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@shakinghamster
(moon)walk with me here...... elphaba!reader and fiyero/scarecrow!mj
brb gonna go rewatch the wiz and wicked

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.
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listen to hiphop or else you will go to hell
NOW SOMEBODY WRITE A FANFIC BASED ON THIS LIKE OMG IMMA FLATTER!!!
putting this in my back pocket for laterrrrr
I like smut as much as the next person but yall aren't even trying to write anymore. All fanfic on here is just 300 words of sex and then just tagging any character you think fits.
No tropes
No storyline
No arcs
literally. what makes smut so addictive is the build up to it (or at least the plot being built into the smut), but i see so many blanket smut that could be for any character and any situation. dominant character and submissive reader im sickkkkk 😭😭
yall have so much potential in your writing, so use 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.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hi! Ok umm the cute fic I had in mind is thriller era michael x reader. The reader is friends with Michael, who is very affectionate towards her calling her baby, kisses etc. in his mind he believe they are dating since he treats her like his girl (had all they’re firsts together) but reader just thinks he’s an affectionate friend. She ends up going on a date and he finds out and gets angry and confesses they’re dating and she’s shocked and confused and he describes his feelings of why he believes they’re dating each other. Srry if it doesn’t make any sense.
clueless | michael jackson
- summary: thriller!michael has been your best friend for years. when he discovers you have a date with some random guy, he tells you he's actually been your boyfriend this whole time. go figure, huh?
word count: 8k
warning: reader is oblivious. like so freaking oblivious. jealous!mike, mildly like very mildly possessive undertones, first kiss flashbacks, im really bad at writing kissing scenes holy cow, pretty rushed and short, woman's failed attempt at writing angst!
* no usage of y/n, michael refers to reader as 'baby' practically every sentence
author's note: Oh my god first of all, to YOUU, REQUESTER, I'm so terribly sorry for taking so so long. It's been a whole week. I'm so, so sorry, I promise I never intended to take this long!!! It's just I've been working and then bam, writer's block! Again, I'm so sorry and if this doesn't go the way you wanted it to, I'M SO SORRY. I love you so much for requesting, I'm really honoured because I absolutely love your idea and this type of trope but I sincerely apologise if I don't do it justice.
Secondly, this is straight up word vomit, guys. Also, I've been writing some scenes when I was fighting sleep, so not really proofread! Thank you lovelies.
+++ ignore the plot holes please <3 michael is silly and so is the reader, let's focus on that instead of realism, okay?? <3
+++ english isn't my first language!! and I'm not a professional writer by any means!! I hope you enjoy regardless, thank you so much!
•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•
Nights at Michael’s are always different from the nights in your own home.
Everything is always calmer, more gentle. The warmth of his home hugs you more than yours ever do, strangely enough.
Letting out a heavy sigh, you sink further into the comfortable sheets of Michael's bed as the television plays a rerun of Roman Holiday. This is practically a nightly routine for you, almost every night of the week has you ending up in Michael's house, as per his wishes. You have an apartment of your own, but Michael deems it unnecessary as you spend most of your time out of work with him anyway. You're aware he's been close to going to the landlord on behalf of you to discuss moving out, twice, but you're also aware he's not stupid enough to actually do anything behind your back.
If you don’t know any better, you’d think it’s pretty odd to be so close to someone you met by pure coincidence. But the thing is you do know better. And it's that you’d never trade your friendship with Michael for anything else the world has to offer.
You and him have been friends for a good few years now, having met him just a little before his 'Off The Wall' album release. Accidentally bumping into the then-twenty year-old-star in a record store of all places, a few apologies were exchanged before your eyes noticed the Donna Summer album in his hands. That led to further conversations ranging from talking about how good Donna Summer's latest single is, to Michael showing you the Bee Gees album he's planning on purchasing, and somehow ends with you playing a record of Blondie's on the store turntable to make him listen to the B-sides.
It was a whole hour and a half before a burly looking gentleman kindly reminded Michael he had other affairs to tend to, and after eagerly sharing each other’s contact details, you got home urgently to listen to the newly bought records of Jackson Five.
