Award shows. Oh, how you hated them. The pretence, the press and especially being around so many coked-up celebrities never felt right to you. Of course, they’d never admit to being drug-addicted losers, but you knew better. What kind of normal person sniffles and fiddles with their nose without actually needing to blow it? Right right. You hated it. As simple as that. You hated it all, loathed it even. But your boyfriend wanted you to be there for him. It’s the Grammys after all, and his latest album is nominated in pretty much every major category. He’s going to win it all. That’s a given. He’s going to sweep up every award, and you’ll be there to kiss him in front of the cameras every single time he gets up to collect another golden gramophone.

Maybe, just maybe, you like that, but that’s a big maybe. Showing off who you are to the rising star. You don’t want to admit it, but your ego inflates every time someone reminds you that you’re dating Michael Jackson. Of course, there's no guarantee that he’ll marry you—he’s yet to bring that conversation up—but who gives a shit? Michael Jackson is yourboyfriend. Yours. And that’s all that matters.

The car ride to Shrine Auditorium and Expo Hall is tedious and silent. You’re stewing in your own self-pity. The idea of simply jumping out of the car crosses your mind. Michael notices.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that.” He mutters, plucking at your Afro to fluff it up at the back.

“Shut up, Mike. I don’t want to do this.” There’s no venom in your words. Michael knows that. He merely scoffs and lifts your knuckles to his lips.

“You gonna be in a mood all night? The cameras are gonna catch every scowl.” He pecks each knuckle on your hand.

Instead of responding with sarcasm, you turn to him and smile obnoxiously in a silent “I’ll pretend’ manner. Michael snickers. His lips are still lazily grazing your hand as he stares at you. God, you’re so annoyingly sassy, but he loves it. He loves how blunt you are—maybe because he’s had to be sweet and gentle all his life. You’re unmoving, like a mountain withstanding a lightning storm. So sexy. So infuriating. The car drives over a speed bump, breaking the slight sexual tension that had been building between you both. When it turns the corner into the Expo hall parking lot, you swiftly remove your hand from his delicate grip.

Cameras flash in a staccato motion. It’s overwhelming. Nauseating. Michael steps out of the car first, aviators hiding his gorgeous eyes. The cameras flash faster than before, journalists asking senseless questions all at once. Michael pays them little mind, flashing his oh-so-charming smile at them, giving them little satisfaction. He rushes to your side of the car before opening the door for you. He whispers a quick “smile, woman,” into your ear and you oblige. Photographs of you both entering the Hall are taken. Every move you make, every breath and every micro expression is documented. You’re already over it.

The ceremony—to you at least—is lacklustre. A few performances here, award winners there and unnecessary speeches flow through the Hall at a painfully laggard pace. You’re nearing the brink of sleep, but you fight it off. Can you imagine what the press would say if they caught you slumped in a theatre chair at the Grammys? Not only would that embarrass you, but your loving partner. You blink a few times, and finally, finally, Michael’s name is said.

“Male Pop Vocal Performance goes to Michael Jackson!”

And then another.

“The Grammy for Record of the Year goes to…Michael Jackson!”

And another, and another, and another until your lip gloss has finally gone dry from pressing chaste kisses on Michael’s perfectly sculpted face.

Your eyes stay fixed on him, blue-black and gold military-esque jacket glistening under expensive lights. He looks ethereal. Otherworldly. You have to admit you’re enjoying yourself now. Watching your man win 8 awards in one night gives you an indescribable high, a high he seems to notice because when he wins Album of the Year, he dedicates it to you. You kiss the bottom of his chin, a light red lipstick stain glistening on his as he accepts the award onstage. His speech is short but cutting, telling the crowd—and those watching at home—how much you inspired him throughout the album’s creation.

And soon after, the show ends, and the cameras stop broadcasting. You just have to suffer the post-award show interviews, and then you’ll be free from this glitz and glam-covered purgatory. Right?

Wrong.

“We’re going to the after-party,” Michael bounces. he hops smoothly, as if his bones are made of springs.

You want to melt there and then. Michael practically skips to your shared limousine, holding the door open for you to enter. He jumps in after you.

“I’m not going. No way.” You murmur. Michael shakes his head, holding your hand as he did on the way here.

“It’ll be fun! Drinks, food, music and dancing,” he practically sings, words dancing in the air like magic dust, “Please?”

“You’re way too jolly for my liking,” You scoff. He’s used to this, you getting all irritated by his famous lifestyle. He understands. He really does, but tonight is different. He won 8 Grammys for god’s sake; first person to do that, ever. Let alone being a black man to set that record. He’s elated, buzzing with justified pride. You can literally feel him vibrating beside you. “But fine. We’ll go to the damn after-party.”

Celebrities dance and sing alone to their own song in the warmly lit club. Alcohol flows through the room in waves and bodies sway in their elegant outfits. Some stars have changed into completely different attire. Show-offs.

You mingle as much as you can. Michael stays beside you for the most part  until he’s swept away by David Bowie. He says something about “wanting to introduce Michael” to a few friends. Your arm reluctantly unhooks itself from Michael as you dolefully watch him vanish into the crowd. With a frustrated smile, you find an empty seat near the back booth in the club. A few stars greet you. Some stable nearby chairs and make small talk with you while others remain standing. You notice a few snorting coke by the bar, sipping on something strong right after.

“Good lord, get me outta here.” You mumble inwardly, pinching the bridge of your nose, disconsolation evident in your mannerism. You can hear your boyfriend's heavenly laugh in the distance. Too heavenly for your liking. A piercing pang drops in your gut and, without further thinking, you get up and stride confidently towards the sound of Michael laughing again. When you make it to him, you see her.

Diana fucking Ross.

“Oh hi!” She gleams mockingly at you, waving her hand in your direction while her other hand caresses Michael’s shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d be here, y/n.”

“Hi,” you mimic her tone, although less enthusiastically. Michael stiffens when he glances in your direction. Your jaw is clenched, and your hands are balled up in tight fists. “Didn’t think you’d be up at this hour either.” You smile wickedly.

Diana laughs it off, her lanky fingers still raking sensually over Michael’s shoulder. Michael doesn’t even move. He remains still, an awkward grin plastered on his even more awkward face. You’re not surprised he’s not moving. Michael has never been good with situations like this, and you’re well aware of the history between him and Diana. Fucking weird either way. There isn’t any situation where a woman should be all ‘touchy feely’ with a man 14 years older than him.

“What’s got you laughing so much, babe?” You question his loud chuckles from a minute earlier. Diana responds for him.

“A little inside joke between us from years ago!” She keeps up the pretence, You wouldn’t understand, sweethearts!”

Sweetheart? Who is she calling sweetheart?

“I have time.” You pry.

“Ah, it's nothing serious.” She grins.

“Seems serious enough to have you eye-fucking my boyfriend.” You quip.

Michael’s eyes widen behind his aviators. The three of you stand in thick, unbreaking pressure unnoticed by the rest of the party. Rage envelopes you in a fuzzy hug. Diana’s hand continues its journey around your man’s shoulder. Her thumb and index finger circle his chin, and without warning, she puckers her lips and kisses Michael right above his chin, leaving a purple lipstick stain on his lower's lip in its wake.

The damn within you cracks. Anger as thick and hot as molten lava seeps from every orifice and pore.

“You fucking bitch! I’m gonna fuck you up—” You lunge forward, your hands grabbing Diana’s hair as you drag her to the ground. The music keeps playing, muffling Diana’s pained and shocked screams. She’s completely taken off guard. Never in her life has anyone of Michael’s dates or girlfriends stood up to her like this. In fact, none of them stuck around long enough to have to deal with bullshit like this.

You straddle her on the floor, fists bashing at every inch of her face and chest. Each blow to her face is met with a curse and wince from her. Diana’s eyes water in agony. She cries for help, but her wails are nullified by the beating rhythm of music. Ironically, Michael’s ‘Beat It’  bounces out of large speakers, loud and deafening. Michael freezes completely. The only thing he manages to move is his hand as he disgustedly wipes Diana’s lipstick stain off his lip. He watches the scene unfold before him, eyes glistening—not with sorrow but with endearment too shameful to admit. You’re going batshit crazy on Diana right now, and he…likes it?

“Heavenly Father…” He mutters in absolute awe for you, “What a woman.”

One loud piteous cry from Diana eventually draws people’s attention, specifically David—who had been the one to take Mike away from your hold hours again. He hooks his arms under yours and drags you off of Diana. You don’t go out without a fight, kicking at her mindlessly as David drags you away. One kick in particular hits her ribs, drawing out a sharp cry from her.

All eyes are on you now. The music has stopped, and murmurs about the debacle travel to and fro. Michael eventually snaps out of his daze. His body shakes off the last remnants of sudden paralysis as he crouches down in front of Diana—not to check on her but to inspect your violent artistry. His large sunglasses hide the glint in his eyes. Diana shields her face in both hands, embarrassment evident in how she curls into herself on the floor.

Behind Michael, David still holds you back. He repeats “calm down” in your ear whenever you try to pounce. Your chest heaves energetically, hands grabbing at David’s arms when you finally try to get yourself together. He doesn’t mind. He’s seen shit like this before. If he was honest, what you did is nothing compared to what he’s witnessed on past occasions.

Soon enough, Michael is at your side, replacing David’s hold on you in a subtle manner. Instead of holding you in an undertook like Bowie had, he lovingly places his warm hands on your waist and hugs you from behind.

“Woman, you’ve done it this time,” Michael whispers. Someone rushes to Diana’s aid while another calls for medical attention. He rubs gentle circles over your hip bone with his thumbs and sighs, looking around the room. Cops could be on their way, though the chance of that is unlikely. Having police in a drug-ridden club would look bad for the Academy and the club itself.

“Who’s she feeling like? Kissing on my man? In front of me!” You lunge forward, but Michael holds you back.

“Enough, pretty thing.” Mike’s tone is stern now. As much as he’d like to entertain this further, he’s aware of how damaging this could be for you both. “Let’s go. She’s not going to press charges.”

“And you know this how?” You scoff and reluctantly ease up in his hold.

“Trust me.” He doesn’t explain further. You know what he means, and you hate it. As much as their…relationship irks you, you know Diana’s got a soft spot for him. If need be, he’ll toy with her heartstrings to get you off the hook.

The limousine ride to your hotel room is quiet. Michael massages your bruised knuckles and chuckles to himself.

“Ain’t shit funny,” you mutter, a faint smile splayed across your makeup-shone face, “I could go to jail.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you went all ‘Muhammad Ali’ on her.” He huffs, spreading his legs and shifting in his seat. He clears his throat when you notice it.

“Really, Mike? You’re sick.” You giggle.

“Might need you to beat up on me too.” Michael jokes bashfully, leaning in to kiss you.

“Boy, wash your face first…and scrub them lips extra hard.” You push him away. He pouts in mock offence but understandably nods and snickers, leaning back in his seat as the car rolls forward through the late night.

taglist

@pyt03 @lov3lylxvender @nobleumbrashrine @zerosugarcherrydrpepper @angeleface @fanficreader33 @beberock375 @michaeljacksonsleftnipple @xxhoneymo0n @kordulka @iiovey0u @michaeljacksonsbae @ningizuo @tellybearyyy @kneelarmhstrung @mikejacksbabymommaaaaa @nunusmoll @istayuptoolateonthisapp15 @funkaoverwar @khxna

Everybody on the set knew Michael Jackson was hopelessly in love and obsessed with his girlfriend, Y/N.

Not regular boyfriend obsessed. Not casual celebrity relationship obsessed. No.

This man looked at her like every love song he’d ever written had somehow become a person.

And unlike people assumed Michael wasn’t oblivious. Naive sometimes? Sure. Too kind for his own good? Absolutely. But stupid? Never.

He noticed when women flirted with him. He noticed the lingering touches. The giggling. The way too-long stares. He just usually ignored it because none of it mattered to him.

Not when his Y/N existed.

And honestly? Michael kind of enjoyed letting people embarrass themselves sometimes.

Especially when Y/N got possessive.

Because underneath all her confidence his girl had a little crazy in her.

Not toxic crazy. Fun crazy. Sharp-tongued. Territorial. The kind that smiled sweetly while threatening somebody psychologically.

And Michael secretly adored it. Secretly even got a little bit turned on by it.

Especially during the making of his album History.

Because, lucky Michael, Y/N followed him everywhere during that time. Sets. Tours. Studios. Rehearsals. You name it, she was there. And he absolutely love it and begged for her to be around.

Sometimes she would sit behind the monitors in giant sunglasses and one of his jackets criticizing choreography like an offended sports commentator.

Sometimes she wandered onto stage during lighting checks just to bother (kiss) him while he worked.

And Michael? Oh, he orbited her constantly.

If she disappeared too long he noticed immediately.

If somebody annoyed her he noticed immediately.

If she looked jealous—oh, he definitely noticed immediately.

Which became a problem once that stupid (according to Y/N) backup dancer showed up.

Beautiful girl. Very aware she was beautiful too. One of those women who walked around like every room was an audition.

At first it was harmless. Too much laughing. Standing too close. Finding excuses to touch Michael during rehearsals. Nothing they weren’t used to. And Michael ignored all of it politely. Not passively, though. He’d subtly step away. Redirect conversations. Immediately look for Y/N afterward.

One afternoon during choreography rehearsal the dancer pressed herself against him during a move that absolutely did not require it. Michael caught it instantly.

His expression flickered. Not flustered, no.

Annoyed.

He stepped backward smoothly.

“Careful,” he said lightly. “That’s not part of the choreography.”

The room went awkwardly quiet.

Because the correction sounded polite, but very pointed. The dancer recovered quickly though. Smiling wider instead. “Sorry,” she purred. “It’s hard to focus around you.” Michael gave the smallest tight smile imaginable.

Then immediately looked across the room.

Right toward where Y/N was.

She sat on top of a monitor table sipping on some tea while watching the entire interaction over the rim of her cup.

Their eyes met instantly. And Michael saw it.

That little look.

Worse than insecurity.

Amusement. Dangerous amusement. Like she was deciding whether to kill somebody recreationally.

Michael bit back a smile and abandoned rehearsal entirely, walking straight toward her.

The dancer blinked in disbelief and confusion.

Michael stopped between Y/N’s knees automatically while she looked up at him lazily.

“You surviving over there?” she asked sweetly.

Michael leaned down just enough for only her to hear. “She’s annoying me.”

Y/N nearly smiled. Nearly. Instead she tilted her head innocently.

“Aw. You need me to save you?”

Michael looked at her through his lashes with a tiny smirk. “Maybe I want you to.”

That was the thing about Michael. People thought he was shy all the time. But around Y/N? He knew exactly what he was doing.

The next few days only got worse.

The dancer became bolder because apparently humiliation wasn’t enough to stop her.

One day Y/N walked into Michael’s trailer and immediately stopped in her tracks.

The dancer stood there laughing at something Michael clearly had not found funny.

Too close again. Hand on his arm. Michael looked up the second Y/N entered.

And immediately—immediately—his entire body language changed. Relief crossed his face and his shoulders relaxed.

“Baby.” He said, an enormous smile taking over his pretty face.

That one word alone made the dancer look irritated.

Michael stood up right away crossing the trailer toward Y/N while the dancer still talked. It was like he genuinely forgot she existed halfway through the conversation. And the best part was that he didn’t even did it on purpose.

He kissed Y/N’s forehead softly before murmuring. “Please tell me you’re done with wardrobe?”

The dancer stared at them like she wanted to scream. Or commit a felony.

Y/N smiled sweetly.

“Mhm.” Then she looked toward the dancer casually and waved her fingers at her. “Oh. Hi.”

The girl crossed her arms. “You’re always here.”

Michael answered before Y/N could. “Yeah.” He looked down at Y/N and smiled. “That’s where I keep her.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, a small giggle getting through. The dancer clenched her jaw. And Michael noticed that too. Because again: that man was not oblivious.

That night after filming the music video wrapped, Y/N sat in Michael’s lap backstage while he removed the iconic tape pieces from his fingers. He grunted with frustration as one particular tape was stubbornly sticking to his hand. He shook his head lightly and placed his hand on Y/N’s lap, giving up on taking it off. She took his hand in his and started to work on it.

“Told you she wants you,” Y/N muttered, eyes on the tape.

Michael didn’t even look up.

“She wants attention.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “She does?”

Now Michael looked up. Completely calm. “Baby, women who actually get my attention don’t act like that.”

That sentence sat directly in Y/N’s bloodstream for the next forty-eight business hours.

