𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔰

𝒮𝓂𝓊𝓉 ❥

𝒻𝓁𝓊𝒻𝒻 ✿

𝒜𝓃ℊ𝓈𝓉 ⚡︎

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .☽ Michael Jackson ☽. . . . . . . . . . . . .

- 𝒴ℴ𝓊'𝓇ℯ ℬℯ𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒾𝒻𝓊𝓁 - ⚡︎✿

- Tabloid Junkie Pt. 1 - ⚡︎✿

- ★⡀.•☆•.★ ℐ ℳ𝒾𝓈𝓈ℯ𝒹 𝒴ℴ𝓊 ★⡀.•☆•.★ - ❥⚡︎✿

- 𝒮𝓉𝓊𝒸𝓀 - ⚡︎✿

- ℳℴℴℳℴℴ (𝒪𝓃ℯ 𝒮𝒽ℴ𝓉) - ❥

- ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ 𝐵𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒯𝒾𝓂𝑒 ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ - ❥✿

DangerousEra!Michael x FemActress!Reader

★ 𝒞ℴ𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓃𝓉/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓈 ~ Reader and Michael are married with a child, Reader cursing, readers thoughts are in italics, angst, kinda mean Michael, mention of children fluff, slight smut (just a little i promise). Happy ending because life is already hard.

★ 𝒲ℴ𝓇𝒹 𝒞ℴ𝓊𝓃𝓉 ~ 2.3k

⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔ ⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔ ⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔ ⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔

Michael was always the jealous type… you knew this of course; always noticing how his grip on you would tighten when you spoke to your male coworkers, or how he would glare when one’s male gaze lingered upon you for longer than he liked, but that’s just how he was.

There was no harm, no foul. He would never curse or act out (not really). He was respectful; he was able to mark his own without causing a fuss, but most importantly, he never took his jealousy out on you… Or so you thought.

That was your previous notion until he came to meet you in bed after a long night of movie premieres and after-parties. You were waiting for him beneath the light blanket spread across your shared mattress, body clad in a simple night gown that fell to your middle thigh. Michael lingered in the bathroom for a while longer, the shower water still pattering behind the closed door. Not much thought came into your mind about his prolonged cleansing; he was a meticulous man, you knew this, oftentimes cleaning every nook and cranny he could find, and after, tending to things like his hair, moisturization, etcetera.

Your eyes grew heavy with your wait, but he soon appeared through the now opened door, steam cascading low on the floor behind him. He wore only his boxers, slightly damp from the water droplets still lingering and gliding down his skin. A lazy smile grew on your face, your arm peeling back the blanket to make space for him. As if he hadn’t seen your gesture, he didn’t say a word, and kept a monotone face while his feet carried him to the dresser, where a pair of pajama pants and a plain t-shirt were collected. He quickly slid into them in silence before sliding into bed, back faced square in your direction.

One of your brows raised in slight confusion, obviously thrown off by the gesture. This was not like him, of course. The night was intimate for him, where all his worries dissipated: not having to stress about tour, stepping on the toys his child often left on the floor after play time, greeting hundreds of people while on 3 hours of sleep, and all other daily nuisances. It was a ritual. He got to decompress, all while spending some much needed skin to skin time with his lady. He couldn’t stay away from you, ensuring that you were in his arms or he was in yours, but tonight was different.

“Someone wants to be little spoon tonight, hm?” Your voice gently pries as you scoot closer to him, hooking your arms between his and under his pits before letting your head rest against his back.

Immediately, you’re shrugged off by Michael, who scoots further away towards his end of the bed. You sit stunned, arms lingering in the position as if he was still in them. “Is he playing with me right now?” your voice rings in your mind, trying to formulate what could possibly be happening right now. “He must be..” you think before closing the space once more, clinging to him again. “Haha, very funny Michael.”

He maneuvers you off of him once more with a huff, bridging a distance between you two.

“What the fuck?”

