... thrill your night?" You probably looked so dumb, face flushed with alcohol and nerves, but the way Michael's eyes pleaded with yours told you he didn't think so at all.

He let out a shaky breath, his hand finally coming up to cover yours on his chest. He smirked, looking at you with those earnest, handsome doe eyes. "I'm pretty sure the saying goes—'thrill her night.'"

You rolled your eyes playfully, "Be quiet, dummy." You leaned in and mashed your lips onto his; he kissed you back immediately. One of his hands came behind your back, and the other cupped the back of your head gently, pulling you into him. The kiss deepened fast, and you felt the flutter in your chest spread lower, heat pooling between your thighs. Michael kissed you like he was starving for it, with a growing hunger that made your head spin, and your knees weak enough to the point you were almost sinking to your knees while Michael held you upright.

You tugged at his t-shirt impatiently. He broke the kiss, breathlessly, "...Wow."

You nodded in agreement, and pushed him further into his room, closing the door behind you. The lock turned under your fingers. The rest of the house was quiet, but your heart was pounding loud enough to fill the space.

Michael's back hit the edge of his bed as you kissed him again. His hands came to explore your body with the intentions of photo capturing every detail, so it stayed sharp in his mind. When you tugged insistently at his t-shirt, he broke the kiss just long enough to help you pull it off.

You immediately reattached to his lips like a leech, letting your cool hands explore his warm toned stomach, which flinched at the touch, and his whines that spilled into your connected mouths.

Michael shivered under your fingertips, a soft, breathy sound escaping him as your hands traveled lower. You left his lips again, and he stayed propped up on his elbows watching you take off your costume sweater. All you had left on were your knee-high socks and skirt.

His eyes darkened, that hunger deepening as he drank you in. "You look… unreal," he whispered. He bit his lip as he watched you peel off only your panties, leaving the skirt on for more tease.

Michael's breath hitched in his throat. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing the short skirt higher until it bunched around your waist, exposing you completely to him. His long slender fingers felt like heaven on your aching skin.

You let your legs spread slowly, letting him see what now belonged to him. "Oh… baby," he whispered, voice dripping with awe and desire. He tenderly stroked your inner thigh up and down, suppressing the urge to take you right then and there.

Michael got on top of you this time, placing little pepper kisses all over your face, and jaw, then your neck. You giggled, threading your fingers through his curls. He pulled back from you, looking down at the space between your legs, "Can... Can I try something?"

You nodded eagerly, still buzzing from the excitement and the heat between you. "Anything, Mike."

He smiled, more so to himself, and kissed down your body slowly—soft, open-mouthed kisses on your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, your stomach, your hips. When he reached your spread thighs, he settled between them steadily.

Michael looked up at you with those big, earnest doe eyes one more time, then leaned in.

He hesitantly let his tongue drag slowly from your entrance all the way up to your little nub in one long, wet stripe. He was hooked. He latched onto you with his warm wet mouth, and he moaned deeply against you, the wonderful vibration sending sparks through your core. "You taste so sweet,” he whispered. Then he really went for it.

He ate you out with focused and hungry devotion. His lips sealed around your swollen bundle of nerves, sucking gently, then flicking it teasingly with the tip of his tongue. He wrapped his hands around your thighs, ensuring they wouldn't close on him, and so that he had something to grab onto.

The heavenly sounds you sang went straight to the bulge straining in his soft pajama pants. He was helplessly humping the mattress like a dog in rut, desperate for any friction while he devoured you. You scent was intoxicating, like the pheromones you were releasing into the room controlled him. Michael's tongue never stopped—lapping, sucking, flicking your nub with wet, obscene sounds that filled the room.

"Ohhh... Mike!" Your hands flew to the back of his head, pushing him further into you, all while you rocked your hips against him. He groaned in bliss, his thoughts truly going blank, all focused on the absolute intensity and heat of the moment. He was ravenous.

Your thighs trembled around his head. "Mike, right there—don't stop—I'm—" Your back arched violently off the bed, fingers tightening painfully in his curls as you came hard, gushing on his tongue and fingers. Michael kept licking and sucking you through every it all, lapping up everything like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted, only gentling when you started to squirm from overstimulation.

He finally pulled back, face shiny with your juices, lips swollen, breathing ragged. Sitting back on his knees, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand with a smile. "Would you believe me if I said that was the first time I did that?"

You let out a breathless laugh, still flushed. "If that truly was your first time, then you're a natural." He looked so handsome, a fresh sheen of sweat covering his chest and face. You just wanted to eat him up. Your eyes darkened as your beckoned him over, "Mike, come here."

He obeyed with no question, crawling back up your body, and capturing you in a kiss to taste your own self on his tongue. Michael's tongue tangled with yours, sharing your flavor as his hard self pressed hot and heavy against your inner thigh. You reached down between you, slipping your hand into his pj pants, wrapping your fingers around his length. He was warm, hard, and so soft. You slowly stroked once upwards from base to tip. He whimpered into your mouth, hips bucking into your hand.

"Baby… please," he whispered, desperate.

You bit your lip, smiling sweetly, "Please what?" You teased, squeezing the tip of him softly.

He groaned, head falling to the crook of your neck, hands bracing on either side of your head while he struggled to remain whatever sanity he had left. "You know what."

"Say it, Mike,' you whispered. The way he was shaking above you—equal parts desperate and still trying his best to remain respectful—made your heart swell with something softer. "Tell me what you want."