Unfortunately the dancer overheard enough little moments like that to start resenting Y/N badly.

And truly? Y/N was handling the situation with all the grace and emotional restraint of a jealous housecat.

Not because she doubted Michael, never that. But because watching another woman repeatedly ignore boundaries made her act a bit mean.

One morning while getting some coffee with a makeup artist from the crew, Y/N watched the dancer laugh a little too loudly at something Michael said from across the room. She stared for a moment.

“You know,” Y/N said casually to the makeup artist, “I actually feel bad for her.”

He looked up.

“Why?”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “Can you imagine embarrassing yourself in front of Michael Jackson every day?”

“Babes, that’s literally all you do.”

“That’s different.” She argued, eyes not leaving Michael’s little annoyed expression as the dancer talked his ear off.

The makeup artist frowned. “How?”

“Well, he thinks it’s cute when I do it.”

That made him snort.

Across the room, the dancer laughed again. Too loud. Way too loud for Y/N’s liking.

Y/N’s eye twitched. Just a little. Michael looked up automatically. Their eyes met.

And immediately he knew.

Uh-oh.

The dancer kept talking. Y/N kept pretending she wasn’t watching. Michael kept pretending he wasn’t watching her watch him.

The cycle continued for approximately three full minutes. And then rehearsal finally broke for lunch.

Michael made it maybe halfway across the room before finding her. As usual. As he always did.

He dropped into the chair beside her, arms crossed over his chest and a tini-tiny smirk on his pretty face. He looked far too pleased with himself.

Y/N narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t like your face.” She motioned to his face.

“My face?”

“That face you have going on.”

“What face?” He was doing it on purpose at this point.

Y/N nodded, a bit annoyed, actually. “The one you’re making right now.”

Michael smiled. Exactly. That face.

Y/N sighed dramatically.

“She’s so annoying.”

Michael’s smile widened instantly, cheeks starting to hurt. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N looked away rolling her eyes.

Michael bit the inside of his cheek as he tried not to laugh. He failed, the tiniest of giggles leaving his lips. “Baby.”

“Oh, don’t you ‘baby’ me.” Y/N said, a pout taking over her face as she crossed her arms over her chest.

He shook his head in a very teasing way.

“Oh, my miss possessive.”

Y/N whipped her head around so fast. “Excuse me?” Voice laced with annoyance.

Michael’s smile got bigger.

“Miss Possessive.”

“Michael.”

“My miss Possessive.”

“I swear to God—”

Now he was just fully laughing. Shoulders shaking. Head ducked down. The worst part? The man looked delighted. Absolutely delighted.

“You were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You so were.”

“I was observing.”

Michael nodded thoughtfully. “Right.”

“I was.”

“Very scientific.”

“Exactly.”

“Research purposes, am I right?”

“Absolutely.”

Michael looked away again. Trying (unsuccessfully) to recover.

Y/N pointed a sharp finger at him, eyes wide. “Stop enjoying this.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” She nodded. “Too much, actually.”

“I’m really not.” He mumbled holding his hands up like a guilty man.

“Michael.”

“Okay, maybe I am enjoying little.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re cute when you’re jelous of me.”

Y/N groaned loudly and threw her head back. Michael looked like he’d just won an award. “I don’t get jelous.” Deny, deny, deny.

Michael nodded, a full ironic expression on his face. “Right, what ever makes you sleep at night, princess.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Deny, deny, deny.’ She thought to herself. But then again, what the hell? “You know what?” She finally snapped, whipping her head in his direction. Immediately he perked up.

“What?”

She cocked her head to the side and raised her brows for a moment. “I lied.” She stared into his eyes. Michael blinked.

“You lied?”

“Yeah.”

She threw both hands into the air. “I’m jealous.”

Silence. Then Michael smiled so hard he nearly looked embarrassed.

“Really?”

“Oh, don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That.”

Y/N pointed at him again.

“The face again.”

“What face?”

“The one I just said you do when you’re enjoying something way too much.”

Michael laughed. Actually laughed.

Oh, the audacity of this man.

“Baby—”

“Shut up.”

“Baby.”

“Nope.”

“You’re so cute.”

Y/N covered her face immediately.

“This is very humiliating for me.”

Michael gently pulled one of her hands away.

Still smiling. Still completely in awe of her.

“I like that you care.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I do.” He intertwined their fingers and kissed her hands.

“You’re making it worse.”

Michael leaned closer.

“Miss Possessive.” He whispered.

Y/N pointed at him immediately.

“Keep talking and I’m leaving.”

“No, you’re not.”

She stared at him for about two seconds. “Yeah, probably not.”

“Exactly.”

And somehow that made him smile even bigger.

One afternoon the dancer walked past Y/N and muttered. “Some girls get way too comfortable.”

Y/N smiled immediately. “Oh, I’m beyond comfortable, thank you!”

The makeup artist nearby actually choked on her water at that.

Then came the shirt.

Michael arrived on set late one morning wearing black jeans, curls tied back loosely, sunglasses and a T-Shirt that read:

MY GIRLFRIEND IS HOTTER THAN YOU

That man.

That. Impossible. Man.

The crew in the studio did not know how to react.

Screaming.

Wheezing.

People dropping things.

Y/N’s hand just flew over her mouth, disbelief flashed across her face. She shook her negativity head at him.

That infuriatingly beautiful man.

“Michael Jackson, you are unbelievable.”

Michael looked around confused.

“What?”

“You cannot wear that!”

He glanced down at the shirt casually.

“What? I thought it was cute.”

“You are insane.”

Michael smiled slowly then. A little smug this time. Good Lord. “I know.”

Y/N stared at him in disbelief.

“You did that on purpose?”

Michael shrugged lightly. Then leaned close enough for only her to hear. “She keeps staring at me.”

Y/N went silent immediately.

Because oh. So he had noticed.

Michael slid his sunglasses down slightly.

“And she keeps making you mad.”

Y/N folded her arms trying not to look pleased.

“And?”

“And I don’t like it.”

That should not have been as attractive as it was. Unfortunately for Y/N it was devastatingly attractive.

Y/N just shook her head again, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest. Michael let out a loud laugh and kissed the top of her head.

The final confrontation happened two days later.

Y/N sat backstage getting her eyeliner fixed when the dancer appeared again.

Arms crossed, cocky expression on her face.

“You know,” she started casually, “it’s kind of embarrassing how attached he is to you.”

Y/N looked at her through the mirror.

“It is?”

“He’s obsessed.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “Yeah, I know.”

That clearly wasn’t the reaction the dancer wanted. She stepped closer.

“I just think if Michael met somebody more…” She actually looked Y/N up and down. “,exciting—”

Y/N actually laughed this time. Not fake. Real. Sharp. “Okay,” She mumbled still smiling.

Then finally she stood up slowly.

And suddenly the room felt different.

Because Y/N wasn’t intimidated. Not even slightly.

She walked closer until the dancer had to tilt her head upward slightly.

“My boyfriend would never look twice at you,” Y/N said calmly.

The dancer scoffed. “You sound very confident.”

“I am.” Then Y/N smiled. Mean. Beautiful. “But if you wanna embarrass yourself…” She shrugged lightly. “Try him.”

And apparently the woman was dumb enough to do exactly that.

Later during rehearsal Michael sat alone near the stage sipping on some orange juice while checking choreography notes when the dancer approached.

Y/N watched from across the set already bitting down a smile because she knew this was about to go horribly.

The girl leaned against his chair.

“You know…” she said softly. “I think you deserve somebody less possessive.”

“Huh?” Michael looked up slowly, brows frowned slightly. Already looking very unimpressed. “My girlfriend is a little possessive.” His eyes flickered briefly to where Y/N stood, a small smile appearing on his lips. “I like it.”

The girl laughed lightly.

“She watches every woman around you.”

Michael capped his water bottle calmly.

“Because every woman around me keeps bothering me.” The dancer blinked. Michael continued before she could recover. “And honestly?” He tilted his head slightly. “I’m starting to think y’all do it on purpose.”

The dancer forced a smile. “I just think maybe you’d get bored eventually.”

Michael stared at her for a long moment. Then glanced across the room toward Y/N. And the second he saw her? His entire face softened automatically.

Then he looked back at the dancer and said very simply: “I’ve been in love with her for years.” Silence. “People don’t get boring when you actually love them.”

Murder. Complete murder.

The dancer looked like she wanted earth to swallow her whole now.

And Michael wasn’t finished. Because suddenly he smiled politely. Not cruel, which felt, somehow, worse. “And respectfully…” He gestured vaguely toward Y/N across the room. “Have you seen my girlfriend?”

The dancer’s face went blank. She honestly didn’t know what to say.

Y/N covered her face laughing discreetly, pretending she wasn’t doing her absolute best to eavesdrop when Michael finally stood up and walked straight toward her.

The second he reached her he wrapped one arm around her waist naturally, pulling her closer.

Y/N looked up at him through a grin.

“You’re a little crazy in the head, you know that, right?”

Michael looked very pleased with himself.

“Yeah? Well, I’ve learned from the best.” He teased her and Y/N shook her head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Then Y/N grabbed the front of his stupid shirt and kissed him right there in front of everybody. Just because she could.

And because Michael Jackson looked at her like she’d invented sunshine just to brighten his day.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭

Tags:

You turned to him, "Basically there's an app that lets people write out kinda whatever they want, and this company has found a bunch of things written about you and we're going to read them together. We've watched a couple of their videos, angel face, don't act like you don't know what you've agreed to." You smiled and nudged his leg with your foot.

He sighed dramatically. "You're right, I'm just not sure this is a good idea." He hid his face away, trying to conceal his smile. Little did you know, Michael had secretly reached back out to BuzzFeed and had asked them to not only get tweets about him, but tweets about you. And you were so clueless. Michael could see it now, you laughing at his embarrassed face when he would flip everything on it's head and you would be the one hiding your face. He was also very intrigued to see what people really thought about you.

Your heart melted, thinking he was actually nervous. You took his hand, "Hey we don't have to do this, Mikey." You rubbed your thumb over his rings.

He shook his head, "No, I want to, you just know how I get." He squeezed your hand.

You smiled at him sweetly, so sweetly. It almost made him feel bad about the little stunt he was pulling, almost. "I'll be right beside you the whole time, okay?"

He nodded and kissed your head and then your lips.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Before either of you knew it you were sitting in front of a bright blue backdrop. You both sat in separate chairs, much to each of your dislinking. They had originally been set up a foot apart from each other, but as soon as Michael saw it he moved his chair so that it was directly touching yours. You smiled and took a sip of whatever sparkling water they had offered you. You watched as the producer handed the phone to Michael, explaining to him very carefully how to access the tweets they had found. Michael stared at the phone, his glasses hanging onto the tip of his nose.

You laughed a bit at the way his brows furrowed in confusion, "Michael, darling, I can help you if you want."

He shook his head, "No no, I've got it."

You raised an eyebrow at the dismissal. He never declined your help when it came to technology, especially phones. That should have been the first warning sign.

Once everyone was set up, Michael came into frame and took a seat. You crossed your legs in the chair and he instinctively reached over and placed his hand on your thigh. The action warmed you and you leaned into his side slightly.

"Alright whenever you guys are ready." The director shouted from off screen.

Michael smiled and looked at the camera, "Hello, I am Michael Jackson,"

"I'm Y/n Jackson, and we're here with BuzzFeed to read some thirst tweets!" You finished the intro. Michael smiled at you and showed you the phone.

"Do you wanna read the first one?" He asked, you nodded and found the screenshot. He laughed nervously, trying to read your expression, "Oh gosh, I'm nervous."

You laughed, "Don't be this one is pretty tame."

"Girls don't want boyfriends, they just want Michael Jackson."

You looked at him after reading it, and both of you laughed, leaning into each other. "Do you think that's true?" He asked you.

You nodded, "Oh for sure, although I guess I don't really get a say in that, I'm the one that has you." You flirted shamelessly.

He hid his face in his hands, "Next one, gimme the Iphone." He carefully took it from your hands.

"Y'know you can just call it a phone right?" You teased.

He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat ready to read the next tweet.

"Can Michael Jackson please choke me with his thighs?"

You doubled over laughing, as Michael turned bright red. He looked so concerned, "Why would I want to choke somebody?" You opened your mouth to respond, but Michael quickly covered your mouth with his hand, "Don't actually answer that!"

You mumbled something through his hand before prying it off, "Okay okay, next!" You took the phone and read the tweet.

"Oh I just know Michael Jackson's dih is big."

"My what?" He looked at you confused. You showed him the tweet, "What is 'dih'?" He looked at you.

You really tried not to laugh, you tried so hard, but that look on his face immediately broke you into a fit of giggles. You were laughing so much you couldn't respond. Michael smiled, starting the chuckle with you, "Why are you laughing? What is it? Y/n!" He grabbed your shoulders, trying to get an answer from you.

Once you finally caught your breath you looked at him and wiped away the tears from your eyes. "They're talking about your junk, Mikey."

His eyes widened and he hid his face in his hands again. You kissed his cheek and looked over at the camera with a smirk and gave an exaggerated nod.

This continued for some time, the tweets getting raunchier and raunchier.

"He's so dada."

"Michael Jackson could spit in my mouth and I'd still call him Daddy."

"What will it take for me to ride that fine man's face?"

"Can Michael Jackson please whimper and moan in my ear?"

"All I want in life is Michael Jackson's face buried deep in my pus-"

Michael cut you off before you could finish reading that one, taking the phone from your hands, his face was red as a tomato.

"Alright, my turn." He declared and carefully pushed up his glasses. He cleared his throat,

"Michale Jackson is the luckiest man alive, because what do you mean he's married to Y/n?"

You blinked a bit and leaned over, trying to look at the screen. "That's not what that one says."

Michael held it away from you, "Oh yes it is! Surprise!" He smirked as your jaw dropped.

Oh how the turn tables.

Michael kept reading.

"My toxic trait is thinking I could pull someone like Y/n."

"Y/n is so mommy."

"I would get on my hands and knees for Y/n."

"I would let Y/n walk me like an actual dog."

You sat beside Michael, stunned, and very flustered from hearing all those things leave his mouth.

"I genuniely believe I could sit in a cuck chair for hours and watch Michael Jackson and Y/n fuck, but mainly so I could watch Y/n."

You hid your face in Michael's chest, your ears burning from how hot they were. "Dear lord, okay okay, you got me!"

Michael laughed a bit, he was just as flustered as you.

It was quiet for a moment before he looked at you, "What is a cuck chair?"

"Oh my god, no. We cannot have this conversation here." You shook your head, laughing slightly.

The video ended with you both laughing and red in the face from all the things you had read.

Michael opened the car door for you and you both got in the car. The ac was on blast, as you tried to cool down.

Michael smiled and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, "I surprised you didn't I?"

"Very much so." You leaned against him.

"Did you like it?" He looked a bit nervous.

"Yeah, I did. Now we both can look like flustered idiots on the internet." You smiled up at him and gently kissed his cheek.

TAGLIST: @darkseidex @plan3tch1ld @cozygirljay @mooki3-bear @houseofathenaa @h3avenlyglory @isthattyra @pinkhoodi @k0niiii-blog @vanillaiceyhot @hismainchic @bamb1ss @numberoneszafan @freshbonggwater @saltygoldengirl @mxnijuana @manitsunamii @snowseasonmademe @chaotuics @fifi-asco @the1miscief @theesexyyaquariuss @evimmarvel @sativadivastuff @myhobari @n0r4sarchive @mamasturn @neighbourscat @thatonecarebear @hiitsmebbygrl16 @thatssokarii @hotgirlgenniesblog @kyomionline @arithescorpio @irunfadesoverkenny @watamotee33 @tenacioustestamentambush @koyadagreat @ynniksslirg @pixieelixer-24 @moneymeeeeeeeee @youdntknowmeirl @kaivsh @riahhmiyaa @prettygalleria @parisslovediary @jaden1738 @kaystacks17 @superheroprincess22 @yourm0mish0t 🩷

“Marlon!— no!— stop it!—” you squealed as you and Michael pushed against the closet door with all the strength both of you hand, trying to stop Marlon, Jermaine, and Tito from successfully closing the door on the two of you.

“uh-uh, y’all got business to handle! gon’ and get all that mushy out of y’all’s systems so everything can go back to normal!” Marlon remarked through boyish laughter as the three brothers suddenly shoved their body weight against the door in unison and the force sent you and Michael back from the door and tumbling to the ground, a yelp coming from you and a grunt coming from him while the two of you fell wrapped in each other’s limbs.

