Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
sorry for taking forever to post this, I’ve been busy with piano lessons 😇
The heavy tension of that night with Michael had lingered in your brain, but by the time the weekend had rolled around, the atmosphere had shifted. The unspoken words and the messy, tangled, web of hidden feelings were still there, only they buried just beneath the surface, but the sharp edge of Michael’s frustration had slowly softened, it was quieter, less obvious.
A few days had passed since the disastrous conversation about Cynthia. Michael didn’t call the interviewer, the itinerary with her phone number had vanished, most likely thrown into the nearest bin.
It was a lazy Tuesday afternoon, the California sun was streaming through the massive windows of the Hayvenhurst living room. It was warm, peaceful, and entirely cut off from the rest of the world. On the low mahogany coffee table sat two mugs of hot chocolate, topped with a ridiculous, overflowing mountain of whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon.
You were sitting with your back against a pile of pillows, a sketchbook resting comfortably against your knees. You weren’t a professional artist by any means, but flipping through the pages and sketching small thoughtless doodles helped keep your hands busy.
Nearby, Michael was lying on his side, propped up on one elbow. He had a small silver spoon in his hand, which he was using to steal dollops of whipped cream from your mug whenever he thought you weren’t looking.
Every time his fingers brushed against yours as he reached for the hot chocolate, a tiny, electric spark seemed to jolt between the two of you. It was a completely different type of energy from a few days ago. Tonight Michael felt close. Intentionally, and a little clingy.
“You’re going to take all the cream before I even get a taste,” you murmured, not looking up from your sketchbook, though a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.
Michael paused, his spoon hovering mid air, a look of mock innocence washing over his features. His wide, dark beautiful eyes blinked rapidly, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just inspecting it. Making sure it’s safe for consumption of course.”
“Right. Very heroic of you,” you laughed, finally looking up meeting his gaze.
The moment your eyes locked with his, Michael’s features softened. The teasing smirk melted away into something you didn’t want to look far into. His gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before travelling back up towards your eyes. That alone sent a sudden, violent flutter of butterflies straight into your stomach. It was the kind of look that made your breath catch, the kind that reminded you just how dangerous it was to be this close to him without telling him how you truly felt.
Ever since his sudden outburst about the interviewer, Cynthia, things had changed between you. He hadn’t brought her up again.
Michael shifted his weight, sliding a bit closer to you. The scent of him suddenly surrounding you, a comforting blend of expensive sandalwood, soap, and the faint sweet smell of hot chocolate. He reached out, his long fingers gently catching the edge of your notebook.
“Let me see.” he requested softly, his tone curious. “What are you drawing so intensely over there? Is it a masterpiece?”
“It’s definitely not a masterpiece,” you laughed playfully, trying to pull the book back towards you. “Just doodles. Nothing you need to see.”
“Oh, come on, let me see,” he insisted, a genuine laugh escaping his lips. It was that infectious laugh that always made your heart ache with affection. He leaned in closer, his shoulder pressing firmly against yours. The heat radiating his body made it hard not to lean into his side. “Don’t hide it from me. I’m a connoisseur of the arts, y’know.”
“You’re a nuisance, is what you are,” you sighed, but let your grip loosen, allowing him to gently pull the book into his own lap.
Michael turned the sketchbook around, staring down at the pages. Your heart thudded against your ribs as you realised what was on the current page. It wasn’t just random shapes, it was a rough charcoal sketch of the living room from a few nights ago. Specifically, it was a silhouette of him standing by the window. A visual representation of how deeply he occupied your thoughts.
You felt a sudden flush of heat creep up your neck, your cheeks burning a bright crimson. “Michael, wait, don’t look at that page-”
But it was too late. Michael’s thumb brushed against the edge of the paper. He went completely still, his gaze tracing over the charcoal lines with an intensity that made it hard for you to breathe. The only sound in the room was the quiet, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock right outside in the hallway, and the soft crackle of the fireplace.
“You drew this,” he whispered, his voice dropping into a deep, velvety register that made your skin tingle on the surface.
“I… yeah,” you stammered embarrassingly, suddenly finding loose threads on your shirt incredibly interesting. “I was just messing around, I know it’s no good. The proportions are all wrong-”
“It’s beautiful,” Michael interrupted softly. He turned his head to look at you, his face only inches away from yours now. The proximity was dizzying. You could see the golden flecks in his dark eyes, the soft texture of his skin, the slight parting of his lips. “It’s really beautiful, baby.”
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he placed the sketchbook gently next to him, his eyes never leaving yours. The hesitation, fear of rejection had driven him to overexaggerate that ridiculous story about Cynthia a few days ago, seemed to be warring with a newfound, desperate hope. He ran a hand nervously through his curls, a small, vulnerable sigh escaping from him.
“I lied to you the other night,” he confessed quietly, his gaze dropping to his own hands as his fingers nervously fidgeted. “About Cynthia. About the interviewer.”
You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What do you mean?”
“I mean… she was nice, I guess. But there was no connection.” Michael admitted, a sheepish, embarrassed look crossing his face as he said the words. “She gave me her number, but I threw it away, I… I exaggerated most of it.”
You stared at him, your mind racing as the pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. The strange, restless energy. The way he had watched your face, waiting for a reaction. The sheer agitation when you had told him to go out with her.
“Why would you do that, Mike?” you asked, your voice a mix of confusion and a strange, rising hope that you were almost too terrified to acknowledge.
Michael let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. He looked up at you, his wide eyes completely defenseless. “Because I was bein’ stupid.” he said softly. “Because I’ve been holding onto something for so long, and it was burning a hole right through me. I wanted to see if you cared. I wanted to see if the thought of me being with someone else would… would hurt you, even just a little bit.”
Your breath hitched in your throat. The walls you had spent years building around your heart, the thick, protective barriers designed to keep you safe from the devastating reality of loving a global superstar, suddenly felt like a thin veil dropping.
“Michael,” you breathed, your voice a little shaky. “You wanted to make me jealous?”
“I wanted to know if I was the only one losing my mind,” he said suddenly, the words felt uncontrollable, spilling out in an emotional rush. He reached out, his warm, larger hand covering yours. “Whenever I see people looking at you, or talking to you… I get this awful, heavy feeling in my chest. And the other night, when I told you about her, you just smiled and told me to take her out. It broke my heart. It really did. I thought, ‘you didn’t care, to you I’m just a friend.’”
“That’s not true.” you said firmly, the honesty tearing its way through your throat before you could stop it. You could feel Michael’s thumb rubbing softly against your hand, his eyes were bright, excited in a way you hadn’t seen since you were little. “Michael, that’s the furthest thing from the truth.”
“So it’s not true?”
“No!” you exclaimed, a breathless, little laugh escaping you as the weight of the secret lifted off your shoulders, it felt good saying it out loud especially to Michael. “I was miserable! I felt like my stomach dropped. You have the whole world at your feet. Why would you ever want me when you could have anyone?”
“Anyone?” he echoed softly, he moved closer, his free hand coming to gently cup your cheek. His thumb stroked softly against your cheekbone. “I don’t want ‘anyone’ baby. I’ve seen the world. I’ve met thousands of people. But nobody makes me feel the way you do.”
“I’ve loved you for a really long time,” Michael whispered, the confession hanging beautifully in the quiet space between you. “I was so scared that if I told you I’d ruin everything.”
“You could never ruin this.” you managed to say, leaning into the comfort of his touch.
“You really mean that?” he asked, a hint of that lingering, vulnerable boyishness in his voice.
The heavy velvet curtains of Hayvenhurst were drawn tight, shutting out the night and the ever present hum of the outside world. Inside the living room, the universe shrunk down to a warm room illuminated by the warm glow of the television and a few expensive lamps.
A massive fort of silk pillows and quilted blankets occupied the centre of the room, a stable of these rare, quiet sleepovers. For anyone else, a sleepover was a casual weekend plan. For Michael, it was a fortress. It was one of the very few places where the crushing weight of fame, the record breaking charts, and suffocating madness of his global celebrity couldn’t reach him. Here, he wasn’t was a phenomenon. Here he was just regular Michael.
You were sitting crossed legged on a pile of over sized cushions, wearing a pair of shorts and a vintage t shirt, idly flipping through a music magazine. Across from you, Michael was stretched out on his stomach propped up on his elbows. His curls framed his face perfectly, free of hairspray and styling that defined his public image.
The television hummed quietly in the background, playing an old cartoon on low volume, neither of you were really paying much attention to it. A large bowl of half eaten popcorn sat between you, along with empty glasses that used to filled with orange juice.
On the surface everything was how it exactly usually was. Peaceful. Quiet. Safe.
But beneath it, a strange, restless energy was humming through Michael. You could sense it in the way his fingers tapped an erratic rhythm against his leg. His wide eyes kept tracing back to you, tracking your expressions, waiting for a reaction that hadn’t come yet.
"You're weirdly quiet tonight," Michael murmured, shifting his weight. He picked up a piece of popcorn and tossed it into the air, catching it expertly in his mouth. "Usually, you'd be rambling about something by now. Did I bore you with that new demo?"
"Not at all," you said without looking, your eyes scanning the magazine, yet you weren’t really reading the words on the pages. "The demo is brilliant, Mike. You know that. I'm just reading."
Michael frowned slightly, his lips pressing into a pout. He didn't want you to just read. He wanted your full, undivided attention. More specifically, he wanted a very particular kind of attention he’d been chasing. He had been feeling a nagging, persistent ache in his chest for months now, a deep, terrifyingly intense affection for you that went far beyond friendship. But Michael was terrified of rejection, and even more terrified of ruining the one safe haven he had left. So, instead of being honest, his brilliant mind had decided on a foolproof, albeit disastrous, plan to test the waters, by make you jealous.