He lifted his head just enough to look at you. Those big eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed dark. "I… I want you," he breathed, the words barely audible. "...Want to be inside you. Please, pretty baby… let me make you feel good."

You nodded, releasing him from your heavenly torture, "Okay angel."

He backed up from you, sitting on his knees again to pull his pjs pants down enough to free himself. You watched him do it, eyes darkening with hunger as he carefully grabbed himself with such gentle reverence. He was so pretty—curls sticking to the sweat on his forehead, chest rising and falling deeply, and the way he was trying to avoid eye contact while you were totally checking him out.

"Stop looking at me like that," he whispered, failing to hide the little smile spreading across the face.

"Like what?" you teased again, propping yourself on your elbows to get a better view of him, "It's not my fault you're so pretty."

Michael's shook his head lightly, but that shy smile grew as he crawled back over you. "Shut up."

He hovered there for a second, his cock lightly kissing your inner thigh for a second, before lining himself up.

"M'gonna put it inside, 'kay?" he whispered, looking at you. But at this point, he might just be seeing it out loud to remind himself what was happening.

You nodded eagerly, whispering breathlessly, "Okay." Now it felt real. You were about to make love with musical sensation Michael Jackson. What would the tabloids say?

With one hand braced beside your head and the other gently holding your hip, he pushed forward.

Your brows furrowed when he tried to push forward, the pressure building at your lips bordering on slightly painful. You drew in a breath, trying to tough it out, watching as he struggled to push inside.

Michael finally looked down where you two were touching, confused. "...It's not—I'm... It won't—" his cheeks burned as he tried again—gentle but unsuccessful. "I don't know why it's not… I'm trying—"

He eventually looked up at you, pleading, "....Help me?"

You nodded, fingers wrapping around his length, guiding the tip back to your entrance. "Try again," you whispered. "Slow."

Michael pushed forward once more, this time with your help. "Okay..." The head finally caught and slid inside you with ease, stretching you open to accommodate the size.

He gasped at the warm and wet tight heat enveloped him, "Oh… baby," he breathed, voice trembling. "Y—You feel—"

You finally released the breath you didn't even know you were holding, "Fuck—Michael..."

The stretch burned so good as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until his hips were finally flush against yours. Michael's eyes squeezed shut when he finally bottomed out, a stifled groan slipping out of him. His arms shook where they braced on either side of your head, little did you know he was actively fighting himself to not finish right inside you already.

A tiny bead of sweat trickled down his temple as he held perfectly still. Concern flooded your senses, and you turned your face to look at him, "You okay?"

Michael nodded quickly, eyes still squeezed shut. "Y-yeah… just— you feel too good," he whimpered. He pulled back from you to look where the two of you were perfectly connected, which was a huge mistake on his behalf.

The sight of himself buried deep inside your tight, glistening sex made his stomach flutter uncontrollably, and the little coil in his stomach almost sprung free. The size comparison to your little hole attempting to sheath him made his thoughts run wild. His voice cracked, "...Oh..."

Michael shook his head, trying to think of the saddest things possible. He hooked your legs over his shoulders earning a gasp from you from the sudden movement. "Baby I... I need to move, or I don't think I'm going to last like this..."

He trapped his lower lip between his teeth when he started moving, slow rolls of his hips, sliding easily inside you. His tip was perfectly kissing that sweet spongey spot inside you, the one that made your toes curl behind his ears.

You shook your head slowly back and forth, so lost in the sensation you could hardly speak. "Ohhh... Michael!" You slid your hand between the both of you to firmly press circles on your little bundle of nerves, the dual sensation burning a blissful hole right in the middle of your stomach.

Michael's lips parted slightly as he watched you, the way your breasts bounced upwards so adorably, the way your juices covered his length and his pubic area like some dirty claim to him. He reveled in the way you made those cute noises that made him go crazy for more.

Feeling a sudden boost of confidence, he leaned forward, bracing his hands at the sides of your waist, and latched onto one of your breasts with his mouth.

His warm, wet tongue swirled around your little nub before he sucked it gently into his mouth. You cried out, hands flying upwards to clutch his curls, "Mike— oh God, yes—!" you gasped, threading your fingers through his hair and holding him there. The gentle pull on his hair made him moan helplessly against you, those sweet vibrations doing terrible things to you.

Michael pulled back just enough to look at you, lips shiny, "Baby... My family— They're gonna hear you..." He teased with a small smile, placing his hand over your mouth gently.

You rolled your eyes playfully and pushed his hand away, "But you make me feel so good pretty baby..."

Michael blushed, nuzzling his face into your neck where he began to place open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin there. He was so close, the way you were squeezing him and sucking him in each time he drove backwards activated the muscles down there that it was soon time to release.

Michael breathed heavily into your neck, "You feel... like heaven—"

His thrusts grew erratic, short and desperate as he chased his release. He pulled back to look between the both of you, before looking into your eyes again, "Where... Where do you want me?"

"Inside," you gasped immediately, your legs locked around his neck, pulling him in deep.

Michael's eyes fluttered shut at your words, a broken whimper escaping him, "But—"

You cut him off, cupping his face gently, "I'm on the pill. S'fine."

He nodded weakly, enveloping you in a bear hug essentially folding you in half. "I'm— Gonna come..." he whined against your neck, voice cracking.