Michael’s brothers were known to toy with you and him, especially since it was obvious — to them, at least — that you and Michael had not-so secret feelings for each other, but three of them going as far as to shove you and him in a closet together was extremely embarrassing for both of you.

to be more specific, it was Marlon who dragged you to the closet and Jermaine who followed him with Michael in his arms, but it was Tito who held the closet door open for them to put both of you in there.

you and Michael had been friends since you were teenagers and spent much of your adolescence together, even going as far as sneaking out to see each other and hang out at odd times of the night. as time progressed, your bond grew stronger and the two of you were practically two peas in a pod, but somewhere along the way, things started to shift between the two of you.

it wasn’t very obvious, but it could be subtly felt. touches started lingering a bit more and eye contact felt different, almost as if layered with something deeper than platonic affection. the thin line between close friends and lovers was becoming blurred and neither of you realized it.

Jackie noticed it first, then Jermaine, and that’s when the rest of the Jackson brothers started piecing things together as well.

everyone knew Michael was shy at times, but you were no better than him. both of you were equally shy in your own ways, but especially when it came down to romantic feelings, relationships, or connections — truthfully, anything under the ‘romance’ umbrella made both of you very timid and quieter than usual.

so obviously, the Jackson brothers knew that you and Michael would never confess how you really felt about each other, so they decided to do what they do best: meddle.

“you okay?” the sound of Michael’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts and you blinked as you looked up at him, realizing the fall had planted him right on top of you.

“yeah… y-yeah, i’m fine,” you answered softly as you searched his face for a moment and swallowed thickly, the confined space suddenly feeling smaller than before, “you?”

“i’m okay.” Michael reassured, a small shy smile creeping onto his face, as you instinctively smiled back and the two of you stood from the ground with each other’s help, both of you adjusting your clothing before you moved towards the door.

wrapping your fingers around the doorknob, you twisted it once, then twice, and your face dropped once you realized it was locked.

“hey!” you shouted with a huff as you let go of the doorknob and slapped the door with the palm of your hand instead, “y’all better open this doggone door!”

“not until y’all admit that y’all like each other!” Jermaine shouted back.

“and don’t lie ‘cause we all see how you look at him!” Marlon immediately added in, one of his infamous giggles slipping out mid-sentence.

“and Mike ain’t innocent either! boy be lookin’ like a lost puppy when you around!” Tito chimed in, causing the three brothers to erupt in laughter together.

huffing quietly, you took a step back from the door and leaned against the nearest wall as your gaze shifted to Michael, who was sheepishly covering his face with his hands — presumably due to the embarrassing statements from his brothers.

“…Mikey?” you called softly, your voice barely audible, as Michael peeked through his fingers and looked over at you before slowly — almost reluctantly — lowering his hands from his face, knowing that neither of you could avoid the conversation that was about to happen — at least, not anymore because of his meddling brothers.

“…yeah?” Michael answered back, his voice quieter than normal, as he slightly pursed his lips together before tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, a gesture he always managed to do when he was nervous.

you slightly parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out but quiet stammers that only fueled your embarrassment, causing a small comforting smile to form on Michael’s face.

“hey, hey, it’s okay… d-do you want me to go first instead?” Michael offered, finding your bashful stutters adorable, as your mouth closed and you slightly nodded, a shy smile spreading across your features.

“yeah, if, um… if that’s okay with you.” you finally managed to put a sentence together and crossed your arms across your chest to ease your nerves as Michael slowly nodded his head and swallowed hard, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact with you while he nervously toyed with the hem of his shirt.

“okay… okay, um… you know, we’ve been friends for a really long time now and, um, i really like spending time with you,” Michael spoke softer and more carefully, trying his best to stay calm in what he viewed as an embarrassing situation, “you… you make me feel so good inside. better than any other girl really has, honestly. so, um… i gotta’ tell you somethin’.”

you slightly stiffened and let out a quiet exhale as you slowly nodded your head, gesturing for him to continue while your arms slightly tightened around your chest, “…go ahead, Michael.”

“i…” Michael hesitated a bit, going quiet for a moment before exhaling shakily, “i like you… i really like you. and, um… my brothers been tellin’ me that you like me too, but i… i wanna hear it from you personally… please.”

Michael’s plea nearly made your knees buckle and you let out a soft breathless laugh filled with relief and lingering anxiety, a smile spreading across your face at his confession.

“oh, Mikey… i really like you, too. i wanted to tell you sooner, but i didn’t really know how to bring it up because the thought of it made me… nervous,” you admitted timidly as Michael smiled back at you and your arms slowly uncrossed, feeling the weight of your confession leave as quickly as it came, “i do hate that we had to confess like this, though… think i might have to fight your brothers after this.”

Michael giggled at your comment and you giggled with him, your combined laughter in the small room easing the lingering embarrassment in the air and causing both of your shoulders to slowly drop in unison.

“so… could i ask you somethin’?” Michael asked, his smile softening, as he took a small hesitant step towards you and you grinned a little before nodding your head.

“yeah. anything.”

“would, um… would you like to be my… girlfriend?” Michael asked bashfully, gently toying with the hem of his shirt again, as your eyes lit up and a wide smile quickly spread across your face, excitement overtaking you and completely diminishing any trace of shyness.

“yes! oh, yes, Michael!” you squealed as you suddenly threw your arms around Michael’s neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, catching him off guard and making him stiffen before he slowly melted in your embrace and reverently wrapped his arms around your waist.

Michael lowered his head into the crook of your neck and inhaled the scent of your perfume as his large hands splayed across your back, holding you against him while the two of you stood there silently holding each other and basking in the new beginning of your relationship — the shift from platonic to romantic sending gentle chills down your spine.

the two of you stood like that for a moment, your surroundings seemingly fading away the longer you were in each other’s arms, before Michael raised his head from the crook of your neck to properly look down at you, prompting you to raise your head from his shoulder.

meeting his gaze this time felt different, but in the best way — his gaze was softer yet more intensely, seeming overcome by joy and love that he couldn’t help but to look at you as if you were the best thing that ever happened to him.

“could i ask you somethin’ else?” Michael asked softly, searching your eyes, as you smiled a little and slightly nodded your head while you maintained eye contact with him, “can i— may i… kiss you?”

you blinked once, then twice, and that was when realization dawned on you and you realized that none of this was a dream. your best-friend-turned-boyfriend Michael Jackson just asked you for a kiss… and by this point, who were you to deny what both of you had been secretly wanting?

“yeah… yeah, of course.” you answered quietly, slightly nodding your head again, as Michael smiled a little at you and the two of you looked at each other for a moment before you began leaning towards each other in unison, your nose slightly brushing against his before his lips locked with yours.

the kiss was soft and tentative, both of you testing the waters and not trying to scare each other off, but once the two of you got used to the feeling of your colliding mouths, the kiss deepened. his mouth moved slowly against yours and you maintained that rhythm, neither of you wanting to rush this sweet moment of intimacy you had been denying yourselves.

however, the universe seemingly had other plans because the closet door suddenly flung open and every single one of Michael’s brothers now stood there watching the two of you, you and Michael breaking the kiss at the sound of the door opening as your heads snapped towards the doorway.

“ahh-ha, i knew it! i knew it, i told y’all! i told y’all they was in here kissin’!” Marlon squealed, giggling through his banter, as the other brothers erupted into laughter with him and Jackie shook his head instead, though a content smile rested on his face at the sight of you and his younger brother wrapped in each other’s embrace.

identically sheepish grins spread across you and Michael’s faces and Michael immediately turned away from his brothers to shield his face as you buried your face into his chest with a muffled groan of embarrassment, which somehow only fueled Marlon’s amusement because he started laughing even harder than before.

“Mikey, i swear i’m gonna kill Marlon.”

“we found our track, baby”, he said, making conversation with you, or attempting to, as you fluffed a pillow on your shared bed. he was under the covers and leaning his back against the headboard, watching you complete your nightly routine. you only nodded at his words, with a tight-lipped smile. “it’s thriller. d’ya remember the one i played for you a couple weeks back?”, he asked with his head tilted. he was trying to catch your gaze— like a puppy seeking attention.

you sighed.

although you were upset with him, you never wanted to make his accomplishments feel small. he’d been through so much to get to this point after all, and you weren’t going to be the one to dampen that. so you smiled and replied, “i bet you’re real happy about it, mike”, before shuffling closer to kiss his temple.

michael looked up at you as you pulled away, but you avoided his eyes. you reluctantly pull yourself away, moving to your side of the bed.

michael is still staring at you.

“baby, come here”, he instructed, quieter than his earlier tone. you move closer to him, deciding to sit on your legs as you face him. the position you’re in makes the satin nightdress you’re wearing ride up your thighs, which you don’t notice, but michael does. he brings a hand to the delicate lace edges of your clothing, feeling it between his fingers. you watch his big hand rest on your thigh as he brings the other up to your face.

“missed this pretty face,” he mumbled, tenderly caressing your cheek while scanning your features. he looked at you as if you hung the stars, like it was his first time seeing your face. and it might as well have been— because you hadn’t let him recently. not with how pushed aside you’ve felt this week. not with the late nights, and how the date you were looking forward to was cancelled through a call from his secretary.

you close your eyes, pulling away from michael’s touch, “we should go to bed”, you whisper. you don’t want to see his face, because you know it’d easily compel you. “look at me,” he said, and you blinked your eyes open, looking down at the covers beneath the two of you. he didn’t like that. “no, baby. look at me,” he repeated, using his index finger and thumb under your chin to guide you to look at him, where his gaze reeled you in. you unknowingly held a pout on your lips from michael's gentle touch. you missed him so, so much.

“my girl. i know i’ve been busy this week,” he spoke gently. “i promise, i just need another week. i’ll be here more when the album’s done”, he looked to you hopefully.

instead, you rolled your eyes at him, huffing, “mike, you know that isn’t true. you’ll be busy for the next month with the album coming out, and i’ll have to wait for you then too”. you crossed your arms over your chest. michael’s eyebrows furrowed, and he put a hand on your arm, stroking the skin there.

“i know i’ve been gone recently, quite a bit—“ 

“quite a bit?” you interrupted. “this is the first time i’ve spoken to you in a week. we were meant to go out last night if you remember, michael".

“i know, i know i wasn’t here”, his face held a look of regret. “but baby, i can make it better if you let me” he said, inching closer to you. you took a deep breath, feeling his hand move up and down your thigh, waiting for your approval. you knew what he was asking.

“let me make it up to you. just say the word, sweet girl. ‘m right here”, and you wish you could say no. you wish that you didn’t want him right now, and that his touch wouldn’t make you feel better. that you could hold out and punish him just a little. but your body betrayed your mind before you could protest, head nodding once, so small that anyone else would miss it, but michael didn’t.

he took your green light and kissed your lips, pecking once. he then kissed your jaw, before moving down and leaving small kisses against your neck, his hand on the back of your head, unmoving to keep you exactly where he wants you. he hadn’t realised how much he needed you until he lay you down and felt your thigh brush against his crotch. he was aching already.

“baby, baby, i’ve missed you. missed my girl so much… missed everything,” he almost whimpered, while kissing down your neck, “thought about this every night. holding you, kissing you, loving you— i can’t be away from my baby any longer”. you bit your lip at his confession, feeling your wetness start to pool in your panties.

“show me, michael. wanna see how much you missed me”, you put a hand on his bicep. he nodded, kissing your stomach once, before pushing your dress up. just as you were about to pull your underwear down for him, he put a hand on yours. “nuh uh. i’m keepin’ ‘em on”, he stated, and you could feel your core tighten, “let michael do all the work”.

you nodded at his command, immediately withdrawing your hand and using your elbows to support yourself as you looked at him. you had always liked how he knew exactly what he wanted to do with you. like he’d been playing it out in his head for days.

michael removed his pants, and you spread your legs, waiting eagerly for his next move. you could see his print through the white boxers he wore, his palm feeling his length through the material. you could hear a shaky breath leave him, a dark spot of pre-come starting to taint his garments. he was a sight to see.

it started to feel like torture not having him near, so you reached your arm out for him, and he obliged, towering over you so that he could be closer. he used one arm to keep himself up, and the other continued its movement on his crotch.

“mike, let me feel you”, you almost whine at your boyfriend. he was all too slow for your liking, and you had to feel his touch now. you tugged him towards you, and michael craned his head down to kiss you slowly.

that’s when you felt it. his hard crotch against yours. you were sure you could’ve created electricity with the intensity of the feeling that travelled through your body, having not felt him for what seemed like eons. michael adjusted himself in his underwear so that you could feel him better, grinding his hips up once. you moaned, while he pulled back to watch your reaction, not blinking as if he was afraid to miss anything by closing his eyes for even a second.

“feel good, sweet girl?” he asked, and all you could do was nod your head. the sound of his voice, so worn out from grinding his clothed cock into you, was making you slip further into the feeling of him all over you. and he was— his hands, his lips, his warmth; all you could feel was michael. you’d long forgotten about your dispute.

michael couldn’t help but give in to the feeling, sensual grinds making both of you groan in pleasure. you felt so blissful that you unknowingly began to grind your hips up, forcing a surprised moan out of michael. his eyes shot open, down to your hips, before he used one of his big hands to hold you in place. he kissed you once and then shuffled back, sitting on his heels to inspect your clothed cunt.

his eyes were close to wild as he looked up at you, smiling, “you’re really turned on, aren’t you, baby? i can see it through the fabric”. you wanted to wipe the smug look off his face so desperately, but the idea left your mind when he used a thumb to feel your clothed clit. it was different to his cock, his thumb expertly pressing right where you needed it. it felt so good that your hips started to chase the pleasure, grinding up against his hand. but michael quickly shut that down before you could get carried away, and his hand went to splay against your lower stomach, giving you a knowing look. “‘m not gonna tell you twice”, he said, his voice strict.

you bit your lip, fighting everything in you to not just flip him over, remove the layers between you two, and ride him. it doesn’t help that he looks so beautiful the way he is now, skin glistening under the light of your lamp, cheeks flushed red, with loose curls falling to the front of his face. he looks best like this, you thought.

michael was on his stomach now, your crotch directly in front of his face. he was so close that you could feel the warmth of him against your inner thighs. it was almost embarrassing, despite him being in this position many a time, but you couldn’t close your legs to hide, even if you wanted to. michael had a firm grip on both of your thighs, spreading your legs apart as if you’re a meal he’s waiting to devour.

he licked his bottom lip and then kissed your clothed pussy once. your clitoris was throbbing beneath your underwear. he kissed it again, and again, until you started to squirm beneath him. you knew better than lifting your hips again for more friction. michael rewarded your patience by using his tongue to lick from the top of your nub, down to the bottom of your pussy.

it wasn’t long before he was licking and kissing you feverishly through your underwear, teasing himself by not pulling your underwear to the side and tasting you properly. each lick had you pushed further into the mattress, writhing in his hold. despite the barrier, you felt the heat rising quickly between your legs and the blood rushing to your crotch— but before you could cum, michael pulled away. the height of your orgasm fell just as quickly as it rose.

you groaned, at a loss for words from him taking your orgasm away. but before you could call out his name to complain, he was removing both of your undergarments, until the only thing separating the two of you was michael’s patience, which was wearing thin.

his cock was hard and leaking before you, and michael was throbbing and twitching at the sight of your glistening folds. you could tell he was so close to giving it to you. you just needed to push him over the edge.

and so, you mewled a “michael…”, and suddenly, he was lining his heavy cock against your pussy. with a lip tucked between his teeth, he pressed against your entrance, just to feel the wetness. he grunted, feeling your slick coat against his tip, you were so eager to feel that you were clenching, and he could feel it.

“don’t do that, girl,” he panted, “i won’t last”, and yet he felt you do it again. you breathed out a laugh, watching michael’s eyes flutter shut from the smallest touch of your pussy.

before you could clench a third time, michael started to push himself into you. you quickly held onto his arm, his cock filling you up just as your cunt pleaded with him to. he was big inside of you, and you were clamping down as if to pull him in further, while you both moaned in unison. michael subconsciously put one hand to your breast to massage it while he moved, giving you more with each thrust, until he fully bottomed out. he uttered your name, whining at the sensation of your wetness soaking his length.

michael was much stronger than you, and yet, when he was inside of you, he turned into jelly. as if all his brain was wired to do was please you. he kissed your lips, hungry, pushing his tongue into your mouth. you were both falling apart at each movement. the slow slide of his hips forced you to feel every ridge of his hard cock, which you were whimpering at. each thrust was an apology, and he was desperate to get you to forgive him.