Silence sat in the room with you both, neither of you speaking; you because of shock, him because he was ignoring you. Was he upset with you? “No he couldn’t possibly be.. I mean he was fine on the ride home…” You begin to run through the possibilities that could explain this. “I mean.. he was kind of quiet, but it had to be because he’s just tired… yeah, that must be it..”

That was your conclusion. “You really tired baby?” The coo from your voice is hesitant as you inch closer to him, testing the waters before tentatively rubbing his shoulder.

“Could you just leave me alone and go to bed?” He snaps in a whisper, jerking his shoulder away from your touch.

Oh he’s lost his fucking mind.

“Hey!” You lean over him and grip his chin between your index and thumb, angling his face towards you. He resists, but you carefully strengthen your hold “Hey look at me..” His eyes meet yours and they’re puffy and red, an obvious tell that he’d been crying. “What is your problem, hm?”

Annoyance was laced in your tone, the feeling lingering in the air as well while you awaited his response.

“s’nothin I’m fine…” He attempts to wiggle out of your grasp but you make it more firm, holding him in place. “Let go ‘f me, I just want to go to bed.”

You instantly negate, head shaking as your eyes narrow in on his features. “No, not until you tell me what your problem is.” You hate to pry, but you hate this cold act towards you even more…

“You!” He exhales in defeat, eyes locked on yours, “you are my problem!” The tone itself isn’t harsh, but his words are, and they cause you to loosen your grip on his chin, letting it linger at the fingertips.

“What?” your voice is small as you slowly pull away, face contorted in a look of hurt. “I’m your problem?”

Guilt strikes his face, but he stands firm, nodding slowly with wide eyes and raised brows, his lips pursed in a straight line. “Yes, you.” He turns his body away from you dramatically, pulling the blanket higher on his body.

The silence is deafening, but the ringing in your ears is hard to ignore. Tears begin to build in your eyes, growing heavier and threatening to spill as you sit in shock, mouth slightly agape.

“No. fuck that..”

Instantly you’re ripping the covers off of Michael, harshly turning him onto his back and climbing on top of him before he can register, his eyes blown wide from the sudden action. Your chest lays plush against his, caging him in so he couldn’t escape, or would have to try damn hard to.

“What do you mean, I’m your problem, Michael huh?” Your eyes narrow. “Because this is the first l’m hearing of this.”

“Yeah because I’m upset!” His voice raises, eyes blown wide with hurt and anger.

“About what?!” Your volume matches his now, but is restrained to not to wake the sleeping child down the hall. “What did I do to you?”

A huff escapes his throat before he answers. “I had to watch you all over him, ALL night.” He confesses, hands thrown up beneath you as much as he could.

“Who?!”

“That guy you’re in the movie with!” He shouts. “The one who plays your love interest! Who I had to watch make out and have sex with my wife on a giant theater screen!”

You stare at him for a beat, genuinely not believing your ears before erupting into laughter. His eyes are blown wide at your response, a pained confusion forming on his face.

“Charlie?” The name is surrounded by your boisterous humor as your breath catches, trying to reel you back in. “You’re worried about Charlie, Michael?” Deep breaths run through your lungs as you calm yourself down, pressing your palm to his chest to balance yourself.

“Oh what you think that’s funny…” Seriousness is the only thing found in his tone. His voice is small, and his eyes threaten to pang with tears, just as yours had. “I had to watch you hug him, talk with him, and barely interact with me all night, the guy who got to feel your lips on his, and see you in a way only I should, and you’re laughing in my face.”

The expression of humor on your face falls. “Mikey c’mon it’s work… It’s acting, it's not real, you can’t be serious right now.”

“I am dead serious.” His gaze falls away from you and he turns his head.

“What, so I’m just not supposed to interact with my coworkers? Not do the scenes written FOR me, not by me remember that.” You ramble, continuing the speech before he can even conjure a response. “Oh, am I supposed to tell my directors, ‘yeah no thanks! I’d actually rather my character not have the romantic interest you wrote in for me, because my husband will lose his mind if he sees me acting romantically with someone that isn’t him’ like what do you want from me, Michael?!”