From then on, you've been calling and exchanging letters with Michael non-stop. Postcards from the different states he’s touring in, long distance telephone calls when his shows end, and everything in between. He finds a way to contact you so often that when his mother knew of you, she asked you to come over for one of their family gatherings. That's likely when it's been established that you and Mike are pretty much best friends.
You were lucky enough to witness Michael at his most focused when he was working on final touches to Off The Wall, changing musical tunes during late nights in the studio. Memories of celebrating with him when said album won the Grammys, as well as the AMAs. There’d even been numerous times where you got to come to his shows during the Triumph Tour with his brothers. It’s been well over four years since you met, and at this point he’s the only person to truly know you inside and out.
A quick snap out of your thoughts when the bathroom lights turn off, and Michael steps out as he dries his curls with a towel. He’s been out the whole day doing… whatever it is pop stars do during their spare time, only reaching home about half an hour after you already made yourself a cup of tea to heal from a long day at the diner. You don’t even know how it got to the point where you can just waltz into Michael’s home without him even being there, but it’s better not to question much about it.
Michael walks around the bedroom, shifting things as he gets ready for bed. Glancing at you, his eyes soften. "Tired, baby?" He asks gently.
"Mhm," you hum in response, sinking further into the blankets. "Had the worst customers today. I don't even care about the no tipping, y’know? The thing that’s bugging me is why the hell were they drinking fifteen shots of espresso at 9.30PM? And God... One of them had a rat-tail, Mike. I sure hope it doesn't become a thing because it's just so unfortunate to witness."
A soft chuckle escapes him, warming your heart. You continue ranting, “Mike, that one mean woman who comes for coffee every lunchtime? She got to the diner late, and then proceeded to blame me for making her late because by the time her food arrived, her break was almost ending. Can you even believe that?”
Michael clicks his tongue, getting on the bed. Making himself comfortable, he pulls you in and wraps his arm around your back, your head laying atop his chest. "I told you to please just stop working there. I can take care of you, baby. You know that. We'd be just fine and you can do whatever it is you want."
Shaking your head vehemently, you nudge at his chest. "No way, Mike. I can handle myself. I'm a responsible adult. I'm a strong, independent woman, y'know?"
"I know you are, beautiful. I'm just tellin' you that I can help while you look for somethin' you'd actually enjoy. Not that horrible diner place. You deserve so much better," Michael says as he leaves soft kisses on your temple.
You melt at his touch and close your eyes. Murmuring, "Thank you, Mikey. It's just hard leaving Daisy all by herself. The others are so mean to that poor kid."
"Hell, I'll hire her for somethin' if it means you're out of that damn place," Michael grumbles as he shifts and pulls you closer.
Snickering quietly, you hush him before kissing his jaw, "That's enough out of you, hm?”
“I'm serious, sweetheart. That job is stretching you thin, and I'm not liking any second of it. I'm just worried about you,” Michael looks at you with furrowed brows, thumb stroking your cheek.
Michael has never not worried about you, you think. The man has protective tendencies towards everyone he cares for, but it's been noted by many that whenever you're in the picture, it's as if it gets dialed up to the maximum level. One of the most insane things he's done so far was that he had three extra secure locks installed at your front door when you first moved into your apartment, and despite it being against the rules, the landlord couldn't really argue with the Michael Jackson over his loved one's safety.
You respond quietly, “I know, Michael. Don't worry too much. I got everything handled, okay? I'm looking for job openings as we speak.”
“If you'd just consider the fact that I know many people in all kinds of businesses, baby–”
“No,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “Uh-uh, I'm not doing this again. Mikey, I don't want to take advantage of you for this. I'm doing this myself because that's the right thing to do.”
“It's not taking advantage, it's called networking,” Michael sighs.
Shaking your head again, you shift to make yourself more comfortable against his chest. “No helping, Michael. Not unless I'm absolutely desperate. Which I'm not… yet.”
He sighs again, silent for a moment before kissing your head. “Fine. But I'm tellin' you right now. The minute you want to quit, go on ahead and don't hesitate. You got me, you know that right?”
“Yes, I do.” A small smile forms on your face, eyes closing slowly. “Goodnight, Mike.”
"Goodnight, baby," he wishes, shifting down slightly as he gives a peck on your lips before burying his head into your neck. Murmuring softly, “Love you.”