“‘m sorry. sorry baby, i’m so sorry. shouldn’t have left you all week” he was choking over his words now, mumbling his apologies, “wanted you every day. wanted your pussy, wanted to be in it. ‘m sorry. d’ya feel good? please baby, tell me it’s good”. you could only nod at his confession, your hands tangled in his hair, trying to conjure up anything to say to him, but all that came out were chants of his name. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he adjusted his hips, sitting back to thrust upwards. he was massaging against the perfect spot inside of you, and you knew that when you felt his finger on your clit again, you weren’t going to last much longer.

“mike— michael, give it to me. need it”, you urged, reaching for his free hand. michael took your hand, placing a kiss on it so softly that you almost forgot the position the two of you were in. the loud sound of his length plunging into your wetness reminded you.

“where d’ya need it?” he asked, barely able to get the words out as your pussy convulsed around him. and when the words “inside of me” left your lips, michael couldn’t wait anymore. he kept going, the thumb on your nub relentless now, his cock ready to blow. he watched your eyebrows knit together, and as soon as he felt your pussy contracting, he started to fill you up immediately. he was mumbling apologies, holding himself deep inside of you, giving you all of his cum.

if there was one thing that anyone knew about you, it was that you adored being celebrated. the romance of it all was everything to you. flowers arriving at your door, brand new pretty dresses hanging in your closet, candles flickering across a dinner table, handwritten cards tucked between bouquets. just little reminders that the people you loved were thinking about you.

no day embodied that feeling more than your birthday.

your favorite day of the year.

birthday mornings were so magical to you. you'd wake up just thinking about the possibility of surprises and being loved loudly for a day. birthdays had always felt special to you.

michael, however, never really understood them the same way. celebrating himself had never felt natural. his birthdays came and went quietly.

but then he met you, and during the first birthday you spent together, you made sure to make his day everything it possibly could be from beginning to end. he’d never forgotten the way you’d looked at him that day, and the fact that you made him feel like he was worth making a fuss over.

so when your birthday finally arrived? michael intended to return the favor wholeheartedly.

sunlight spilled through floor-to-ceiling windows draped in layers of ivory chiffon, painting the suite in a soft and hazy glow. the curtains danced lazily in the morning breeze drifting through the balcony doors.

sometime during the night, someone had filled the suite with flowers. hundreds of them. white peonies, pale pink roses, delicate hydrangeas, literally all of your favorites.

you smelled the flowers before anything. they overflowed from arrangements placed on nearly every available surface, their sweet scent mixing with traces of vanilla candles burned the night before. your sleepy body stayed curled up underneath the blankets for a few seconds before you stretched out, your eyes instinctively drifting up to look at your favorite part of your room: the cluster of chandeliers that sparkled from above.

michael knew you loved them. he’d caught you staring up at them more times than he could count, with your pouty little mouth hung open in awe as you watched the crystals glitter in the light. he wanted to make sure that you woke up to them on today.

your eyes followed the reflections dancing across the ceiling while the sweet scent of flowers lingered in the air around you. slowly, you let your gaze fall beside you to your nightstand. that's where you saw a pretty cream colored envelope with raised floral embroidered into it, the prettiest written "ℳ𝒥 ৻ꪆ" on top. next to the envelope was a small velvet jewelry box tied with a blush ribbon.

a smile grew on your face without even thinking.

you reached for the jewelry box, nails looking all pretty. you had gotten them done the day before.

your fingers slipped beneath the satin loops as you untied the bow carefully. as you lifted up the lid, you found yourself immediately met with the sparkle of diamonds. the bracelet laid on top of the blush colored velvet, looking so delicate and fragile, and a soft breath escaped you. it was beautiful.

your fingers found the clasp immediately and after a moment of fumbling with it tiredly, it clicked into place around your wrist. you turned your hand back and forth beneath the sunlight, watching the diamonds sparkle against your skin.

of course it fit perfectly. in his perfectionist nature, michael had always made sure to pay attention to details, including your wrist size.

eventually, your attention drifted back toward the envelope waiting patiently beside you. the paper felt expensive beneath your fingertips as you slid a nail underneath the flap, breaking the seal as gentle as you could. the folded note hidden inside fell easily into your hand, and your smile grew bigger the second you recognized michael's script handwriting.

happy birthday beautiful, i hope the first thing you felt this morning was loved. do not ask security what im planning for you. just let me celebrate you. come downstairs and look pretty. love, michael ‪‪❤︎‬

your lips pouted as you read his words, feeling your eyes practically morph into little hearts.

the excitement already bubbling in your chest made it impossible to stay underneath the blankets any longer. you pushed the covers back and slipped from the bed, pedicured feet meeting the cold floor. the diamond anklet resting around your ankle chimed softly against your skin as you walked all hurried.

you weren't a patient girl, and the only thing stopping you from booking it down the stairs was the fact that michael had specifically told you to look pretty. you brushed your teeth in the private bathroom of your suite as fast as you could, washing your face afterwards. every step feel rushed, hands fumbling through bottles and drawers as you got ready. michael’s note remained perched beside the sink the entire time.

you kept your tiny pajama set on as your looked through your rack of robes, pushing aside satin padded hangers harshly in order to find the perfect one. eventually, your hand landed on one that felt right. it was such a light, baby pink fabric, and was cinched at the waist and floor length.

if michael was going to make a fuss over you all day, the least you could do was give him something pretty to look at.

by the time everything was finally ready, michael had already walked through the room three separate times.

michael had barely been listening to anyone around him for the past thirty minutes. security was talking, staff members were moving whole arrangements around, people kept asking him questions, but he couldn't focus on any of it.

every few seconds his eyes drifted toward the grand staircase, just waiting and checking then waiting again.

"she's gonna love it," someone told him. michael stood there, fiddling with the camera in his hands, just turning it over and checking it over and over again.

"you think so?" he asked, which sounded kinda ridiculous, but he honestly couldn't stop himself. it wasn't that he didn't think you would like it. he just wanted you to like it so much.

his weary thoughts were cut short when he finally heard movement coming from upstairs. his head lifted up as he watched you with parted lips, the corners of his mouth raising up ever so slightly. sunlight poured through the enormous windows behind you, turning the edges of your pink robe almost translucent.

your hand ran down the spiral banister so carefully, not wanting to mess up the thick ribbon that climbed up the railing. you let out a quiet, "oh my," as you slowed down your stride, taking in the fairytale that michael had turned downstairs into.

curled ribbons decorated the base of every piece of furniture and column in the room, layered in different pinks and cremes and golds. the same flowers from upstairs were scattered everywhere downstairs as well, resembling your own personal botanical garden. you even had an indoor water fixture that michael had always help you take care of. now, small candles danced in the water alongside the swans that he bought just for you.

yes, swans.

your jaw dropped softly at the sight of everything shimmering, your eyes finding new things to look at with each new second passed.

as your bare foot reached one of the bottom steps, you heard a gentle voice speak.

"hi, baby," michael let his smile spread across his face, eyes softening completely when they met yours. he wasn’t really looking at the decorations as he’d already seen them.

now, he was finally looking at the person they were all for.

you couldn't help but squeal as you scurried down the remaining steps, michael holding his hand out to guide you directly into his chest where you belonged. the sound alone made every ounce of nervousness leave michael’s body, because there his princess was. "happy birthday," he whispered to you, his cheek smushing against the side of your head.

you kept your arms wrapped tight around his neck, standing on your tippy toes the tiniest bit as you felt him rock with you.

"thank you so much," you breathed into him, craning your head to press your lips against the bottom of his jaw.

"oh please," he chuckled lightly, letting his hands drift down your lower back to settle on the plump of your ass. the fabric of your set felt so soft under his palms. one of his hands played with the fancy trim of your shorts underneath your robe, while the other moved to cradle the side of your face. "i don't want you to thank me."

you couldn't even protest before he squished your cheeks and pecked your little pout away.

your doll-like eyes looked huge as they continued to wander, even with your face rested in the palm of michael's hand, and he noticed instantly. every few seconds your gaze drifted somewhere over his shoulder towards the enormous pile of gifts waiting patiently all across the room. towards the big satin bows. towards the few mountains of boxes stacked taller than you. your curiosity was written all over your face.

"you wanna open them, baby?" michael asked you, the corners of his mouth twitching up all amused.

your eyes snapped back to meet up with his, dimples deepening into the apples of your rounded cheeks as you nodded your head.

michael's hand trailed down your forearm as he smiled down at you, diamond bracelet glittering past before his long fingers intertwined with yours, "c'mon then."

he guided you across the large room, your eyes still looking around at the floating candles and tables covered in crystals and jewelry boxes and different kinds of birthday cakes. that continued all the way until you reached the towering piles of gifts waiting beneath the chandeliers.

you both took a seat in the middle of it all. it would alternate sporadically between michael handing you a present or one of the men on his team handing you one. each time you'd unwrap something, michael would take a picture with his camera.

you'd smile a toothy, pretty little smile each time, making his heart melt. the lace trimming of your tight nighttime tank looked perfect all pressed up along the swell of your chest, your dainty robe falling off your shoulder and into the crook of your forearm. you'd hold up a brand new purse or opened earring boxes up to him as if he didn't buy them, and he'd act surprised each time.

he was truly staring at you and your smile more than the presents.

he'd move the hair away from your face at some points, wanting to see your face in its entirety. he'd even ask you the same things over and over again in his soft voice.

"you like that one?"

"you happy?"

"is it what you wanted?"

ribbons quickly began accumulating around your feet, tissue paper covered the floor. it felt like two hours had passed before you were done with everything.

now, you were standing in front of a long table with your arms stretched out beside you, palms holding your weight as you leaned with your hip poking out. eight different cakes adorned the top of the table, all of different tier heights and flavors. michael couldn't decide on one that would be perfect enough for you.

he stood there next to you, one hand planted in front of your arm to trap you close to him.

"you have a favorite?" he asked, lowering his face closer to your ear.

you shook your head a little, the frizz of your curls tickling his lips. "i like anything sweet," you admitted in a low voice.

michael took his free hand and reached forward, chest pushing against your back. his finger swiped at one of the cakes, picking up a scoop of buttercream frosting.

he brought the finger back to your lips, tilting his head down to watch you.

your lips wrapped around his finger, sucking while you fluttered your lashes up at him. you could feel him push his finger down towards the back of your tongue briefly before letting it slide out, thin saliva coating down just past his first knuckle.

the flavor settled in your mouth as you swallowed, "thank you. for everything."

a light laugh left him and he brought the pad of him thumb up to wipe at your bottom lip. "didn't i say somethin' about that earlier?" he asked.

you shrugged, shifting your body to face him more. "i know," you started, staring at his chest before you let your eyes trail down below his waistline, "i just wish there was a way for me to really show how thankful i am for you."

your fingers toyed at his drawstring before your nail traced down the stitching of his pants, running right over where the length of his dick rested.

michael's larger hand covered yours as you continued.

"you're so nice to me," you said softly to him, looking up with big, pleading eyes, "and you treat me so good, baby."

michael stood quiet for a second, a deep breath leaving his nostrils and fanning over your face.

you knew that michael was strong-willed about receiving from you. he hated the thought of you doing anything really. he believed that he was the one supposed to provide for you.

but still, you tried.

"i'm the one that should be celebrating you, love," he said quietly, dipping his head down to peck on a soft spot on your neck. involuntarily, your head lulled to the side, a little sigh leaving your mouth.

"hm?" michael muttered against your skin, disguising it with another kiss. "don't you think so?"

you could feel him growing harder under your hand, his still on top of yours. you let out a small whine of protest at his words, now feeling his teeth against your neck. he was smiling.

"i think so," he answered his own question, lifting you to sit on top of the table.

he couldn't stand how glassy your eyes were as you stared up at him, your legs spreading out like they had a mind of their own, soft body on display just for him.

he ran his hand up your thigh to lightly tug on the bottom of your tiny satin shorts.

"can you take these off for me, please baby?" he asked, licking his lips as he watched you nod your head eagerly.

your thumbs hooked onto your waistband as you lifted your hips up, pulling the shorts down to your ankles along with your sheer g-string.

michael wouldn't let you struggle or strain yourself. he took them off the rest of the way for you, giving your ankle a little squeeze as he did so. his eyebrows furrowed however, when he looked back at you.

you had your arm stretched out across your body, struggling to reach what seemed to be one of the smaller cakes. being the man that he is, michael held onto your back to stabilize you, the other sliding the cake closer to you. again, he hated watching you struggle.

"you're still hungry?" he asked you softly, letting his eyes follow your hand as you scooped up some whipped frosting. "hey, you know you could've told me―"

"nuh uh," you shut him down, biting back a dangerously coy smile that threatened to flourish across your face. "'m not hungry, baby."

without giving him the chance to speak again, you dragged your frosted hand down your body. starting right underneath your navel and down the outside of the slit of your pretty pussy.

"you never got a chance to try the cake."

"..lord," michael couldn't even try to stop the groan that left the back of his throat.

michael was disgustingly greedy with you. he bit his bottom lip as he smiled crookedly, his all too perfect teeth on display as he leaned in to give your lips one more kiss. "just lay back for me," he said so quietly, mumbling against your mouth.

you complied, laying down against the smooth tabletop, back arching up the slightest bit as you felt him lick up the frosting from your lower stomach before pressing a wet kiss there.

"let me know if it's too much. i swear, baby, ill stop," he whispered, doe eyes peering up at you from between your legs.

michael took hold of the lower part of your shin, lifting your leg up to dangle off of his shoulder. he pressed open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, loving how you tried to stop squirming whenever he nibbled or licked right near the crease between your thigh and sugar-coated center.

he eventually made his way down to your aching pussy. he licked at his bottom lip as he took notice of the slight shine that shone through the messy pink frosting, wanting nothing more than to devour you. he pressed his tongue flat against you, taking a long lick up your folds, repeating this a couple more times, before sticking his warm tongue inside of you.

"oh my, god, michael," you whined out softly, turning your head to the side as you rolled your hips up into his face. he had frosting on his nose and cheeks, but he didn't mind. he hummed something into you, which you could only assume was some variation of "i know, i know."

your whines morphed into a small moan, similar to a gasp as you felt michael push one of his fingers into you. you were always so tight, your little hole squeezing on his fingers like a little kiss.

"that feels good, yeah?" michael asked you, keeping his voice low as he slurped up the last little bit of sugary content from your clit, earning another girlish moan from you.

you stumbled your way up onto your forearms, barely able to nod as you looked down at him. he expertly worked on your pussy, the taste of it making his own eyes roll back. he loved himself a sweet treat.

he groaned while sloppily kissing away any remnants of frosting, keeping his long finger pushing in and out of you at an antagonizing and slow pace. he pulled his face away from you, and you tilted you head as you watched his glistening face. his mouth stood agape slightly, eyes watching his finger inside of you.

he eventually looked up, big eyes meeting your own.

"i'm gonna add another one, okay baby?" he let you know, never letting his finger stop moving.

you breathed out, pushing your hips forward to feel him further inside of you, "okay."

he cocked his head at you, a tiny smirk pulling up at his lips, "that's what you want?"

"mmm," your eyes closed up, pout gracing your lips once again with a desperate little whine. "yess, baby, i want― i want it so bad."

michael couldn't help but giggle at you, immediate giving you what you wanted by pushing his ring finger inside of you slowly, giving you time to adjust.

"just keep on making those pretty little sounds f'me," he told you, listening to the squelching sound of your pussy by drowned out by you moaning out his name in a whisper, "drives me crazy."

fin.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛᢉ𐭩: @iwishiwasateenidol @mikeysbadgyal @rockstarfics @iluvmeandmeluvsme

however, it always seemed that michael could be wearing the most extravagant of looks and still finish getting ready in record time. but today, his outfit was fairly simple.

he wore a white button-up shirt with the first few buttons undone, a black suit jacket on top, and black suit pants to match. his outfit was so unadorned, yet you couldn’t help but notice how good he looked.

if it wasn’t his release party you were going to, you wouldn’t hesitate to jump on him and risk being late. but, you wanted to maintain professionalism and you knew michael wanted to look good in front of all his counterparts, so you kept your salacious thoughts to yourself. for now.

“baby, do y’know how much longer you’re gonna take?” your boyfriend questions you.

“i’m literally almost finished. all i have to do is put on my jewelry,” you respond, walking over to your dresser to locate your necklaces and bracelets.

it was the last thing you needed to complete your outfit. you wore a black off-the-shoulder trim dress that stopped near your ankles. it was complemented with black heels and black gloves that you knew you’d be taking off halfway through the night.

your jewelry was a combination of different pearls that michael had gifted you throughout the years. the off-white was the perfect contrast to your entirely black outfit. and the fact that your outfit was coordinated with michael’s was even better.

