Moonchild★

No one had treated you so sweetly, so kindly, as if you were someone worthy of the purest form of affection. From the moment you met, Jaafar has been a gentleman, through and through. A friend of a friend had invited you to a party, and Jaafar had been taking acting classes with a different friend of the host’s. So your paths crossed, and you were smitten almost immediately.

It would have been harder to resist the near magnetic pull you felt towards him the first second you laid eyes on him, to not spend the whole night staring in his direction. He was almost unfairly attractive, the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen by far. Jaafar caught on quickly, felt your gaze on him from across the room and it made him feel shy in ways he’s never known.

Building up his courage, trying to come up with an opening line that wasn’t cheesy or lame, Jaafar eventually made his way over to where you stood in a corner, talking with some friends away from the rest of the room.

“Want a drink?” He offers, extending his hand out to you. For a split second, you hesitate, bowled over by just how perfect he looked up close. But then you slot your hand into his, and it was like the last two pieces of a puzzle slotting into place.

He pulls you away from the crowds, takes you somewhere quiet. Jaafar can’t remember the last time he’s been to a house party like this, all loud and packed and full of alcohol. He also can’t remember ever feeling the way he feels about you.

After spending the whole night talking, you exchange numbers and make a plan to meet up again, for a real date. You practically squeal when you see his text asking you out, feeling like a kid again with your first crush, almost vibrating with excitement and anticipation. You can’t remember the last time anyone asked you out like this, wanting to take you out for a nice meal instead of bringing you back to a dingy apartment.

But Jaafar makes a reservation at a nice restaurant, requests a table in a quieter section so the two of you can talk. He spends far too long agonizing over his outfit choices, changing his clothes three times before he has to leave. Even just the thought embarrasses him, feeling so overwhelmed at a simple dinner date, but there’s something different about you.

When he tells you he’s on his way, that he’ll meet you at your front door, you bite down hard on your bottom lip to keep from grinning as you stare down at your phone. You don’t think, with the exception of prom while you were in high school, that a date’s ever come to your doorway like this.

You’re grateful for his heads up, scurrying around to make sure everything you can see from the front door looks clean and organized. Your bedroom is another story, looking as if a tornado has ripped through your wardrobe with the amount of clothes thrown around. You feel out of practice, like you’ve never been asked out before, because when you think about it, you really haven’t, at least not at this caliber.

Sure, you’ve gone on dates and had relationships that lasted a few months, but no one’s ever treated you like this. You’re already amazed, and he hasn’t even picked you up yet. The last date you’d gone on, you’d gotten an Uber and your date had shown up ten minutes late looking like he’d rolled out of bed. 

It had almost been enough to make you swear off dating, but then you’d met Jaafar at that party.

Meeting you at the door, flowers in hand, Jaafar’s speechless when he sees you. You look ethereal, and it makes him feel a little better knowing that second guessing his outfit no less than a thousand times paid off. At the end of the day, he just wanted you to feel like you were cared for, that he was doing everything in his power to make sure you know how he feels about you.

Taking the flowers when he offers them to you, you’re grateful for the excuse to look for a vase so you can grin to yourself like a crazy person. Racking your brain, you can’t think of the last time a boy brought you flowers. You set them up in some water and place them on the kitchen table, where they’ll catch the light and you can admire them all day long.

Now, though, there’s something more important for you to admire. You spend almost the entire drive ogling Jaafar, letting your eyes rove across his face as he focuses on the road. He doesn’t say anything about it, but he can feel you staring, and it makes his chest feel all warm, makes his heart thud against his rib cage.

He feels nervous in ways he can’t explain, because all he wants to do is make a good first impression. Really, what he wants is for you to agree to a second date, and then a third, and then forever, but it all starts with the first date.

Deep down, though, he’s not treating you any differently than he’d treat any other date. He’s been raised to open doors and bring flowers and pull out chairs, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Sure, he’s bringing his absolute a-game because it’s you, but he’s simply treating you like a gentleman because that’s what you deserve.

To him, it feels like the bare minimum, but it’s rocking your entire world.

After he parks, he gets out of the car and makes his way to the passenger side. You open the door before he can get there, though, and you smile self-consciously when he huffs out a laugh.

“I woulda gotten that,” he says it like it’s obvious as you slide out of the car, shutting the door behind you. Because to him, it is obvious, to open your door for you and help you from the car, because that’s what any gentleman would do.

“Oh,” you respond, absolutely shocked at the notion of a date opening the car door for you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he grins, reaching for your hand, “it just means I have to be quicker next time.”

Just like that, you’re at ease again as you walk the few blocks towards the restaurant. It’s the perfect summer evening, sunny and breezy and warm, and the two of you get so wrapped up in your conversation that you’re a little surprised when you realize you’ve already made it to your destination. Jaafar steps around you and pulls the door open, and the gesture makes your heart flutter.

Jaafar catches the way you smile, and the sight fills him with pride and a little tinge of sadness because it’s obvious that no one’s ever treated you this way and to him, it’s like second nature. Jaafar vows to change that for you, to always make sure you know exactly how much he cares for you, how much he respects you, because it’s the least he can do.

He’d give you the world if he could, but for now he settles for opening doors and pulling out chairs, bringing you flowers and learning your go-to drink orders.

The two of you get shown to your table, and Jaafar makes sure to pull your chair out for you. That same smile blooms on your face, a little shy and self-conscious and so full of affection, he just has to smile back.

It makes him think, as you look over the menu, about how you’ve clearly never been treated right. He knows he’s a few years older than the people you usually date, but it’s not as if he’s recently learned manners, recently figured out how to treat someone when you ask them out. It absolutely baffles him that this is all so new to you, when you should have been treated like this from the very beginning.

As you scan over the prices on the menu, you’re reminded of the times where your date has asked you to split the bill unexpectedly at the end of the date, after being the one to ask you out in the first place. You know that Jaafar would never do that to you. You’re sure that even if this was the worst date of all time, even though it’s already far surpassed any date you’ve ever been on, he’d still pay the bill and drive you home and say you look lovely, because that’s just the kind of person he is.

Over the course of the evening, the two of you relax, finding that steady, comfortable rhythm you’d both noticed when you first met. It seems like suddenly, you’ve known each other for years, and you don’t think you’ve ever had such an instant connection with someone before. He makes you laugh, he truly listens when you talk, and he looks at you like you’re something worthy of being admired. 

Any apprehension that had been pressed into you by memories of the failed dates of your past evaporates, and you end up ordering dessert. Unable to make up your mind, Jaafar orders one of each that you’d been torn between and you split them, and it’s such a sweet, simple gesture it makes you feel a little bit nauseous with affection.

With the plates spread out between you, the two of you start trading your dating horror stories, all of the failures and awkward moments you can never seem to forget. Really, before now, you could never seem to escape from those dates, but you have a feeling you’ll never go through those experiences again.

“It’s happened to me, like four or five times,” you say, using your spoon to scoop up more of the whipped cream on the plate. Across from you, Jaafar chokes on his drink in his shock. He coughs a few times and sets his glass down, looking at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“You’ve split the bill four or five times?” He asks through his coughing, still trying to regain his composure, his sense of equilibrium. The thought of anyone having to split the bill on a date after being the one to get asked out, especially when it’s you, is absolutely unbelievable to him. You could have ordered everything on the menu, and he would have happily paid for it, because that’s the treatment that you deserve.

“Mhm,” you nod, sticking the spoon in your mouth, “and once, I got coffee with this guy and I forgot my wallet.”

Jaafar nods, taking a sip of water. You wait until he’s set the glass back down, certain what you say next would cause another coughing fit.

“He paid, and then sent me a Venmo request for eight dollars.” You were right with your guess, and you can read Jaafar’s shock on his face, plain as day. His mouth dropped open momentarily, before its replaced with a smile at the sound of your laughter, which floats around the two of you like music notes in a cartoon love story.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says adamantly, reaching for your hands across the table. A shiver of delight races down your spine when your fingers touch.

“Wanna hear the worst part?” You ask with a grin, eyes flitting between your interlocked fingers and Jaafar’s face in the warm, low lighting of the restaurant.

“That wasn’t the worst part?”

“My coffee only cost seven-fifty.”

Jaafar squeezes his hand around yours, and another peal of laughter bursts from you. He wants to bottle up that sound, wants to memorize it and play it over and over again. He could never get sick of that noise, could never get sick of you. Even after only a few weeks of knowing each other, even after a single date, he knows it’s the truth.

And sitting across from him, being treated like you’re something precious, someone worth love and attention and respect, you know it too.

this dynamic is so so so fun omgggg thank you for this request i absolutely loved writing it!! feel free to send in more age gap jaafar requests they're my fav right now for sure <3

Cameron has a bit of an aggressive streak, especially after he had to get stitches on the side of his head. A small resemblance of what he lived and breathed for.

Football.

Being number one was no walk in the park. Everyone was constantly on his ass. Practices had to be perfect, answers had to be perfect. His image had to be perfect.

He was tired. So overwhelmed, he couldn’t even look at you once he got home. The room felt heavy as his large stature rested on the couch. You watched him, a soft empathy in your eyes.

You were the sweetest girl on campus, always wearing light colors, smiling at everyone, never saying no. Who would’ve thought you would end up with Cameron Cade of all people?

Once he asked you to help him pass a test, he was head over heels. It took him a while to win you over, with you knowing his reputation. But you saw a side others didn’t tend to see, allowing him to take hold of your heart.

He was careful with it, treating you like fragile glass. Whenever he was in a mood, he made it his mission to not be around you, in an attempt to not dampen yours.

Tonight, you wanted to help.

Your sock-covered feet made their way over to him, fingers twitching, debating on touching the clearly drained man.