He cleared his throat, adjusting his position so he was leaning a bit closer to your side of the blanket fort.
“So…” he started, his voice dropping into a casual conversation tone that was totally not forced and not obvious. “I had that big interview yesterday afternoon. The one with that European network.”
“Oh, yeah?” You replied, your tone perfectly pleasant, entirely detached. “How did it go? Did they ask you the same five questions about the moonwalk?”
“No, actually,” Michael said, a small, sly, smile playing on his lips. He leaned his chin against the palm of his hand, his eyes watching you carefully. “It was… different. The interviewer, her name is Cynthia. She flew all the way from London. She was incredibly smart. Very well spoken. And, uh… well, she was also really beautiful.”
Your heart did a sudden, unexpected, violent flip in your chest. The words you were pretending to read seemed even more meaningless than they had been before. A cold prickle of jealousy flared to life in your stomach, sharp and uninvited.
You kept your eyes glued to the magazine, your face a mask of absolute, serene indifference. You knew if you made eye contact Michael would instantly be able to read you like an open book.
You had spent years mastering the art of hiding your feelings around Michael Jackson. When a man is chased by millions of screaming women every time he steps out of a building, you learn to build a very thick wall around your heart just to survive being his friend, but that didn’t stop the nagging feeling of wishing you were more than just a friend.
“Oh, that’s wonderful, Mike,” you said, your voice smooth, and light, and the exact opposite of everything Michael had been secretly hoping for. “It’s always nice when you get an interviewer who actually treats you like a human being instead of some zoo animal.”
Michael’s smile faltered slightly. That wasn’t quite the reaction he was looking for. He needed more. He needed a spark.
“No, it was more than that,” Michael pressed on, his voice taking on a certain edge that you couldn’t describe. “We ended up talking for hours after the cameras stopped rolling. She had this incredible laugh, you know? And she kept touching my arm when I made a joke. It was… I don’t know, there was a really strong connection there.”
He watched you like a hawk, waiting for the telltale signs. A tightening of your jaw. A sharp intake of breath. A snappy, possessive remark. Anything to show that the thought of another woman holding his attention tore you apart the same way the thought of another man tore him apart.
Instead, you finally closed the magazine, placing it neatly on the floor beside you. You turned your head to look at him, your expression entirely open, warm, and encouraging.
"Michael, that is amazing!" you exclaimed, forcing a bright smile breaking across your face. "Wow. You rarely ever click with people like that outside of work. I'm so happy for you."
Michael blinked, momentarily stunned. "You... you are?"
"Of course I am!" You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees, entirely playing the part of the supportive, enthusiastic best friend, even as a small, bitter knot tightened in your throat. "You're always saying how hard it is to meet genuine people who see past the fame. If this Cynthia girl connected with you like that,” you struggled to get the words out as your throat tightened “and she's beautiful and smart? Mike, that’s a special find."
"Yeah. Special," Michael echoed your words, his brows furrowing. He sat up fully now, crossing his legs, his eyes locked onto yours, trying desperately to read between the lines. There had to be a catch. You couldn't possibly be this happy about it. "She, uh... she gave me her personal number. Written on the back of her itinerary. She told me to call her at her hotel before she flies back to England at the end of the week."
"Well, what are you waiting for?" you urged, your smile widening, though it felt like a heavy weight was pulling at the corners of your mouth. "You should absolutely call her. Better yet, you should take her out on a proper date."
Michael froze. The words hung in the air between you, heavy and entirely wrong. Take her out on a date.
"A date?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly before he caught himself. His tone sharpened, a sudden prickle of irritation breaking through his exterior. "You think I should take her out?"
“Yes! Why not?" you exclaimed, keeping your tone casual and entirely logical. Inside, you were screaming, but you would rather die than let him see you cry or hear a tremor in your voice. If he liked this girl, you were going to be the perfect friend. You were going to push him right into her arms, because that’s what friends do. Even if it hurt. "You've been working yourself to death lately. You deserve to have some fun, go out, get dressed up, and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman."
You were too scared of being rejected by Michael, you figured it would break your heart completely. If you couldn’t keep Michael to yourself at least you could keep parts of him. It was enough to keep your heart at bay.
"Go out?" Michael questioned, his jaw tightening. He ran a hand through his curls, his frustration finally beginning to bubble to the surface. He shifted restlessly on his cushion, his eyes dark and intense. "So just like that? You're just throwin’ me at her?"
"I'm not throwing you at anyone, Michael," you said with a soft, amused chuckle, though it felt hollow and confused. "I’m just encouraging you. You're Michael Jackson. If you want to take a pretty interviewer out on a date, you should do it. I think it’d be great for you."
Michael snapped. He stood up abruptly, abandoning the comfort of the blankets, and began to pace the length of the living room carpet. His hands flew to his hips, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. You stared at him confused.
"I can't believe you," he muttered, shaking his head, looking up at the ceiling as if asking the Lord for strength. "I really can't believe you right now."
You blinked, genuinely taken aback by the sudden shift in his demeanor, though you maintained your calm facade. "What did I say? I'm trying to be supportive!"
"Supportive?!" Michael spun around to face you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of intense frustration and hurt. He gestured wildly with one hand. "I come in here, and I tell you that there's a woman, a beautiful, smart woman, who is actively pursuing me, who gave me her number, who I had a 'strong connection' with... and your immediate response is to tell me to go date her? To walk out the door and go be with someone else?!"
"Well, yeah!" you said, standing up directly across from Michael, defensively crossing your arms over your chest. "What else am I supposed to say? 'No, Michael, lock yourself in here forever and never talk to a woman again'? You’re a grown man. If you like her, go out with her!"
"But I don't want to just go out with her!" Michael burst out, his voice rising, filled with a desperate, agitated energy. He stopped pacing, looking down at you, his shoulders tense. "That's not the point!"
"Then what is the point, Michael?" you asked, your own frustration starting to leak through your carefully constructed walls, though you kept your jealousy fiercely under lock and key. "Why are you getting mad at me for wanting you to be happy?"
Michael bit his lip. He was practically vibrating with a frantic, boiled up energy. He couldn’t tell you the truth, that the whole story had been over exaggerated, that Cynthia had been averagely nice and he hadn’t felt a single spark, that he had only told you to see if you would show any possessiveness, the same possessive, consuming hunger that he felt whenever anyone looked at you.
The sheer unfairness of it all was driving him insane.
If the roles were reversed, if you had come into his living room and started talking about some handsome interviewer, some guy who had flown into London, who had touched your arm, who had given his number to you-
Michael’s stomach dropped into a dark bottomless pit just thinking about it. A cold suffocating wave of jealousy washed over him at the mere thought of another man holding your attention, making you laugh, looking into your eyes. If you had mentioned another man tonight. Michael knew exactly what would’ve happened. He would’ve lost his mind. He would’ve spiralled. He would’ve been miserable.
And yet here you were, standing right in front of him. And showing the exact opposite of how he would’ve reacted. You weren’t spiralling. You weren’t angry. You were instead, encouraging him which just made it all so worse. It made him feel like he was the only one drowning in the ocean of his feelings, while you were on the shore happily waving him off to another ship.
“You’re just so casual about it. You’re just standing here telling me to go take Cynthia to dinner? Like it doesn’t matter at all?”
“Of course it matters!” You argued, maintaining your ground, your heart breaking a little more with every word you spoke yet you refused to show it. “It matters because you are my best friend Michael. Because if you find someone you connect with, you should pursue it! Why does this make you so angry?”
“Because it shouldn’t be that easy for you!” He immediately closed his mouth. His eyes widening as he realised how dangerously close he was to coming off the ledge. He turned away from you quickly. His chest quietly heaving as he struggled to regain control of his violently thumping heart.
The silence in the living room became deafening. You hid your hands behind your back, trying to hide that they were trembling.
What did he mean by that? Did he suspect? Did he notice how much it hurt your soul listening to him talk about another woman? Were you slipping?
You took a deep, steadying, breath forcing your heart to slow down, forcing your voice into that calm, steady rhythm. “Michael,” you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet room.
He didn’t move. He kept his back to you, his shoulders still tense. “Michael,” you repeated. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned around. His arms slowly crossed over his chest, his chin tilted down. He looked vulnerable, frustrated and deeply exhausted.
“If I crossed a line I’m sorry,” you spoke gently. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like it was easy or like I don’t care. I know how complicated your life is. I know that dating, or even just going out for coffee is a nightmare for you. If this Cynthia girl is someone you like, I just want you to have a chance at something normal. That’s all. I’m on your side. Always."
Michael stared at you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Every single word you said was perfect. It was logical. It was sweet. It was exactly what a perfect, loyal, caring best friend would say.
And it utterly destroyed him.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting out a shaky, long sigh that sounded dangerously close to defeat. He had tried to spark a fire, and you had completely extinguished it with pure, terrifying kindness.
He let his arms drop to his sides, the angry, frantic energy leaving him. He looked quieter. He walked back and sinked down onto the cushions, a few feet away from you, dragging a hand down his face.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his voice dropping back into its usual soft spoken register. He couldn’t look you in the eye, instead focusing intensely on a loose thread. “I didn’t mean to yell… I’m tired. Work has been a lot lately. My head is all over the place.”
“It’s okay,” you said softly, “you don’t have to apologise to me. You’re allowed to feel stressed.”
“I don’t think I’m going to call her,” Michael said quietly, his voice flat. “Cynthia. I don’t think I’ll call her. It’s too much trouble. Don’t think it would work out anyway.”