“okay,” you exclaimed, spinning around to face your boyfriend sitting on his bed, “i’m ready. what do you think?”

he says nothing at first. instead, opting to let his eyes trail up and down your figure. his eyes drank in every aspect of your outfit: the pearls, stiletto heels that he’ll be carrying by the end of the night, and the dress that hugged your body so perfectly.

still without saying a word, he gets up from his sitting position on the edge of the bed and walks closer to your standing form. the closer he gets to you, the more you start to become consumed by him.

he smelled oriental. warm, sweet, and the slightest bit spicy. and he towered over you, forcing you to crane your neck to look over him. he places both of his hands on the dresser behind you, getting impossibly closer to you.

“you’re gorgeous, my baby,” he murmured, even though you were the only two people in the room.

he moves one of the hands he has on the dresser behind you to your face, placing his hand on the side of your face. he looked at you with such adoration that you could melt where you stood and jump his bones all in one moment.

“thanks, mikey. you look good too.”

“just good?” he teases.

you look away from him, weakly pushing his chest in a frail attempt to get further away from him. the smallest of things he said made you shy, and you could tell your boyfriend basked in your reactions.

“we have to go before we’re late. and you were the one rushing me,” you acknowledged.

“i’d never rush you, baby. i know you like to take your time.”

you roll your eyes at the subtle dig at how long you take to get ready. “whatever. let’s go.”

he stops you before you’re able to slip past him and out of the bedroom. “can i have a kiss before we go?”

you smile at the fact that he still asks for a kiss despite the amount of time you’ve been together. you stand on your toes in an attempt to reach his height, and he meets you halfway as you press a chaste kiss to his lips. you weren’t too keen on ruining your lip gloss or getting lost in him at the moment.

you turn away from him, but you’re only able to make it a few steps before you feel his hands on your waist. he turns you around, immediately pulling you back into him. he kisses you again, but this time it’s an actual kiss.

his tongue invades your mouth and it’s like you can feel him everywhere. his hands are on your waist and his tongue is pressing against yours. you literally have to push him away from you to be able to breathe.

“you so pretty, baby.”

you rub your hands down your face, flustered due to his actions and his words. you don’t say anything for a moment because what is there to say after he kisses you like that and then compliments you?

“can we go before we’re late?” you ask.

michael smiles down at your abashed face, hands still resting on your waist. “whatever my baby wants.”

you walk away from him, finally free from the bedroom that you definitely would’ve been having sex in if you stayed there for another moment. you hear michael’s footsteps behind you and you don’t need to turn around to know that his eyes are transfixed on your ass.

my gosh, you think. you’re not making it halfway through the release party if he isn’t able to keep his hands to himself. you hope he’s able to control himself until you’re able to get home for the sake of his public image and your sanity.

“do we have everything?” you asks as you start unlocking the front door.

“mhm. i think your lip gloss might be a little messed up, though,” you don’t have to look at him to know that he’s smirking.

“and i wonder whose fault that is,” you reply, opening the front door.

you hear michael locking the front door behind you as you move towards bill’s car. as you approach his car, his mouth opens as if he’s about to say something yet he doesn’t.

michael approaches you from behind and you see bill’s eyes flit from you michael. he’s seemingly putting some kind of pieces together because a smirk adorns his face and he laughs.

“the two of you must’ve been having a good time,” bill quips.

you turn around to face michael and the first thing you notice is your lip gloss strewn across his lips. you assume yours is smudged or lacking from the fact that both michael and bill are now laughing.

to say you were embarrassed was an understatement. you were already flustered from what happened in michael’s bedroom. but someone close to both of you has an idea of it? you might as well be dead.

you make a futile attempt at ignoring them and slide into the backseat of bills car. without loitering for much longer, michael slides into the backseat next to you. bill walks around the car to the driver's seat and you can do nothing but pray for a normal car ride.

michael manages to keep his hands to himself for the majority of the car ride, only opting to rest his hand on your thigh. throughout the journey, he made comments here and there about how pretty you looked and how he couldn’t wait to have you all to himself when you got back home. but other than that, he was on his best behavior.

you arrived at the venue after about thirty minutes. it had a pleasant exterior, but it was a small place due to the fact that michael wanted his release party to be an intimate event.

he only invited those closest to him, wanting the celebratory event of his second solo album to be filled with people he held close to his heart. the closer you got to the venue, the more excited you got.

you and your boyfriend were celebrating the release of his album. it hadn’t dawned on you how much of a big deal this was until you were actually inside the venue.

it was packed with people close to both you and michael: his family, quincy, even paul mccartney. everything felt so private and personal, a room full of pride and noblesse.

“oh, baby,” katherine coos when she sees you, “you look so good.”

she pulls you into a hug that’s a little too tight, yet you say nothing because you’re just as happy to see her. “thank you. you look gorgeous yourself,” you compliment her.

she pulls back from you and lets her eyes roam your face. there’s a look of fondness adorning them that neither of you mention. then, she turns her attention to michael and pulls him into a hug that might’ve been ever tighter than the one she just had you in.

“how you gon’ hug her before me, ma?” michael half-jokes.

“boy hush,” she sways him whilst maintaining the hug, “you already know how proud i am of you. you done went and released another album. and you did it all without your father,” she beams.

that pulls a laugh out of you and michael. seeing people, especially his mother swelling with such pride at his work was enough to make both of you tear up.

katherine pulls back from the hug and smooths her hand down the arms of his suit jacket. she looks like she’d cry if she looked at michael for any longer.

“well, i’ll leave both of y’all to it. michael, go talk to your brothers. and don’t y’all do nothing too crazy,” she ends.

your face scrunches up at the innuendo behind her words, but you don’t think about it for too long. michael grabs your hand and begins to lead you towards his brothers, jermaine and tito. you had no clue where the rest of them were, but they tended to disperse when it came to events like this.

“michael!” jermaine called out before you even reached him, “man, i’m so proud of you.”

“you done dropped another album on us,” tito added.

“thank you,” michael replied, almost seeming bashful.

you smiled from where you were standing next to him. seeing him being praised for the album he worked so hard on made you so buoyant. he deserved all the praise in the world and more for the work he put into this release.

“but when you said ‘i can thrill you more than any ghoul would ever dare try’, what that meant?” jermaine asks.

you let out an incredulous laugh and you look away from jermaine. you didn’t even know how michael would respond to that question because you knew what the lyric meant. and you knew jermaine knew what the lyric meant and he was asking just to embarrass michael.

“you’re a dimwit.”

“man, i was jus’ asking,” jermaine responds, but the smirk on his face says that he had other intentions.

“but you look good,” jermaine says, turning his attention to you.

tito lets out a chuckle, but corrects himself after seeing the look on michael’s face. it’s nothing short of irritation and heavy annoyance.

“thank you jermaine,” you maintain your politeness, “y’all look good,” you signal between him and tito.

you feel michael’s grip tighten on your hand, yet you don’t say anything. both of you knew his brothers liked to flirt just because, so you never took them seriously. however, michael always seemed a little more than bothered when they would make a comment that was heavily suggestive or their eyes lingered on you for too long.

“mhm. thank you girl,” jermaine responds.

michael pulls you away from his brothers before you have the opportunity to say anything. “god, he’s annoying,” michael complains.

“he was jus’ being nice,” you mutter.

“baby, he was flirting with you right in front of me. his being nice is how i treat you daily,” he finally stopped at an area in the venue that wasn’t as crowded as the rest.

“you’re all for me. know that,” his hands find purchase on your waist and he pulls you flush against him. you feel him poking you from within his suit pants, and it flusters you beyond relief.

“mikey…” you whisper.

“‘m sorry baby. you jus’ look so pretty. everybody’s congratulating me on the album like i don’t have my biggest achievement next to me.”

you smile, rubbing your hands up and down the arms of your dress to calm your nerves. “thank you, mikey. but you should be proud of the album. you worked so hard on it and now it’s finally out.”

“mhm. gonna show me how proud you are when we get home?”

you whine and cover your face with your hands. the nerve of your boyfriend to be speaking so luridly while you’re in public! you would’ve slapped his chest or attempted to push him away if it wasn’t for your hands covering your face.

“can we go back to the party now?”

“of course, baby,” he removes his hands from your waist only to grab one of your hands once again. he leads you back to the party, having to push through crowds upon crowds of bodies.

overall, the release party turns out to be a huge success. with all of michael’s friends and loved ones present, it’s nothing but an event full of pride and adoration.

michael received more compliments on his album than you’ve heard in your entire life, and he had you by his side during the entirety of it. his hand stayed in yours or on your waist, and he barely let you out of his sight.

by the end of the night, your heels are in his hand like he thought they would be and his other hand won’t leave your waist. you’re bidding everyone farewell before you’re able to collapse in the backseat of bills car.

when you finally make it home, you’re halfway ready to pass out and halfway ready to take the hottest shower of your life. you’re so tired that walking up the stairs of your shared home feels like an absolute chore. just one look at your face and michael can see the exhaustion.

“i got you, baby,” he hooks his arms under both of your legs whilst still holding your heels in one of his hands. you wrap your arms around his neck and allow yourself to melt into his chest.

he’s so warm, he smells so good, and it feels like he’s the only thing in the house right now. there’s nowhere you’d rather be in his arms. well, you could be on him but you could settle for this right now.

he nudges open the door to the bedroom, and adjusts himself so he’s able to set your heels down while still carrying you. afterwards, he walks to your bed and sits down with you still in your arms.

you’re sat sideways on his lap and you can’t help but feel him against you. you just got to your shared bedroom, yet michael’s exuding arousal all without you actually doing anything to him. but you weren’t one to judge because you needed him just as bad right now.

“i need you, mikey,” you whine.

“yeah?” his hands tighten around your waist, “where d’ya need me?”

you whine again. you need him everywhere at the same time and it’s overwhelming, but in the best way. “i need you in me.”

michael’s breath hitches, but he says nothing in response. he begins to bunch your maxi dress up on your hips until he’s able to slide his hand up your thigh.

his hand inches further up, but it feels like he’s going at the slowest pace possible. “hurry up mikey, please.”

“my impatient baby. ‘s okay. i got you,” he runs his hand up your thigh until he’s right where you need him.

his hand comes into contact with your underwear, lacy with a bow, although he’s unable to see it. he can feel you seeping through the cotton and you don’t need to see his face to know it’s smug.

“this all for me, pretty?” he teases.

“all for you, mikey. need you so much right now.”

he hums in response, pulling your underwear down. he runs his fingers through your slick folds and revels in your moans every time he comes into contact with you.

he continues to tease you until his fingers are wet with your arousal. then, he eases one of his fingers into you. they’re so big and you’re tightening around him, unable to let out anything but moans.

his finger pumps in and out at a languid pace before he adds a second. the feeling of another one of his long, lanky fingers entering you makes you even louder. your fingers grip his shoulder in a fruitless attempt to ground yourself.

his once languid pace was quickening, and you feel stuffed with just two of his fingers inside of you. he curls them and it hits just the right spot to have you gripping his shoulders even tighter and moaning out his name.

“you’re the prettiest, baby,” michael murmurs.

you’re unable to respond. your head is thrown back and the only sound that’s coming out of is moans and nearly unintelligible strings of his name.

everything feels so good right now and when michael curls his fingers inside you even more, it’s exactly what sends you over the edge. you cum with a slight shake and silent scream, completely leaning into michael’s body.

“i got you, pretty baby,” he whispers to you as you come to.

you’re utterly exhausted and hyper aware of the mess you made on your dress and michael’s suit pants. this dress was a gift from michael and tonight was your first time wearing it, so you can’t help but be a little bummed at it being ruined.

“mikey, my dress is all fucked up now,” you complain.

“‘s okay, baby. i’ll get you another one. but lemme clean you up.”

1968

“Come on, y'all need to tighten up!” Joseph’s voice echoed loudly through the room, cutting the music dead. He stepped into Michael's line of sight, his eyes narrowing. “Michael, look at me. I need your eyes.”

You sit next to Michael’s mother, Katherine, on the couch as you watch Michael and his brothers practice in the living room. The space, normally meant for family gatherings, has been completely cleared out, the furniture pushed against the walls to make room for the rhythm of heavy loafers hitting the floorboards. They air in the room is thick, warm, and heavy with the subtle scent of sweat vibrating with the intensity of Joseph’s expectations.

Even at nine years old, Michael carries a weight on his shoulders that looks far too heavy for his small frame. His brows are knit together in concentration, his afro bouncing slightly as he executes a sharp, flawless spin. But despite the precision of his movements, you can see the deep exhaustion behind his eyes.

Suddenly, Joseph steps forward, his large frame cutting off the light from the window. "Hold it! Stop, stop," he barks, clapping his hands together with a sound like a pistol shot. The Tito abruptly takes his fingers from his guitar, leaving an deafening, ringing silence in the room. Joseph points a finger directly at Michael. "Michael, you draggin’ on the turn. Ya’ mind is wanderin’. I told you, I need your eyes locked in. You think the people at Motown are gonna pay to see you daydreamin’?"

Michael drops his gaze to the floor, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. "No, Joseph. ‘M sorry."

Still sitting on the sofa, you feel yourself tense up, your fingers digging into the fabric of your skirt. But beside you, Katherine remains a calm, unyielding anchor. She reaches out, her hand resting gently on her husband's arm as he steps closer to the boys.

The tension in the room hung as thick as the heat pressing through the windows, heavy and suffocating. Michael stood in the center of the floor, his chest heaving beneath his damp shirt as his father’s harsh words echoed off the walls. He looked so small in that moment, his shoulders curving inward as if he was trying to shield himself from Joseph's glare.

Slowly, but carefully, as if testing whether his father would catch him moving, Michael lifted his chin just an inch. His eyes didn't look at his mother, and they dare didn't look back at Joseph.

Instead, they flicked straight to you.

They were swimming with a mixture of exhaustion and a quiet, desperate plea. It was a look you knew all too well—the one he only used when the pressure felt like it was going to crush him entirely.

Your heart squeezed. You unclasped your fingers and smoothed them out over your skirt as you gave him a soft nod. Your lips curved into a warm, reassuring smile, a private signal meant just for him. It’s okay, the smile promised. I'm here.

The change in him was almost immediate. The line of Michael's shoulders relaxed by a fraction, and a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. It was fleeting, gone in a blink so Joseph wouldn't catch it, but the sudden spark of relief in his eyes was unmistakable. For a second, the room seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you together in the quiet understanding you had shared.

"Joseph, please," Katherine’s voice broke the brief silence, her tone dropping into a low, private murmur that barely carried across the living room. Her hand remained steady on his forearm. "The boys have been running these steps since early this morning. Look at them, they're spent. Give them a break.”

Joseph didn't yell, instead his voice dropped into a low, gravelly snap that made the everyone, including you, stiffen. "I look at them and I see sloppy footwork, Katherine. If they spent, it's because they wastin’ energy on unimportant things."

He slowly turned his head, his eyes cutting directly past his wife to lock onto you. His brow furrowed deeply, his voice now only low enough for Katherine to hear. "That girl shouldn't even be in here during rehearsal, Kate. Every single minute he spends gigglin’ with her out in the yard is a minute he isn't focusin’ on the group.”

Katherine didn't back down entirely, but her posture softened, knowing exactly how far she could push before the argument turned into something much worse for the children. "She’s a sweet child, Joseph, and her mother is a dear friend of mine," she replied, her voice dropping even lower, laced with a quiet, maternal protectiveness, despite you not being her child. "They aren't doing any harm. They're just children. Let them have ten minutes."

Joseph scoffed, looking from his wife down to Michael, who had quickly dropped his eyes back to his shoes. With a resentful grunt, Joseph finally waved a hand in dismissal.

"Ten minutes," Joseph grumbled, turning on his heel toward the kitchen table to look over a stack of documents, his heavy footsteps vibrating through the floorboards. "Ten minutes. And then we run the entire set from the top, flawlessly."

The second Joseph's back was fully turned, the suffocating weight in the room seemed to lift. Michael's head snapped up, his eyes bright and completely alert as he looked back at you. The timid expression he wore for his father completely vanished, replaced by a familiar warmth.

He didn't wait for his brothers to scatter. In three quick strides, Michael walked across the floor straight to the couch. Before his father could even think to turn around and change his mind, Michael caught you gently by the wrist, his hand warm and slightly damp from the practice.