“Cam?” Your soft voice whispered, and he looked up at you. His eyes drooped, frown etched into his face. “You should go, ma. I’m just a bit tired right now.” He explained.

He planted a small kiss on your waist, as a small show of affection even while he was down in the dumps.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You placed one hand on his buzz cut, running your fingers through his hair. You made sure to avoid the stitches, not wanting to hurt him.

“Ma—” “I’m serious Cam, let me be here for you.” You sat down next to him, hand trailing to his defined back and you rubbed it in comforting circles.

He let out a sigh, too tired to fight against his clearly concerned girlfriend. “I’m so tired.” He mumbled, head resting on your shoulder.

You kissed his forehead, allowing him to let out his frustration. “I’m so frustrated, all this bullshit everybody keep putting on my shoulders.”

You nodded even though you didn’t understand. You racked your brain on ways to help.

Play football with him? Absolutely not. Cook for him? He already ate. Make him feel good? Now that’s something you can do.

“Let me take care of you, baby.” You told him, fingers gently tugging at his belt. “I can’t let you do that, ma.” He rested his heavy hand on yours.

You were his princess, he couldn’t put you in that much trouble. He’s always been gentle with you, not wanting to accidentally hurt you.

Cameron understands he’s bigger than you and his sport gives him a natural aggression.

“Please, Cam!” You pouted, it didn’t take him much convincing. “Just be gentle, okay?” you suggested.

The suggestion must’ve been optional.

•••

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Tears streamed down your face as you felt Cameron’s heavy dick drop inside of you. “Fuckkk, this my pussy, hm?” he teased. “Y-yes, daddy,” you whimpered.

The way he has you bent over the arm of the couch has you losing your mind. He’s been digging in you for the past, you couldn’t even count.

Your ass bounced against his hips as your eyes rolled back. Your legs shook, struggling to hold yourself up. The only thing keeping you slightly balanced was the hand of Cameron pressing down on you.

“I love you, ma,” He grunted, pounding into you. “Lo—ughhh—fuck.” Your nails dug into the couch while you panted heavily, trying to catch your breath.

He was so deep, you didn’t know if you could continue to take it any longer. You already came on him multiple times, building the white frothy ring around his dick.

Your head dropped to the couch, brain melting with every thrust of his dick. You knew he was getting all his stress out but my goodness how much was in there?

You felt a striking smack on your ass making you gasp, clenching around him. “Get a lil farther up there,” Cam said, he lifted your hips, guiding you farther across the arm of the couch.

Once he saw your hips angled up, just enough to see your swollen pussy, he let you go. Your legs dangling in the air, toes just barely brushing against the floor.

“Shit, wait,” your hand flew out, pressing against his abs. “nah, you wanted to help,” he grasped your hand, bending it to rest on your back. “Take that shit.” He mumbled.

His hips snapped into you, jolting your body forward. Drool fell from your mouth as you took every inch. The soft squelch of your soaking pussy made him groan. Your eyes were struggling to flick back to reality, hoping he would ease up on you.

At this rate you were about to squirt all over the floor, and the many times he had made you squirt, it was everywhere. “P-please.” Your voice cracked.

“Daddy ain’t done, baby.” He grunted. The name use made you clench around him. Your whimpers grew louder as you felt the familiar thump against your entrance.

“I-I’m bout to-,” you were cut off by a loud moan, feeling the release of pressure from your stomach. Usually Cameron would have let up but he only sped up, forcing more fluid out.

“Squirting all over the place, mhm.” He landed one sharp smack on your butt making you moan. He was obsessed with the feeling of you clenching around him, and the ripple of your ass.

Cameron loved the sight of you losing it, only feeling the desire to feed you more strokes. Just as you said, him using you took stress off his shoulders.

He was finally able to take control and have something for himself. You spread out for him, taking everything he was giving you.

His balls slapped against your clit, wet and heavy only causing waves of sensitivity. He pulled out quickly, replacing his dick with his fingers in no time.

His middle and ring finger thrusted inside of you, biting his lower lip causing his dimples to pop out. Your free hand shot out, catching his wrist but not doing much to stop his movement.

“Gimme some more, ma.” He demanded, fingers curling inside of you, rubbing your gummy walls. Your legs shivered as you cried out, other hand smacking against the couch.

His fingers were relentless, sending you through another wave of sensitivity which led to another orgasm. “Oh my—nnghhh,” you tried to crawl forward on the couch in the midst of your orgasm.

Cameron’s hand held you down, “Stay right fuckin’ there. This my pussy so let me have it,” he said. He bent down, pressing a gentle kiss on your ass.

He watched as your body shook coming down from your second orgasm. You let out a sigh feeling Cameron removed his fingers with a small light smack against your clit. The impact made you jolt along with a gasp of surprise.

Cameron grabbed your waist, turning you to lay flat on your back. Your eyes found his and his shirt up his torso, showcasing his abs that he spent so long in the gym for. His eyes were low lidded with a hungry gaze.

His hands rubbed against your thighs that were trembling from the harsh pounding. “My poor baby,” he mocked, his bottom lip poking out.

“You think you can take some more?” He asked. You nodded, barely able to form words. “Y-yes, daddy.” He didn’t have to hear anything else, and slid inside of you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, gasping at the friction. “Mhm, my baby can take it.” He placed his hand on your lower tummy. The soft pudge was pliable underneath his hand.

You nodded your head with a whimper, and he mocked you, head following yours. “‘Bout to make me nut, fuck.” He mumbled. He leaned down, large body towering over you.

He was huge, you could barely see past his shoulders. His weight pressed against you, only elevating the pleasure. His body was warm, and solid. He shuddered as you continued to moan and whimper directly in his ears. “I’m gonna—,”

“Give it to me daddy, please—I got you.” You whispered while panting softly in his ear. Hearing your sweet voice beg and comfort him immediately made his eyes roll back.

He released inside of you, hips stuttering with a deep groan in your ear. His palm rested on the side of your ass, gripping it from the overwhelming sensation.

“I love you, ma,” he said before kissing the shell of your ear. “I love you too.” You mumbled catching your breath.

He slowly pulled out of you, rubbing his hands all over your body. “You’re so pretty.” He smiled, giving you a peck on your lips.

He helped you sit up, legs shaking and body sore. “I’m sorry, ma.” He said noticing the slight wince. He hates to see his baby in pain, “no, it’s okay, I loved it. Do you feel better?”

He didn’t hesitate to nod, he actually did.

But if this is what happens when you sees he’s stressed, he’s about to start faking a lil bit.

2023 los angeles

if someone would've told you that during your acting class you would've fallen in love, you would've called them crazy. you hadn't walked into that classroom looking for anything other than becoming a better actor. romance wasn't part of the plan, and neither was finding someone who would slowly become your favorite part of every week. somehow, though, love had a way of slipping through the cracks when you weren't paying attention.

jaafar was different. he was kind, soft-spoken, endlessly patient, and so genuinely sweet that it caught you off guard. there was never any need for him to be the loudest person in the room or the center of attention. instead, he had this quiet warmth about him that naturally drew people in, and before long, you realized it had drawn you in too.

your teachers quickly noticed how well the two of you worked together and started pairing you for scene work whenever they could, always commenting on the "natural chemistry" between you. you didn't mind in the slightest. jaafar was an incredible actor, completely committed to every scene, and working opposite him always made you feel like a better performer yourself.

somewhere along the way, though, those scenes stopped feeling like just assignments.

every time the class was given a romantic monologue or an intimate scene, jaafar would look at you with such unwavering focus that the rest of the room seemed to disappear. he always held your gaze just a heartbeat longer than necessary, his eyes carrying a softness that wasn't written anywhere in the script. it was enough to make your pulse stumble, enough that more than once you nearly forgot your next line because all you could think about was how convincingly he looked at you.

the acting coaches praised the authenticity between you two, and neither of you had the heart to admit it was becoming less and less like acting.

then came the dates.

about a month into the class, jaafar had asked if you'd wanted to grab coffee before rehearsal one morning. the invitation had been casual enough that it didn't make your heart race until after you'd already said yes. the two of you exchanged numbers, met at a small coffee shop before class, and somehow spent nearly three hours talking.

he told you stories about his family. funny moments growing up, memories with his parents, stories about his siblings, aunts, and uncles that always made him smile while he told them. you noticed he never actually said anyone's name, but you hadn't thought much of it. everyone shared things differently, and if he wasn't ready to introduce names into those stories, you weren't going to pry.

instead, you found yourself wanting to know more about him.

he asked about your childhood, where you grew up, what first made you fall in love with acting, your favorite films, the places you wanted to travel, the dreams you hoped acting would someday make possible. every answer only led to another question, and before either of you realized it, you were laughing so much that you nearly forgot you had class to get to.

after that, the dates became a weekly tradition; sometimes it was coffee before class, other times it was dinner afterward. sometimes you'd wander around a bookstore for an hour, recommending your favorite novels to each other. other times you'd see a movie together, only to spend the drive home happily picking apart every performance like the acting students you were.

being together felt easy.

your first kiss happened after one of those dates, ironically, it was because of the michael movie. you had been scrolling through your phone when an article caught your attention, mentioning that the upcoming michael jackson biopic was still holding auditions as the filmmakers searched for the right actor to portray michael.

you turned your phone toward jaafar.

“you should audition for this,” you told him, having no idea that the very role you were showing him was the reason he was in your acting class to begin with.

jaafar looked down at the article before letting out a quiet chuckle to himself. there was something almost surreal about the moment. nobody in the class knew why he was really there. to everyone else, he was just another actor trying to sharpen his craft, another student chasing auditions and hoping for a big break.

if only you knew.

“i think you'd be really good for it. you're naturally soft-spoken like michael was, and really cute like michael,” you say without even thinking about it.