"Come on, angel," you gasped, clenching around him. "Fill me up— please—"

It was all so much for him. Your tight heat begged for him to spill inside, and how much of a gentleman would he be if he denied her lady such a thing? Michael buried himself to the hilt, his whole body shuddering as he came hard. Thick ropes expelled from him as they painted your insides a creamy white. With each pulse he whimpered into your neck where your hair covered him like a veil.

The feeling of him letting loose inside you made that coil inside you burn hot and snap beautifully. Your orgasm crashed over you in intense waves, walls fluttering and milking him for everything he had. Your legs trembled over his shoulders, a muffled cry escaping you as buried your face in his neck.

When the euphoric moment finally ebbed, he carefully lowered your legs, kissing your calves on the way down. He pulled out with a soft hiss, the view of his length and your heat coated in both your slick and his spend almost made him ready for round two. Instead, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and collapsed beside you. Two seconds in he remembered his manners and jumped up, sliding to the bathroom to retrieve a damp cloth to clean you.

He was so gentle, almost reverent, as he wiped you clean, murmuring soft apologies when you twitched. "There." He folded the cloth neatly, patting your hip gently, "All clean." He leaned down and kiss your thigh where there was already a forming bruise where he gripped you too hard. "Sorry 'bout that..."

You smiled sleepily, twirling a loose strand of your hair. "Worth it."

Michael smiled, shaking his head, crawling back on to the bed, pulling you into his arms and tucking you against his chest under the covers. You nuzzled your face comfortably into his neck, inhaling the scent of him. His heavenly cologne and the light musk and sweat from earlier activities.

"...Mmm, you smell really good angel face."

Michael let out a soft, groan slash whine. "Stop it, you know what you're doing." he whispered, pressing a small kiss to your hair.

That night you fell comfortably asleep in his arms, safe from the quarrels of whatever previous troubles that had been building up. Because Michael really had a way of licking the slate clean.

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the curtains of the Hayvenhurst kitchen. Marlon and Janet were up early, perched at the large kitchen island, picking at plates of eggs and toast while chatting in low voices.

Michael padded downstairs in his pajama pants and a loose t-shirt, hair still a wild mess from sleep, eyes half-lidded. He made a beeline for the freezer, still remaining polite, "Morning." He pulled out a tub of his favorite ice cream inspecting the box carefully.

Janet glanced up, a mischievous grin spreading across her face the second she saw him. She took a slow sip of her juice, eyes sparkling with knowing delight.

"So, Michael... Someone had a thrilling night," she said sweetly, giving the biggest smile her face would allow.

Michael froze, ice cream in his hand, back still facing his siblings. His entire face burned in mere seconds.

Janet giggled, nudging her brother with her elbow, "Right, Marlon, you heard it?"

Marlon stopped with his fork halfway in his mouth, looking between Janet and Michael. Utterly confused, he spoke, "Huh?"

Michael snatched the entire tub, clutched it to his chest like a lifeline, and bolted for the stairs without another word—nearly tripping over his own socked feet in his haste. The sound of his door slamming upstairs sealed the deal.

Marlon blinked slowly, fork settling on the plate. "...What the hell was that about?"

Janet just burst out laughing, covering her mouth as she shook her head. "Oh, nothing. Eat your eggs, Marlon."

𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉 𝟤: 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾

bad!micheal x reader | chap 1 | chap 3

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒: 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗐 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗈𝗇. 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗏𝗈𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗆? 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗌𝖺𝖽𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗅 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗂, 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒/𝗇, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖻 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀-𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍; 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌/𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗏𝗎𝗅𝗇𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗇𝗈 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒/𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖿𝗂𝗍 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

oh, how eager michael was to recieve something back from you.

michael stared at the envelope a full minute before opening it.

your handwriting curled neatly across the front, familiar in a way that didn't make sense yet. he hadn't seen it before, and still, it felt like something he should recognize. he broke the seal carefully.

𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑒𝑙, 𝑖 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑖 𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟. 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑒𝑤 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑖 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑗𝑜𝑘𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑖 𝑚𝑢𝑠𝑡’𝑣𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 10 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑖 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙. 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑𝑠. 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑎𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙, 𝑠𝑜 𝑖’𝑚 𝑔𝑙𝑎𝑑 𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑑. 𝑖 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑜𝑜. 𝑖’𝑣𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑢𝑟. 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑦/𝑛 ♡

michael's smile grew as he read, then turned into laughter before he could stop it.

you actually wrote back.

he leaned back in the chair of the hotel desk he was sitting at, letter still in hand. it shouldn't have meant anything over than politeness. it was just a response. a thoughtful one, yes, but funny too.

a knock sounded at the door before he could think too deeply about it. "five minutes! we gotta get on the road soon. we got the stadium to let us in a little earlier."

right.

the show.

with a reluctant sigh, michael stood quickly. he already knows that the rest of the day was going to demand his attention. wardrobe, staging, soundcheck, overall just the familiar blur of prep that always came before the stage.

the letter didn't stay behind, though. it instead went into the inside of his jacket pocket without him realizing it. as if it had belonged.

right before the show, that his fingers brushed the against letter in his pocket

huh? michael paused. somehow, it’d come with him. he shook his head to himself as he took his jacket off, putting it down in the dressing room so he could change clothes.