He didn't say a word, but the urgent tug on your hand spoke volumes. With a soft, breathless laugh, he pulled you up from the sofa and guided you quickly up the stairs, rushing toward his bedroom.

The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind you, the tense atmosphere of the house evaporated completely. Michael let out a long sigh, the kind that came from deep in his chest, and threw himself backward onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling.

He stayed like that for a long moment, completely motionless, as if letting the quiet of the room wash over him. The only sound was the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the faint, distant sound of birds chirping from outside.

You crawled further up the bed, your knees sinking into the soft quilt, and sat cross-legged just a few inches away from his feet. You didn't press him to talk. You knew that sometimes, the greatest gift you could give Michael was just letting him occupy a space where nothing was expected of him.

Slowly, Michael turned his head on the pillow, his brown doe eyes looking up at you. "Did I really look like I was daydreaming?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking slightly with a vulnerability he would never dare show his father.

"No," you said softly, reaching out to gently nudge his arm. "I think you looked amazin’, Mikey, you always do. Your spin was so fast I don't even know how you didn't get dizzy."

A small, genuine smile finally tugged at his lips, a faint dimple appearing on his cheek. It wasn't the practiced, dazzling smile he flashed for the cameras, it was soft and shy. "I was dizzy," he confessed with a tiny, breathless giggle, rolling over onto his side so he was facing you, propping his head up with his hand. "But Joseph says if you think about being tired, you become tired, so I try to think about other things."

"Like what?" you asked, leaning forward, resting your chin in your hands.

Michael’s eyes lit up with a sudden excitement, the heavy exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Y’know, like the music we listened to on the radio yesterday, or what it's like on the other side of the world—like do you really think people in Europe have to practice dancing all day?"

"I don't think anybody practices as much as you do," you replied honestly, giving his shoulder a few light pats.

He leaned into your touch slightly, though it was brief, his expression softening into something deeply peaceful. "I like it when you're here," he murmured, his gaze dropping to the quilt between you before rising back to meet your eyes. "When Joseph is yelling and everything feels so loud... I look at you, and it just gets quiet. Like the rest of the house disappears. I dunno’.. does that sound silly?"

Your heart swelled, a profound sense of protectiveness washing over you, "No, You’re my best friend, Mikey. I’m gonna be around till’ you get tired of me.”

"Promise?" he smiles, his voice suddenly small, reaching out a hand and extending his pinky toward you.

"I promise," you whispered, hooking your pinky into his.

1973

You were there for just about every practice from then on, watching the hours blend together. And when they weren’t singing and dancing until their feet went numb, you and Michael would play together, retreating into a world that belonged only to the two of you.

But Joseph always found you to be a problem. He kept a hawk like watch on the room, noticing how Michael would act whenever you were around. He was less focused, too.. giddy, laughing a little too easily, and sometimes even forgetting the lyrics whenever you were in the room. His brothers noticed, sharing knowing glances or teasing nudges when Joseph wasn't looking. Katherine noticed, her eyes softening with a gentle warmth. And of course, Joseph noticed—his jaw tight, tracking every stolen glance and every drop in Michael's concentration.

To Joseph, you weren't just a friend of his son anymore. You wrre a problem.

The years bled into one another, and the innocence of childhood began to shift under the weight of their skyrocketing fame. Michael was fourteen now, transitioning into a deeper voice and a sharper, more measured presence, while you were twelve, growing up right alongside him. The Jackson 5, who were now dubbed The Jacksons from Epic Records, was topping the charts, and every single second of their lives was controlled for success.

The boys had just finished a grueling, five-hour rehearsal. The room was hot and the boys were exhausted. The moment Joseph called a temporary recess, Michael didn't even pause to grab a towel. His eyes immediately sought yours out across the room, and with that familiar, quiet urgency, he nudged your shoulder.

Joseph’s sharp eyes tracked the two of you as you left the living room, heading up the stairs and down the hallway to disappear into Michael's bedroom.

The heavy wood of the bedroom door clicked shut behind you.

In the living room, Joseph watched the empty hallway. A dark, venomous huff rolled out of his chest. He turned on his heel, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards as he marched into the kitchen where Katherine was quietly folding laundry.

"I done had it, Katherine," Joseph slammed his heavy palm down onto the countertop, the sharp crack echoing through the lower floor of the house . "I've had it with that damn girl.”

Katherine didn't flinch, but her hands paused over a faded cotton shirt. She closed her eyes for a brief second, bracing herself, before looking up with a steady, quiet resolve. "Joseph, what is the issue, they’re only resting?"

"Restin’?" Joseph’s voice didn't rise to a shout, but it dropped into a dangerous, gravelly register that carried a terrifying weight. He leaned over the counter, his frame casting a long shadow over his wife. "Michael don't need to rest with her. Did you see him in there today? He missed the cue on the bridge twice. Twice, Katherine. He was over there looking at her—waiting for her to give him a lil’ nod like he needs her permission to sing or some shit."

“He's fourteen, Joe," Katherine countered, her voice dropping lower, trying to absorb the impact of his anger. "He’s a boy. He's growing up, and he needs a friend who sees his normally. He’s already told me it’s hard for him to make friends with other kids and that girl gives him peace."

"Peace don't pay the bills, Kate! And peace damn sure don't put records at number one!" Joseph snapped, his eyes flashing with a cold, unyielding fury. He pointed to the ceiling,directly toward the room where you and Michael were in. "I’m tellin’ you she’s a distraction to that boy—I see the way he gets. Look, he’s the leader of this group. The lead. This whole family’s future is riding on his back, on his focus. If his mind is wanderin’ to some girl, the boys stop listenin’ to ‘em. The discipline falls apart."

"She isn't doing anything but sitting there, Joseph," Katherine said, her voice trembling slightly now. "She clearly loves him. They've been around each other since they were kids."

"And that's exactly why she’s a problem," Joseph hissed, leaning closer, his words cutting like glass. "She think she's entitled to his time. She think she owns a piece of him. I'm tellin’ you right now, Katherine, she gotta’ go. If she keeps cluttering up his head, if she keeps making him act like he ain’t got no sense, I will keep her from this house permanently. I don't give a damn who her mother is. Michael belongs to the stage, and I won't let some lil’ girl ruin everything I've bled for."

Katherine held his gaze, her jaw tight, a deep, painful ache in her chest. She knew Joseph meant every word. She knew that as Michael grew older, Joseph’s grip would only tighten—and you would be the very first thing he would try to get rid of.

1977

Upstairs, the heavy, muffled thuds of Joseph’s pacing downstairs eventually faded into a tense, distant background noise. Inside the sanctuary of Michael’s bedroom, the world always slowed down.

Four years had blurred past in a flurry of television specials, stadium lights, and endless travel, but within these four walls, nothing changed. Michael was eighteen now, his frame stretching out, taller and more defined, though he still carried that gentle, shy humbleness.

You were sitting on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the hem of your top while you shared a secret that had been keeping you awake at night.

"My mama... she's been talkin’ to some people, Mike," you admitted softly, looking up to meet his gaze. "She really wants me to start a singing career. Professionally. Like, in the studio, makin’ records—the whole thing."

You held your breath, suddenly nervous. Michael knew the brutal reality of the industry better than anyone. You half expected him to warn you, to tell you how exhausting it was, or how much it could change a person.

Instead, an incredibly sweet smile broke across his face. He leaned forward from his chair, his voice dropping into that trademark, soft tone that always made the rest of the world vanish.

"Your voice is beautiful," he said softly, his large brown eyes shining with absolute sincerity. "I think you should do it, really. People deserve to hear you."

There was something so pure, so completely adorable about the way he said it—completely devoid of the skepticism that usually surrounded the business. His words, laced with that quiet, unwavering faith in you, finalized your decision right then. If Michael believed in you, you were sure you could handle it.

And he was right.

Within the next year, everything moved at a dizzying pace. With your parents guidance and Michael’s quiet encouragement acting as your foundation, you caught the attention of the industry. Before you knew it, you had signed a major deal with Epic Records. Your debut solo album dropped, instantly climbing the R&B charts and blasting through the radio across the country, making you one of the quickest growing young artists of the 70s. You were suddenly being pulled into a whirlwind of fame, but through it all, your heart remained anchored to the boy who had cheered for you first.

To celebrate your massive success, Michael wanted to do something completely private, away from the prying eyes of the press and his family. He had Bill take his vehicle through the roads of Los Angeles, dropping the two of you off at a secluded clearing near a quiet creek he had personally scouted out earlier that day during a drive.

When you stepped out into the cool night air, your jaw dropped. Bathed in the soft, silver glow of the moon, a cozy picnic layout was waiting for you on a thick blanket, complete with a basket of a few of your favorite foods and flickering lanterns.

“Mike, you did all this for me?” you asked in complete awe, turning around to look at him as the crickets chirped softly around the clearing.

Michael immediately rubbed the back of his neck, a deep, bashful flush creeping up his cheeks as he looked down at his shoes.

“Yeah," he mumbled shyly, giving you a quiet, nervous little smile. "I wanted to show you how much I appreciated you. And—y’know—I know you don’t like big, extravagant stuff, so I thought this would be nice… you like it?”

“I love it,” you said softly, your heart swelling to the point of aching.

Without a second thought, you stepped into his space and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck in a warm embrace. Michael froze for a fraction of a second in surprise before his arms came up, wrapping shyly and securely around your waist. His hands were shaking slightly, his heart hammering against his ribs, completely captivated by your closeness.

After you had finished eating, the nervous energy melted into a comfortable, familiar ease. You sat close next to each other on the blanket, your shoulders brushing as you both leaned back on your hands, tilting your heads up to watch the endless tapestry of stars shining through the trees.

The silence between you was peaceful, until Michael broke it.

“I don’t wanna’ be in a band with my brothers anymore.”

The sudden confession caught you completely off guard. You turned your head quickly, looking at the sharp, gorgeous profile of his face under the moonlight. “Really? I thought you liked singing with them?”

“I do—well.. I mean.. they’re my brothers and I love them,” Michael stammered softly, his eyes tracing the constellations as he tried to find the right words to express a truth he had kept locked away for so long. “But... I wanna’ start doing my own thing, living my own life. I don’t wanna’ be up under Joseph anymore. I want a solo career.”

A warm, knowing smile spread across your face. You shifted your arm, your hand still resting on the blanket but now slightly closer to his. “You do have a voice of gold, Mikey.”

The old childhood nickname made him instantly blush, and he quickly covered his face with one hand, a soft, embarrassed giggle escaping his lips.

“I understand your reasonings,” you continued, your voice steady and full of the same faith he had given you a year prior. “I support it, I really think you should. You encouraged me to do my own thing. And if I made it, I know you can. You’re really talented, you always have been.”

Michael lowered his hand from his face, turning his head to look at you. An adoring, intensely deep look pooled in his eyes at your confession. Your belief in him seemed to pierce through every doubt Joseph had ever planted in his head.

Slowly, his breath hitching, he shifted his weight. He nervously rubbed his sweaty palms against the denim of his jeans, his heart beating so hard he was certain you could hear it echoing over the sound of the nearby rushing water.

“There was.. um.. another reason I brought you here tonight…” he murmured, trying to hide the small quiver in his voice.

You took your gaze away from the sky once more, turning your full attention back to him. Michael gulped, his eyes locking onto yours. The ethereal shine of the moon caught your skin so perfect, with the warm night breeze gently rustling your hair, God... you were so pretty. It felt like the entire universe had narrowed down to just this moment.

He swallowed hard, his throat tight as he looked down at his lap for a split second, trying to gather the courage that usually came so easily to him on a stage. When he looked back up, his eyes were completely filled with a vulnerability that almost made your breath hitch.

"I've been tryna’ find the words to say this for... I don't know—maybe my whole life," Michael began, reaching out, his fingers trembling slightly as he gently took your hand, his thumb tracing soft, slow circles over your knuckles. "Ever since we were little kids... you were the only thing that really made sense to me. I could be stressed out from all the pressure put on me, but… if I could look over and see you smiling at me, I knew I was gonna survive it."

He took a slow, deep breath, his chest heaving under his shirt as he squeezed your hand a little tighter.

"Everyone else looks at me and just sees me as a performer, someone they can look at and take pictures of. But you see me. A-and when I'm with you, I feel like I'm finally allowed to just breathe. I’ve watched you grow up, and I’ve watched you become this incredibly beautiful, talented girl, and every single day my heart just gets heavier because I’m so full of these feelings for you." He paused, a shy, incredibly tender smile breaking through his nervousness. "I don’t love you just as my best friend. Girl, I’m completely in love with you. I’ve always been in love with you. And tonight, seeing you shine with your own success... I just couldn't keep it a secret anymore. I wanna’ be the one who supports you, who holds you, if you'll let me."

The confession hung beautifully in the warm night air, the steady rush of the creek providing the perfect ambiance to a moment that was long overdue. You didn't say a word at first. Instead, you let your actions speak for you, leaning in to seal your lips against his in a sweet, lingering kiss that answered every unspoken question.

1979

The world didn't stop turning after that night, but for Michael, everything had changed. He had a secret anchor now—a deep, passionate romance with you that kept him grounded even as he prepared to make the biggest gamble of his musical career.

It was 1978 when the trajectory of Michael's life altered forever. While filming The Wiz, Michael found himself coming in contact with a legendary force in the music industry: Quincy Jones.

The studio was far different from the Jackson home. There was a faint scent of cigars, something Michael would soon get accustomed to. Quincy sat behind the massive mixing console, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose, exuding an effortless aura of confidence.

"You've gotta’ lot of fire in you, son," Quincy said one late afternoon. He leaned back in his leather chair, looking at the young man standing by the microphone. "But you're still singin’ like you're holdin’ onto somethin’. You gotta let the music come from your soul. What do you wanna’ say, Michael?"

"I wanna’ make a record that shows who I am as a man, Q," Michael said, his voice firm, stepping out completely from his father's suffocating shadow. "I want full creative freedom. I want people to dance, but I want ‘em to feel my heart, too."

Quincy smiled, a low chuckle rolling out of him. "Alright then.. let's get to work."

The months that followed were a blur of pure musical bliss. Working on what would become the Off the Wall album was the first time Michael truly felt like, what he called: ‘the master of his own destiny’. He wasn't just executing Joseph's vision anymore, he was creating his own.

On the few nights you would spend curled up on the studio couch when you weren’t busy, you watched Michael collaborate with Quincy. The atmosphere was electric, filled with the funky, driving bass lines and smooth, intoxicating rhythms. Michael was a force of nature in the room, snapping his fingers, tapping his leg, and letting out those sharp, joyful vocal hiccups that were uniquely his.

Every time a track came together perfectly, Michael would bounce out of the recording booth, his face completely radiant. He wouldn't go to the executives or the producers first; he would go straight to you, grabbing your hands and spinning you around the studio lobby with a breathless laugh.

When the album finally dropped in late 1979, it was a staggering, triumphant success. It shattered records, blending R&B, pop, and disco into a masterpiece that critics and fans couldn't get enough of.

One evening, after a massive celebration party hosted by Epic, Michael snuck away into a quiet, dimly lit playback room in the studio, pulling you in with him and locking the door. He put on a personal vinyl record of his, letting the smooth title track wash over the room.

Michael smiled, pulling you flush against him as he gently buried his face in the crook of your neck. He just held you there for a long time, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, breathing you in while the smooth, rhythmic baseline of the title track filled the quiet room. There was no dancing, no performing, no movement at all—just the heavy, grounding weight of his body pressed against yours, letting the reality of his achievement finally sink in.

He let out a soft, shaky breath against your skin, his grip tightening just a fraction. It felt less like a celebration and more like a relief, a quiet moment of peace before the rest of the world demanding a piece of his success came knocking on the door.

"I don't think I would've made it here if I didn’t have you," he murmured, his voice thick with a sudden rush of emotion. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone. "When I’d started getting frustrated or didn’t have any inspiration... I'd think of you. And I'd remember who I was doin’ this for."

You reached up, cuping his jaw with your hand, feeling the slight warmth of his skin. "You did this for you, baby.”

"No, I did it for us," he corrected softly, a cute smile reaching his eyes. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as the music spun out on the turntable. "Yeah—I want the whole world to love my music. But I only care if you do, doll."

For the first time in his life, he felt like a truly independent man, riding the highest wave of his career. He was completely at peace.

1980

Joe tapped his foot impatiently on the living room carpet. The instruments sat on the cleared table, and the brothers stood in a loose, tense semi-circle on the wooden floor, shifting from foot to foot. Rehearsal was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago, and Joseph’s patience had worn thin.