“oh, so you think i'm cute?” jaafar latched onto the one part of your sentence that made your composure immediately crumble.

you bit down on your lip as warmth rushed to your cheeks, silently cursing yourself for letting that one slip.

“yeah, yeah, you are... but seriously, i know taking on the king of pop would be a lot, but i think you can do it,” you said, trying to steer the conversation back to the movie.

jaafar's smile softened instantly. you had no idea how much those words meant to him. you didn't know he'd already been cast and the entire reason he'd spent the last several months in acting class was because he was preparing to become michael.

you didn't know the countless hours he'd spent questioning whether he was good enough, whether he could carry the weight of portraying not just a global icon, but his own uncle.

yet somehow, without knowing any of it, you looked at him and saw exactly what the filmmakers had seen. you believed he could do it before you even knew there was something to believe in.

he wished, more than anything, that he could've told you the truth right then and there.

“only if you audition for ola ray,” he said instead, teasing you about being his love interest in thriller. you giggled, your cheeks somehow growing even warmer as you rolled your eyes, unable to stop smiling.

“if they do a part two, i'll wait and audition for iman for remember the time, michael's first on screen kiss in all of his short films,” you said with a teasing smile.

jaafar raised an eyebrow. “oh, yeah? if you wanted to kiss me, you could just ask.” for a split second, your brain completely short-circuited. you stared at him, trying to decide if he'd actually just said that or if your imagination had gotten the better of you.

“hmm, you're so confident you're gonna get the role?” you teased, finally finding your footing again.

he laughed, shaking his head. “no, so if i don't, i'll have to watch you kiss someone else.”

your smile only widened. “now who wants to kiss who so bad?” you teased, thoroughly enjoying the way his cheeks immediately turned a deep shade of red.

it was impossible not to smile triumphantly at finally making him just as flustered as he'd made you, but your teasing only lasted for a moment. almost without thinking, you found yourself leaning a little closer across the table and jaafar noticed.

his smile softened again, his expression losing every ounce of playful confidence as something quieter settled over him. he lifted one hand slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, before gently cupping your jaw. his thumb rested lightly against your cheek, his touch careful and warm, as if he was still making sure this was really happening.

you both leaned in at the same time, closing the last few inches between you until your lips met in the middle in a soft, lingering kiss, right there in the middle of the coffee shop. it was gentle and tentative in all the best ways, like two people who had spent months dancing around their feelings had finally allowed themselves to stop pretending they weren't there.

when you finally pulled back, neither of you could stop smiling.

acting class had changed after that.

not because you and jaafar started acting any differently, but because now that your feelings were out in the open, neither of you were particularly good at hiding them anymore. there was still a level of professionalism the two of you maintained during class, always committed to your scenes and giving each other honest notes afterward, but the little things had become impossible for everyone else to miss.

the way he'd instinctively save the seat beside him before every class started, how the two of you were always the last to leave because one conversation somehow turned into five, or the soft smiles that would spread across both of your faces whenever your teachers announced you were paired together again. it didn't take long before everyone in the class realized there was clearly something more going on between the two of you.

for months, your lives settled into a routine that felt so natural it was hard to remember what acting class had been like before jaafar walked into it. the two of you continued performing together and keeping things mostly professional while you were there, but the moment class was over, he was yours.

some nights he took you out to dinner, while other nights you cooked together in your apartment, laughing every time one of you inevitably made a mess in the kitchen. movie nights became a weekly tradition, usually ending with your dog atlas insisting on curling up across both of your legs at the foot of your bed, refusing to move no matter how many times either of you tried.

sleepovers became so common that waking up beside jaafar started feeling as ordinary as waking up alone once had, and somewhere over the course of those months, he realized he didn't want to keep calling you the girl he was dating. he wanted you to be his girlfriend.

then came the day.

the moment graham king walked into your acting class, every conversation in the room came to an abrupt stop. nobody expected one of hollywood's biggest producers to casually walk into an acting studio, and judging by the confused looks everyone exchanged, no one had the slightest idea why he was there.

after introducing himself, he began talking about the michael biopic, explaining that after an extensive search, they had finally found the actor who would portray michael jackson.

sitting beside jaafar, you leaned over with a grin and gently nudged his arm. “did you audition like i told you to?” you tease.

jaafar let out a small laugh, but it did little to settle the nerves that had been building in his stomach since the moment he'd walked into class that morning.

you had noticed something was off almost immediately. he had been quieter than usual, smiling whenever you looked at him but seeming distracted, as though something was constantly pulling at the back of his mind. you'd assumed he was nervous about an audition or maybe something going on with his family, never imagining that the reason for his anxiety was sitting only a few feet away from him.

because jaafar already knew exactly why graham was there.

he knew that within the next few minutes, everyone in the room would learn who he really was, and as excited as he was for the announcement itself, all he could think about was you.

for weeks he'd been carrying around a completely different plan for today. after class, he was going to take you to dinner at one of your favorite restaurants before finally asking you to be his girlfriend. he'd thought about what he wanted to say more times than he could count, wanting the moment to be perfect because that's what you deserved.

now, he wasn't sure if he'd even get the chance.

he'd never wanted to keep something this big from you. graham had made it clear from the beginning that nobody in the acting class was to know he was jermaine jackson's son or michael's nephew. the entire point of sending him there was so he'd be treated like every other aspiring actor, not like someone with one of the most recognizable last names in the world. he needed to learn, to struggle, and to grow without anyone treating him differently because of who his family was.

still, that didn't stop the guilt that had quietly settled in his chest over the months he'd spent getting closer to you.

he'd told you stories about growing up, about his parents, his siblings, his aunts and uncles, carefully dancing around names every single time. there had been so many moments he'd wanted to tell you the truth, especially as your relationship became more serious, but every time he thought about it, he remembered the promise he'd made and convinced himself he'd explain everything once he was finally allowed to.

he just hadn't wanted you to find out like this.

“and we're excited to announce the lead for the michael movie is... jaafar jackson,” graham said. your entire body seemed to freeze.

you watched as jaafar slowly stood from his seat, an almost shy smile spreading across his face before he walked over to graham and accepted a congratulatory hug. for a moment, you couldn't hear anything except the pounding of your own heartbeat, your brain struggling to catch up with what had just been said before the room suddenly erupted into applause, cheers, and countless voices talking over one another in complete disbelief.

“this is jaafar's first acting role, so we sent him here to get some acting lessons and told him not to tell anyone his surname or that he's michael's nephew or that this class was to help him prepare for the role, so jaafar didn't lie to you all, we did,” graham explained, almost as though he knew exactly what everyone in the room was thinking.

while your classmates crowded around jaafar with congratulations and endless questions, his attention never left you. through the sea of people between you, his eyes searched your face, desperately trying to read an expression he suddenly couldn't understand.

you looked completely stunned.

your eyes were wide as you sat quietly in your seat, your hands folded together in your lap while everything you'd learned about jaafar over the last year replayed in your mind. all those stories about his family where he had never once said a name. the countless conversations you'd had about auditions and acting. every date, every night he'd spent at your apartment, every moment you'd shared together. for months, you'd fallen in love with a man who had kept something so unimaginably huge from you.

but even through the shock, graham's words echoed in your mind. jaafar didn't lie to you all, we did. he hadn't been allowed to tell you.

that realization didn't erase your surprise, but it kept your heart from immediately assuming the worst because, knowing jaafar the way you did, you couldn't imagine him willingly keeping something like this from you unless he truly had no choice.

your acting teacher eventually dismissed class early, knowing nobody was going to be focusing on scene work after an announcement like that.

the second you stood from your chair, jaafar felt his stomach drop, you were the first person to walk out of the room.

his smile faded almost instantly as panic settled over him. after quickly excusing himself from graham and apologizing to the classmates still trying to congratulate him, he hurried after you, his only thought being that he couldn't let you leave believing he'd intentionally kept this from you.

“baby,” he gently grabbed your wrist once you were both outside and turned you around. you didn't pull back from him, but you also didn't know what to say. t

here were so many thoughts racing through your mind that you couldn't seem to grab onto just one long enough to put it into words, and judging by the nervousness written all over jaafar's face, he was terrified of what you were about to say.

“this whole time?” you finally asked, your voice quieter than you'd intended and jaafar's heart sank.

“i wasn't trying to be malicious, or trick you, or intentionally lie to you, i promise,” jaafar says, his voice soft and full of sincerity. you nodded.

“i know but i just... i mean i get it, but... we've been going on dates for nearly a year, i've told you things i've never told anyone... i invited you into my home, my bed... i let you meet my dog, i don't let anybody meet atlas, because he usually hates everyone,” you say, and hearing yourself say it out loud makes you realize how ridiculous that last part sounds. despite everything weighing on your heart, you couldn't help letting out a small laugh. “but he really loves you,” you say, and jaafar can't help laughing too.

“i really love atlas too. i wanted to tell you, so many times, i did,” he says and you frown, because that was the other thing that held jaafar back from asking you to be his girlfriend.

he didn't want to enter a serious relationship with you if you didn't know the truth. every time he'd thought about asking you, the excitement of finally making things official had been followed by the same nagging feeling in the back of his mind.

if you found out afterward, would you think he'd built your relationship on a lie? would you feel betrayed that something so significant had been kept from you for so long? he wanted the two of you to start that next chapter with complete honesty between you, but every time he'd come close to telling you himself, he remembered the promise he'd made to graham.

he'd convinced himself that once the announcement was public, he'd finally be able to explain everything to you, answer every question you had, and then ask you to be his girlfriend knowing there would be no more secrets between you.

“did you not trust me? i wouldn't have said anything to anyone,” you say and jaafar immediately shakes his head.

“i know, baby... i know you wouldn't. i should've told you, i should've never let it be an ambush like that in class,” he says, guilt evident in his voice. “i hated watching you find out like that.”

you slowly ran your fingers back through your hair, trying to make sense of the last several months before your eyes suddenly widened.