· · ─ ·ʚ 📍𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎, 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍 𝟕:𝟑𝟕𝐏𝐌 ɞ· ─ · ·

thousands of fans screamed his name, lights flashed, music echoed through the stadium, the audience sang every word back to him. the air itself felt like the entire place was breathing in rhythm with the music.

michael moved through it like he always did. the stage lights burned hot against his skin, shifting colors across the crowd in waves. red, gold, white flickering so fast they blurred together if you looked too long.

every step hit the mark without thought, every turn landed exactly where it was meant to, and still, even in the middle of all of it, there were moments where everything sharpened.

for example, the way the entire stadium seemed to tilt forward whenever he moved closer to the edge of the stage.

he gave them what they came for and they gave it right back, multiplied a thousand times over.

when he finally returned to the hotel exhausted hours later, the first thing he reached for wasn't room service.

instead, it was his jacket for the letter. with a whole view of tokyo in his face, he still couldn't help but think of you.

this was only the first thing he got back from you but he wondered what you were doing. whether you were sleeping, working, or thinking of him too.

it all made him smile.

· · ─ ·ʚ📍𝐁𝐄𝐋 𝐀𝐈𝐑, 𝐂𝐀 𝟔:𝟎𝟎𝐀𝐌 ɞ· ─ · ·

the next morning for you came way too early, and it didn’t ask if you were ready for it. it didn't feel any different either.

jennifer was already going over your schedule while you sat at the kitchen island in an oversized sweatshirt from where you held a concert in hawaii, and a plate of french toast topped with strawberries, bananas and powdered sugar, with a side of nutella to dip your french toast in front of you. your hair was still messy from sleep you barely got.

“you’ve got two back-to-back photoshoots at starting at 11, a recording block at 2, and a meeting with production at 6,” she said, scrolling.

you nodded slowly, stirring something in a mug you weren’t really drinking.

“also.. the label wants feedback on the new track by tonight.”

“of course they do,” you muttered, causing her to glance at you. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you said automatically. “just tired.” she didn’t push it. people rarely did when you said it like that.

your eyes then drifted, briefly, to the spot on the counter where you’d left the letter the night before.

you hadn’t put it away yet.

you didn’t know why. it was just small passing thing. you thought he wasn't even going to write back after you sent your letter.

that thought passed quickly. you figured he was just being nice. to be frank, people in his position did that sometimes. just wrote for emotional support.

you had opened it like it was any other letter and kept going about your day as if it were like no other.

· · ─ ·ʚ 📍𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐘𝐎, 𝐉𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐍 𝟏𝟎:𝟎𝟎𝐏𝐌 ɞ· ─ · ·

at the same time, after endless ‘goodnight’s and adrenaline wear-off, michael sat cross-legged on the floor of his hotel suite with his phone pressed between his shoulder and ear, a setlist for his next country in his lap.

"have you been sleeping?" katherine asked, causing michael to smile.

"hello to you too."

"michael." he laughed quietly.

"i'm fine." his mother hummed. the kind that meant she didn’t believe him, and rightfully so. his schedule for the week and a half sat untouched on the coffee table.

rehearsals.

show.

flight.

repeat. it never seemed to end. luckily, the tour was almost over.

"you sound tired," she said softly. for some reason, the room felt less empty than it did a few days ago.

"just busy. i have to fly to australia tomorrow. 4 in the morning" she hummed again. "get some rest, we'll catch up soon. okay?"

when the call ended, he suddenly wished he had you to talk to. why didn't he put his number on the letter? he was in the middle of touring.

back home, your week was moving just as quickly as his. recording sessions, meetings, questions from when paparazzi caught you in public.

"what inspired the next album?"

"whats next for you?"

"how does it feel being on of the biggest artists in the world?"

you smiled through all of them, yes, but it slowly started getting exhausting.

· · ─ ·ʚ📍𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐒𝐘𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐘, 𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐀 𝟓:𝟓𝟒𝐏𝐌 ɞ· ─ · ·

a few days passed before michael thought about it again. not in a deep, lingering way. he was just so busy. the first letter wasn't meant to be something to dwell on, but it kept showing up in small ways.

in the jacket pocket, it falling out in the dressing room from where it was angled, even once when he opened his suitcase and it was in his face.

that afternoon, michael finally sat down to answer your letter. that proved to be a mistake. to him, every version sounded ridiculous. he’d start over and over again.

by 6:15, there were crumpled sheets of stationery scattered all over the room.

“what happened in here?” michael looked up to see quincy standing in the doorway. “uh- nothing?”

quincy glanced at the now overflowing wastebucket, then the desk, then michael. “sure.. must be writing a novel. i knocked and you didn't even answer.”

“sorry,” he murmured. he didn't hear it.

“a song?”

“no.” quincy shook his head, picking up one of the discarded pages. michael immediately got up and snatched it away. 

far too quickly.

“oh.” quincy grinned, “it’s a girl.”

“quincy. it's just a friend.”

“it’s just a girl.” quincy stated matter-of-factly, laughing his out of of the door. michael buried his head in his hands.

eventually, just before rehersals, he finished writing. not because he had something important to say, it just felt appropriate. professional if you must.

· · ─ ·ʚ📍𝟐 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝐁𝐄𝐋 𝐀𝐈𝐑, 𝐂𝐀 𝟏:𝟒𝟓𝐏𝐌 ɞ· ─ · ·

oddly, a second letter arrived to your house on a monday afternoon, which led to jennifer finding you curled up on your cream couch with a pink lounge set on, watching your favorite show.

between recording sessions, meetings, endless discussions about tour dates, and talking to your producers on the phone for hours on end for the past 2 days, this was the only time you had to yourself.