Silence. His eyes still aren’t meeting yours. “Are you kidding me right now? Look at me.” You grab his face again with a firm gentleness, putting you straight in his eyesight. “I don’t get it, Michael. When you work with all these beautiful women, Iman, Naomi, whoever, I never complain. Even when you could have gotten me, your wife, the actor to play those roles, I have never treated you this way. Ever.” The emphasis on the last word hangs in the air before you continue. “But when it is my job, because those music videos are not your job, Michael, you're a musician, I catch flack for it and you question my loyalty to you!”

“It’s not the same with those girls, there's nothing there!”

“How is it different, Michael?! Honestly, how is my on screen romance and your onscreen romance any different?”

“Because! It’s not.. I barely see them outside of the set! I see you around Charlie all the time!” What an empty excuse, and he knows it, so he redirects. “But I’m not questioning your loyalty to me! Not really..” His tone is defensive, trying to back pedal because he realizes he’s messed up.

“You are!” You rebut. “You’re questioning my fidelity to you and I don’t know why. I don’t know what you want from me.” Exasperation lies between the both of you, eyes lingering on each other as you both await words.

“I just..” Michael breathes in deep. “I just want you to be mine… I want you to myself. I don't want anyone to have you like I have you.” The confession is fragile as a tear spills from his eye. You cock your head to the side, all expressions of anger falling, leaving only sympathy.

“Michael what are you even-“ but you cut yourself off, slightly adjusting so you could bring your hand up to his eye view. “Look here, hey.” You command, and his eyes drag over to your hand, where your thumb is perched up on your ring finger to put the sparkling diamond attached to the intricately detailed silver band.

“Whose ring is this, Michael?” you ask, a brow raised for emphasis.

He takes a deep breath before answering. “Mine.”

“Yours.” You add for further clarity. “And whose child is that sleeping down the hall?” You point towards the door.

“Ours…” his voice shrinks out of embarrassment.

“Yes, ours.” You bring your own voice down to, letting a softer expression form on your face. “And whose,” you pause for a moment, taking Michael’s hand before lifting yourself up slightly, making leeway for his fingers to graze your hot core before continuing, “is this, hm?”

You rub his fingers against your sensitive button and across your folds, making his breath hitch as you sigh softly, letting the slick that's pooling instantly at his touch coat your outer edges.

“It’s m-mine.” His breath is a pathetic whisper, his eyes desperate and soft as they dart between your core and your face.

“And who gets it like this, Michael?” Your lips graze his ear with those words, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“I do, I do, mama.”

“That’s right.. and who do I love so much, that I was more than willing to sit in a hospital bed, in pain, for hours to push his child out of it, hm?”

He takes another deep sigh of guilt before answering. “Mine..”

“Exactly… I have done nothing but prove that I am yours, Michael..” You place a gentle kiss to his jaw before removing yourself from on top of him. Your body lays its side, and Michael follows suit, locking his eyes on yours.

“I’m sorry…” The whisper that leaves his lips is followed by another tear as he pouts, gently grabbing your hand and rubbing it. “You have done nothing but love me, and I still got in my head.”

Now you’re taking a deep breath, trying to fight your own tears. “Yeah, Mikey… you got in your head and you got mean.” Tears flow anyway despite your efforts. “I don’t like it when you’re mad at me…”

“I know, angel, I’m so sorry..” His arms pull you into his chest and he litters kisses to the crown of your head.” I just don’t like it when… when it looks like someone is having you like I do.” Your arms hook around him as his hands soothingly caress you. “It’s not an excuse, ‘n I’m sorry. I'm gonna do better, baby I promise.”

More kisses meet you wherever he can reach while his thumb wipes away your tears. “Don’t cry sweet girl, I’m sorry.” His voice is a velvety whisper. “What can I do to make it up to you, hm?”

A sniffle rings through the air before you look up at him. “Can I still be big spoon?” You ask softly, and he smiles, nodding.