“so months ago during one of our early dates when i told you that you should audition for the movie because you'd probably be good for it...” you trail off and he nods.

“yeah...” he says. you let out a disbelieving laugh, still trying to wrap your head around it.

“and all the stories about when your uncle would take you, your siblings, and your cousins to the amusement park and to the zoo, you really meant—” he gently cuts you off.

“family days at neverland ranch,” he says as he bites down on his lip to suppress a smile.

the words hung in the air between you, and suddenly every conversation you'd ever had with him replayed differently in your mind. all those stories he'd told you over coffee, during late-night drives home, or while the two of you were curled up watching movies suddenly had names attached to them.

he hadn't been vague because he didn't want to share his life with you. he'd been vague because he was trying to share as much of it as he could without breaking the promise he'd made.

“wow... wow,” you say, because you're not sure what else to say. “so michael is really your uncle?” you ask and jaafar nods.

“yeah.”

“so who's your dad?” you ask.

“you can't tell?” he asks with a teasing smile.

you roll your eyes, but you find yourself studying his face again, this time with completely different eyes than before. you'd spent nearly a year memorizing every feature of his face without ever thinking about who he resembled, but now that you knew the family he came from, the resemblance became impossible to ignore.

recognition washed over you almost immediately, followed by a laugh as you realized you'd noticed it before and convinced yourself you were imagining things.

“i always thought you looked like jermaine, but thought i was crazy for thinking that,” you say, and jaafar laughs while shaking his head.

“well you'd be right, jermaine is my dad,” he says.

you nodded slowly, and the silence that settled between you felt different this time. the brief moment of teasing had faded as the reality of everything finally settled over you. for nearly a year, you'd been falling in love with someone from one of the most well-known families in music, and you'd had absolutely no idea.

somehow, despite everything that had just changed, when you looked at jaafar, you still saw the same man you'd shared countless dinners with, the same man atlas adored for reasons neither of you could explain, the same man who held your hand during movies and kissed you goodbye after every date. he didn't suddenly feel like someone else.

he still felt like jaafar.

“i should probably... go now,” you say, needing a little time to process everything you'd just learned. jaafar's heart immediately dropped.

“wait, before you do... can i tell you what i wanted to tell you today?” he asks, and you raise an eyebrow, surprised that after everything that had just happened, there could possibly be something else he wanted to say.

“you had something to follow up being told you're michael jackson's freaking nephew?” you ask, and a soft chuckle escapes him.

“i had a whole plan for today, for after class. i was going to ask you to get dinner with me again, and i had this whole speech prepared,” jaafar says.

you raise an eyebrow. “a speech?”

“a big one,” he says, the nervous smile on his face making it obvious he'd probably rehearsed it over and over in his head.

despite everything still swirling around in your mind, the image of jaafar standing in front of his bathroom mirror practicing a speech made the corners of your mouth lift into the first genuine smile you'd had since graham's announcement. seeing that smile appear on your face seemed to let him breathe for the first time all afternoon, and you realized he wasn't worried about whether you knew he was a jackson anymore.

he was worried about whether you still wanted whatever the two of you had been building toward for the last year. you walked over to the bench nearby before sitting down, then looked up at him and nodded toward the empty spot beside you.

“okay, i'll hear your speech,” you say.

jaafar lets out a quiet laugh, relief softening every bit of tension in his face as he realizes you're giving him exactly what he'd hoped for.

a chance.

“during this dinner, i wanted to tell you that i’ve never met anyone like you. i had come to this acting class to learn, before taking on the weight of a global icon, i expected to go through monologues, learn techniques, learn what it means to be an actor, but i hadn’t expected you,” jaafar says.

your smile immediately softens, warmth blooming in your chest despite everything that had happened over the last hour. he was standing there in front of you, clearly nervous, pouring his heart out exactly the way he'd planned to before his entire world had been turned upside down. as sweet as it was, though, you couldn't resist teasing him just a little.

“is the whole speech this corny?” you ask. jaafar lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he looks down at the ground for a second before looking back at you.

“that right there, is one of the things i love most about you, because i'm in love with you... and i was scared that if you knew who i really was that maybe you'd end up only seeing the jackson name. you made me feel normal, where i didn't have to be the man who came from a famous family, i could just be jaafar, a first time actor trying to learn what the hell to do,” he says.

you let out a soft laugh at the end of his sentence, but it was quickly overtaken by the sting behind your eyes.

he loved you. he hadn't stumbled over the words or said them by accident. he'd said them with complete certainty, like he'd been carrying them around for months, just waiting for the right moment to finally let you hear them.

suddenly, the shock of everything you'd learned that afternoon became so much smaller than the man standing in front of you. the famous last name, the movie, the pressure that was about to consume his life, none of it seemed nearly as important as the vulnerability in his eyes as he waited for you to hear him out.

“jaafar…” you say.

he gently shakes his head with a small smile, he's not done.

“i love our movie nights. i love when atlas lays on our legs and i can't move because it means i get to have you closer. i love when you dance while cooking when you think no one's watching you. i love how you yell at characters in movies for making dumb choices. i love you, baby, and i'm sorry i didn't tell you who i was sooner and you had to find out with everyone else, but i would love for you to be my girlfriend, if you'll still have me,” jaafar says.

your eyes widened as the last of his words settled over you, and before you could stop them, tears spilled down your cheeks. every little thing he'd listed wasn't some grand romantic gesture, they were the ordinary moments, the quiet moments, the ones that happened when nobody else was around.

he hadn't fallen in love with some perfect version of you, it made your heart ache in the most beautiful way.

jaafar finally let out the breath he'd been holding before walking over and sitting down beside you on the bench. the adrenaline that had been carrying him through his confession suddenly disappeared, leaving him feeling almost lightheaded as he took a slow, steadying breath. he'd finally said everything he'd spent weeks rehearsing.

now all that was left was your answer.

“i love you too, jaafar... it hit me so hard it scared me, but seeing you curled up asleep in my bed, i just thought to myself... i always want to wake up like this, next to him. i don't care what your last name is. i don't care if you came from the richest family or the poorest. i love you, and i would love to be your girlfriend,” you say.

the moment the words left your mouth, the nervousness he'd been carrying all day completely melted away. without wasting another second, jaafar reached up and gently cupped your face before pulling you toward him, kissing you with everything he'd been holding back for the last hour.

you melted into him just like you always did whenever he kissed you, your arms naturally wrapping around his neck as your fingers found the curls resting against the nape of his neck, gently playing with them the way you knew he loved. the kiss was slow and unhurried, filled with every emotion the two of you had struggled to put into words that afternoon.

when you finally pulled apart, neither of you moved very far away. your foreheads nearly touched, your noses brushing as you both smiled through damp eyes, completely content just to exist in the quiet moment the two of you had fought so hard to get back.

“the next few years... however long it takes to make this movie... it's going to be a lot,” he whispers to you.

you nodded before answering just as quietly. “i know.” there wasn't any fear in your voice, only understanding.

you'd watched how dedicated he'd been to acting over the last year, and if portraying michael required even more of him than acting class had, then you already knew the road ahead wasn't going to be easy. you weren't walking into this relationship expecting all of his time or attention. you knew this role meant something bigger than either of you.

“between rehearsals and filming, i don't know what my schedule will always look like, but i promise... i will always prioritize our weekly dates,” jaafar says.

you smiled and nodded.

you'd already anticipated that the movie was going to consume most of his life for a while. it was the opportunity of a lifetime, one he'd worked unbelievably hard for, and you would never ask him to choose between you and the dream he'd sacrificed so much to achieve.

instead, you reached over and intertwined your fingers with his.

“i'll be here every step of the way,” you promise.

the conviction in your voice made something soften behind his eyes. through everything that had happened that day, through the fear that you'd walk away after learning who he really was, the only thing he'd wanted was for you to still choose him, and you had.

“i love you,” he says.

the words still felt new.

hearing them sent warmth flooding through your chest all over again, and you couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face. you weren't used to hearing someone say them to you like that, with such certainty and tenderness, but you already knew you could spend the rest of your life listening to him.

“i love you too,” you whisper back.

his smile only grew before he leaned in and kissed you again.

Jaafar had slipped away while you were asleep. The sheets on the abandoned side cooled your skin. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the television downstairs. 

A warm glow peeked from the cracked door, softening the darkness in the hallway. You stood and padded out the room to investigate. 

You crept down the dark wooden treads, your hand holding the slim black metal railing with a light grip. The highest section of the L-shaped sofa came into view, and after a few more steps, so did your man.

There he was, stretched comfortably across the sofa, his eyes glued to the screen.

A mischievous smile danced across your face and you hopped down the last few steps before turning into the kitchen. The soft patter of your bare feet on the cold tile echoed through the space. You stopped at the cabinet, opened it, and retrieved a glass. 

Water streamed into the cup as you filled it halfway before pulling it away from the dispenser. Diverting your gaze from the refrigerator, you looked at Jaafar.

Your eyes moved lower over his lean physique. He clutched the controller lazily beneath his chest, long, thick fingers working the buttons without a second thought. His plain white tee had ridden up, exposing his happy trail. 

The cold marble tickled your belly as you leaned forward against the kitchen island, taking another sip of water. You caught the print in his light gray sweatpants lying flaccid against his thigh, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth.

The familiar heat deepened between your thighs the longer you admired him. He looked completely absorbed in the game.

Before a nasty thought could cross your mind, a random piece of ice fell out of the dispenser with a clatter.

The sound was loud enough for Jaafar’s head to snap in your direction. His fingers halted on the controller. Your gaze met his, a boyish smile spreading across his lips.

“Did you sleep well, baby?”

“Mhm. I just needed some water.”

“Come here.”