“more fan mail.. and another one that actually says it’s from him this time.” you held your hands out absentmindedly, taking the stack of mail. you didn't even finish two episodes.

“give me that.” jennifer laughed as you saw the letter right on top. to be honest, you were shocked. still, you just had the expectation of another reply.

“y’know.. most people would be calmer about this,” she giggled.

“most people arent recieving letters from michael jackson.” you both shared a laugh “fair point.”

this letter was longer. not much, but just enough.

𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓎/𝓃, 𝒾’𝓂 𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝑜𝒷𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓉𝓁𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓁𝑒, 𝒾 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝒹 𝒾’𝒹 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒾𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒹𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑒𝓍𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎. 𝒾’𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈, 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒾 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌. 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓃𝑒𝓇𝓋𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓌𝓈. 𝒾 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹’𝓋𝑒 𝑔𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓈𝑒𝒹. 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝓈𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝓃𝒶𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒾 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓌𝑒. 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝒾 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓉𝑒. 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒾 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒. 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝒻 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓊𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝑒.  𝒾 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝑒𝓍𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓉. 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝑔𝓃𝒾𝓏𝑒𝒹 𝒷𝓎 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓅𝑒𝑜𝓅𝓁𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈. 𝒾 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓋𝒾𝑒𝓌 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉. 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻. 𝒾 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉. 𝒶𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝓇, 𝓉𝑜𝓀𝓎𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓊𝓁. 𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝓌 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓂𝒶𝓁 𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝒹𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓉. 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝓎𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓎. 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎, 𝒾’𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓂𝒶𝑔𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒾 𝒹𝒾𝒹. 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒. 𝒾'𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓀 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈. [𝗫𝗫𝗫-𝗫𝗫𝗫-𝗫𝗫𝗫𝗫] 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, 𝓂𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁

you stared at the page for a moment after finishing. surely you couldn't have been going crazy.

"huh," you murmured to yourself.

it wasn't the story about the stuffed animal that stuck with you, it wasn't even the number.

it was the "i understood exactly what you meant," because very few people did, but this was the king of pop. america's and then some sweetheart if you must.

"well?" jennifer asked, tilting her head. you smiled to yourself.

"it's nice. that's all you're getting."

she groaned dramatically as you folded the letter and set it down carefully. far more carefully than necessary.

your phone buzzed immediately after. "tomorrow's call time got moved up." your managers text read.

of course it did.

your life didn't leave much room for anything else.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

later that night, the letter sat beside you on your desk.

you weren't really looking at it anymore, let alone thinking about it. you were on your iMac, listening to an instrumental that your producer, aaron sent in.

it was there in your peripheral, though. you wondered what he was doing right now.

if he was performing, if was waiting on a r- wait. you paused.

why were you thinking of any of that? you guys hadn't met and only exchanged two letters. it didn't make sense. you were so overwhelmed, you shut off your mac.

shaking your head, you stood up, crossed your room, and turned off the light. unfortunately, it didn't turn off that thought. as you climbed into bed, you told yourself it was just curiousity. people got curious about other people all the time.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

across cities and time zones, michael didn't think much of it either.

he'd meant it casually when he wrote it. an offer, not a statement.

you figured you'd just call tomorrow.

@quietlyscornfulfable ᨳଓ @ooooglymoooogly ᨳଓ @plan3tch1ld ᨳଓ @sleepy-batz ᨳଓ @neatachillies ᨳଓ @sukunasstomachtongue ᨳଓ @solelypyt ᨳଓ @dear2004 ᨳଓ @moonwalker4you ᨳଓ @drewstarkeylov3r ᨳଓ @tinitaeyong ᨳଓ @mynameisnicolle ᨳଓ @glokenn ᨳଓ @yennabow ᨳଓ @pimplucious ᨳଓ @leelysian ᨳଓ @shamonemjshamone ᨳଓ @radiantpactthreshold ᨳଓ @l8nightreads ᨳଓ @tubatututuz ᨳଓ

ᝰ a/n: i knowwww this has sm timeskips ugh, but the timezones are actually so crazy. also can we pretend iMac existed in that era..? | chap 3 here!

sorry if this is confusing as well! tokyo is ahead of bel air by +16hrs! where its bolded, is what it is for that person!

　　﹕   (✿˘͈ᵕ˘͈)   ┈  upcoming works! ↷

𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗮’𝘀 𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗲𝘁𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗯𝘂𝗻𝗻𝘆. ┊ june 6, 2026

status ﹒ ◠ ✩ in progress.

length ﹒ ◠ ✩ ~4k.

summary ﹒ ◠ ✩

when the world’s most famous pop star falls in love with playboy’s golden girl, the reaction sends the world into a frenzy.

she’s beautiful, charismatic, and freshly crowned Playmate of the Year. he’s michael jackson, a global phenomenon whose every move makes headlines. to the public, they’re an impossible match. to the tabloids, they’re a goldmine. every date, every photograph, every glance shared across a crowded room becomes front page news as critics question what either of them could possibly see in the other.

while reporters chase scandals and fans argue over their relationship, michael and (name) find themselves fighting for something surprisingly ordinary: the chance to love each other without an audience. but under the relentless flash of cameras and the weight of public opinion, even the strongest feelings can begin to crack. after all, being america’s sweetest bunny was easy but dating michael jackson is another story entirely.

𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲 (𝟯). ┊ june 10, 2026

status ﹒ ◠ ✩ in progress.

length ﹒ ◠ ✩ ~10k.

preview ﹒ ◠ ✩

Michael still has one hand wrapped around the edge of the door.