A wave of intense, overwhelming relief washed over you, so powerful it almost made you dizzy. The suffocating knot in your chest loosened just a fraction. You kept your expression perfectly neutral. “Whatever you think is best, Mike.”
text: [ “Some of you have forgotten that only three years ago you were perfectly capable of writing an essay, writing a eulogy, telling a bedtime story to a child, and it should worry you that powerful companies have convinced us we can’t do things we’ve been doing for 5000 years.” ]
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
SUMMARY: based on this request. The problem isn’t that women flirt with Michael Jackson. The problem is that Y/N notices. The bigger problem is that Michael notices Y/N noticing.
CONTENT: Michael Jackson x Reader. Established relationship. Jealous and slightly possessive reader. Protective and hopelessly devoted Michael Jackson. History era. Humor, fluff, backstage shenanigans, playful jealousy, a little bit of female rivalry, pda, and Michael being completely obsessed with his girlfriend.
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭
Everybody on the set knew Michael Jackson was hopelessly in love and obsessed with his girlfriend, Y/N.
Not regular boyfriend obsessed. Not casual celebrity relationship obsessed. No.
This man looked at her like every love song he’d ever written had somehow become a person.
And unlike people assumed Michael wasn’t oblivious. Naive sometimes? Sure. Too kind for his own good? Absolutely. But stupid? Never.
He noticed when women flirted with him. He noticed the lingering touches. The giggling. The way too-long stares. He just usually ignored it because none of it mattered to him.
Not when his Y/N existed.
And honestly? Michael kind of enjoyed letting people embarrass themselves sometimes.
Especially when Y/N got possessive.
Because underneath all her confidence his girl had a little crazy in her.
Not toxic crazy. Fun crazy. Sharp-tongued. Territorial. The kind that smiled sweetly while threatening somebody psychologically.
And Michael secretly adored it. Secretly even got a little bit turned on by it.
Especially during the making of his album History.
Because, lucky Michael, Y/N followed him everywhere during that time. Sets. Tours. Studios. Rehearsals. You name it, she was there. And he absolutely love it and begged for her to be around.
Sometimes she would sit behind the monitors in giant sunglasses and one of his jackets criticizing choreography like an offended sports commentator.
Sometimes she wandered onto stage during lighting checks just to bother (kiss) him while he worked.
And Michael? Oh, he orbited her constantly.
If she disappeared too long he noticed immediately.
If somebody annoyed her he noticed immediately.
If she looked jealous—oh, he definitely noticed immediately.
Which became a problem once that stupid (according to Y/N) backup dancer showed up.
Beautiful girl. Very aware she was beautiful too. One of those women who walked around like every room was an audition.
At first it was harmless. Too much laughing. Standing too close. Finding excuses to touch Michael during rehearsals. Nothing they weren’t used to. And Michael ignored all of it politely. Not passively, though. He’d subtly step away. Redirect conversations. Immediately look for Y/N afterward.
One afternoon during choreography rehearsal the dancer pressed herself against him during a move that absolutely did not require it. Michael caught it instantly.
His expression flickered. Not flustered, no.
Annoyed.
He stepped backward smoothly.
“Careful,” he said lightly. “That’s not part of the choreography.”
The room went awkwardly quiet.
Because the correction sounded polite, but very pointed. The dancer recovered quickly though. Smiling wider instead. “Sorry,” she purred. “It’s hard to focus around you.” Michael gave the smallest tight smile imaginable.
Then immediately looked across the room.
Right toward where Y/N was.
She sat on top of a monitor table sipping on some tea while watching the entire interaction over the rim of her cup.
Their eyes met instantly. And Michael saw it.
That little look.
Worse than insecurity.
Amusement. Dangerous amusement. Like she was deciding whether to kill somebody recreationally.
Michael bit back a smile and abandoned rehearsal entirely, walking straight toward her.
The dancer blinked in disbelief and confusion.
Michael stopped between Y/N’s knees automatically while she looked up at him lazily.
“You surviving over there?” she asked sweetly.
Michael leaned down just enough for only her to hear. “She’s annoying me.”
Y/N nearly smiled. Nearly. Instead she tilted her head innocently.
“Aw. You need me to save you?”
Michael looked at her through his lashes with a tiny smirk. “Maybe I want you to.”
That was the thing about Michael. People thought he was shy all the time. But around Y/N? He knew exactly what he was doing.
The next few days only got worse.
The dancer became bolder because apparently humiliation wasn’t enough to stop her.
One day Y/N walked into Michael’s trailer and immediately stopped in her tracks.
The dancer stood there laughing at something Michael clearly had not found funny.
Too close again. Hand on his arm. Michael looked up the second Y/N entered.
And immediately—immediately—his entire body language changed. Relief crossed his face and his shoulders relaxed.
“Baby.” He said, an enormous smile taking over his pretty face.
That one word alone made the dancer look irritated.
Michael stood up right away crossing the trailer toward Y/N while the dancer still talked. It was like he genuinely forgot she existed halfway through the conversation. And the best part was that he didn’t even did it on purpose.
He kissed Y/N’s forehead softly before murmuring. “Please tell me you’re done with wardrobe?”
The dancer stared at them like she wanted to scream. Or commit a felony.
Y/N smiled sweetly.
“Mhm.” Then she looked toward the dancer casually and waved her fingers at her. “Oh. Hi.”
The girl crossed her arms. “You’re always here.”
Michael answered before Y/N could. “Yeah.” He looked down at Y/N and smiled. “That’s where I keep her.”
Y/N bit her bottom lip, a small giggle getting through. The dancer clenched her jaw. And Michael noticed that too. Because again: that man was not oblivious.
That night after filming the music video wrapped, Y/N sat in Michael’s lap backstage while he removed the iconic tape pieces from his fingers. He grunted with frustration as one particular tape was stubbornly sticking to his hand. He shook his head lightly and placed his hand on Y/N’s lap, giving up on taking it off. She took his hand in his and started to work on it.
“Told you she wants you,” Y/N muttered, eyes on the tape.
Michael didn’t even look up.
“She wants attention.”
Y/N raised an eyebrow. “She does?”
Now Michael looked up. Completely calm. “Baby, women who actually get my attention don’t act like that.”
That sentence sat directly in Y/N’s bloodstream for the next forty-eight business hours.
Unfortunately the dancer overheard enough little moments like that to start resenting Y/N badly.
And truly? Y/N was handling the situation with all the grace and emotional restraint of a jealous housecat.
Not because she doubted Michael, never that. But because watching another woman repeatedly ignore boundaries made her act a bit mean.
One morning while getting some coffee with a makeup artist from the crew, Y/N watched the dancer laugh a little too loudly at something Michael said from across the room. She stared for a moment.
“You know,” Y/N said casually to the makeup artist, “I actually feel bad for her.”
He looked up.
“Why?”
Y/N sighed dramatically. “Can you imagine embarrassing yourself in front of Michael Jackson every day?”
“Babes, that’s literally all you do.”
“That’s different.” She argued, eyes not leaving Michael’s little annoyed expression as the dancer talked his ear off.
The makeup artist frowned. “How?”
“Well, he thinks it’s cute when I do it.”
That made him snort.
Across the room, the dancer laughed again. Too loud. Way too loud for Y/N’s liking.
Y/N’s eye twitched. Just a little. Michael looked up automatically. Their eyes met.
And immediately he knew.
Uh-oh.
The dancer kept talking. Y/N kept pretending she wasn’t watching. Michael kept pretending he wasn’t watching her watch him.
The cycle continued for approximately three full minutes. And then rehearsal finally broke for lunch.
Michael made it maybe halfway across the room before finding her. As usual. As he always did.
He dropped into the chair beside her, arms crossed over his chest and a tini-tiny smirk on his pretty face. He looked far too pleased with himself.
Y/N narrowed her eyes.
“I don’t like your face.” She motioned to his face.
“My face?”
“That face you have going on.”
“What face?” He was doing it on purpose at this point.
Y/N nodded, a bit annoyed, actually. “The one you’re making right now.”
Michael smiled. Exactly. That face.
Y/N sighed dramatically.
“She’s so annoying.”
Michael’s smile widened instantly, cheeks starting to hurt. “Oh.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.”
Y/N looked away rolling her eyes.
Michael bit the inside of his cheek as he tried not to laugh. He failed, the tiniest of giggles leaving his lips. “Baby.”
“Oh, don’t you ‘baby’ me.” Y/N said, a pout taking over her face as she crossed her arms over her chest.
He shook his head in a very teasing way.
“Oh, my miss possessive.”
Y/N whipped her head around so fast. “Excuse me?” Voice laced with annoyance.
Michael’s smile got bigger.
“Miss Possessive.”
“Michael.”
“My miss Possessive.”
“I swear to God—”
Now he was just fully laughing. Shoulders shaking. Head ducked down. The worst part? The man looked delighted. Absolutely delighted.
“You were staring.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You so were.”
“I was observing.”
Michael nodded thoughtfully. “Right.”
“I was.”
“Very scientific.”
“Exactly.”
“Research purposes, am I right?”
“Absolutely.”
Michael looked away again. Trying (unsuccessfully) to recover.
Y/N pointed a sharp finger at him, eyes wide. “Stop enjoying this.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” She nodded. “Too much, actually.”
“I’m really not.” He mumbled holding his hands up like a guilty man.
“Michael.”
“Okay, maybe I am enjoying little.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re cute when you’re jelous of me.”
Y/N groaned loudly and threw her head back. Michael looked like he’d just won an award. “I don’t get jelous.” Deny, deny, deny.
Michael nodded, a full ironic expression on his face. “Right, what ever makes you sleep at night, princess.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Deny, deny, deny.’ She thought to herself. But then again, what the hell? “You know what?” She finally snapped, whipping her head in his direction. Immediately he perked up.