You couldn’t conceal the goofy smile forming on your mouth that accompanied you as you made your way out of the kitchen and into the living room. 

You weren’t the clingy type. You enjoyed your own space often. But whenever you spent a few days at Jaafar’s place, you always gravitated toward him. He gave you that sense of security.

Jaafar sat up, moved the controller to the side, and opened his arms for you. You happily scooted closer, tucking yourself against his chest and burying your face in his neck. 

“I missed you.” You pouted. “Why’d you leave me upstairs?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He grinned, wrapping his arm around you. “You look so peaceful when you sleep.”

“Aww, that’s really sweet, baby,” you cooed, placing a light smooch against his skin. “But I want you.”

Jaafar’s eyebrows rose. “Is that right? What do you want, doll?”

You raised your head from his neck and smiled, your eyes meeting his, your arm resting on his chest. 

“First, I want plenty of kisses,” you said, leaning forward to press a gentle peck to his lips.

He smiled into the kiss, his thumb brushing along your cheek before he stole another. The video game droned on in the background, forgotten as the two of you traded slow, wet kisses. A laugh escaped you when he chased you for one more, pulling you close until there was hardly any space left between you.

“Anything else?” 

You nodded and bit your lower lip as your hand traveled down his body, making its way down slowly until you reached your destination. Your hand stopped at the top of the bulge in his sweats, semi-hard, stiffening each second your palm rested there.

“I wanna play with this pretty dick until it gets nice and hard for me. Please?”

“Damn,” Jaafar chuckled. "Go ahead. It's yours, ma.”

You hummed in delight and tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. Jaafar lifted his hips, helping you slide the fabric down to his knees.

His dick sprang free with a light tap against his lower abdomen. You wrapped your hand around him, slowly stroking from base to tip. He never took his eyes off yours.

You released him and slid down to your knees in front of him. The soft rug grazed your knees as you peered up at him.

You pressed your hands against his thighs, loving the warmth of his skin. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, firm and solid, a reminder of the hard work he put into training.

Jaafar looked down at you, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.

He grabbed himself and tapped the swollen tip against your full, parted lips, smearing his pre-cum across them. The stickiness lingered on your skin, and you licked it up, savoring the taste. 

“Open up, princess.”

A moan of pleasure vibrated through your chest. Without hesitation, you took him into your mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Jaafar sighed, his head lolling back. Lost in the sensation, his hand instinctively reached for your head, his fingers threading through your curls.

Your lips wrapped around him, slowly guiding him down your throat inch by inch. He groaned. Your hand grasped his thigh, fingers tracing the taut, defined muscle. 

Jaafar’s hips jerked forward with sudden force. The tip pushed deeper, catching the back of your throat and triggering your gag reflex.

You gagged hard, your throat tightening around him. Saliva coated him, making each movement easier. Tears welled in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks, but you didn’t pull away.

“That’s it.” A tremor ran down his spine.

He held your hair, guiding your rhythm. “You’re doing so well, sweetie.”

You moaned around him in response, the vibration making him twitch in your mouth. You hollowed your cheeks and bobbed your head, encouraged by the wet sounds filling the room. One hand worked at his base while the other occasionally squeezed his sack His grip steadied, holding you in place as his breathing grew heavier.

“Keep taking care of Daddy...” 

His words made you remove your hand from his balls and reach down to rub your slick-coated clit. The praise, the dirty talk, and the way he took your throat made you even slicker with arousal.

Jaafar sensed that familiar pull deep in his core, but he wasn’t ready. He always put your pleasure first. When he gently pulled away, you whined in disappointment.

”’S okay, baby,” he reassured, sliding his hand from your head to your chin. He gently tipped your chin up until your eyes met his.

“Look at that pretty face.” Jaafar smiled, his gaze lingering on your spit-slick lips. “Come sit on this dick.”

You stood, peeling the tank top over your head before letting it fall to the floor. The slight chill in the air caused your nipples to stiffen. Next came your drenched panties, your slick clinging to the fabric as you slid them down your legs.

Now completely nude, your brown skin shimmered beneath the low living room light. Every curve and contour of your body glowed.

Jaafar’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. His heart pounded as he admired you, watching your breasts rise and fall with each breath, taking in the smooth lines of your waist and the gentle slope of your belly. He didn’t know how he got so lucky.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, awe and desire woven into his voice. 

You climbed back onto the sofa and straddled him, your thighs pressed against his. Jaafar adjusted himself before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other.

As you lifted yourself onto your feet, you teased him at your entrance, your slick adding extra glide before you slowly lowered yourself. Your toes curled into the sofa cushion.

Jaafar leaned in, his soft lips brushing yours in a tender kiss. He pulled away just enough for your warm breaths to mingle as your eyes locked.

You smiled as you sank down onto his dick. A low, throaty moan escaped you as pleasure and the slight sting of the stretch washed over you. Your eyes settled on where your bodies met, watching him disappear inside you.

You wrapped your hand around the back of his neck, your fingers brushing the curls at his nape as you cradled his head. You slowly rolled your hips, savoring the stretch.

“Yeah. Just like that, baby.” He nodded, watching you. “Take what you need.”

His large hands settled on your hips, his nails digging into your flesh as you moved.

“Mhm. Now bounce on it.”

“Ooh, I love it so much.”

You smiled, planting your hands on his chest before lifting yourself and coming back down on his dick with more purpose.

The way you rode him drove him wild.

He gave your ass a slow squeeze, your cheeks bouncing lightly against his palm each time you came up.

“Jaafar…” you hissed, eyes half-closed in bliss. “It’s so big.”

He stared at you with hooded eyes. Then, with a sharp smack, he popped your ass cheek. The sound echoed throughout the room; the sting made you gasp.

The sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room as your creamy essence coated his dick. Each time you came down, the tip grazed your cervix. Your body trembled, clinging to him with every movement.

“Baby, you’re gonna make me…”

“I know, Mama. Let it happen.” 

Jaafar tightened his grip on your waist, pinning you in place. He slammed into you, matching the rhythm of your bounces.

His forehead rested against yours as he searched your face. “You close, baby? Yeah?” he breathed.

“Yeah…” you whimpered. “I’m so close.”

“There you go,” Jaafar moaned. “Make a mess on me.”

His strokes became more urgent and powerful, driven by a desperate need to release. Each thrust landed deep, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Oh my God…”

A breathless cry escaped your lips. Your legs shook as you surrendered to the pleasure rushing through you.

You pulsed around him, milking him for every drop as you rode out the last moments of your climax.

“Ah, shit.” Jaafar grunted. His body tensed as his dick twitched, releasing hot streams of cum deep inside you. “You’re so good, pretty girl.”

You melted against him as Jaafar’s large hands kneaded your ass while he pressed lazy kisses along your jawline.

It started casually. the house was quiet when michael stepped through the front door, the soft click of him closing the door filled the empty ambiance of your shared house in california. It was just past nine, the kind of late evening that came after long studio days. his curls were a little frizzed from the headphones, his shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, and the faint scent of tape and taste orange juice on his tongue still clung to him from the hours spent in the booth. he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, calling out into the stillness.

“baby? i’m home.”

no answer from the living room. the kitchen lights were off. he smiled to himself, already knowing where you probably were. you loved that big bathtub after a long day, the one with the claw feet and the little ledge where you kept your oils and the small radio which was spilling anita baker from it. he loosened his collar as he waltzed through halls, boots soft on the carpet.

the bathroom was clacked open, warm light and steam spilling into the hallway. the air smelled inviting, vanilla and your favorite cocoa butter soak filling his nose. he could hear the gentle lap of water whilst the low hum of your voice rang, low and soothing.

he knocked lightly, two taps. “you in there, minnie?”

your voice traveled back, a little sleep yet like velvet. “yes, mikey. come in.”

that gave michael the green light to push the door wider and step inside. the sight made something in him relax and made his chest and shoulders loosen up the way it always does when he comes home to you . you were sunk deep into the tub, brown skin glistening where the water met just right above your breast, curls pinned up and out your face, some stranded wet against your neck and forehead. you manicured nails rested against the edge of the tub, painted in a soft pink. your face was bare, shiny from the hot steam of the water.

you looked up at him and smiled, that easy, soft smile that pulled him from the beginning. “long day?”

he let out a breathy laugh and dragged the small vanity stool closer, sitting down so he was level with you but giving you your space. “long don’t even cover it. quincy had me in there till my throat felt like sandpaper.”

you tilted your head, watching him steadily, listening. “did you eat anything?”

he shrugs. “some crackers and orange juice in between takes, he kept saying ‘michael one more, give it your all’ i swear that man hears things in music no one can.” michael smiles, rubbing the back of his neck, tiredness taking over a bit and slightly dismissing the look of disapproval you gave him when he confessed he only ate juice and crackers. “we were working on that mid-tempo groove, the one with the strings. he had this idea to layer the background vocals like they were answering each other. i did the lead, then doubled it, then we tried it with a little breathy falsetto on the tag. he made me do it seven times before he was happy.”

you laugh softly, the sound of water sloshing as you moved. “seven time? that man is serious.”