“Course you can baby, c'mon.” His body turns around and you immediately hook onto him like you did earlier, and he doesn't push you away. Instead his arm over lap yours, bringing one hand to place a kiss to yours before holding you tight.

“I love you, Mikey.” A kiss lingers against his back before you rest your cheek there, letting your eyes flutter until they completely close. “M all yours, okay? Always and forever.”

“I love you too… always and forever”

⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔ ⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔ ⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔ ⊹ ࣪ ˖꒰ঌ ໒꒱.⋆˚࿔

BadEra!Michael x Actress!Fem Reader

————————————————————————

❥ 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚜 ~ You and Michael are having your first interview together after you took a years long sabbatical from acting. The public is dying to know how the traveling tour life has been for you both.. among other things.

❥ 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 ~ Michael and the Reader are married, Father!Michael and Mom!Reader, mentions of sex, slight angst if you squint, fluff, baby fever Michael, lightly proof read

(A.N this is gonna be a two parter because i’ve been tryna write this fic for like a month and have been pushing it off 💀)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a year and a few months since you took a much needed sabbatical after giving birth to you and Michael’s first child.

A healthy baby girl, her face a beautiful symphony of you both; Phoenix Katherine Jackson.

Immediately after the knowledge her conception, you discussed with your agency about the time off you would need after her birth, which led to your disappearance from the media for the past twelve and some months

Michael wanted to do the same, but his obligations were set in stone way before Phoenix was thought of, which is why you and your infant were at every stop, every rehearsal, and every other billion things Michael had going on. 

You stayed behind the scenes mostly, keeping your personal life a secret, as much as a world renowned actress married to a world renowned singer possibly could, and the tabloids hated it.

You would receive endless calls and letters begging to interview you both about this new journey, all sources eager to get the scoop before the other. You declined on multiple occasions, but they called so much that your face would burn with annoyance each time the phone rang, regardless of who was calling.

They even tried to get to you through Michael, pulling on the heartstrings of the altruistic individual.

“Cmon angel, they just wanna see you. Hear about your experience as a mother to the most special gift given.” He’d attempt to convince you with that sincere sweetness in his voice, but unfortunately for the press, it would not work.

“It’s none of their business,” you’d shut the idea down instantly, not allowing for further protest. “I want this time for me to be with my family. My daughter and my husband. This is sacred for me.” You emphasized, and he never asked you again.

Of course, he still participated in interviews by himself, part of his contractual agreements, but he kept answers regarding you and Phoenix pretty vague. As expected, the media did not like this.

The tabloid rumors flooded in quickly. Out of this world suspicions circulating like a forming tornado. Headlines questioning if the baby even exists, or if its just some publicity stunt. Theories of the baby being adopted, but nothing that really got to you two.

Until one specific headline surfaced, using Michael’s past song titles to really hit a nerve.

"Billie Jean is his lover, but the kid is still not his! - 𝙸𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚕??" 

The letters were a blaring bold, sitting on top of a photo containing you both, your eyes locked into each other’s with his arm around your waist.

Michael saw it first, a hurt and annoyance painted on his face as he went to show you the gossip.

You were on the floor with your baby when he walked in with a quickness, his slender figure tense as you heard each step he made. “Look” is all he said, handing you the newspaper.

Your eyes trailed the page as Phoenix cooed beside you, tugging on your shirt. “Cute.” you said sarcastically, tossing the paper to the side in indifference. “Their creative juices are really flowing.”

Michael grabbed the discarded tabloid before sitting next to you and placing it back in your view. “No, read this.” His finger points to a particular section, moving away with a subtle shake once he knows your eyes locate it.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jackson have been very hush about their private parental life, could it be that the alleged child is not Michael’s? Has he been cuckolded into fathering another man’s child, working day and night while his wife fraternizes with the baby’s real dad?” you’re mumbling the words at first, but as you continue, your voice raises slightly, the sentence becoming verbally clear.