“What?”
She cocked her head to the side and raised her brows for a moment. “I lied.” She stared into his eyes. Michael blinked.
“You lied?”
“Yeah.”
She threw both hands into the air. “I’m jealous.”
Silence. Then Michael smiled so hard he nearly looked embarrassed.
“Really?”
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That.”
Y/N pointed at him again.
“The face again.”
“What face?”
“The one I just said you do when you’re enjoying something way too much.”
Michael laughed. Actually laughed.
Oh, the audacity of this man.
“Baby—”
“Shut up.”
“Baby.”
“Nope.”
“You’re so cute.”
Y/N covered her face immediately.
“This is very humiliating for me.”
Michael gently pulled one of her hands away.
Still smiling. Still completely in awe of her.
“I like that you care.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
“I do.” He intertwined their fingers and kissed her hands.
“You’re making it worse.”
Michael leaned closer.
“Miss Possessive.” He whispered.
Y/N pointed at him immediately.
“Keep talking and I’m leaving.”
“No, you’re not.”
She stared at him for about two seconds. “Yeah, probably not.”
“Exactly.”
And somehow that made him smile even bigger.
One afternoon the dancer walked past Y/N and muttered. “Some girls get way too comfortable.”
The makeup artist nearby actually choked on her water at that.
Then came the shirt.
Michael arrived on set late one morning wearing black jeans, curls tied back loosely, sunglasses and a T-Shirt that read:
MY GIRLFRIEND IS HOTTER THAN YOU
That man.
That. Impossible. Man.
The crew in the studio did not know how to react.
Screaming.
Wheezing.
People dropping things.
Y/N’s hand just flew over her mouth, disbelief flashed across her face. She shook her negativity head at him.
That infuriatingly beautiful man.
“Michael Jackson, you are unbelievable.”
Michael looked around confused.
“What?”
“You cannot wear that!”
He glanced down at the shirt casually.
“What? I thought it was cute.”
“You are insane.”
Michael smiled slowly then. A little smug this time. Good Lord. “I know.”
Y/N stared at him in disbelief.
“You did that on purpose?”
Michael shrugged lightly. Then leaned close enough for only her to hear. “She keeps staring at me.”
Y/N went silent immediately.
Because oh. So he had noticed.
Michael slid his sunglasses down slightly.
“And she keeps making you mad.”
Y/N folded her arms trying not to look pleased.
“And?”
“And I don’t like it.”
That should not have been as attractive as it was. Unfortunately for Y/N it was devastatingly attractive.
Y/N just shook her head again, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face into his chest. Michael let out a loud laugh and kissed the top of her head.
The final confrontation happened two days later.
Y/N sat backstage getting her eyeliner fixed when the dancer appeared again.
Arms crossed, cocky expression on her face.
“You know,” she started casually, “it’s kind of embarrassing how attached he is to you.”
Y/N looked at her through the mirror.
“It is?”
“He’s obsessed.”
Y/N smiled faintly. “Yeah, I know.”
That clearly wasn’t the reaction the dancer wanted. She stepped closer.
“I just think if Michael met somebody more…” She actually looked Y/N up and down. “,exciting—”
Y/N actually laughed this time. Not fake. Real. Sharp. “Okay,” She mumbled still smiling.
Then finally she stood up slowly.
And suddenly the room felt different.
Because Y/N wasn’t intimidated. Not even slightly.
She walked closer until the dancer had to tilt her head upward slightly.
“My boyfriend would never look twice at you,” Y/N said calmly.
The dancer scoffed. “You sound very confident.”
“I am.” Then Y/N smiled. Mean. Beautiful. “But if you wanna embarrass yourself…” She shrugged lightly. “Try him.”
And apparently the woman was dumb enough to do exactly that.
Later during rehearsal Michael sat alone near the stage sipping on some orange juice while checking choreography notes when the dancer approached.
Y/N watched from across the set already bitting down a smile because she knew this was about to go horribly.
The girl leaned against his chair.
“You know…” she said softly. “I think you deserve somebody less possessive.”
“Huh?” Michael looked up slowly, brows frowned slightly. Already looking very unimpressed. “My girlfriend is a little possessive.” His eyes flickered briefly to where Y/N stood, a small smile appearing on his lips. “I like it.”
The girl laughed lightly.
“She watches every woman around you.”
Michael capped his water bottle calmly.
“Because every woman around me keeps bothering me.” The dancer blinked. Michael continued before she could recover. “And honestly?” He tilted his head slightly. “I’m starting to think y’all do it on purpose.”
The dancer forced a smile. “I just think maybe you’d get bored eventually.”
Michael stared at her for a long moment. Then glanced across the room toward Y/N. And the second he saw her? His entire face softened automatically.
Then he looked back at the dancer and said very simply: “I’ve been in love with her for years.” Silence. “People don’t get boring when you actually love them.”
Murder. Complete murder.
The dancer looked like she wanted earth to swallow her whole now.
And Michael wasn’t finished. Because suddenly he smiled politely. Not cruel, which felt, somehow, worse. “And respectfully…” He gestured vaguely toward Y/N across the room. “Have you seen my girlfriend?”
The dancer’s face went blank. She honestly didn’t know what to say.
Y/N covered her face laughing discreetly, pretending she wasn’t doing her absolute best to eavesdrop when Michael finally stood up and walked straight toward her.
The second he reached her he wrapped one arm around her waist naturally, pulling her closer.
Y/N looked up at him through a grin.
“You’re a little crazy in the head, you know that, right?”
Michael looked very pleased with himself.
“Yeah? Well, I’ve learned from the best.” He teased her and Y/N shook her head.
“You’re unbelievable.”
Then Y/N grabbed the front of his stupid shirt and kissed him right there in front of everybody. Just because she could.
And because Michael Jackson looked at her like she’d invented sunshine just to brighten his day.
summary: baking with jaafar doesn’t go to plan, but honestly? you couldn’t have wished for it to have gone any other way.
y/n sprung the idea onto jaafar as soon as he stepped foot into the house, his coat still on and shoes not even untied.
“we’re baking a cake,” she declared, her voice soft with poorly hidden excitement as she wrapped her arms round him, letting him pull her into a delicate kiss.
“a cake?” he lifted a brow, setting her back down as he slid out of her coat, hanging it up on the peg beside her one, “do i get a vote?”
“nope,” y/n smiled, clapping her hands together as she tugged on his hand, half-dragging him to the kitchen.
“my mom used to bake vanilla cakes all the time when i was a kid,” she said, busying herself with grabbing the flour as jaafar peaked over at the recipe on her phone. it looked easy enough.
“so we’ve got ourselves a little expert, then, hm angel?” he looked up from the recipe, a small smile on his lips.
y/n just grinned over triumphantly, looking through all the different kinds of sugars.
“what first?” jaafar looked down at the empty bowl, all the ingredients laid out neatly around it. y/n adored her working spaces to be clean and organised.
“first,” she said, her voice light, “i’m doing all the stirring. i’m in charge, remember?” she tugged on his shirt, moving him to the side as he rolled his eyes. y/n had always been bossy.
“whatever you say, angel,” he hummed, watching as she measured and added the ingredients into the bowl.
“here,” she handed him an egg, the warm light reflecting off the top of its shell.
“how generous of you,” he cracked the egg against the side of the bowl, watching as the yolk pooled into the mixture, emptying from the shells.
somewhere behind them, the little speaker played a quiet version of ‘human nature’, the sound only broken by y/n’s occasional humming and the bin opening as jaafar dumped the empty shells into it.
“should i stir, angel?” he looked at the gloopy mixture, ready to be whisked into a perfect, delicious cake.
“i’m in charge,” y/n huffed, taking the whisk and stirring the mixture round the bowl.
jaafar didn’t mind.
he liked watching her work, she was in her element. baking had been one of the first things they’d done when they started dating.
sure, the cookies were a crumbly mess but they tasted…acceptable if you ignored the charred chocolate chips inside.
it was like old times.
“actually,” y/n scrunched her nose, “you can stir,” she stepped back, shaking her arm slightly, avoiding his gaze.
“and why’s that?” jaafar couldn’t keep the teasing out of his voice as she rolled her eyes, mumbling something about her arm hurting.
“if you insist,” he sent a wink her way, graciously stirring the mixture.
“you’re good at this,”
“only because i have the best teacher,”
“you’re impossible,” y/n laughed, pushing against his shoulder as she dusted her hands, taking over to pour the mixture into the cake tin.
“there we go,” she said, clapping her hands together. maybe this time, one of their creations would go right.
they both watched as y/n shut the oven door, the mixture settling into the hot oven.
“how long does the recipe say to leave it in for?” y/n fiddled with the little time on the side, before it was gently taken from her hands.
“doesn’t matter, we’ll know when it’s done, angel,” jaafar smiled. before she could protest, his hands were on her waist, fingers splayed across the cotton of her t-shirt.
his lips met hers in the kind of kiss that made the room feel ten times warmer than it was, heat creeping up her face.
the small of her back hit the counter gently, his lips still on hers before they both pulled back to catch their breath, foreheads resting against each others.
“i could get used to this,” he mumbled, his lips closing the distance once more.
y/n tilted her head back slightly, letting him guide her into another kiss, slower this time, lingering. the kitchen around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them and the scent of vanilla still warm in the air.
neither of them were quite sure when they’d made it to the living room, their lips still against each others.
y/n was sat on his lap, his hands holding her by the waist, grounding her almost, as their lips moved against each others in a soft, rhythmic pattern.
jaafar’s lashes fluttered against his cheek every time she moved against him.
his tongue moved gently against hers, his teeth tugging on her bottom lip as she held onto him, her hands moving over his body, down his chest, squeezing his shoulders.
y/n broke away for breath, his lips dropping down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone - almost reverent.
that was when it hit her.