“serious ain’t the word. but it felt good, you know? when it was finally right, the whole room just… breathed. after a little while i knew it was just right.”

you reached over, fingers finding the ones that were resting on his knee. “i’m so proud of you. you give everything your all and i know how much it takes.”

michael’s eyes softened. he looked at you for a long moment, really looked at the way the steam had made your skin glow, at the peaceful set of your shoulders, at the woman who had somehow become both his biggest cheerleader and his quiet place to land. “coming home to this… to you… it makes all the takes worth it. i was sitting in the booth between songs thinking about how lucky I am that I get to come back to somebody who knows the real me. not the lights, not the stage. just michael.”

now it was your turn to smile, some how after years of marriage, michael still managed to make you nervous. “we’ve built something real, haven’t we? even with the schedules and the noise outside. it feels steady. like we actually talk to each other instead of just existing in the same house.”

he nodded, leaning forward a little, elbows on his knees. “it does. I don’t take that for granted. some nights I come in so wound up from the studio, and you’re here… just being you. asking about quincy like you care about the music too. letting me ramble about ad-libs and basslines. that matters more than you know.”

felt warmth inside you, michael always says words that came from the heart it showed in his music as well. “i do care. because it’s part of you. and I married all of you, the man who stays up till three in the morning chasing a perfect vocal, and the one who still remembers to leave me love letters before he leaves.” your voice stayed light, casual, but the truth sat warm between you. “it’s not always easy with everything that comes with your name. but we make it work because we choose it every day. I choose you every day.”

michael reached out and gently took your hand, thumb brushing over your nails. “I choose you too. every single time. even when i’m held up at the studio, I know i’ve got you here waiting. not waiting like you’re stuck… waiting because you want to hear how it went. that’s the difference.”

“i’ll always want to know how your days went, it’s my favorite part of the day.” you smiled deeply when michael pressed a kiss on the dip of your knuckle, continuing his caresses on that same spot. the gesture never failed to make you blush.

the water had cooled a little, but neither of you moved to drain it yet. He stayed on the stool, talking with his hands the way he did when he got excited—describing how quincy had pulled out an old vinyl to show him a chord progression, how the two of them had ended up laughing over some silly studio mistake. you listened, asked questions about the strings, teased him gently when he admitted he’d drunk three cups of tea just to keep his voice going.

“you better be drinking real water too, michael,” you said, mock-stern but smiling. “I’m not trying to nurse you through another sore throat.”

he chuckled, that soft, high laugh that always made your chest feel full. “yes, ma’am. I already had two bottles on the way home. see? I listen.”

you let out a little chuckle, shaking your head a bit before relaxing into the water again.

you both fell into an easy silence for a minute, the only sounds the faint drip from the faucet and the occasional shift of water. It wasn’t heavy or dramatic—just the kind of quiet that came from knowing each other deeply. marriage wasn’t always fireworks; sometimes it was this. him still in his studio clothes, you in the tub after a long soak, talking about nothing and everything at once.

after a while he stood, stretched, and grabbed the big fluffy towel from the warmer. “you ready to get out, honey? water’s probably cold by now.”

you nodded, and he held the towel up like a curtain, turning his head politely even though you’d been married long enough that modesty wasn’t the point. It was just him being him—gentle, respectful, and yours. you stood, water cascading off your deep brown skin, and he wrapped the towel around you without making it anything more than care. his hands rubbed slow circles over your shoulders through the fabric, warming you up.

“dinner?” he asked, voice low and content. “we can just order from that spot you like and eat in bed. y’want me to rub your feet? i could use that oil you like.” you hummed, letting your eyes close as his ideas sounded good in your head.

“bed sound good, rubbing my feet sounds even better.”

michael grinned, pleased at your response. he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your silk-wrapped head. “then that’s what we’ll do. I missed this today. missed you.”

you turned in his arms just enough to look up at him, water still clinging to your lashes. “I missed you too. But you’re home now. And that’s all that matters.”

He grinned, that full, bright michael jackson smile that still made your stomach flutter after everything. “yeah,” he said, voice warm and sure. “it really is.”

he helped you into your robe, carried your glass downstairs, and the two of you moved through the rest of the evening the way you always did—side by side, talking, laughing, choosing each other in the quiet spaces between the music and the world outside. just a husband and his wife, building a life one ordinary, beautiful night at a time.

It was late at night when Michael got home from a long day of back-to-back label meetings. 

He was exhausted, he didn’t want to see another contract or board executive for the next month. Michael moved quietly about his home as he made himself comfortable. Everything was quiet except for the low hum of the television that painted soft shadows across the living room.

He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the couch, resting the television remote on his thigh. Some random late-night show was playing, and they were cycling through the newest music videos. Truthfully, this was one of Michael’s favorite pastimes. 

Michael was an innovator, someone who constantly looked for ways to improve his craft. And for this reason, he made sure to stay current with the times regarding what people were into these days. Most of the new stuff, to be frank, Michael was not impressed with. 

No one had their own signature style anymore. Something he had worked hard to establish for himself. When Michael was starting his solo career, he was hungry to set himself apart. From his siblings. From others in his genre. From other people in the industry period. These days, everyone wanted to be like someone else. 

Michael absentmindedly ate his popcorn as the video jockey introduced the next music video. 

This next one, she’s a real hot girl. They call her Bliss. Straight outta Houston, takin’ no prisoners, and takin’ the game over already. And get this? She’s the only female in her crew. Y’all gon’ love this one. 

Michael sat up a little bit straighter. Finally, something new. The beat dropped and the sub-woofer vibrated the floor.  The beat was hard and heavy. The rhythm had a sharp, southern bounce that was unlike anything Michael had ever heard before. And the man had an ear for innovation.

The video started. Candy painted cars, perfect lighting, and the silhouette of a female sitting on the trunk of the car. 

And then she stepped into frame. 

Tall. Thick. A gorgeous, deep peanut butter complexion that looked like it had been kissed personally by the sun. It was glistening like it had been oiled, catching the lights every time her body moved, highlighting her collar bones and the curve of her waist. 

She had on a cropped black t-shirt that barely covered anything. It rode up showing the undersides of her breasts every time she flowed to the music. On her head was a fitted Houston Astros cap that was covered in silver sequins and under it was a silk Gucci scarf that framed her pretty face and trailed down past her shoulders. Long, dark hair poured out from beneath it and swung all the way down to her ass.

And then— she opened her mouth, and Michael was hypnotized. It was iced out. Top and bottom grills flashed every time the woman smiled or parted her lips to spit a bar.

Around her neck were heavy Cuban links. Rings. Big gold hoops. The whole thing was completely captivating Michael. And it wasn’t because of the flashy jewelry. Michael had been around flashy pieces before. 

Back in his twenties, during the golden era of hip-hop, he ran in the same circles as the rappers who made gold chains and fronts cool in the first place.

Run D.M.C. LL Cool J. Eric B. and Rakim. He had partied with them. He even owned a few pieces himself, thick ropes of gold he used to wear when the mood struck. He knew the culture. He’d lived it. 

But the way the jewelry adorned this woman’s body unapologetically, glimmering under the lights against her supple skin as if it belonged there, made it difficult for Michael to look away.

The woman rolled her body to the beat. It wasn’t the tight synchronized choreography that he was used to. It was slow. Laced with southern twang. Her hips rolled in a smooth, confident wave, like the music lived in her bones and was just coming out through her body. 

She leaned back against the trunk of a candy-painted car, one hand with long, red nails pushing the fitted cap up just enough so that the camera could catch that million-dollar smile. Then she dropped to her knees, her waist rolling in a deep rhythmic pattern that made her whole frame move like liquid. 

Michael’s mouth went dry.

He felt the stir first. It was low and sudden, right between his legs. It hit him so fast he actually shifted in the chair trying to ignore it, but the more she moved the worse it got. 

Her body kept rolling to the beat. Cropped shirt riding higher. Skin gleaming. Hips working that beat like it was made for her. Michael’s eyes stayed locked on the screen, heart picking up speed.

He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to anybody looking that free and that powerful at the same time. He wasn’t used to anybody being… well— cooler than him.

Her lyrics were raunchy, funny, and sharp as hell. She rapped her sultry lyrics with a country-tinged drawl that somehow still landed as heavy as east coast style rap. Then the camera cut to a close-up of her face. Siren eyes looked straight into the lens like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Michael swallowed hard.

His body was reacting before his mind could catch up. The tent in his pants was growing, heavy and obvious, and he couldn’t look away long enough to do anything about it. He dragged a hand down his face, fingers lingering over his mouth, and just stared. 

The way she moved. The way she rapped. 

How she owned every second of that camera. It was so different from anything he had ever seen. So bold and unfiltered. So damn sexy without even trying to be.

He kept replaying the same moments in his head even as the video kept playing. How her body moved. The way her pretty lips parted to show her grills. And god— that smile. It was confident. Like she already knew she had the whole room (and Michael) in the palm of her hand. Michael felt another low pulse between his legs and shifted again, this time his breath catching a little.

The song ended.

The screen cut to the video jockey smiling in a brightly lit studio, introducing the next video. But Michael didn’t move. He just sat there. Stuck. Heart still thumping just a little too hard. The VJ’s voice faded into the background, white noise.

Michael’s eyes stayed on the blank space where Bliss’s body had been.

He swallowed hard again and looked down. The tent in his pants was unmistakable. Full and heavy. Aching a little. Michael hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until he let out a quiet sound that was half laugh, half disbelief. He dragged his hand over his face, trying to ground himself. 

“…She somethin’ else” he mumbled to the empty room. He stayed like that for another full minute, trying to will his body to calm down while the next video played—ignored— in the background. The image of Bliss kept replaying in his mind. 

After a long while Michael exhaled, leaning back against the chair and closing his eyes. 

He already knew he needed to meet her.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A few weeks later, Michael stood in front of his bedroom mirror, giving himself a once over.

He hated red carpet appearances. But alas, his presence had been requested by a close peer who was being honored this year. So grudgingly, he found himself front row in a sea of A-listers. 

The stage thrummed with energy; bright lights cut through the haze as the next act was introduced. Michael was always respectful to his peers, but truth be told, the night could not end faster.

Then, a bass-heavy beat throbbed through the arena, and from the fog emerged three men in baggy jeans and oversized jerseys. Immediately Michael sat forward from his slouching position.

This was the group. Her group.

Michal recognized them because he’d been playing them on repeat for weeks. He’d brought them up in more conversations than he probably should have — “Have you heard this new group? The girl… she’s different.”