He looks exhausted in the rawest possible sense of the word. Sweatpants thrown on crookedly, curls flattened unevenly from sleep, eyes still heavy from being dragged awake too fast. But the second Joe points toward (Name) again, something in his expression hardens immediately.

“Josep—”

“No,” Joe snaps, cutting directly over him without taking his eyes off her. “I told you this was gonna happen.”

(Name)’s grip tightens harder around Michael’s arm instinctively and she can physically feel her pulse hammering in her throat now. Nobody’s yelling yet except Joe, but the front porch already feels suffocatingly tense. Too many bodies. Too much noise. Michael subtly shifts more in front of her without seeming fully conscious he’s doing it, blocking part of Joe’s line of sight while she stays tucked tightly against his side.

“She’s got you missing rehearsals now,” Joe continues. “Hour late already. People waiting on you while you’re up here playing house.”

“It’s early,” Michael says quietly.

“It ain’t early when there’s work to do.”

𝗳𝗶𝗿𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱. 𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲. ┊ june, 2026

status ﹒ ◠ ✩ in progress.

length ﹒ ◠ ✩ ~15k.

summary ﹒ ◠ ✩

before the sold-out stadiums, the screaming crowds, and the headlines known around the world, there was simply michael and (name).

they grew up side by side, collecting summers and secrets like treasures. from scraped knees and sleepovers to whispered dreams beneath starlit skies, there was never a memory that didn't somehow include the other. everyone assumed they'd always be inseparable. what no one expected was how difficult it would be for two soulmates to recognize what had been in front of them all along.

as the years pass and life pulls them in different directions, their bond remains untouched by time, woven into every milestone, every reunion, and every goodbye. but when friendship begins to blur into something deeper, michael and (name) are forced to confront feelings that have been quietly growing between them for years.

after all, some people spend their lives searching for their soulmate.

michael and (name) have known theirs since childhood. ♡

word count: 332

a/n: this is so dumb sorry and not proof read

—

imagine getting into a minor argument with michael. he accused you of eating the rest of the baked macaroni you cooked, so as revenge, you hid the one thing he wouldn’t be seen in public without.

"y/n, this isn't funny!" michael’s voice echoed from the hallway, arms crossed tightly, and laced with panic.

he rounded the corner into the living room, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from howling. he was wearing an oversized purple button-down and black trousers that hugged his slightly fuller figure, his skin a striking, pale porcelain, and his jawline sharp—but his natural hair was tucked away under a tight wig cap. the jet-black bob with the bangs and detroit-style layers that usually framed his face was nowhere to be found. it was his favorite one to throw on, and it was one you bought for him at the beauty supply.

"what's wrong, mikey pooh?" you asked, your voice a picture of innocence as you turned a page of your hair magazine.

"gir- you know what's wrong!" he groaned, stamping his loafered foot. he still managed to look handsome despite the wig cap making him appear bald. he looked nothing like how the tabloids portrayed him. even while he was bewildered, he heavily resembled his early eighties self.

"my hair is missing! i have a meeting with bashir's people in an hour. did you hide it?"

"i would never," you gasped, finally looking up. "let me help you look."

for the next twenty minutes, you "helped" by checking the most ridiculous places. you checked the freezer. you checked behind the television. michael was practically on his knees checking under the sofa, his big eyes wide with betrayal.

pairing☙ Michael Jackson x fem!reader

cw: angsttt, poor treatment in a relationship, jealousy, fluff..

summary❧ Your close friend Michael notices you’re getting treated badly in your relationship. It kills him seeing you in such situation knowing he could treat you a thousand times better.

𐙚—

With the sun’s heat hitting your body with ease you took a glance at your boyfriend who’s been on and off the telephone the last twenty minutes.

You ignored it as his excuse was always “work”, you knew how busy his company would be so you placed your trust in him. You only wished he would trust you as much as you did for him.

Any male friendships you had, which really was mostly only Michael, would cause repeating arguments between you two.

You told Michael many times and his response was always “I was here before him, he has to accept that” , the words always left his mouth with such assurance.

Snapping out of your thoughts you hear footsteps coming towards you. You look up at your boyfriend, a certain expression across his face that you know all too well.

“I gotta go”, he states as he grabs his glasses that sat on the chair next to you.

It was the first weekend in a long time that you had planned for the two of you to finally spend together. But as always it ends abruptly.

That soft smile of content drops from your face. “Again?-we still have the dinner I got us”, you say as you stand up to tell him goodbye.

But before you know it he’s at the door, ignoring your touch. “Well it can wait, you already know how this gets”, he says coldly as the door shut behind him.

Your shoulders drop and that familiar hurt spreads across your body. You’ve been ignoring this feeling for far too long now. You know it. Every cold response, glance and comment from him have been feeling unbearable. Your heart ached for that loving version of him that seems to never arrive.

As the night went on you tucked yourself away into a corner in your bedroom. Looking into the night sky wondering what changed, did he not care anymore?, were you suddenly not enough for him?.

Thoughts clouding your mind as you cried yourself to sleep. You missed as the telephone rang late at night. The nightly routine of a call with Michael, catching up on each other’s days. Talking until the conversation lead to the smallest thing just to stay on the line a while longer.

Michael caught himself on the other side of the town fiddling with the cord, wondering what you were up to, why you didn’t pick up. It was very unusual of you to miss a call. He bit the inside of his mouth as he called again, maybe you had gotten busy for a second. He waited, nothing.