“Love you,” you reply, already out of it. The room’s silence filled with only the sounds of you and him breathing in sync, and the TV playing the end credits of Roman Holiday.
Despite the quiet, your mind races.
Okay. You're aware of how it seems between the both of you. It’s been mentioned by a few who witness your dynamic and you’re aware of how weird and frankly, even disturbing for friends to be this close. Cuddling is one thing, but kissing on the lips and saying ‘I love you’s are on a totally different level. It doesn't really occur to you when that has evolved. As far as you're concerned, he just started calling you sweet names one day and became more physically needy than usual.
It happened around after he returned from his tour in Europe, so you figured they really weren't joking about how Europeans are more touchy. Well, that's what the travel magazines say anyway.
With that, you leave it be. In retrospect, you're never one to turn down any physical affection from Michael. And deep down you know it gives you butterflies, but you remind yourself daily to just ignore it.
So you do. Remind yourself, that is. Without fail.
It gets a lot more difficult each day, if you're being honest with yourself. On some days, it feels almost impossible. Especially when he gets so touchy and soft. Holding your waist as he talks to his brothers. Firmly holding your hand when he walks down the studio hallways. Even during the little days when he has free time and instead of doing something more worthwhile with someone more important, he'd persuade you to come stay at his house and play all kinds of board games.
You beat him at Connect Four every time, by the way.
Once having realized the risk of this becoming a huge problem if you don't handle the… pool of feelings swirling in your gut… and how it would lead to everything crumbling down, you knew you had to do something.
That's why, after much pressure from your boss, Janine, you're going on a blind date with her nephew.
“He'll be just the perfect man for you, doll,” she said to you so excitedly. In fact, so excitedly that you couldn't really turn her down. It's set for the day after tomorrow, and you still haven't told Michael.
Make it work first, see the guy first. See how things go before saying anything to Mike. That's your plan. It'd be a waste of time if the date didn't work out and you got Michael's hopes up regarding your love life for no reason at all.
How on Earth would you even start? Michael knows you're not exactly the type of person to go on just any blind date. He'd ask. And what could you answer? That you're falling in love with him more every single day that passes? That you're only doing this to get over it?
Absolutely not.
•
Mornings with Michael are always the epitome of domesticity at its finest. Both of you are hanging around the kitchen. Michael is sitting at the kitchen island, with only intentions of accompanying you, who's currently craving a bowl of freshly sliced fruit.
“Hey, baby? I'm gonna be home late again. Q called and said somethin’ about some adjustments the album needs. You got anything planned for today?” Michael asks, eyes focusing on his book of notes. Hand gripping on a pencil, eager to underline or scratch words about whatever it is he's working on. He writes down any important pieces from meetings, or anything that comes to mind about a lyric or a tune. You call it his ‘book of wonders’, and Michael laughs it off with a shy blush every time.
“What more adjustments does it need? I think the album is already perfect!” You scoff.
Michael laughs quietly and shrugs, “I think he's gonna cut another song from the final tracklist. Been drivin’ me crazy with that.”
Pointing at him briefly, you press your words firmly. “Don't let him cut Billie Jean, Mike. I swear to God.”
“I promise I won't. Not Billie Jean,” Michael snorts, “Anyway baby, your plans? For today?”
You hum absentmindedly, too distracted with cutting up some apple slices for your fruit bowl. “I’m going out later. Thinking about doing some shopping.” You're off work today and tomorrow, so there's plenty of time to get ready and make yourself beautiful for the stranger you're about to go on a date with.
God, everything is so silly.
“Ooh, somethin’ special going on? You never shop for yourself spontaneously. I always have to beg for you to do that,” Michael asks, getting up from his seat and walking up to you. Hands snaking around your waist, chin resting on top of your shoulder as he takes a gander on the bowl of fruit snacks you're making for yourself.
“Looks like heaven, doesn't it?” You ask with a teasing grin, gesturing towards the bowl.
“No, angel. You do,” he replies with a kiss on your temple. “You didn't answer my question.”
“Oh, that. Well…” You shrug, “Maybe, maybe not. We'll have to wait a bit and then you'll get your story, hm?”
“Hmm… Okay, I'll bite. I'll be waitin’ for some kind of update soon, okay?”
“I promise,” you say.