Shamelessly, he’d gone digging through their entire catalog and every interview he could find. He was chasing that same rush he felt the first time he saw her video

The men on stage traded gritty bars with East Coast swag that was unmistakable. The crowd bopped along, present but not fully engaged. The bass was so heavy it rattled in Michael’s chest. He was a sucker for a good bassline.

The real shift came when Bliss stepped up.

Out of the fog, she stepped out into the spotlight, legs preceding her. She commanded the stage immediately. She was every bit of 5’10 and it was accentuated even further by the Louboutin heels that adorned her feet.

She was striking.

A flowing mink coat slipped off one of her shoulders, revealing a skimpy bikini that hugged her full hips and her breasts perfectly. Her long legs were glistening under the lights, and they looked endless in heels that clicked with every step.

A custom cowboy hat sat perfectly tilted on her head, and her long hair cascaded down her back and over her ass, swaying with her every move. Grills flashed in her mouth like stars every time she grinned and delivered another line. She was glowing. 

The crowd had been somewhat engaged, but when Bliss dropped her first verse? The energy in the arena exploded.

Her sultry southern drawl cut effortlessly through the east coast beat like it was meant to. Smooth like whiskey, sassy, vulgar, and unapologetic. She rolled her body with athletic grace as she spit her lines, hips and waist moving in sync in slow hypnotic waves that had the audience howling for more. 

Then, she did something that made Michael audibly gasp, raising a hand to his chest to calm his thumping heartbeat. 

“So y’all… I heard the King of Pop is in the buildin’… and this is one of his favorite songs. Ain’t that right, Mikey?” 

For a moment, Michael thought he was imagining it. He nearly forgot he was Michael Jackson as he stood there starstruck at the fact she knew him. He nodded wordlessly in agreement, eyes glued to Bliss.

“This one’s for you, Mike. A real OG.”

Bliss dropped into a deep squat, knees bent wide, rocking her hips between them in a twerk that made her ass bounce like water. It was hypnotic.

She shifted her mink coat to the side with a manicured hand, giving the crowd—and Michael— an unfiltered view while she kept spitting lines that made Michael want to repent.  

But he loved it. 

And she kept her eyes locked on Michael the whole time.

The audience went wild, screaming and vibrating the floor with a volume that they hadn’t had all night. 

Michael’s breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t look away. 

She’s magnetic… the way she moves. Her confidence. It’s like she was born for this stage he thought to himself.

He tried and failed to bite back the nervous laugh that escaped him as he covered his face. Then he raised his hands to his lips and blew her a kiss.

Bliss reached out and caught it, blowing him one back in return.

He felt a familiar heat stirring low in his body as he watched her work the crowd like all these people came for her. She was so, so fucking cool. And original. Nothing like the performers he had become accustomed to. 

And, she was fine as hell. Tall and thick in all the right places, with an electric sex appeal Michael hadn’t seen, or rather felt, since he was in his 20’s. Suddenly he felt like a horny inexperienced 20-something year old all over again. He had seen the video, but seeing her live? Hit so different. And now, she had spoken to him. Given him attention. 

She was way better than anything he’d imagined.

The second the performance ended and the applause thundered through the room, Michael turned to his manager. “I’m going backstage. I gotta meet her.” 

His people moved fast. Minutes later, Michael was led into a bustling dressing room. Men hooted with laughter, the air was thick with smoke from a blunt that was being passed around, and a heavy hip-hop rhythm added to the vibe in the room.

There she was. Looking like the prettiest flower out of place, but somehow at home all at once. Her curvy frame was now clad with a t-shirt that bore the logo of her group, The Corporation. Before Michael could fully drink in Bliss’s appearance, a thundering voice cracked out over the music.

“Ohhh shit! What up, Mike!!” A tall man wearing a jersey who Michael recognized as Tone quickly ashed the blunt out of respect before he stepped up and dapped him hard as he grinned ear to ear. Tone pulled Michael into a rough, brotherly hug that lifted him nearly an inch off the ground. The other members of the group, Ghost and Ace followed suit. They laughed and clapped him on the back in disbelief.

“Yooo this is crazy, my pops not gon’ believe this! My man Mike really just popped up on us!” Ace was talking with hands, a thick New York accent in full effect.

“We grew up on you man— this is crazy.” Ghost pitched in.

Michael chuckled, genuinely ticked by the group’s enthusiasm. His smile was warm as he returned the handshakes and hugs. “You guys are great. I loved the show. That energy out there was just incredible.”

The group of men chopped it up for a bit, the men were animated and constantly talked over each other. About the performance, the grind, how surreal the moment was. Michael listened with admiration; he missed that stage of his career. When everything felt so surreal. 

But, his attention kept drifting across the room to Bliss.

She was in the corner with a few of the other group members leaning over a notepad. She was fully in her element. Popping her shit in a southern belle way. Michael couldn’t help but notice how starkly her country accent stood out over the east coast drawl that was dominating the room. 

“That’s hot. I like that, now!” She said, tapping the page with a manicured nail. “Now flip it on its head and say it the other way. Make it hit just a lil bit harder.” 

Michael’s gaze lingered. He was drawn to the way her hips shifted when she moved. The confident tilt of her head, and the way her long hair brushed the curve of her ass when she did so. 

She’s somethin’ special.

Bliss hadn’t noticed Michael’s presence yet. Ace threw an arm around her shoulders, grinning. “Bliss had that shit poppin’ like firecrackers. We might as well be Bliss and the Corporation instead of the Corporation.”

Bliss threw her head back and laughed—loud, full bellied and free. She made gunshot noises with her fingers, long nails catching the light as she pretended to fire them off one by one.

“That’s what I do, baby. These folks love a real stallion shuttin’ the stage down.”

Michael’s eyes went wide with pure amusement. A soft surprised laugh escaped him. The energy was unfiltered but it was also deeply familiar to him. It reminded him of growing up with his brothers, the way they used to talk shit and clown each other. He wasn’t used to this level of rawness around him anymore, but something about it felt like home. Real.

“You cats are wild,” he said, still smiling, voice full of genuine enjoyment. “I love the way y’all move together. That chemistry… it’s real. And special. Hold on to that.” Michael’s gaze lingered on Bliss.

Tone caught Michael staring and smirked, nudging Ghost and nodding his head at Michael. “Look like Mike got eyes for our stallion.” Ghost glanced over in Bliss’ direction and chuckled.

“She tends to have that effect.” The other men laughed knowingly. 

“Stallion? Is that a nickname you guys gave her?” Michael’s eyebrows knitted in confusion as he looked between the men.

“She go by the Stallion 'cause she tall, thick as hell, and got legs that'll make a grown man forget what he was finna say. And once she start rappin’? She gon’ outrun everybody in the room.”

Michael instantly felt heat creeping up the back of his neck from the description, he cracked up, a hand coming up to cover his face. “Ohhh, I never knew that. She really does do an amazing job, I’ve never seen anything like it.” The men nodded proudly.

“You wanna meet her? She’s spicy behind that mic, but she’s really sweet as pie. That’s our princess. Bliss, c’mere baby girl.” Ghost called her over, and when Bliss finally looked up her eyes widened involuntarily. 

Her gaze raked over Michael. He was dressed almost entirely in black, a glossy black leather jacket catching the light as he moved. It hung effortlessly from his frame, oversized just enough to make him look relaxed instead of overdone. The collar spread open to reveal the smooth column of his neck and a peak of his chest. Every piece of him looked expensive without him having to try. Large black sunglasses concealed his eyes despite being indoors, lending him an air of mystery.

Bliss’s first thought however was, Bitch, is that Michael Jackson in our dressing room?And am I crazy, or is he looking at me like a meal? But she recovered fast before her mouth could get ahead of her. She was used to men staring, and she knew exactly when they liked what they saw.

She sauntered over, heels clicking against the concrete floor, a confident easy sway in her hips, making her long legs look even more dangerous. Her long hair swayed with every step. Then, she stopped in front of him, close enough that he caught the warm, sweet scent of her perfume mixed with the faint salt of stage sweat. She extended a freshly manicured hand.

Michael didn’t shake it. He gently closed his hand over hers in that old-school, gentleman way, and he didn’t let go. His thumb brushed lightly across her knuckles as he held it, eyes dropping for a second to her mouth, watching the way her diamond grills caught the light every time she spoke. The southern drawl came out even thicker with the grills, each word slow, deliberate, and warm like Tennessee whiskey.

“Well, look who it is,” she said, voice smooth and teasing. “MJ, in the flesh. I gotta say… you got good taste in music, baby.” 

Michael’s grip stayed gentle but firm. He was completely captivated by the way she carried herself like she knew exactly how fine she was, and wasn’t afraid to lean into it. 

The memory of what she’d done on stage was still burning behind his eyes. She looked right at him, dedicated the song to him… dropped her hips between her knees while she twerked for him. And she kept eye contact the entire time. 

It felt personal. Bold. Even though she’d done it in front of an audience, it felt like it was just for him. 

He met her eyes, thumb still moving slowly over her knuckles. “I saw your video,” he said, voice lower and more intimate than usual. “I loved it. So creative… it was magic, really. But what you did out there tonight?” His eyes flicked down to her lips again for a brief second before returning to her siren eyes. “That little show you put on for me… I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since I walked off that stage.”

Bliss’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and for the first time her cheeks felt hot. She let out a soft, nervous laugh, tilting her head so her long hair slid over one shoulder. “Damn, you really gon’ call me out like that in front of everybody?” She glanced around at her crew, who were pretending not to listen, but definitely were. “I was just… in the moment. Stage me gets a lil’ bold sometimes.”

Michael’s smile deepened, it was soft and genuine. He still hadn’t let go of her hand, his thumb was still moving slowly over her knuckles.