He softly sighed, the phone still in his hand.

After a while he figured you weren’t going to return the call, the idea of you and your boyfriend maybe out on a dinner filled his mind. His stomach turning with this feeling he’s been trying to push down for the past few years. But it always came back, stronger than the last time.

♡︎-

The next morning came with a headache. With the little energy you carried, you got ready. You wanted to look put together even though you weren’t. The sky filled with grey clouds added to your feelings, but it somehow brought comfort. Of course you noticed how your boyfriend didn’t arrive last night, it’s not like it was a total shock but it still stung every time.

You opened the tall doors to your backyard, letting the natural air into your home, you took a deep breath as you told yourself everything was okay.

As you tried distracting yourself by moving some plants across the garden you heard the sound of the telephone ringing inside the house. You hurried to it as you thought your boyfriend suddenly decided to chat.

Picking up the line. “Hello?”, your voice sounding a bit more flat than intended.

“Y/n, you picked up” the soft voice filling the speaker.

Michael. You gently slapped your head as you realized you completely missed his call last night.

His voice bringing you a sense of calmness you were so in need of. “Oh Michael, I’m so sorry i missed your call, I was..I fell asleep”. The last words sounding unsure. You rolled your eyes at yourself.

He let out a small chuckle at your words. “It’s okay, I was just worried—thought you got tired of me for a second”, you could hear the smile in his voice and it made you feel all giddy inside.

“I could never get tired of you”, once you said it out loud you realized how it came out. I should just shut up.

The smile of his face grew bigger as your words spread across his heart.

“Well I’m glad, cause I’ll never get tired of you either”. The words leaving him without hesitation.

You smiled but a feeling crept upon you. “Yeah. You say that now”, you murmured.

His eyebrows furrowed as he heard the tone behind your voice. A broken sentence with more to it.

“No, I know it. For a fact actually”, he carried on the conversation not leaving a space for you to find the sentiment his words came from.

With a little hesitation he decided to ask you just a bit more about last night. What was soo important you couldn’t make the call?. The thought kept looping around his head.

His fingers gently tapping the side of the telephone. “So uh— the dinner with that boyfriend of yours last night, how’d it go?”, he didn’t want to know, but a big strong side of him couldn’t go on without knowing.

You looked around unsure of whether you should come up with a lie to not cause anymore pity, or just simply say what happened. Letting out a soft sigh, you just say the words, the situation that is no longer a surprise to Michael.

“The dinner didn’t happen, he had to leave for a work thing”. Trying to put your strong voice like you didn’t care but as always it betrayed you and came out broken.

Michael’s heart broke for you. He was so tired of hearing about all the different ways your boyfriend failed to be good to you.

He murmured, “a work thing?”

“Yes, you know he gets busy. I get it”. The words sounding more like you wanted to convince yourself, and Michael immediately noticed.

He shook his head. “He doesn’t value you the way he should.. I just-I wish you realized that”, the last part coming out in more of a whisper.

You swallow the tears that try to break. You know he’s right. You’ve been letting it all happen, it’s a stupid move and you know it.

You shrugged as if he could see your movements. You didn’t know what to respond with. Silence filled the air.

“Are you alone?” he asks you, “I want to see you”, he added.

He missed you. He wanted to find a way to make you see you deserve better. Far better than the boy you call your boyfriend.

Michael hated him since the start. He thought about the type of guys you might be into before, but he didn’t want to picture you with any other guy.

When you first mentioned you had a boyfriend something inside him twisted in a way he’s never experienced. A feeling of jealousy and hurt took over his body, his heart ached at the thought of him being too late.

You nodded. “Yes, I’m alone.”

“Good, I’ll be there soon”, he hung up before you could add a word in and change your mind.

Knowing you too well. You’d bring up how your boyfriend might not like him around, but he knew where he stood.

♡︎-

Your fingers grazed through the pages of the magazine as you passed time. There was a weight inside your heart that no matter what you did, it wouldn’t stop.

Suddenly there was a knock at your door, that soft tapping you would recognize every time.

You opened the door to the face that made your heart warm, and suddenly a bit of that weight was lifted off from just seeing his pretty face.

“Michael, you actually came”, you smiled at him as you allowed him inside. He stepped inside and instantly pulled you into a hug.

“Of course I did. I missed you”. He murmured into your shoulder, he pulled away and was inches away from your face. The heat radiating off his body.

You always got flustered when he looked at you. Especially like this, like there was something else there. Nobody else could ever replace the way he looked at you like he knew you, the real you. The person that existed behind all the layers of perfectionism, the strong persona you put out to others. He sees right through it.

You softly smiled as a sparkle came into your eyes. “I missed you, too”, you reply. You open the little space between you as you walk into the living room. Michael following behind. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He didn’t know how to tell you what he wanted to, the fear of saying the wrong thing or the words coming out wrong was holding him back. He didn’t want to lose you, he couldn’t ever bare that.

You both took a seat as he tried gathering his words. “What I said earlier, y’know I mean it.”, the sentence left his lips softly.

“Michael..” , you murmured as you knew what he was getting at.

He shook his head and took your hands into his. His gentle fingers softly caressing yours. “Y/n, listen-I’ve, I’ve been seeing you go through all this crap that he puts you through and I can’t deal with it. Not anymore” his voice slightly cracks as a mix of anger and hurt fill his body.