Michael nods with a smile, tilting down and softly presses his lips against yours. Your heart lurches as you hesitantly kiss him back. Not two seconds later though, he pulls away with a grin when a knock comes onto the door. “That's Bill. Hold on, baby.”
As he walks away, you take a minute to gather yourself. Breathing deeply, you groan at the delusional path your heart was heading down. What was that kiss? Jeez, Europe really did a number on him.
Turning back to the bowl of fruit, you rethink how good of an idea it is to actually go on this damn blind date.
•
“I’m telling you, Daisy, what if this is a bad idea?” You hiss in desperation into the telephone.
You’re back in your own apartment, surrounded by messy piles of clothing. It’s almost 10PM and the thing is, what you should be doing is some facial care before the date tomorrow, but instead you’re currently freaking out on Daisy. You were supposed to be back at Michael’s. But then. During your retail run, you belatedly realized it’s almost impossible to sleep at Michael’s the night before your blind date.
One, he would try to heckle his way into knowing what you’re going to be up to.
Two, you would immediately give in to him and tell him everything.
Three, after all of that, he’d question your sudden urge to date.
And finally, you’d have to tell him you’re doing it to get over your stupid feelings for him.
Ruining your friendship with Michael would have to be the worst thing that you could do to your life.
So that’s how you end up back in your own space, though the comfort you felt at Michael’s is sorely missed. Picking up a nearby sweater, you throw it across the room to the ‘No’ pile. “What if the date turns out really well but it’s just my subconscious self making it work to forget about Mike? That wouldn’t be fair to Janine’s nephew.”
“Okay, first of all, if your subconscious self is making it work, that’s a good thing. At least some part of you have an effort to try. Second, it’ll be exactly perfect if you got over Michael. I mean… c’mon, you’ve been friends for years. If he hasn’t made his move by now, then he never will.”
‘Well yeah, but if I told you he kisses me almost every day, you’d probably be saying something different,’ the thought runs through your head silently. Blinking away your delusions, you sigh, “What if Janine’s nephew thinks I’m too breezy?”
Daisy laughs, “Girl, you’re not as breezy as you think you are. And even so, breezy is in now. You’d be having him drooling all over ya’.”
A brief pause.
“You keep saying ‘Janine’s nephew’,” Daisy says, “Girl, do you even know what his name is?”
Shameful heat blushes your neck, grimacing silently, mind running to remember.
“Uhm… Kevin… what’s-his-name?”
Shrieking laughter from the other side of the telephone makes you flinch in shock. You’re telling her off, whining as Daisy repeats to herself the word Kevin. “It’s Calvin, girl,” she corrects you, chortling unabashedly. “Calvin Johnson, Janine’s sister’s son. Remember that before you embarrass yourself tomorrow night.”
“But Daisy! What if it’s a bad idea?”
“Listen to me. Calvin is also being set up, right? He’s probably just as nervous as you are. And he doesn’t know you yet. If you somehow don’t hit it off, which I seriously doubt because, well, don’t tell Janine this, but she’s a killer matchmaker, I mean, hello? Douglas from the kitchen and Jake from the laundromat across the street? Who the heck expects that? Anyway, if you somehow don’t hit it off, he won’t be hurtin’ and cryin’ in the ditch somewhere. He’s fine, and so are you. Just do this.”
You bite your lip, “Daisy…”
She immediately cuts you off. “The main reason why you’re still apprehensive is because you want to know what Michael thinks. And he probably would not give you the input you secretly want. I love you, really I do, but it’s time to acknowledge the fact that nothing seems to be blossoming there. You deserve the world, babe... You can go try and gettin’ it yourself instead of waitin’ around for someone to give it to you.”
Listening to her gentle voice, you fiddle with the string of pearls on your corner table. Sitting back on the couch, looking at the mess in front of you while the words she says slowly take root in your mind. Daisy is right. You’ve spent years trying to hollow out your feelings, ignoring whatever is growing inside the crevices of your heartstrings whenever you look at Michael, forgetting those sneaky thoughts of what it would be like to have him as your boyfriend, husband, the lover of your life. All of that, you’ve been pushing down so deep, and the fact that Michael is so openly and brazenly affectionate with you starts to feel a little insulting. Here you are, absolutely spiraling from every single touch shared, and yet, for him it’s just another friendly peck. Everything he does means the whole world to you, but why doesn’t it seem to mean much to him?