“Are they serious?!” You laugh with disbelief. “This is crazy, they must really be desperate.” A scoff echoes from your throat.

Michael was not as amused, so you shift your tone. “What is it baby?” you sit the article down, shifting your attention to him.

He takes a deep sigh, thinking about how to say what he’s thinking. “I don’t like them saying that stuff about you, about her.” He gestures to the small child who was now placing one of his fingers in her mouth, biting down every so often.

“Michael, it's no big deal.” You laugh it off. “We know what’s true, we both know she’s yours..”

“I know.. that’s not it though.” He looks down at Phoenix, her tiny face looking back. “I don’t want it to get worse. I mean they’re already calling me a cuck,” You snort, and he looks at you with his mouth agape in a smirking manner. “Ha-ha” he responds sarcastically, but completely smiling at the way your laughter fills the atmosphere.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry.” You wave your hands back and forth as you shake your head, trying to hold back laughter. “That word is just really funny to me” you explain, as you reel yourself back in. “Ok sorry, continue.”

“Maybe we should just… do an interview. Just one! get them off our backs.” He suggests sheepishly, playing with the baby to avoid your gaze.

You groan, laying your forehead on his shoulder. “Michael come onnn.” You draw it out, the stubbornness apparent.

“Angel, we’ll just do one. That’s it, and we can review the questions beforehand, I promise” He’s rubbing your back as you’re resting on him, placing quick kisses to where he can reach.

Finally you let up, looking into his eyes with a subtle pout. “Do we really have to?” you ask while his palm cradles your cheek.

He shrugs. “It would help.” The tone conveys certainty. “I know you want this to be special and private for us, but it’s getting ferocious out there. I don’t want our girl having to see this stuff in the future.”

You sigh at the sentiment as you move closer to your husband and child, letting your lips land tenderly on his cheek, lingering there for a moment.

You sit beside him, laying your head on his shoulder, allowing him to slide his free arm around your waist, the other being held hostage by the beautiful creation the two of you share. You make grabby hands at her, talking in that baby voice she goes ecstatic for.

She releases Michael’s slender finger so she can wobble-walk towards you, stumbling a few times along the way. She tumbles into your lap, and laughter erupts between the three of you, filling this perfect little bubble that encapsulates your family… The bubble that you and your other half fought so hard for. The bubble that you would do anything to protect…

So you gave in.

“Fine..” You exhale heavily through your nose, a tiny flair shows on your nostrils.

“Fine?”

“Yes, fine.” Is all you say at first, then the silence lingers. “Just one, right Mike? Like after this I can tell them to-“ You look down at Phoenix before finishing your sentence, covering her ears, “fuck off?” you whisper loudly as the baby tries to pry your hands away.

He stifles a laugh, pecking your nose before he nods. “Yes, angel. Just one.” His hand squeezes your thigh gently as he speaks, words laced with laughter.

“Then we better get the most widespread network for it.” You acknowledge, grabbing the news article to look at the headline again. “Jesus, what schmuck wrote this.” You mumble in annoyance.

But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Right beside the text was a photo of you holding Phoenix while talking to a man. The subtitle reading “Mrs. Jackson and the mystery man she could be having an affair with.”

Michael just watches as you examine it, the baby now resting in his lap, grabbing at his shirt. “Michael what the hell is this?” You say covering your mouth to hold back laughter.

The man was your brother. “This was literally taken outside my mom’s house are you kidding me?” You’re laughing now and Michael grows curious.

“Wait, really?” He leans over to peer at the photo, and you point to the painted mailbox also in the photo. Once he realizes, he’s laughing at the idiotic assumption.

“This is just, just insane.”

And that is how you ended up where you were now.

~ August 19th, 1988 ~

The camera and sound crew were hooking you and Michael up to some microphones while adjusting your seating arrangements.

Once they’re finished, Michael calls his manager over, just to make sure everything is what was agreed to.