“jaafar,” y/n said, her hands on his shoulder, his lips still dragging down the side of her neck.
“hmm?” he mumbled, half listening, half not, engrossed in the event of her sweet perfume filling his nose.
“the cake,” she jumped up off his lap, both of them rushing to the oven.
she grabbed the oven globe, yanking the door open as smoke poured out, jaafar’s hands on her shoulders to move her away as she coughed.
“it’s not too bad, angel,” he peered at the top of the cake - it wasn’t burnt, maybe a little…over-cooked.
y/n peered at the cake, her face contorted in a grimace as he took it out with the other glove, setting it down on the counter.
“maybe we need to stay away from the kitchen,” they both stared at their creation for a few seconds. sure, it was edible but…did they want to eat it?
“frosting, maybe?” y/n suggested weakly, her eyes lighting up again, “oh! we can add ribbons and that cute icing thing i saw-,”
“maybe,” jaafar cut her off, “we should just stick to leaving the cake how it is, angel,” a little smile eased onto his featured as he sunk a knife into the spongy cake.
“bon appetit?” jaafar offered weakly, the slightly solid slice of cake separating from the crumbly mess of their cake. not even cute little ribbons could save this one.
“i think we should just finish what we were doing instead,” y/n said, her lashes fluttering against her cheek as he set the knife down.
gladly.
❀❀❀❀
thank you so much for reading if you did, i hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it! 🥹
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
contents : fluff, secret relationship, established relationship, angst, fame, tabloids, a bit of chaos, comfort, soft moments, media exposure, michael refers to the reader as “baby”
summary : you and michael have been in a secret, established relationship for ten months, keeping your love hidden from the public while sharing quiet, soft moments behind closed doors. everything changes when paparazzi photos surface and tabloids begin printing headlines about you, forcing your private world into the spotlight.
━━━━━━━━━
you and michael have been in a secret relationship for ten months, and somehow the hardest part still isn’t the hiding — it’s acting normal when it’s just the two of you.
the studio was quiet in that late-night way, the kind where everything feels softer than it should. the lights were dimmed, sheets were scattered across tables, a half-finished track looping low in the background like it’s tired too.
you’re sitting across from michael with your book open in your lap, though you haven’t really read a word in minutes. it’s more for show than anything else at this point. “you’re doing it again,” you say without looking up.
“doing what?” his voice was innocent in the way that always gives him away. you finally glance at him. he was leaned back in his chair like he owned the night.
you narrowed your eyes at him.“what?”
“nothing,” michael said, far too quickly.
“michael.”
his smile only widened. “i can’t look at my girlfriend?” the word hit you every single time. ten months later and it still managed to make your stomach flip. you looked back down at your book before he could see the smile threatening to give you away.
“you’ve seen me before.”
“mhm.”
“like, a lot.”
“mhm.”
“so why are you staring?”
when you glanced up again, he was already looking at you. “because you’re pretty.”
you immediately groaned. “that’s not a real answer.”
“it is to me.”
“you’re ridiculous.”
“and you’re pretty.”
“michael.”
his laugh was quiet, warm. “what? i’m just telling the truth.”
you shook your head, trying — yet failing — not to smile. “you’re unbelievable.”
“i know.”
“at least you’re aware.” michael laughed, the sound soft as he leaned back even further in his chair. one of his legs bounced lightly beneath the table, completely at ease. “c’mon, baby. i’m serious.”
you groaned immediately, letting your head fall back for a second. that was another thing. the nicknames. they got you every single time. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“that.”
his smile only widened. “baby?” those words were enough to make you melt. you pointed at him from across the room. “see? exactly.” he pressed a hand against his chest as if he’d been personally offended.
“what’s wrong baby?”
“you know what’s wrong with it.”
“i really don’t.”
“michael.”
he looked way too pleased with himself. “i think it’s cute.”
“i think you’re annoying.”
“you don’t mean that.” unfortunately, he was right. you glanced down at the open pages in your lap, pretending to read. “good thing you’re cute.” the words slipped out before you could stop them. immediately your eyes widened.
well. that wasn’t supposed to happen. for the first time all night, michael froze. just slightly. but you caught it. his fingers stopped drumming against the armrest. his eyes dropped toward the floor for a second, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“yeah?”
your heart dropped immediately, betraying you. you looked away first. “don’t make it weird.” he let out this quiet, yet warm laugh.
“i’m not making it weird.”
“you are.”
“am not.”
he stood then, wandering around the studio instead of staying in his chair. his hand skimmed across the edge of the mixing desk as he passed, still smiling to himself. you hated when he smiled like that. mostly because it made you smile too — you liked it too much.
“look at you,” he teased.
“what now? you asked, a warm feeling growing in your stomach — butterflies. “nothing.”
“michael.”
“nothing.”
which meant it was definitely something. you rolled your eyes and dropped your gaze back to your book before he could see the grin threatening to give you away. for a moment, the room settled into something comfortable.
the low hum of the speakers. the rustle of pages beneath your fingers. michael lingering nearby, completely content just being in the same room as you. just you. just him. just another late night that felt like it could go on forever.
then the studio phone rang. once. the sound cut through the room sharply. neither of you moved. twice. michael scrunched his nose.
“ignore it.”
you laughed. “that sounds responsible.”
“thank you.”
the phone rang a third time. with an exaggerated sigh, he pushed himself away from the desk and headed toward it. “saved by the bell,” you muttered. he pointed at you as he walked past.
“you’re lucky i got interrupted.”
“oh, i’m lucky?”
“very.”
you shook your head, smiling to yourself. still smiling, michael reached for the receiver.
“hello?” the teasing tone disappeared almost immediately. his brows furrowed. the hand holding the receiver tightened.
“…what?”
the smile slipped from his face. your stomach dropped. because in ten months, you’d learned how to read michael. and whatever was being said on the other end of that phone — it wasn’t good.
you watched him turn slightly away, free hand finding his hip. “what do you mean?” he asked. a pause. his jaw tightened.
“how many?” your grip on the book in your lap tightened. the room suddenly felt too quiet. too still. michael began pacing slowly across the studio floor. “no, no, that’s not what i’m asking.” another pause. “how many papers?”
your heart skipped. papers? you sat up a little straighter. michael ran a hand through his hair. something he only did when he was stressed. “are you sure?” he asked. silence. then — “damn it.”
the word hit harder than it should have. because michael rarely cursed. and when he did, something was wrong. very wrong. you slowly set your book aside.
“michael?” he glanced over at you. just for a second. but it was enough. the look on his face made your stomach twist. he looked worried. not for himself. for you.
he turned away before you could ask anything else. “okay,” he said into the phone. “okay, i’ll handle it.” a few more seconds passed. then he hung up. the receiver settled back into its cradle with a quiet click.
for a moment, neither of you spoke. michael stood there staring at the floor. you’d never seen the room feel so big. “michael.” he exhaled slowly. one hand rubbed across the back of his neck.
“someone got pictures of us.” the words didn’t register at first. “what?” his eyes finally met yours.
“pictures.” your pulse started to pound. “what kind of pictures?” another pause. “us together.” the room seemed to tilt slightly. “and they’re in the papers.”
“and they’re in the papers.” the words hung in the air. you stared at him. waiting for the punchline. there wasn’t one. “…okay.” michael blinked. “okay?”
you stood from your chair, setting your book aside. “okay. so someone got pictures.” your heart was beating a little faster now, but you were trying not to let it show. “they’re probably blurry.” he didn’t answer.
“right?” still nothing. the look on his face made your stomach twist. “michael.” he exhaled slowly.“i don’t know.” for the first time that night, genuine worry settled into your chest. because michael wasn’t the type to panic.
if anything, he was usually the one talking everyone else down. and right now, he looked concerned. “how bad is it?” you asked quietly. he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “a few papers have already picked it up.”
“a few?” his jaw tightened. “more than a few.” you let out a nervous laugh. the kind that wasn’t really a laugh at all. “well, they don’t know who i am.”
“that’s not the point.” his answer came a little too quickly. a little too sharply. immediately, his expression softened. “hey.” he crossed the room in a few steps. “that’s not what i meant.”
you looked away. suddenly the studio felt smaller. the walls closer, even the air felt heavier. “then what did you mean?” michael was quiet for a second. careful. choosing his words.
“because once people start looking, they don’t stop.” you swallowed. he continued. “reporters.” another step closer. “photographers.” another. “people trying to figure out where you live, who your friends are, where you go.”
your stomach dropped a little further with each word. “michael—”
“that’s why i wanted to keep this ours.” his voice was soft now. gentle. “not because i was hiding you.” his eyes met yours. “because i wanted to protect you.”
and suddenly all those conversations from the last ten months made sense. all the back entrances. all the disguises. all the times he’d checked over his shoulder before taking your hand. you’d thought he was protecting the relationship.
you hadn’t realized he’d been protecting you. for a moment, neither of you spoke. then michael reached for your hand. his thumb brushed across your knuckles. it felt familiar, and comforting.
“hey.” your eyes lifted to his. “we don’t even know exactly what’s out there yet.” his grip tightened slightly. “okay?” you nodded.
even though your chest felt tight. even though something deep down was telling you this wasn’t going to stay simple for very long. “okay,” you whispered.
but neither of you sounded convinced. michael watched you for a second. like he was choosing how to say the same truth in a way that actually landed. then he exhaled.