“Don’t you think you deserve someone who’s actually there for you?, someone who’s not afraid to love you loudly?”, he asked. The words held weight to it, the way he said it as if it’s been keeping him up at night.

You sighed as you looked into his eyes. “He’s my boyfriend, Mike. It’s not that easy. I like him-I really do. We’re just..”

He looked at you deeply. “Just what?”

“Just..so different, it’s like lately I don’t even know who he is anymore”. Your voice broken from the hurt.

Michael’s heart breaks at the sight. “You say you like him, do you love him?”, he asks the question.

He can’t deny the fact that one of the possible responses to that question would break him even further. But he still waits for your response.

You look down in thought, shame taking over your body as you knew the real truth to it. As hard as you tried to open your heart, it never allowed for your love to go to him and you hated yourself for it. You hated the fact that every time you thought or heard of the word ‘love’, it would always lead back to Michael.

But you knew the friendship between the two of you was so so special, you were terrified of damaging it. So you had settled with having him as a very dear friend but that had only left your heart yearning and aching for him.

“..no”, it was like a whisper.

Michael softly grabbed your face making you look up at him.

“Look at me and say it. Do you love him?”, he repeated the question.

You looked into his eyes this time and meant it. “No, I don’t love him”, you say. And suddenly a huge weight lifted off your body.

You felt lighter as if saying those words out loud finally allowed you to know what you’ve been feeling. What you’ve been carrying around for so long.

A smile spread across his face. His heart beating with content. “So what’s stopping you from leaving that trash of a guy?”, the question leaving his mouth with a bitter taste.

You slightly smiled. “Michael ..”

He stood up and began walking back and forth. “No seriously- I mean does he even know your favorite film?, your favorite Disney characters?”, he asked not leaving a pause for you to answer. “Or how about your favorite song to put on when it’s cold out and you want to feel like it’s Christmas already?”. He kept on going, rambling every thing that’s been poking his mind.

“I mean does the guy even know about your childhood blanket that you take care of and keep in perfect condition so your future kids can have it passed onto?”, his voice began softening as he ran his fingers through his hair.

“He just- he doesn’t realize what he has in front of him and it kills me.” He stops and looks at you.

You both have tears in your eyes as you realize what the moment is. Both of y’all’s heart racing like there’s no tomorrow.

You never realized just how much he noticed you. Yes, you knew he was thoughtful, he was a sensitive loving soul. But until now you’ve realized just how much attention he’s given you. How much of the random silly things you’d brought up, how they stayed with him.

He would stay up late nights and write about you onto his journal. He would write about a certain way you did your hair, a new perfume you had tried on and he was head over heels over . He would draw your eyes, that sparkle he noticed every time he’d look into your eyes. He was so down the rabbit hole with you, and although it terrified him he couldn’t get enough.

Every time he was away and missed you but couldn’t get a call through he’d run to the page of the drawing of you and just look onto the page, it would immediately bring him comfort.

And on the other side of the world you’d be doing the same, but with a polaroid that you held very close to your heart. It was a Christmas you two had spend together, that whole night was filled with laughter, you two going back and forth over who would built the better snowman. Ultimately he ended up building a way better one, but you denied it.

He was next to you and your snowman with a carrot in his hand and he had brought it up next to your nose, the flash of a camera captured the moment and it became your favorite picture with the most beautiful memory behind it.

The two of you had been so utterly in love with each other but failed to see it, until now.

His last sentence hitting you like a truck.

“Michael, what are you saying..” you said just above a whisper.

He took a deep breath as he walked closer to you, kneeling in front of you. You looked down at him as he took your hands in his once again. You could feel his hands shaking and it warmed your heart.

“I’m saying..he doesn’t know you half as I do. And he won’t ever know what to do with a woman like you”. His voice gaining strength, but his eyes softer than ever.

Your breathing was uneven. You were lost for words.

He continued. “I can be a better boyfriend than him.”

“A better everything, I just want to be able to show you how much good you deserve”, his doe eyes looking into yours so deeply.

Speechless with your body heat through the roof, you bring your hand to his face. Moving your fingers across his cheek. “You’re too good to me Michael.” you spoke as you continued caressing his face.

“Because you’re good to me, and I’ll forever be grateful for that.” , he muttered.

You softly smiled, he let out a shy smile and his gaze flickered to your lips and back to your eyes. He grabbed the hand you had on his face and began placing light kisses onto it. Your heart skipped a beat.

“You mean everything to me, I wish I told you sooner”, a sad look in his eyes as he said it.

You nodded as you instantly understood him. “me too”, you spoke.

The what ifs always kept you up at night. What would’ve happened if you talked about your feelings right since the start. How much didn’t happen because of it?. The thought irked you.

The tension that had been growing was getting difficult to ignore especially now that he’s here, kneeling before you. His soft doe eyes looking into yours with so much emotion behind them. His curls falling onto his face, his flushed lips, that rosy tint that displayed across his face. He was far too beautiful to comprehend.

Now it was you whose gaze flickered down to his lips. He noticed, of course he did. The silence that filled the room could just about allow for the unsteady breaths to be heard. You both mutually leaned in.

Suddenly you were startled by the sound of keys at your door, you both jump. Disappointment filling your body as you realize who decided to come back.

Regretting the idea of giving your boyfriend a key to your home. You and Michael share a look as you stand up to get away from his reach.

A little hurt enters his heart, but he understands.

He’ll always be ready for you.

When you call him, he’ll be there.

☾-