“They have the questions they’re allowed to ask, right?” He looks at the man holding a notebook with instructions as he absentmindedly laces his fingers between yours. “They know that we’ll scrap everything if they go off course.”

“Yes, Michael. Everyone is informed of the situation.”

“Good.. good.” you whisper to yourself, fiddling with the hand that Michael has connected to yours.

He turns to you after his manager checks a few more things then walks off. “You ready? Everything okay in there?” He asks, pointing to your temple then kissing the same spot.

You just nod. “Just wanna get this over with.. wanna be home with our girl.” You mumble, tears building in your throat, but no one would ever be able to tell just by looking at you.

“Me too.” He coos, pulling you closer to him. “It’s gonna be fine, we’ll be home soon.” His voice is gentle, trying to coax you off the ledge, the same way he does every time you get like this.

“Ok..” You say gently and not fully convinced. “I just hope she’s okay.” Your thoughts begin trailing off with your voice.

When Phoenix was born, you had intense separation anxiety towards her, and a pit would form in your chest every time you were away. That’s why wherever you were, so was she, except today and it made your chest burn.

“Alright Mr. and Mrs Jackson, we’ll be ready in about 15 minutes.” One of the camera crew announced, snapping you back to reality while the others made sure everything was in correct order.

While you waited for the interviewer, the two of you exchanged sweet nothings to each other, his lips up to your ears and your lips up to his. 

“You look so pretty, can’t wait to have you all to myself.” He would murmur, letting his teeth graze your lobe. Giggles escaped your mouth, flooding the room as if two teenagers were occupying it. 

“Michaelll!” You would draw out playfully, hiding your face, still getting shy after all these years. 

He was distracting you from the current circumstance, and he was damn good at it too. That was until the interviewer finally mosied her way into the room. 

She was a short lady, fair white skin, her hair a burnt auburn red. She wore a brown and red plaid skirt with pantyhose and a red blazer with a white blouse beneath. 

Michael stood first when she approached, and you followed slowly. 

“Hello Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Jackson.” She reached her hand out to shake you and your husband’s but her interaction with you was slightly different. Much more curt, and a little stand-offish. 

You already knew how this interview was going to go. 

“I have already been informed on the regulations on today’s interview, so there should be no issues on my behalf, I hope to receive the same from you both.” Her eyes cut to you before she takes her seat. You raise a brow, turning to Michael to see if he noticed but his attention is elsewhere. 

“Great. Glad we’re on the same page.” The smile on your face is wide and fake, quickly falling. 

A guy from the camera crew walks over and whispers into the interviewer’s ear and she nods. 

“Alright we’re going live in five, four, three, two..” The man points as a nonverbal cue, signaling the okay to start. 

“Good afternoon this is Mandy Cox, and I am here with the world’s most famous, multi-talented, and right now, most under fire couple, Mr. and Mrs. Michael Jackson.” She looks straight into the camera as she begins her introductions, her eyes meeting you both after. “Pleasure to have you both here.” 

You smile. “Pleasure to be here.” It’s short, but it suffices. 

Michael noticed your irate nature, so he squeezes your hand, a gesture to reel you back in. 

“So, Michael, how is the tour?” She crosses her legs as she waits for his response. 

He inhales sharply and you smirk, knowing exactly what he’s thinking, and knowing he won’t say it aloud. 

“It is great, y’know?” He shifts in his seat. “I’ve got my girls with me, my wife and my baby girl,” His hand meets your thigh and squeezes it, encouraging your hand to rest on top of his.

“The fans, the crowd, it’s all really invigorating, getting to make people happy, I just, I love it.” He smiles and looks at you, and you return the sentiment, kissing his cheek. 

“Wonderful!” The interviewer interrupts the moment, bursting the bubble before continuing. 

“And you, Mrs. Jackson, how has your sabbatical and tour life been?” Her attention shifts to you, eyes displaying a fake warmth. “Are you finally ready to share what motherhood has been like for you?” 

The question is backhanded, and your face twitches, trying not to grimace. Your fists clench subtly, and you pray the camera catches it. 