“Where the hell is Michael?” Joseph huffed in deep frustration, his heavy brows slamming together as he checked his watch. He scanned the faces of his sons, his glare sharp enough to draw color from someone’s face.

The older brothers exchanged uneasy glances. Jackie bit his lip, Marlon quickly looked down at his shoes, each of them offering a silent shrug or a quiet "I don't know" to avoid their father's rising temper.

Except for Randy.

Randy chuckled, a knowing, mischievous glint in his eye. “Think he's upstairs with his girl,” he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

A few of the other brothers couldn't help but let out slight, muffled laughs at the comment, the sound cutting through the tension for a split second. But the amusement died instantly. Joseph didn’t find it funny at all. A dark scowl twisted his features, and without a single word, he turned and immediately marched up the stairs to get Michael, his heavy boots slamming into the steps with purpose.

Upstairs, the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Inside the quiet sanctuary of his bedroom, you were perched comfortably on Michael’s lap. His hands were resting gently but firmly on your waist, his grip warm and steady as the temperature in his body grew hot against yours. He was completely lost in the rhythm of you two making out, something he’s never done before you, so, of course, he let you take the lead.

Slowly, you moved your lips away from his mouth, sliding down to press soft, lingering kisses along the warm skin of his jawline and down his neck. Michael let out a series of soft, breathless chuckles, his chest heaving as a heavy shudder ran through him.

“Mama..” he sighed, his voice a velvet whisper, his fingers tightening against your hips as he tilted his head back to give you better access.

Your fingers moved to the front of his shirt, just beginning to undo the top button, when several violent pounds on the wooden door shattered the silence of the room. The force of the knock was so loud it rattled the frame, instantly breaking the moment.

Joseph’s loud, booming voice cut through the thick wood from the other side, causing you to instantly pull your head up toward the door, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Michael! Boy, you better get down here with your brothers ‘fore I come in there!”

The raw, authoritative venom in his voice hung heavily in the hallway. You slowly lowered your gaze back to Michael. The passionate glow that had filled his eyes just seconds ago was gone, replaced by a mix of irritation, embarrassment, and a intense sense of defeat. He looked like he wanted to scream, but the invisible chains of his father's control still held their weight.

Brushing your thumb gently across his cheek, you offered him a soft, reassuring smile to ease the sudden tension in his jaw. “It’s alright, angel,” you whispered softly, your voice a calm contrast to the shouting outside from just seconds ago. “I should probably be heading home anyway.”

He looked up at you, his large brown eyes melting into that heartbreaking puppy-dog look he always gave whenever he didn't want you to leave. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice incredibly small.

“Yeah,” you nodded gently, sliding off his lap to give him room to breathe. “I’ll be back Saturday, though. I gotta’ record on Friday.”

Hearing that you had to work seemed to bring him a little comfort, a reminder of the shared world you both navigated now. Michael stood up, smoothing down his shirt with a heavy sigh. “I’lll get Bill to take you home.”

You and him made your way down the stairs together, bypassing the living room where Joseph was already barking orders at the rest of the boys. Michael didn't say a word to his father as he walked you straight out the front door, stepping into the warm California sun.

Down in the driveway, the sleek car was waiting. Bill was perched against the side of the vehicle, quietly reading a newspaper to pass the time. He looked up as the front door opened, folding the paper neatly under his arm.

“Bill, can you take her home for me?” Michael asked, his hand lingering gently on the small of your back.

You had been in Michael's life for so long that Bill didn't even need an address. He already had the exact route to your house completely memorized by now, having taken you home countless times after late, secret nights spent wrapped in your boyfriend's arms.

“Sure, kid,” Bill said with a polite, respectful smile, immediately moving to open the back passenger door.

Before you stepped inside, you turned around to look back at Michael. The sunlight caught the beautiful, rich details of his face, but you could tell by the tight line of his mouth that he didn’t want you to go.

Reaching up, you put his face gently in your hands, your fingers brushing against his temples as you pulled him down to place a few soft, lingering kisses on his lips.

“I love you. I’ll see you Saturday, okay?” you murmured against his mouth.

“Okay,” he whispered back, his eyes closing briefly as he inhaled your scent, holding onto the feeling of your hands. “I love you too.”

When your moment was finished, you reluctantly pulled away. Bill held the backseat door open for you, ensuring you were completely settled and comfortable before he gently clicked it closed.

You looked out the window as the car began to roll down the long driveway. Michael stood alone on the pavement, his hands tucked into his pockets, watching you go with a heavy, longing gaze. Only when the car finally disappeared behind the massive iron gates did Michael turn around, his shoulders dropping as he walked back inside to face his father.

That wasn’t the only time you’ve interfered with practices like this. Joseph could barely handle it when you two were just friends in your younger years. But now that you’re older and we’re coming over a lot more, the crack in the Jacksons was growing impossible for him to ignore. He’s noticed Michael’s subtle distance from the group. Michael didn’t care about the the band anymore, his heart just wasn't in it the way it used to be. He cared about his own solo career, and he cared about you. And Joseph absolutely hated it.

It was getting too frequent now. Michael would show up late, or he'd miss rehearsals entirely, because he’d be tucked away with you, losing track of time in a world where his father’s rules didn't apply. And now that you had your own successful career, the stakes had completely changed. Joseph saw you as more than just a little distraction, he saw you as direct competition. You were a rising star on the exact same label, an independent force pulling his money maker away from the family brand. Joseph could feel his control slipping, and he needed to get rid of you, quickly.

A few days after the broken moment in the bedroom, their was heavy tension throughout the Hayvenhurst estate. Michael was downstairs, enduring a grueling vocal session with his brothers, while Joseph sat in his private office. The blinds were drawn, cutting the sun into sharp lines across his wooden desk.

On the top lay copies of the latest music trades. Your name was printed in bold, climbing the charts right alongside the tracking for Michael's solo work.

Joseph stared at the pages, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles in his cheek twitched. He remembered the little girl who used to sit on his couch, the one Katherine always defended. He had thought it was a phase, a childish crush that would burn out under the exhausting pressure of show business.

Instead, you had grown into a threat.

"Sum’ bullshit’," Joseph muttered to the empty room, his gravelly voice thick with resentment.

Just yesterday, Michael had arrived forty-five minutes late to an important meeting with the him and his brothers because he had been driven out to your studio just to watch you record. When Michael finally did show up, his mind was entirely somewhere else. He had smiled through the meeting, polite but distant, his thoughts clearly lingering on the soft kisses you had shared in the studio parking lot.

Joseph slammed his fist down onto the desk, rattling the gold pen casing. He had spent decades working his ass off for this family’s success, making his sons practice until their feet bled, building a legacy from nothing. He wasn't about to watch the only thing keeping that group afloat—walk away from them because he was too lovesick to focus.

In Joseph's eyes, you were poison to Michael. You gave him a taste of freedom, a solo career of your own that proved a person could survive in the industry without Joseph's iron fist guiding them.

"Had enough of this" Joseph hissed, standing up and walking over to the window, peering out toward the long driveway where Bill usually waited.

A plan was already forming in his mind. He couldn't stop Michael from loving you—he knew his son well enough to know that Michael's devotion was fierce and stubborn. But he could change your mind. He knew how the industry worked, knew the levers to pull, and knew exactly how vulnerable a young female artist truly was when a powerful manager decided to make things “difficult”.

Joseph checked his watch, the tick of the gold hands a reminder of the little time he had left to protect his investment. He didn't have to wait for Friday. His mind flashed back to the quiet conversation he had stealthily caught a piece of earlier—the soft exchange of promises between you and Michael right before you left the room.

Saturday. You were coming back to his house, planning to slip right back into Michael's bedroom, right back into his head. Joseph wasn't going to let that happen. He wasn't going to let you cross that line or get anywhere near his son until he had handled this. He needed to intercept you before you could even catch Michael's eye.

Saturday morning arrived with a heavy stillness. The sun was blindingly bright against the pavement of the long driveway as Bill pulled the car up to the gates.

From the backseat, you looked out the window, a warm smile already tugging at your lips. Your recording session on Friday had gone beautifully, and all you wanted was to throw your arms around Michael’s neck, tell him all about the tracks you had laid down, and melt right back into his safety.

But as the iron gates slowly swung open, the car didn't continue for long down the driveway.

Standing right in the center of the asphalt, blocking the path, was fucking Joseph. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his shadow stretching long and dark across the hood of the car. He didn't look like a father greeting a guest, he looked like a prison warden.

Bill brought the car to a smooth, hesitant halt. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting yours with a look of quiet, tense warning.

Before you could even ask what was happening, the rear passenger door was pulled open from the outside. The hot morning air rushed into the air conditioned car, and Joseph leaned down, his sharp, calculating eyes locking onto yours.

"Get out," Joseph said, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It wasn't a shout, but the absolute coldness in his tone left no room for argument. "We're gonna have a talk before you go anywhere near my son."

You stepped out of the backseat, the tiny rocks crunching beneath your shoes as you stood face to face with the man who had loomed over your boyfriend his entire childhood. You didn't flinch. You didn't shrink. Instead, your crossed your arms, mimicking his posture, and looked him dead in the eye.

"If Michael is still busy, Joseph, I can wait in his room," you said, your voice level, completely lack of the fear he usually demanded from people. "You don't need to block the driveway."

Joseph let out a short, harsh laugh, dry and condescending. He shook his head, looking down at you like you were nothing more than an insect he was about to step on. "Really? You think you own a key to this house? You think ‘cause you got a lil’ name for yourself on the radio now, you equal?" All the irritation, the years of suppressed resentment he had harbored since you were a child finally spilled out into his expression. "You always been an arrogant lil’ girl. Walkin’ into my house, actin’ like you belong here. I saw right through you from day one."

A cold, humorless smile touched your lips. You weren't stupid. You had known Joseph hated your guts since you were little, you just never gave a shit.

"I don’t give a damn what you saw," you shot back, stepping closer, your tone sharp as glass. "I'm not one of your sons. You don't control me, you don't intimidate me, and you don't tell me where I belong. Michael invited me here. I'm going inside."

You made a move to step past him, but Joseph moved with surprising speed, his massive frame shifting to completely block your path. The condescending smirk vanished from his face, replaced by a ruthless, terrifying gravity that made the air between you turn to ice.

"You gettin’ a lil loose at the lip," he hissed, his voice dropping into a low, venomous register that finally made your heart stumble. "If you don't do exactly what I say, I will pick up the phone and with one call your album will be pulled from the shelves, them tracks will be banned from the airwaves, and I will personally make sure that lil career is dead and buried before it even began.”

The sheer harm in his words hit you like a physical blow. Your breath caught in your throat, your confidence faltering for the very first time. You opened your mouth to curse at him, to tell him he was lying, but he leaned in closer, his eyes flashing with a sickening certainty.

"And don't think Michael’s safe from me either," Joseph whispered, his words cutting deep. "He ridin’ high on that album right now, thinkin’ he's an independent man. But he still answers to me. If you keep messin’ up his head, makin’ him soft, makin’ him miss rehearsals, I’ma’ break his solo career piece by piece. I’ll pull the plug on his next project. I will ruin him, and I'’ma’ make sure he knows it was your fault."

The world seemed to spin on its axis. The defense you had put up just seconds ago completely evaporated, replaced by a suffocating dread. He wasn't just threatening your dream—he was threatening Michael's. He was threatening the music Michael had worked so hard for.

Joseph saw the sudden terror in your eyes and smiled, a cruel, triumphant expression. He reached out, his finger cutting through the air to point directly toward the front door of the mansion.

"So here’s your ultimatum, girl," Joseph commanded softly, the venom practically dripping from his lips. "You're gonna’ walk up them stairs, look my son in the eye, and you're gonna’ break up this lil’ fling y’all got goin’ on. Right now. You're gonna make him believe you don't want him anymore, that you're choosin’ your own fame over him. Either you play the bad guy, or I will."

You don’t respond, you simply walk past him and toward the door. The absolute silence of your defiance makes Joseph’s smile falter for a split second, but he doesn't chase after you. He doesn't need to. He already knows what your choice is. He knows he has you backed into a corner, and that knowledge follows you like a shadow as you push open the heavy front door.

You discreetly head upstairs, keeping your steps quiet as you navigate the familiar hallway up to Michael’s room without anybody noticing.

Luckily, the faint, rhythmic muffled thuds from downstairs prove he’s still trapped with his brothers, so that gives you time to think. Your hands are shaking so violently you have to sit on the edge of his mattress just to keep from collapsing. How could Joe do this? Was he seriously that evil that he’d sabotage his own son? To destroy everything Michael had built, everything he had achieved, just to maintain a twisted sense of control?

You felt like you were going to throw up. The air in the bedroom, which usually felt like your only sanctuary, suddenly felt hot and suffocating. How were you gonna tell Michael? You can already picture his face—the way those big, beautiful eyes would fill with total confusion, then shatter into a million pieces of heartbreak.

Before you can even try to form the words in your head, the doorknob jiggles.

The door swings open, and Michael steps into the room. Immediately, an excited look takes over his face the second he sees you sitting on his bed. The heavy exhaustion from rehearsal vanishes from his features in a heartbeat.

He practically skips across the room and engulfs you in a tight, desperate hug, burying his face in your shoulder. When he pulls back just enough to look at you, he's wearing that big, adorable smile that you love so much—the one that always makes his whole face light up.

"You came early!" he beams, his voice a breathless, joyful whisper. He cups your face, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he presses a few gentle, lingering kisses to your lips before he even lets you speak. "I missed you so much, mama. I wanna hear all about your day yesterday. Did the recording go good? Tell me everything."

You feel utterly sick. The warmth of his lips against yours contrasts so sharply with the cold dread in your stomach that you stiffen under his touch.

Michael's smile slowly falters. He's perceptive of you, always has been, and he quickly notices the hollow, disassociated expression in your eyes. His hands drop from your cheeks to hold your wrists, his brow furrowing with immediate concern.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks softly, his voice dropping into a vulnerable, frightened register.

You look up at him, your heart shattering into pieces inside your chest as you force the words past the lump in your throat.

“Mike.. we gotta talk..” you say lowly.

Michael’s hands tightened on your wrists, his grip instantly turning from a warm embrace into a frantic, grounding hold. That smile started to vanish slowly, replaced by a sudden, sharp panic that made him look so agonizingly young.

"What happened" he whispered, his large brown eyes searching your face, desperately scanning for any sign that you were just playing a cruel joke. "Baby, you're scaring me. Did somethin’ happen at the studio? Did somebody say somethin’ to you?”

You had to pull your hands away because if you kept feeling the steady, frantic beat of his pulse against your fingers, you were going to break down and tell him everything. You slid your wrists out of his grasp, the friction of the movement feeling like a physical tear, and stood up from the bed. You walked toward the window, turning your back to him so he couldn't see the tears that were already shining in your eyes.

"No, Mike. Nobody said anything," you said, your voice trembling despite your absolute best efforts to keep it cold. "The session went fine. It's about us."

Behind you, you heard the soft rustle of the mattress as he stood up. His footsteps were hesitant as he walked towards you.

"Us?" Michael asked, a nervous, breathless chuckle escaping his throat. "What do you mean—what about us? We're good? I was just thinking about you all day yesterday. I even started writing down some lyrics for you, and—"

"Michael, stop," you choked out, forcing yourself to use his full name. You turned around, gripping the window sill behind your back so hard your knuckles turned white. You had to look at and lie to the only person who knew you better than anyone else. "We can't do this anymore."

Michael froze in the middle of the room. The words seemed to hit him like a physical blow, his heart stopping to his stomach. He blinked, his brow furrowing in utter confusion.

"What?" he breathed, the sound barely escaping his lips. "Where is this coming from—Did I do something wrong? Is it because I was late the other day? Baby, I'm sorry, I promise I'll be better with my time. I can try to talk to Joseph, I'll make sure he doesn't—"

"It's not your dad, Mike! It's me!" you lied, your voice cracking, it teared out of your throat, the pressure in your chest was becoming too much to contain. You forced your eyes to harden, looking right past his heartbroken expression. "It's me. I've been thinking about it all weekend. Ever since my music started taking off, everything is changing. My career is growing, Mike. I'm getting pulled into meetings and promos... and I can't have this distraction anymore."

Michael flinched, his head jerking back slightly as if you had slapped him. Distraction. It was the exact word his father had hurled at you since you were children, and hearing it come out of your mouth seemed to pierce a hole straight through his heart.