“it’s not just the papers,” he said again, quieter. you nodded slightly this time. not dismissive. just trying to follow. “i get that,” you said. “i just don’t think i know what ‘not just’ means in this context.”
that made him pause — like he appreciated that you weren’t rejecting it, just trying to understand it properly. he shifted closer, still holding your hand. “okay,” he said. “then i’ll be clearer.”
a beat. “right now, it’s articles,” he said. “but it doesn’t stay contained like that.”
you stayed quiet, listening. “it becomes people breaking it apart,” he continued. “trying to figure out who you are from whatever tiny pieces they can find. photos, tags, backgrounds, anything.”
your jaw tightened slightly — not from fear, but from processing. he noticed and softened his tone. “and most of it won’t be accurate,” he added. “but that usually doesn’t stop it from spreading.”
you let out a slow breath through your nose. “so it’s less about the truth and more about momentum,” you said. his eyes flicked to yours. “yeah,” he said immediately. “exactly that.”
that actually helped it click in a way panic hadn’t. you nodded once, absorbing it. “and it pulls me into that even if i’m not participating,” you said.“yes,” he said again, steady. “that’s the part you don’t really get a choice in.”
no sugarcoating. but no alarm either. just fact. your fingers tightened slightly around his. “that part i understand,” you said quietly. “i just needed it said plainly.”
he nodded like that was fair. “i should’ve said it like that from the start,” he admitted. a pause settled between you, less sharp now, yet more contained. you looked at him for a second. “you’ve dealt with this a lot,” you said.
it wasn’t a question. he didn’t pretend otherwise.“yeah,” he said. your expression shifted slightly. not doubt—just reality settling in. “and i haven’t,” you added.
“i know,” he said gently. “that’s why i’m not expecting you to handle it the way i would.” that made your shoulders drop a fraction. not everything, but something. you glanced down at your joined hands.
“i’m not scared of the attention itself,” you said after a moment. honest. measured. “i just don’t want it turning into something that feels… out of control.” michael nodded once.
like that was exactly the right way to put it. “it might feel like that at first,” he said. “i’m not going to lie to you about that.” then, softer — “but it doesn’t stay unmanageable.”
you looked up at him again. his voice stayed even, but his grip tightened slightly—not possessive, just grounding. “there are steps,” he added. “ways it slows down. ways it stops feeding itself.”
a beat. “and i’m going to handle what i can on my side so it doesn’t spill onto you more than it already has.” you studied him for a moment. not searching for reassurance this time—just taking him in.
“and us?” you asked. not fragile. just direct. he didn’t hesitate. “we stay us,” he said. “just… a little more careful for a bit.” a pause.
then, quieter — “but not distant.” that mattered more than he probably meant it to. you nodded slowly. “okay,” you said. this time, steady. not overwhelmed. just aware of what was coming.
and michael’s expression finally softened in a way that reached his eyes. “okay,” he echoed. and for the first time since the call, neither of you felt like you were bracing alone.
michael stayed close, like he wasn’t in any rush to let the moment slip away. the tension from earlier hadn’t disappeared completely, but it had softened at the edges — like it couldn’t quite hold its shape anymore with him standing right there.
you looked up at him, and he was already watching you. steady and intent. like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.
“you’re still here,” he said quietly again, like he needed to hear it out loud. you nodded once “yeah,” you said. “i’m here.” that was enough for him to move.
his hand came up first—brushing your hair back from your face, slower this time, fingertips lingering at your cheek like he had nowhere else to be. then his hand dropped to your waist, pulling you in gently, not sudden, just certain.
he was always a little handsy like that—like he couldn’t decide between holding your hand, your waist, your face, all at once, so he just kept switching like it made sense. his thumb traced a small, absent line at your side as he leaned in.
“come here,” he murmured. you did. he kissed you softly — no urgency, no noise from the outside world reaching in. just warmth, and familiarity, and the kind of closeness that made everything earlier feel further away than it actually was.
his hand slid from your waist to your back as he pulled you a little closer, then back to your cheek again like he couldn’t stay still even while being gentle. when he finally pulled back, it was only slightly. foreheads almost touching.
his breathing slower now, steadier. his hand stayed at your waist, thumb still moving in a small, grounding motion like he hadn’t realized he was doing it. his other hand brushed lightly along your jaw before dropping again, restless in the softest way.
he exhaled, then looked at you like the whole night had narrowed down to this one point.“i promise you, baby,” he said quietly, voice warm and sure, “everything will be alright.”
━━━━━━━━━
also guys if you have any ideas or requests please send them!!!
Summary: Jaafar finds it cute when you get nervous after a make out and teases you.
After every make out, you always seem to forget how to function.
You sit there all quiet, blinking like your brain hasn’t caught up with what just happened, fingers fiddling with your sleeve, trying so hard to act normal and failing in the cutest way possible.
Jaafar notices every time "You okay over there angel?" he teases, leaning in just enough that you can feel his presence again.
"I'm fine," you mumbled way too fast. That response earned a low laugh from him “That was the least convincing ‘fine’ I’ve ever heard.”
You finally look at him, cheeks warm. “Stop looking at me like that.” “Like what?” he asks, already smiling like he knows. “Like you’re enjoying this.”
He hums, pretending to think about it. “Maybe I am.” That makes you go even quieter, eyes dropping immediately and that’s exactly what he was waiting for.
“Aw,” he says softly, brushing his thumb along your jaw like it’s second nature. “There she goes again. My pretty girl getting all shy on me.”
“I’m not shy,” you insist, even though your voice gives you away. He leans closer, grinning. “Yeah? Then look at me."
You don't. He grins and lets out a little chuckle. “Yeah… that’s what I thought."
Jaafar has it all…a thriving career and a stable 10 years relationship with his fiancée, Maddie. But what’s really happening behind closed doors?
Jaafar Jackson x reader ft Maddie.
The fight started over something stupid, at least that’s what Jaafar thought when Maddie’s name flashed across his phone for the third time in less than twenty minutes.
The device buzzed against the counter infront of him.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
His friend sitting across from him glanced at the screen and smirked. “Damn.”
Jaafar sighed. “Don’t.”
“You’ve been getting those every five minutes.”
“I know.”
The phone started vibrating again, his friend lifted both hands. “I’m not saying anything.”
“Good.”
“She’s gonna kill you though.”
Jaafar grabbed the phone before it could ring a fourth time and answered.
“Hey.”
“Where are you?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I’m with my friends.”
“You said you’d be home a while ago.”
“I know.”
“So why aren’t you?”
His jaw tightened slightly. “Maddie, I’m twenty minutes late.”
“Twenty-five.”
He stared at the ceiling. “Seriously?”
“I’m asking a question.”
“No, you’re not.”
Silence filled the call, the kind that made him instantly regret answering.
“I’ll be home soon.”
“Fine.”
The line went dead, Jaafar stared at the phone which made his friend raised an eyebrow.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
It came out automatically, the same answer he’d been giving everyone for months.
Twenty-five minutes later he walked through the front door and immediately knew things weren’t fine.
Maddie was sitting on the couch staring at the television which wasn’t on, the second the door clicked shut behind him she looked up.
“There he is.”
Jaafar dropped his keys onto the table. “Maddie.”
“You know what?”
She laughed once with a bitter tone. “Fame really changed you.”
“There it is.”
“There what is?”
“That thing you do.”
“What thing?”
He shrugged off his jacket. “The thing where everything becomes a bigger deal than it needs to be.”
Her expression hardened immediately. “Jaafar?.”
“No seriously.”
“No. Seriously. what?”
“You’ve been acting like my manager since the biopic came out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Maddie stood. “Making sure my fiancé gets home safely is being a manager now?”
“Tracking where I am every hour isn’t normal.”
“I worry about you.”
“You don’t trust me.”
The words landed harder than he expected, because part of him knew they were true.
Maddie stared at him, hurt flashing across her face. “After ten years together you think I don’t trust you?”
Jaafar dragged a hand through his hair. “I think you’ve forgotten I’m still my own person.”
“Oh, that’s rich.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means ever since the movie happened you’ve been acting weird.”
His chest tightened, because she wasn’t entirely wrong either.
“YOU are the one acting as if am slipping away and trapping me.”
Maddie’s face fell, “You don’t really mean that.”
The room went quiet and Jaafar looked away first.
Because he did mean it, trapped by everything.
The wedding plans. The expectations. The future everyone else seemed excited about. The feeling that he was walking down a road he no longer wanted but didn’t know how to leave.
“I’m tired, Maddie.” Her expression softened slightly.
“What does that mean?” The question should’ve been easy.
Instead it felt impossible. How do you explain something you’ve spent years trying not to think about? How do you tell somebody that the love never disappeared…
But the eagerness, the spark and the excitement that made two people more than a habit, more than a routine….no longer exist.
“It means I’m tired.”
Her eyes watered. “THEN GO.”
The words came out sharper than she intended, he saw the regret immediately but something inside him snapped anyway.
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
He grabbed his keys and turned around walking out before either of them could say something worse.
The drive felt endless, every red light, every thought irritated him.
His hands tightened around the steering wheel, chest feeling heavy like something was sitting on it.
By the time he reached the beach the sky was still dark, the parking lot nearly empty.
Good. Exactly what he wanted. Nobody.
The ocean stretched endlessly in front of him.
Black water. White waves. Cold wind. Silence.
He sat down in the sand and stared at the horizon, for a while he didn’t think about anything.
Then unfortunately he started thinking about everything.
Maddie. The wedding. The fight. The fact that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely looked forward to going home.
Hours passed and he lost track deeply in his thoughts.
The sky slowly began turning shades of gold and pink, the world waking up around him and for the first time all night his chest didn’t feel quite as tight.
Then something golden sprinted past him at alarming speed which made Jaafar blink, the golden retriever nearly knocked over a beach chair before launching itself toward the water.
“Oh no.”
A voice echoed across the shore.