“It has,” you take a deep sigh. “It’s been great. Definitely long days of tour, but it’s worth being with Michael and seeing him watch his daughter grow up.” You emphasize that last portion, making note that you have seen the headlines. 

“Aw, how sweet is that?” She shifts her eyes to the camera and tilts her head for effect. “And how old is the little angel? The world didn’t even truly know that you gave birth!” 

The diss again, and your jaw clenches, turning to Michael before you say something that could get you blacklisted. He reads your face immediately, and picks up the question for you. 

“She’s one and a half. Almost two soon.” His entire face lights up as he talks about his bundle of joy. “She’s really precious, just tiny and sweet.” He’s gushing, and you lean on him smiling, leaving a kiss to his shoulder before you return back to your normal sitting position. 

“That is just,” she clasps her hands together and also gushes, “just so adorable, so precious.” She flips through her notepad before continuing. 

“So Mrs. Jackson, you look amazing, no one would ever be able to tell you were pregnant!” She leans in, “What’s your secret?” She drops her voice. 

You lean in as well, narrowing your eyes. “Genetics.” You reply simply, and you lean back, Michael’s arms wrapping around your hips as you do, while he tries to hold back a chuckle. 

Mandy nods with a silent “oh!’, almost like she was embarrassed for asking

“I’m teasing.” You say laughing, and she follows suit awkwardly. 

“I mean yeah, genetics, but also I’ve been getting some cardio in, because my husband here loves to make me dance with him.” You gesture to the man next to you, he gives you a fake look of betrayal. 

“Make?” He squeezes your hip gently making you giggle. 

You look at him with the softest look and nod. “Yes, he makes me dance.” You return your eyes back to the interviewer. “All through the tour he’s telling me, ‘baby, come dance with me, lemme show you this move I wanna try.’ and soon he’s holding me and spinning me.” 

Your face is beet red, reliving all those nights where he would hold you, and sometimes Phoenix and just move with you. 

He kisses your temple. “Yeah, I just wanna dance with my girls.” He smiles. “Sometimes we’ll dance with the baby, and she’ll just take her tiny hands and lace them in my hair.” He’s demonstrating it on himself, and you giggle. 

“She does!” Your laughter increases. “She’ll even start to coo, and recently she’s been clapping at certain moves that her daddy shows us.” 

The interviewer watches as the two of you interact, her face a cold smile as if she’s not getting what she wanted. Like she’s not getting the drama that she hoped for. 

“Well isn’t that just so cute!” She breaks in, pulling the attention back to her. 

Your eyes cut, thin slits make their way back towards her, tongue holding back everything you want to say to this bitch. 

“Yeah.. it is..” Reality struck, and you’re still here, not in your bubble with Michael and your child. 

“And Michael..” She starts, not giving your response the time of day. “Even with all the rumors speculating the paternity of the child, what is it like being a father?” 

His face grows flush, an irritation starting to form in him too, and he hesitates, but you intervene.  

“Mikey can I say something before you answer?” 

You turn to him, placing your hand to his cheek, your thumb grazing his plush bottom lip and he nods gently. 

“Yes, of course angel.” he turns to kiss your palm with a smile before you return. 

You adjust, flattening out your clothes and sitting up straight. “Can you make sure everything can be heard and seen?”

 You look at the camera crew and they nod slowly.

“Good!” Your hands overlap on your knees. “I would just like everyone who is creating, and indulging in these idiotic rumors about Michael being our child’s father, to get a life!” 

Your face has the widest smile, and your tone was as peppy as a cheerleader’s but you were completely fuming internally. 

“If you must know, Michael and I waited until marriage, and from that point, because we all know how sex works right?”

 You gesture to the interviewer and to Michael, who nod awkwardly. 

“Right??” You ask again, eliciting a retreated “yes” from the interviewer. 

“Great! So from that point, I got pregnant! And I decided to take a break so that I can be pregnant! Crazy, I know!” Your hands fly in the air and flop down as if you’re saying something monumental. 