“I can relate. I liked it,” he said, voice low and smooth, thumb still moving slowly over her knuckles. “You looked right at me like you already knew what it would do. That’s dangerous.”

Bliss’s eyes lingered on Michael’s face, taking him in properly for the first time up close. He smelled good — really good. Clean, expensive, and something warm and masculine that made her want to lean in closer. 

His jawline was sharp even under the soft lighting, and when he reached up with his free hand and slowly took his sunglasses off, her stomach did a little flip. 

She knew what that meant. Michael Jackson didn’t take his glasses off for just anybody. 

The protection they gave him was real. But he was giving her his eyes anyway. She met them directly, voice dropping a little lower.

“Well… I’m glad I could do that for you, Mr. Jackson” she said, a small, flirty smile playing on her lips even as the embarrassment lingered in her eyes. “Didn’t mean to have you out here feelin’ all types of ways in front of thousands of people, though.”

Michael let out a quiet laugh, at this point he’d forgotten he was still holding her hand, entranced in the moment. 

“I think I needed it.”

The air between them felt thick. Charged. Neither of them was in a rush to look away or pull their hand back. 

Bliss could feel the old-school charm rolling off Michael in waves. It was present in the way he held her hand like it was something precious. How he was actually listening when she spoke. The way he’d taken his glasses off just for her. 

It made her stomach flutter in a way she wasn’t expecting.

Michael couldn’t remember the last time someone had made him feel this off-balance in a good way.

Bliss dedicating that moment to him on stage and standing here now owning every inch of the space between them was doing something to him. 

He didn’t want to let go of her hand. Didn’t want the conversation to end.

Michael was already thinking about seeing her again before the moment ended.

And from the way Bliss was looking at him — eyes soft but playful, like she already knew exactly what kind of effect she was having — she was thinking the same thing.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Days later, Michael sat in the quiet of his living room long after the awards show lights had faded from his mind. 

The condo was still, just the faint tick of a clock and the low hum of the air conditioner breaking the silence. He’d changed into soft black lounge pants and a simple white t shirt, feet bare against the cool hardwood floor. 

The slip of paper with Bliss’s number sat on the coffee table like it was watching him. Every time he reached for the cordless phone, his palm felt damp. His heart knocked against his ribs like it was trying to talk him out of this. He’d never been this nervous about a phone call in his life. 

Truthfully, he had gotten Bliss’s number the night of the awards show from Tone. Afraid of seeming too eager, Michael decided to wait a few days before calling. But his mind kept drifting back to Bliss’ little moment on stage. The way the stage lights glossed over her body. How she had trailed her nails over his palm when their hands parted, sending chills down his spine— and somewhere else too.

He’d managed to wait 2 days. 

That was it. 

Finally, he dialed.

Across town, Bliss’s apartment smelled like lemon pinesol and something warm like brown sugar from a candle burning. Keith Sweat’s “Right and a Wrong Way” played low from the stereo in the living room, giving the apartment a cozy ambience. 

She was in nothing but an old cropped white T-shirt that barely skimmed the top of her thighs and a pair of simple black panties, her favorite satin bonnet snug over her hair. The phone was wedged between her cheek and shoulder as she pushed the mop across the kitchen floor in slow, steady strokes, hips swaying to the music.

“Girl, I’m tellin’ you,” she was saying, voice warm and syrupy, “Michael Jackson was lookin’ at me like he wanted to eat me ALIVE backstage. I ain’t never seen a man that fine get so flustered. He kept starin’ like he ain’t never seen ass move like that before.”

Her homegirl laughed on the other end. Bliss grinned, pausing to swipe sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist. The conversation drifted between current fashion trends, and the latest drama within The Corporation.

“I don’t know,” she continued, “The bitch is nuts. Dick can’t be that good, ain’t no way in hell. She keep followin’ us from show to show like she got a claim on one of these niggas. I told ‘em they better handle it ‘fore I do.” She laughed again, shifting the mop to the other side of the floor, when the call-waiting beep cut through. “Hold on, girl. Somebody’s beeping in on my other line.”

She clicked over without thinking, still balancing the phone against her shoulder as she pushed the mop forward across the damp linoleum.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was gentle. Almost hesitant.

“Bliss? It’s Michael.”

Furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, she kept mopping.

“Michael who?”

A giggle resounded from the other end of the line that sounded oddly familiar. 

“Jackson, of course.”

She froze mid-mop. The handle slipped in her wet hand and she nearly went down into the soapy water, catching herself on the counter with a sharp gasp that echoed through the apartment.

“What?” Her voice cracked with pure disbelief, eyes wide as she stared at the phone like it had grown legs. 

Michael’s heart was already racing and his palms were slick around the phone. He had practiced the words in his head a dozen times, “I’d love to take you to dinner”, but now that he was actually saying them, his voice felt tight in his throat.

“It’s me, Michael,” he said again, softer this time, a small, nervous smile in his voice. “I was wondering if you might like to—” 

But Bliss didn’t let him finish. Her voice exploded through the line like a sudden thunderstorm. Loud, sharp, and completely unfiltered.

“HELL naw. That’s some disrespectful ass shit. Stop playin’ on my phone. Who the fuck is this? If you call again, I’ma star-69 yo’ ass so I can find out where to send some thugs. You got me fucked up.”

Michael physically jerked in his chair. His free hand flew up to his chest like he’d been shot, fingers splayed over his heart as it slammed against his ribs. 

The phone nearly slipped from his other hand. He wasn’t used to being yelled at—never had been. 

His voice was always soft, measured, and careful. 

And people did not raise their voice at Michael Jackson. 

But this woman—this beautiful, confident, yet foul-mouthed woman—had just lit him up like the Fourth of July before he could even get the invitation out. 

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He was stunned silent, heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. Bliss didn’t wait for a response. Her finger slammed down on the end button so hard the phone nearly flew across the counter.

She clicked back over to her homegirl, still breathing a little heavy from the near-slip and the adrenaline of the outburst. “So anyways, girl. My bad. Just some fool playin’ on my phone again. I gotta change this number again, I swear to God. These niggas be wildin’.”

On the other end of the now-dead line, Michael sat frozen in his chair, phone still pressed to his ear even though the call had ended. His hand was still splayed over his chest, fingers trembling slightly against the thin cotton of his T-shirt. His heart was racing so fast it almost hurt. 

He’d worked up the nerve, actually worked up the nerve, to ask this woman to dinner, and she’d hung up on him like he was some random playing on her phone.

For a long moment, he just sat there in the quiet of his living room. Then, slowly, the corners of his mouth twitched. A chuckle escaped. It was low at first, then it built into full, helpless laughter that shook his shoulders. 

He covered his face with both hands, shaking his head at himself, the sound echoing softly through the empty house.

“She’s feisty,” he said out loud to the empty room, still laughing, the startled feeling finally starting to fade into something warmer. Something that felt a lot like anticipation. Then he tutted to himself, shaking his head again. “We gon’ have to work on that inside voice though”

He didn’t call back. Not right away. He let the stunned silence settle around him as the laughter faded into a quiet, private smile. She was going to be trouble.

And he was already looking forward to it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

please respect my work 💌

you've got the album at home, your friends know every lyric, and if someone had told you you'd meet michael jackson on your walk home from a girls' night, you would've laughed in their face. except...that's exactly what happens.

it's late enough that the streets have started emptying out, and you're walking home by yourself because it's only another ten minutes and you'll be fine. meanwhile, michael's car has just turned onto the same street on the way back to hayvenhurst. bill notices you first. michael notices you second. one girl. walking home. by herself. at night.

and suddenly whatever conversation they'd been having completely disappears because that's all michael can think about. "...she alone?" he asks quietly. bill glances in the mirror. "looks like it." and before he even realizes he's saying it, michael's already asking him to pull over.

you don't even process what's happening until the window rolls down. you look over. and nearly stop breathing.

because...it's michael jackson, and not on your television, not on a record sleeve. literally sitting there. looking directly at you. he smiles that shy little smile. "you alright young lady?" and somehow that's the first thing he asks. not your name. not whether you recognize him. but..."you alright?" because he's far more concerned about the fact you're walking home alone than the fact he's currently one of the most famous people on the planet.

you manage the world's most embarrassing little nod. "y-yeah." he smiles shyly again."you sure?"

another nod. he looks you up and down then up and down the street once before glancing back at you. "how much farther?"

"um..."

you point vaguely. "just... down there." he smiles. "okay." there's this tiny pause where both of you just look at each other, you completely forget how words work. then michael reaches into his jacket. finds a little piece of paper. borrows bill's pen. quickly scribbles something down. "here."

he reaches it toward you. "call me when you get home safe, yeah?" poor worried guy isn't trying to flirt nor does he expect anything. he just wants to know you got home. and your heart actually hurts a little because...who does that except before your fingers can even reach the paper... someone screams. "MICHAEL!" then another. another. it's like the street suddenly wakes up.

people come running from everywhere, cameras appearing out of nowhere, hands reaching through the open window, security immediately trying to push everyone back. the tiny slip of paper disappears somewhere between all the movement before you even realize you've let go of it. "wait—" you don't even know whether it was you or him who said it.

bill starts pulling the car forward because he has no choice anymore. the crowd's becoming too much. and for one second... you meet michael's eyes through the window. he's still looking for you. really looking. leaning forward in his seat, trying to see past all the people pressed against the car, hoping to catch one more glimpse of the lady who never got his phone number.

the same way you stand there searching through the crowd for him. but there are too many people now. too many hands. too many flashes. the car slowly disappears into the night. and somewhere on the floor of a California street... lies one tiny folded piece of paper. with michael jackson's phone number written on it.

never called. because it never made it into your hands. and somehow...he spends the entire drive back to hayvenhurst wondering if you got home safely anyway. ❤︎ 🚘