“MOON!”
Jaafar turned.
A woman was running after the dog and failing miserably. “MOON, GET BACK HERE!”
The golden retriever completely ignored her, Jaafar watched as she pointed dramatically at the dog.
“If you go into that water—”
The dog immediately jumped into the water which made her sigh with a small smile throwing both hands into the air.
“Oh, you little—”
The dog resurfaced looking incredibly pleased with himself.
Jaafar laughed, the sound escaped before he could stop it.
The woman whipped around, immediately pointing at him. “You.”
He blinked. “Me?”
“Did you encourage him?”
“I don’t even know him.”
“He’s very influenced by strangers laughing.”
“That sounds made up.”
“It’s not.”
The dog suddenly came charging back toward shore straight at her, she took one look at him and screamed.
“Moon don’t you dare—”
Too late.
Moon shook seawater absolutely everywhere making her yelp and jump backward.
The dog looked thrilled which made Jaafar laugh harder and to his surprise she started laughing too, like she physically couldn’t help it.
For some reason he couldn’t stop smiling, the whole thing was ridiculous.
A few minutes later the dog wandered over and dropped himself beside Jaafar like they’d been friends for years.
The woman stopped in front of them, looked at the dog then looked at Jaafar.
Then sighed dramatically. “Traitor.”
Jaafar scratched behind Moon’s ears and the dog’s tail immediately started thumping.
“What’s his name?”
“Moon.”
“Moon?”
“He was named by a five-year-old.”
“That explains a lot.”
She laughed and took a seat nearby. Moon immediately curled up beside Jaafar too completely at ease. If his mom was sitting down, then surely everything was safe.
The dog practically melted into the sand, completely relaxed, a clear sign that he felt safe around a man he had only just met, something that had never happened before.
“Unbelievable.” She sighed with a small smile.
Jaafar scratched behind the dog’s ears. “What?”
“He never likes anybody.”
Moon rolled onto his back, Jaafar looked down.
“That seems unlikely.”
“I’m serious.”
“He looks pretty committed.”
“Traitor.”
The dog thumped his tail.
She pointed at him.
“Don’t encourage him.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“Existing apparently counts.”
For a moment they just watched the ocean and the sunrise , the wind blowing across the shore.
and……Moon trying to eat a stick?
“You should stop him.” Jaafar mumbled with a smile.
“Hm?”
“The stick.”
Jaafar frowned because…Moon was infact absolutely trying to swallow a stick.
“Moon.”
The dog ignored him.
“Moon.”
She smiled.
“See?”
“He’s stubborn.”
“Yes, an idiot.”
Moon continued chewing proudly which made them both laughed.
“So.”
She turned slightly toward him. “What do you do?”
Jaafar hesitated. “I act.”
She nodded immediately. “Ah.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“No, it definitely means something.”
She looked out at the water. “It means you’re one of those people.”
“What people?”
“ ‘I’m an actor.’ ” She made dramatic air quotes.
“ ‘Currently attached to a very exciting project.’ ” Another air quote. “ ‘Can’t talk about it yet.’ ”
Jaafar stared at her.
She continued. “ ‘Festival circuit.’ ”
He laughed, “You’ve met somebody like this?”
“Oh pfftt, too many.”
“That’s very specific.”
“It comes from experience.”
“What if I’m actually an actor tho?”
She squinted suspiciously.
“Then prove it.”
“How?”
“Act.”
Jaafar laughed again. “That’s not how acting works.”
“Sounds fake.”
“You’re impossible.” he said stopping his smile.
“Thank you.”
The conversation should’ve ended there, instead it kept going.
At some point she asked where he grew up, then somehow they ended up arguing about whether cereal comes first or milk…
For the first time all week, Jaafar forgot to check the time, forgot about his phone, Maddie, everything.
Eventually she looked at him, really looked at him and her smile faded slightly. “Okay.”
“What?”
“Serious question.”
His stomach sank..
“Why did you look like somebody just informed you the world is ending?”
The laugh escaped him before he could stop it. “That’s dramatic.”
“Is it wrong?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Because she wasn’t wrong not even a little.
The wind picked up around them, Moon dropped his head onto Jaafar’s leg and for some reason that made it easier to answer.
“I had a bad night...”
“Yeah.” She nodded for him to continue, “I figured.”
The thing was…She didn’t immediately ask for details, she didn’t pry or push either.
She just waited and somehow that made him want to tell her.
“I got into a fight.”
“With who?”
“My fiancée.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“That kind of bad night.”
Jaafar laughed quietly, “That kind.”
She nodded then waited again, no advice or judgment, just space.
And before he realized what he was doing…He started talking about the wedding, the pressure, about how everyone kept telling him how lucky he was and how guilty that made him feel.
Because he was lucky, Maddie was a good person, they been together for 10 whole years and somehow that made everything harder.
“She’s not a bad person.”
“I didn’t think she was.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Jaafar looked down at the sand.
“She’s been with me through everything.” She listened quietly.
“The worst years.”
A nod.
“The lonely years.”
Another nod.
“The years nobody cared who I was.” And she was still listening.
“And now I feel…” He stopped, the words catching somewhere in his throat.
“Feel what?”
He stared at the ocean, “Exhausted.”
The answer sounded pathetic out loud but it was true.
“I wake up tired.”
“I go to sleep tired.”
“I’m planning a wedding I’m supposed to be excited about.”
“And every time somebody asks me if I’m happy…”
He laughed bitterly, “I don’t even know how to answer.”
For a long moment she didn’t say anything, the waves rolled in then back out was the only soundtrack around them.
Moon snored softly beside them asleep.
Finally she spoke. “That sounds lonely.”
Just that. Three words.
Not:
“You should leave.”
Or:
“You should stay.”
“Maybe you’re wrong.”
And somehow… It hit harder than anything anyone had said to him in months because for the first time in a very long time, he felt like somebody is actually hearing him.
When Jaafar finally got home, the house was quiet, the living room light was still on.
Maddie had fallen asleep on the couch.
A blanket half covering her while the television playing softly in the background.
For a moment he just stood there looking at her.
Ten years.
Ten years of memories sitting right there in front of him, the first apartment, the first vacations, the first “I love you.” , the proposal. the life they’d built together.
And yet…Looking at her now felt different.
Because he didn’t know if he loved her the same anymore and the thought made him sick.
So he pushed it away and went upstairs, telling himself things would feel better in the morning.
They didn’t.
The next day felt wrong, everything was wrong…At breakfast Maddie asked if he wanted coffee.
He said yes.
She handed him a mug.
He thanked her.
She nodded.
And suddenly it hit him, that this was the entire conversation.
At one point she sat beside him on the couch, her shoulder touched his.
A year ago he would’ve wrapped an arm around her automatically. Now he just…Sat there aware of the distance.
Even though there wasn’t any, the realization scared him because he wasn’t forcing himself not to touch her…He simply didn’t think about it.
Five days passed.
They tried talking alot and nothing hanged.
One night Maddie showed him wedding venues on her laptop, she looked excited..or maybe she was trying to be.
“What do you think about this one?”
Jaafar looked.
A beautiful venue. Flowers. Lights. Everything perfect.
“It’s nice.”
Maddie stared at him.
“That’s all?”
“What?”
“‘It’s nice’?”
He rubbed his face.
“I’m tired.”
“You keep saying that.”
The words hung in the room. “You’ve been saying that for months.”
Jaafar looked down because she wasn’t wrong.
Maddie’s voice softened, painfully soft. “Do you even want this anymore?”
His chest tightened and the question sat between them.
But he couldn’t answer, not because he didn’t know.
Because he did.
And saying it out loud would make it real.
Then he watched the understanding settle over her face, the heartbreak, and somehow that hurt more than any fight they’d ever had.
That night he barely slept, at 4:30 A.M. he gave up trying to sleep.
Got dressed, grabbed his keys and left.
By 5:00 A.M. he was sitting on the same stretch of beach. The exact same spot.
The sunrise painted the water gold as Jaafar stared at the waves, trying not to think about why he came.
Trying not to think about her.
Or Moon.
Or how light he’d felt sitting there talking to a complete stranger.
5:15 A.M.
Nothing.
5:30 A.M.
Nothing.
5:45 A.M.
Nothing.
The beach slowly became busier, Joggers, Dog walkers and Surfers, no Moon and ridiculous owner chasing after him.
Jaafar laughed quietly at himself, of course they weren’t coming.
He’d convinced himself this was normal, coming back to a beach because maybe there was a chance he’d see somebody he’d met once.
By 6:00 A.M. he finally gave up.
He leaned back on his hands and looked toward the ocean.
Then—
BARK.
His head snapped up, another bark..and suddenly the familiar golden retriever was racing across the sand at full speed straight toward him.
“No way.”
Moon launched himself into Jaafar’s chest, nearly knocking him over and Jaafar bursted out laughing.
Somewhere down the beach he heard a voice.
“MOON!”
His stomach immediately flipped.
“Moon, where are you going?!”
He looked up and there she was, running after the dog, and his stomach flipped again.
Just like the first day.
Then she spotted him, and her steps slowed as realization hit her on why Moon was running that way.
“Oh.”
A grin spread across her face. “It’s you.”
Moon barked proudly, like he’d personally arranged the reunion.
And for the first time all week…Jaafar felt that weight lift from his chest again
Hi! Love your work, can I have a protective Michael x Wife! Reader? Maybe an aggressive paparazzi or something?
YES!
𝑮𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝑫𝒐𝒈
Michael Jackson x Wife!Reader
Synopsis: Michael was able to keep his calm when it came to most things, but when it came to your safety, he could become incredibly protective.