Michael is hiding behind his hands, trying to hold back a laugh and hide from embarrassment. 

“So I gave birth to my baby, and we have been raising her. In private, because we do not owe you, or anyone else an inlet to our child. She is our child.” Your voice has grown serious now, anger lilt in the tone. 

“So think about that next time before you say things like I am cuckholding my husband, because he satisfies me puh-lenty!”

The interviewer sits wide-eyed while Michael chokes on a snort.

“Th-thank you baby.” He has a full grin, and you avoid his eyes because you know you’ll burst into laughter with him. 

“Well you heard it here first, Michael is indeed the father! So what is that like for you?” She tries to reel it back in and you feel so satisfied. 

Michael is still in the after stages of processing what just happened and runs his palm down his face, an attempt at straightening it. 

“Yeah I love being a father. It is something I wanted for a while.” He takes a deep sigh and moves closer to you, his body heat giving you that familiar comfort that you yearn for. 

“I always wanted to raise a kid differently than I had been, we both had.” he glances at you and you nod in agreeance 

“It is very important to us.” You add. 

“And with that you know, I love seeing her be a mother, it’s very beautiful, watching a shift in her after Phoenix was born.” He begins, his voice trailing like it's reciting a memory. 

“Small things too, like watching her feed our child on the rocking chair in the nursery while the sun shines down on them both, it is like God himself painted this scene for me, and I have the honor of cherishing it.” 

The way he describes it makes your heart swell. “Oh Mikey…” You whisper out, hiding your face so your tears won’t show.

“Isn’t he just the sweetest?” The interviewer asks, handing you a box of tissues absentmindedly. You shoo them away with a wave, going to grab a silk handkerchief from your purse, dabbing at the corners of your eyes with the gentle fabric. 

“Sensitive skin.” You inform, smirking as she looks stunned at your audacity, the tissue box hanging in the air from her grip. “I can’t just put any old, cheap tissue on my face.” The dig is personal, more-so to the interviewer herself rather than the napkins. 

“But yes, Michael is the most precious man I’ve ever known, the only man I’ve ever loved.” The words meet his ears, like a hook turning his face to yours, meeting your devout gaze. A smile curls on both your faces, noses connecting and grazing each other for a split second. 

“Stop it! Making me blush.” His smile is wide as he speaks, eyes looking down at his hands fiddling with the fabric of his pants. Your hand meets his there, grasping and interlocking both you and Michael’s fingers. 

Mandy watched with faux adoration, her smile reading one thing, but the way her eyes squint telling another tale. 

“Wow, aren’t you two just, just so in love!” 

Even with the shrill of her voice attempting to cut through your moment, you stay in that bubble, drowning out all nuisance. Absentmindedly you respond, eyes still locked on your lover’s. 

“Yeah… we are..” The grin on your face is impeccably shit-eating, completely satisfied in her annoyance. “Being with him, watching him on his journey and ours, it’s like listening to my favorite song, the one that could never get old, each moment feeling like I’m hearing it for the very first time.” 

Tooth-achingly sweet aura envelopes you both, magnetizing you and Michael’s lips closer. They connect for a moment, the feeling of his warmth completely dissipating all things around you. Its surface level of course, due to the tugging reality that Michael was not quite able to escape. Tongues never clashed, but the steam of the brief smooch made it just as heated as if the muscle was involved. 

A smile curls into your lips just before Cox’s voice reels you back in. “Oh wow, look at the time!” She interrupts awkwardly, attempting to steal the attention of the camera. 

When you pull away from Michael, you lick your lips, letting your teeth graze the bottom for a split second. “Sorry,” you murmur to him with a smirk. “Got carried away..” 

His fingers cover his curled lips, reminiscent of the lingering sensation of your plush lips on him. “Yeah, I bet.” 

“We’ll be right back with Mr. and Mrs. Jackson after this commercial break! 

~To Be Continued~