"A distraction?" Michael whispered, his voice cracking violently. He took a step closer, his eyes filling with sudden tears that threatened to spill over his thick, beautiful lashes. He reached out, his hands hovering in the air between you, trembling, wanting so badly to touch you but suddenly terrified to try. "Baby, how can you say that? We've been doing this since we were kids. You're the one who gave me the courage to even do my solo album. We promised we'd support each other—"

"That was before, Michael." you said, the cruelty of your own words making you feel physically sick. "We’re not kids anymore. Were grown. We're competing for the same numbers, the same radio play, the same attention. I need to focus on my life, on my name. I can't keep carrying the weight of your family's drama, or sneakin’ around behind your father's back, or waiting for you to finish a five hour rehearsal just so I can freaking see you!"

A single tear finally escaped, tracing a slow line down Michael's cheek. He didn't even bother to wipe it away.

"I don't care about that," he tried, his voice rising slightly in a desperate, agonized plea that shattered whatever was left of your strength. He took two steps, closing the distance between you, and before you could push him away, he grabbed your upper arms. His grip wasn't harsh—it was begging. "I don't care about the songs. If you want me to stop, I'll stop. I'll give it all up! I don't want a career if it means I don't have you. You're my peace, baby. You're the only part of my life that belongs to me."

"Dont say that!" you sobbed, the tears finally bursting from your eyes as you violently pushed against his chest, breaking his grip. You couldn't let him say things like that. He was Michael Jackson. He was born for the stage. If you let him sacrifice his dream for you, Joseph would ruin him anyway, and Michael would end up hating you for the rest of his life. "Don't you dare say that shit to me! Music is your entire life, Michael! It's who you are!"

"No, it's not!" His chest was heaving, his face flushed with a desperate, wild look in his eyes you had never seen before. "It's just a job—It's just songs. But you're my best friend. You've loved me since longer than I can remember. I can’t lose that now!“

He stops and looked back at you, his hands dropping to his sides, completely defeated. His eyes were red, utterly hollowed out by a betrayal he never saw coming.

"Please," he whispered, a tiny, broken sound that completely destroyed you. He slowly dropping to his knees on the carpet right in front of you, wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face directly into your stomach, his shoulders shaking violently as he wept. "Please don't leave me. Don't do this to me. I'll do whatever you want—Just don't walk out that door. I can't do this alone."

You stood frozen, lookingdown at one of the biggest stars in the world completely brought to his knees by your words. The pain in your stomach was so intense you felt sick. Slowly, with an agonizing hesitation, you lifted your shaking hands and placed them on his head, your fingers tangling into his soft curls one last time. You leaned down, pressing a single, desperate kiss to the top of his head, letting your tears fall into his hair.

"I'm sorry, Mikey," you whispered, using the childhood nickname that felt like a goodbye to your entire youth.

Gently but firmly, you unclasped his arms from your waist. Michael let out a soft, choked gasp of air as you pulled away, his hands falling limply to his sides. He didn't look up as you grabbed your purse from the desk.

You walked across the room, every step feeling like you were dragging a mountain behind you. When you reached the doorway, you paused for a fraction of a second, looking back at his trembling frame on the floor one last time.

You stepped out into the hallway and clicked the door shut behind you, leaving the sanctuary of your childhood behind in the dark, completely blind to the fact that Joseph was standing at the end of the corridor, watching you walk away.

1984

Three years had passed, and the world had completely rewritten itself under the weight of a single album: Thriller. Michael was no longer just a successful solo artist stepping out from his family's shadow, he was a global phenomenon, the biggest superstar in the world, holding the crown for the highest selling album of all time.

You had also carved out your own legendary path, too. Your name sat comfortably at the top of the charts right alongside his, your tracks playing on a near endless loop across every radio station in the country. But the glitz and glamour of the top spot felt cold whenever your worlds inevitably collided.

Because you were both the reigning royalty of the music industry, you were constantly forced into the same rooms. High profile galas, award shows, after parties, elite industry celebrations—you were always just a crowd away from each other.

But Michael actively avoided you.

The first time you saw him across a crowded room at a gala, your heart had stopped. He was surrounded by a massive entourage, towering bodyguards, and flashing cameras, wearing a sharp, iconic military jacket that shimmered under the chandeliers. You had tried to catch his eye, to send him just a fraction of the warmth you used to share, but the moment his gaze drifted over and landed on you, his expression went entirely blank.

He didn't glare. He didn't look angry. He simply looked right through you, turning to speak to a manager, deliberately putting his back to you.

The rejection stung worse than a slap. For three years, that had been his pattern. If you walked into a VIP lounge, he quietly exited through the back. If you were seated at a table near the front of an auditorium, his team ensured his seat was on the exact opposite side of the aisle. The sweet, bashful boy who used to hide his face in his hands had built an impenetrable wall around himself, still deeply guarded from the pain you had caused him three years ago.

But the cold shoulder didn't mean he didn't still love you.

In the quiet, lonely sanctuary of his limousine, away from the screaming fans and his new reality, the ghost of your memory still held him captive. Every single time your voice came out through the car radio speakers, a sharp ache would form directly in his chest. He would open his mouth to ask the driver to shut the sound off to protect his heart—but he never could. He would just sit there in the dark, listening to the beautiful texture of your vocals, wondering if any of the lyrics were about him.

And it was even worse during the awards season. Michael had to sit in the front row of packed auditoriums, the flashing lights reflecting off his sunglasses, and watch you walk up the steps to the stage to receive win after win. You looked utterly breathtaking under the spotlights, your hair styled flawlessly, your confidence radiant as you accepted your awards.

To the rest of the world, Michael looked like an untouchable king, politely clapping his sequined glove in approval. But behind the shades, his eyes were wide and glassy, tracing the your smile, the curve of your hips, completely torn between the deep resentment of how you had abandoned him and the overwhelming love he still carried for you.

He wanted to hate you for what you did. He wanted to believe the lies you had screamed at him about competition and distractions. But every time he looked at you, the palace of fame he had built felt like a prison.

1984

The pulsating bass of the latest hits vibrated through the floorboards of the Hollywood venue, a lavish penthouse draped in dim lighting. The room was a mob of elite talent. Actors, producers, and chart topping musicians all drinking champagne and unwinding from the high stakes tension of the award show that had concluded just hours prior.

The air grew impossibly tighter the moment the heavy double doors opened, and a quiet, electric wave of whispers rippled through the crowd.

Michael had walked in.

He was flanked by a couple of security guards, his presence immediately commanding the room despite how quietly he moved. He wore a stunning, tailored black jacket with silver accents that caught the low light, his curls falling perfectly around his face. To anyone watching, he looked like the absolute epitome of an untouchable icon—calm, poised, and towering above the industry.

But the moment his eyes scanned the room, the composure faltered.

He noticed you immediately. You were standing near the center of the lounge, comfortably mixed into a lively group conversation with a few other major celebrities. You were wearing a beautiful champagne colored dress, laughing at something a fellow artist had said, your head tilted back as the warm light danced across your skin.

Michael stood frozen for a split second, his breath hitching in his throat.

For the rest of the night, he didn’t know what got into him. The discipline he had spent three years perfecting—the strict rule to look away, to walk in the opposite direction, to erase your presence from his view—completely vanished. He couldn't stop looking at you. No matter who stepped up to congratulate him on his historic night, or how many executives tried to corner him to talk business, his gaze kept drifting right back across the crowded room, pulled to where you stood.

You never noticed it, though. You were completely absorbed in your surroundings, glowing in the success of your own career, and seemed to be genuinely enjoying your time. You smiled, sipped your drink, and conversed with an effortless grace that made his chest ache with a burning nostalgia.

Watching you look so happy, so unbothered by the madness of the room, a quiet, painful spiral of thoughts began to consume his mind.

He wondered if you had thought about him at all since you two had last spoken. He wondered if when his songs played on the radio, your chest squeezed the way his did with yours. Had you meant it when you said you needed to focus on your own name? Did you miss him, or was he truly just a chapter of your youth that you had successfully closed?

As you shared another bright laugh with the celebrities around you, Michael gripped his glass a little tighter, his heart pounding against his ribs. The anger and the hurt were still there, heavy and suffocating, but as he watched you shine from across the room, the love he had carried for you still, threatened to spill over the walls he had built to keep you out.

During the night, you found yourself out on the balcony. The booming bass of the music inside the penthouse was reduced to a distant, muffled noise. The air was crisp, a contrast to the heat of the crowded party indoors. You leaned your forearms against the cold stone railing, staring out into the, glowing Los Angeles city lights. Your hair flowed gently in the breeze, a stray curl catching across your cheek as you blinked back the heavy exhaustion of the night.

You didn't know how much longer you could be here.

To the rest of the world, you were at the absolute peak of your life. You had the fame, the money, and the industry bowing at your feet. But standing out here in the dark, the emptiness in your chest was deafening. You should be sharing these events and these massive successes with Michael. He should be the one holding your hand, spinning you around the room, laughing about how you both actually conquered the world just like you promised you would.

But you had been such a coward back then. You had actually listened to Joseph, letting his venomous threats terrify you into breaking the only heart that truly mattered. You had played the villain to protect him, and now, your relationship was forever broken.

You let out a ragged sigh. Michael probably hadn’t even thought about the past like this. It didn't seem like he had. Watching him avoid you for three years, watching him look right past you with those cold, unbothered eyes—he had moved on. He didn’t need you anymore.

A soft, hesitant clear of a throat suddenly broke the silence, shattering your thoughts.

Your head snapped around, your heart leaping violently into your throat.

Michael.

He was standing just a few feet away near the glass double doors, the light from the party casting a soft golden halo around him. He looked good—way too good. The tailored black jacket hugged his frame perfectly, and his dark curls shimmered slightly under the patio lights. He looked like a living legend, completely out of reach, yet his posture carried a faint trace of that familiar, hesitant stillness you knew by heart.

“Michael..” you muttered softly, the name escaping your lips before you could even think to stop it.

He didn't say anything at first. He kept his hands tucked loosely into his pants pockets, his movements agonizingly slow as he walked up to stand right next to you at the railing. He didn't look at you, he just stared out at the glowing city line through his sunglasses, his jawline sharp and rigid in the moonlight.

There was a small, agonizing beat of silence, the tension between you so thick it felt like it was crushing the air right out of the balcony.

Then, he finally spoke, his voice smooth, velvety, and entirely calm.

“Wanted to say congratulations.. top 3, 4 weeks in a row.”

The casualness of his tone sent a quiver straight through your veins. He was tracking your success. He knew exactly where your music sat on the charts.

“.. Thank you," you replied, your voice dropping into a soft tone. You gripped the stone railing a little tighter, choosing your next words as if you were walking on a tightrope, terrified that a single wrong word would send him back inside. "You too, you did amazing on Thriller. Whole world’s talkin’ about it."

Michael didn't move a muscle, but the corner of his jaw tightened just a fraction under his sunglasses. The steady, distant hum of the traffic below drifted up into the night air, but on the balcony, the silence returned, heavier and more suffocating than before. Michael still didn't look at you. He kept his hands in his pockets, his chin tilted up slightly as he stared out at the endless grid of the city lights.

It was silent for a long, agonizing beat before he simply asked:

“Why?”

The word was so quiet, so completely stripped of the smooth, polished superstar persona he had been wearing all night, that it caught you entirely off guard. You blinked, turning your body slightly toward him.

“Huh?” you said, your voice barely a breath.

“Why did you leave me?" Michael said, his tone shifting from smooth calculation to a raw, trembling gravity. He finally turned his head, his hand reaching up to slowly slide the sunglasses off his face, forcing you to look directly into his brown doe eyes. "I want the real reason.”

"Michael—" you choked out, your throat instantly tightening as the lie you had lived with for so long began to crumble under his gaze.

"And don't tell me it was about our careers," he interrupted, his voice dropping into a breathless, desperate whisper that cut through every defense you had. He stepped closer, the space between you disappearing until you could feel the sudden, familiar warmth radiating from his chest. "Don't tell me I was a distraction. I don’t wanna’ hear that. I know you well enough to know that there was another reason that we separated. So just tell me... please. Why did you leave?"

As the weight of his gaze pinned you to the railing, the armor you had worn all this time completely shattered. You couldn't keep the lie alive anymore. The words came crumbling out of you in a desperate, tearful rush, a confession you had choked down every single day since you walked out of his life.

You laid bare the ugly truth of that Saturday morning at the estate. You told him how Joseph had basically cornered you the second you arrived. You mentioned the venom in his father’s voice, detailing the exact ultimatum Joseph had given you: end your relationship, or watch Joseph dismantle both of your rising careers in the blink of an eye. You admitted to him how terrified you were—not just for your own dreams, but for his. You explained that you were a coward who actually believed his father's threats, and that playing the villain was the only way you knew how to protect the both of you.

As you talked, the transformation on Michael's face was devastating to watch.

The guarded, distant coldness on his face melted away first, turning into absolute shock as the missing pieces of his life finally fell into place. Then his eyes widened, the glassiness of his tears giving way to a sudden clarity. Then, as the realization of his father's betrayal settled deep into his chest, his expression shifted from disbelief to anger. The corners of his mouth trembled, his jaw tightening so hard the muscles jumped beneath his skin. The resentment he had carried against you for three years didn't just crack—it completely disintegrated, leaving his features entirely bare, struck by the agonizing realization that the girl who had broken his heart had actually been trying to save it.

“I’m sorry, Michael, I’m so sorry," you sobbed, the tears pouring down your cheeks as the weight of that secret finally lifted from your chest. "I didn’t want any of this! I just wanted to protect you. I didn’t know what else to do.”

You covered your face with your hands, your shoulders shaking violently in the cool night air. "I just—I love you so much. I didn’t want you hurt. You had worked so hard... I didn’t wanna be the cause of your success falling apart."

But Michael didn’t hear anything else. The mention of Joseph, the threats of the executives, the stolen years—it all faded into a dull hum. The only words echoing in his mind, striking his heart with the force of a punch, were the ones you had just confessed.

You loved him. You still loved him? After all this time, after the coldness, the avoidance... you were still his.

“You love me?” he said softly.

The velvet, breathless quality of his voice was so thick with emotion it sounded entirely broken. He took a slow, trembling step toward you, his hands coming out of his pockets, hovering in the space between you as if he were waking up from a nightmare.

You slowly lowered your hands, looking up at him with teary, swollen eyes, the city lights turning into a blur of gold and silver behind him.

“I know," you whispered, a heartbreaking sob catching in your throat. "I shouldn’t. Not after what I did to you.”

Michael didn't care about what you shouldn't do. Before you could even draw your next breath, he closed the distance between you. His trembling fingers found your jawline, his thumbs gently wiping away the hot tears on your cheeks as he pulled you flush against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his large frame shaking as a ragged, heavy sigh of pure relief tore out of his throat, holding onto you so tightly.

You immediately wrap your arms around him, your hands gripping the fabric of his sharp jacket as you bury your face into his chest, crying softly. The wall that had stood between you all these years completely vanishes, replaced by the familiar, comforting warmth of his heartbeat thumping against your cheek.

Michael’s arms tighten around you until there is absolutely no space left between you. He holds you with a desperate, fierce intensity, as if he’s trying to make up for every single day wasn’t able to hold you.

"I know, sweet girl, It’s okay.." Michael whispers into your hair, his own voice cracking as his tears finally spill over, wetting the crown of your head. He rocks you gently on the secluded balcony, completely ignoring the flashing lights of the roaring party just behind the glass doors.

Michael pulls back just enough to look down at you, his pretty brown eyes glassy with tears but shining with a warmth you hadn't seen in so long. His gaze drops to your lips, his chest heaving with a soft, breathless sigh that tells you everything you need to know.

He doesn't wait. He leans down and presses his lips to yours, and the moment they meet, the entire world outside of this moment completely ceases to exist.

The kiss isn't like the careful, hesitant ones from before. It’s deep, intense. It carries the weight of three long years of aching silence. The lasting love that neither of you could ever truly erase. Michael cups the back of your neck, his fingers gently tangling into your curls to pull you impossibly closer, while his other hand rests firmly on your waist, keeping you close to him as if he's terrified you might disappear the second he lets go.

You melt completely into his touch, your hands sliding up his chest to wrap around his neck, kissing him back with everything you have left. The taste of him makes your knees go weak.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you completely out of breath. Michael lets out a soft, wet chuckle against your lips, his thumbs gently wiping away the fresh tears on your cheeks as that smile you love so much finally returns to his face.

"’M not lettin’ you go this time," he whispers, his voice a velvet promise in the midnight air.