Content: Swearing, anxiety around large crowds, someone grabs reader, Michael lowkey loses his shit, suggestive content
W.C. 2.2k
Masterlist
You hated large crowds, something about them made your throat close up and your heart race a million miles a minute. Unfortunately for you, your husband was like a crowd magnet. Not that he really had any control over it, but wherever he went a crowd followed. Had you not hated it, you would have found it impressive.
With his third studio album having just been released, the crowds were getting more intense. You felt like you could hardly go anywhere with him without panic rising into your chest as people quickly recognized him and hovered near the two of you.
Honestly, the worst part of it was the paparazzi. They were what gave you the hardest time, always shoving, always yelling, it made your head fuzzy. Michael knew your aversion to crowds, and he did his absolute best to keep them as contained as possible. He hired more security, he even got duplicate cars to try and throw people off. But somehow those stupid buggers with their giant flashing cameras always found you two.
Since announcing your sudden marriage to the public, the paparazzi had been trailing you specifically. They were all eager to capture photos of you alone, finding any and everything to scrutinize you. It was exhausting. You felt like you couldn't leave the ranch without fearing that you might be photographed inappropriately.
You were a private person, which is why you had kept your relationship with Michael a secret until after you had said 'I Do.' At first you had liked that you had tricked the paparazzi into having not the faintest idea about your existence, but it seemed like they were determined to get back at you.
You sat in the back of the limo with Michael, your knee bobbing up and down anxiously as you drove through the streets. Michael was asked to go to some award show to present a couple awards. He wanted you to come with him officially as his wife. You had announced the marriage a few months ago but this was the first award show of any kind that you had been seen at publicly. He knew it was a big ask, but he wanted you by his side from now on, and who were you to say no to his pleading eyes.
Michael gently placed a hand on your knee, holding it gently, "If you keep that up you'll tear a hole in the floor of the car." He teased, trying to take your mind off what was waiting down the street.
You looked up at him, "Sorry, just nervous."
God you looked so heartbreakingly beautiful, it hurt Michael to look at you for too long. He smiled and kissed your head, "Don't apologize, baby. Y'know m'proud of you for coming with me tonight." He squeezed your knee gently.
You finally smiled, relaxing at his words, "You're too sweet to me."
"Impossible." He laughed, his hand gently grabbed your chin and guided your lips to his. You smiled into the kiss before pulling back slowly and bringing your thumb up to his lips, wiping the lipstick off his lips.
"Leave it, sweet girl. People know I belong to you now, there's no need to hide it."
You bit your lip, holding back your wide grin. He smiled and pulled you back into another kiss, this one deeper than the previous. He pulled you closer, disregarding the pull of his seat belt. Your lips moved gently against his, before trailing down to his jaw, then lower to his neck. He groaned lowly into your ear. "Y'sure know how to work me up right before we go out in public. It's criminal." He laughed breathlessly.
You blushed as you finally pulled away, satisfied with the claim you had placed on him. There were at least three lipstick prints on his neck and jaw, each matching the shade on your glossy lips. "I've had a lot of time mastering the skill." You shrugged and sat back in your seat.
He laughed and looked you up and down. He had bought you the most gorgeous black dress, it sat like silk against your skin, and perfectly matched his black leather suit. You both looked lethal. He sighed and played with the strap of your dress, "I can't wait to take this off you tonight." He smirked as he watched you flush visibly.
You eyed him for a moment, "Don't get ahead of yourself, pretty boy. We have a whole award show in front of us."
He laughed and kissed your knuckles.
The car slowly rolled to a stop, the moment breaking as screams erupted around you. He felt you tense up immediately, and he squeezed your hand, "I've got you, doll."
You took a breath and nodded. He got out on one side of the car, the screams exploding around him, you could see the flashes from the cameras going berserk. Before he could walk around to your side of the car and open the door for you, a group of paparazzi swarmed in, prying the door open. They stuck their cameras in the car without a second thought, blinding you quickly. You held your arm up, scooting to the side of the car Michael had left from. You could hear him shouting at the cameramen, telling them to back up. You looked out the back of the limo, seeing him being pushed back by his security.
Your ears were ringing, and you could feel your heart trying to escape your chest. You were pressed up against the left door, still trying to shield yourself from the right side, when the left door was yanked open.
You felt yourself being pulled from the car, but couldn't see by who, your vision blurry from all the flashing lights. Questions were being shouted at you left and right as people demanded to know anything and everything about you.
"Look over here!"
"Why have you been hiding?"
"Are you pregnant with Michael Jackson's children?"
"Did you trap him into marriage with a child?"
"Look this way!"
A hand grabbed your arm harshly, turning you to face the flashed head on. Your head felt like it was going to explode. Your eyes burned from the light and your ears rang so loud your head felt like it was being shoved against a brick wall.
Your throat felt more constricted with each question and command thrown at you. Your head couldn't keep up with anything around you, as the panic in your chest took hold of your body. You felt helpless against the crowd slowly closing in on you. It felt like being dragged underwater, no matter what you did you couldn't come up for air.
The grip on your arm was ripped away, a figure quickly standing in front of you as security shoved the man back. An arm wrapped around you, pulling you into his side, shielding you from the onslaught of flashes. You couldn't see him or hear him, but you knew his touch.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The second Michael stepped out of the car without you immediately behind him he knew he made a mistake. He didn't even have time to get to your door before he saw two cameramen rip it open and shove their cameras into the car.
The smile on his face quickly turned into something more sinister as he ran around the back of the car, "Hey! Back up!" He shouted at the group that had quickly barricaded himself from you.
Everything had happened so fast that security had mistaken him as the one in need of help. They quickly flanked him, pushing him further from you. He tried shoving past them, growing angrier as more cameras flashed into the limo. "Get away from the car!" he shouted angrily before turning to the two security guards, "Get them to back up, my wife is in the car!"
They quickly scrambled to the side he had been trying to reach, pushing people away. He heard more shouts and looked over to see a man yanking your terrified form from the car.
Michael could've killed the guy. Two more security guards saw the look in his eye and grabbed his arms as he tried to get to you. They knew that if Michael got his hands on that guy things would be bad. Michael felt like he was going to go crazy if he didn't get to you. He could see the way your chest was constricting your airflow. The questions being shouted at you sent him over the edge. He yanked himself free from security's grip.
"Get your filthy hands off her." He growled at the man who was still holding onto you. His hands tore the man away, Bill quickly stepped in between him and the cameraman.
"Get her inside now." Bill nodded toward you.
It took every fiber of Michaels being not to jump the smug guy, but one glance down at you and he pulled you close. He wrapped an arm around you, hand shielding your face as he moved through the crowd easily. People quickly stepped out of his way, seeing what had gone down and seeing the murderous look on his face. He led you into the building. The security that had been hired at the venue quickly led the two of you to a green room backstage, seeing what had gone down.
Michael led you to the couch, carefully kneeling in front of you. Once the door shut he gently pried your hands away from your face.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Everything was quiet now. You didn't know where you were, but you knew it was quiet and it was with Michael. After a moment he took your hands away from your face. Your eyes were squeezed shut, mascara running down your cheeks.
Michael's smooth voice spoke barely above a whisper, "I'm here, baby. Look at me, please. Let me see those gorgeous eyes."
You slowly opened them, your vision slowly coming back into focus. Your eyes settled onto Michael's face, twisted in concern. Your breathing was shallow, your lungs burning for air.
Michael cupped your face, "Baby, breathe with me, okay? Breathe." He took in a long breath, and held it for a second before letting it out. You followed him, breathing in and out slowly until your heart rate had returned to normal. Your bottom lip quivered slightly as you tried not to cry anymore. Michael's heart twisted, "It's okay, doll. Let it out." He pulled you into his arms.
The second his arms wrapped around you, it was like your body let go of all the tension. You melted into his arms, slipping off the couch and into his lap, head against his chest as you cried quietly. It wasn't loud or violent, it was so painful that there was almost no sound at all. Michael held you against him, rubbing your back, and whispering sweet things into your ear.
After you had calmed down you slowly pulled back, sniffling, "How bad is my makeup?"
He took a good look at you. Despite the runny mascara, and the tear stains you looked like a heartbreaking dream. "You're still the most gorgeous creature in the universe."
You choked out a laugh and gently wiped your cheeks. Michael helped you get the mascara off your face, holding your face in his hands afterwards. "I'm so sorry, baby."
"It's not your fault, Michael." You fixed a wrinkle in his suit.
"No but that should not have happened. I am going to have some serious talks with my heads of security as well as the security at this venue. That was unacceptable, I've never in my entire career seen anything like that."
"Mike, it's okay. Really, I'm okay." You cupped his face.
He shook his head, "Like hell that was okay. I couldn't even get to you! Some dick grabbed you, I swear I'll send his ass to jail for touching you like that." His face became stern. It made you smile, seeing how protective he was over you.
"There's no need for that, Michael. I'm sure Michael Jackson screaming at him was punishment enough." You tried to bring him back to earth.
"Not if I have anything to say about it. He's lucky I didn't snatch that fucking camera out of his hands and smash it on the ground."
You grabbed his chin and kissed him, bringing his mind back to the present. "Michael, all that matters is that you got me out of there. I don't want to give them the power of ruining our night."
He nodded a bit, blood starting to cool down as he looked at you. He kissed the tip of your nose and then your forehead. "You're right. Now let's get out there so I can show off my beautiful wife." He stood up, guiding you up with his hand. He walked the two of you out of the room and into the banquet hall. His hand stayed at the small of your back. Before entering the awards room you leaned up and whispered in his ear.
"You're getting something extra special for being so sexy and heroic for me."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
baratheonpilled
discoholicmusic
prguitarman
andulkaphoto
areudirty
dededos
izzy806