You’re aware you’re being unfair. Michael doesn’t owe you anything. All he asks from you is a loyal companionship, be it in a platonic way. He never expressed intentions of something more, at least not officially. It’s your own fault for developing feelings. You can’t be mad at him.
You can never be mad at Michael. Not when all he’s done for you is provide love and unconditional support.
After a few more minutes of slow conversation with Daisy, you tell your goodbyes after reassuring her you won’t back out on the blind date. Heaving a deep sigh, you get up from the couch and start cleaning up your mess. Already deciding on what to wear for tomorrow night, you’re determined to never have to look at a piece of stray clothing ever again because it will absolutely slay you if you did. You haven’t been this fashion anxious since forever ago. Having Michael as a friend has its perks, and one of them is receiving endless fashion tips; that actually works for you.
And obviously, Michael should be no such help for this particular instance.
The landline rings and you pick it up, half assuming it’s Daisy to convince you to not back out again. The girl has such little faith in you, you scoff.
“Daisy, I promise—”
“It’s Michael.”
Your eyes widen briefly before a soft laugh escapes you, “Oh, hey, Mike.”
“Where are you?” he asks, voice sounding a little stiff. Momentarily freezing, your head tilts in confusion over his tone.
“I’m at home, why?”
“No, you’re not. I know this because I’m calling from home. I thought you’re staying here tonight?” Michael asks.
“Oh, I thought you’re supposed to come home late tonight?” You ask him.
Michael replies with the same stiff tone, “I got out early, Q just wanted to get rid of Billie Jean and I chewed him off and got out of there before he could jump me. Baby, you’re not home. Why?”
“I meant I’m at my home, Mike. And because I figured I had to stay here at least for tonight, the space is literally about to gather dust.”
“That’s never stopped you before?” he argues.
Letting out a nervous laugh, you say, “Mike, maybe it’s because I don’t want you to get sick of me—”
“That’s a bunch of bull, sweetheart. C’mon, what’s happenin’? Please, baby, tell me,” Michael pleads, voice almost upset. “You’re supposed to be here with me. I want you here.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose, sensing the upcoming begging and persuading coming from him. Firmly reminding yourself that no matter what pretty words he says, you’re putting your foot down and not surrendering to him. Regardless how tempting it is.
How insanely tempting.
“I’m sorry, Mike. It’s just so late already, you know?” You try to deflect.
“Who said anything about you drivin’? I’ll get Bill to drive you, I’ll call him right now—”
“Wait, Mike, don't!" You exclaim. “Poor Bill needs his rest. And so do you. Mike, we can sleep apart for one night.”
“We can but I’d rather not, baby…” he replies, almost completely quiet. “Is something the matter? You usually tell me when you’re not coming over.”
Slapping your palm to your forehead, you let out a soft gasp. “Of course! Oh, Mike, I’m so sorry. It completely slipped my mind. I was too distracted from the– from today! I’m sorry, honey, I should have given you some kind of note.”
Michael hums, “That’s okay… Just… Don’t you want to come over?”
Hearing his desperate tone, you almost stood up to grab your keys right then and there. Fighting against the strong urge, you sigh out and try to ignore the heavy guilt inside, “Mike, I’d love to but it’s late. Please rest. I promise I’ll see you the day after tomorrow okay?”
“Woah, hang on, why not just tomorrow?”
A tugging of your bottom lip, you think of what to say. You genuinely can’t bring yourself to tell him the truth. You don’t want to risk it. Not if he’s going to interrogate you until you confess your undying love for him. Gosh, your head feels as if it’s about to explode.
“Because I’m gonna be doing something tomorrow. Remember the little update?”
“Why can’t you just tell me now? Or tomorrow night?” Michael almost pleads.
“Mike, please don’t make this harder for me,” you tell him, whining. “I promise, promise, promise I’ll tell you the day after tomorrow. Please?”
A beat of silence.
“I can’t…” he starts so timidly.
You hum in question, “You can’t what, Mike?”
A clearing of his throat before he replies, voice firmer, “Nothing. Okay, baby. I’ll wait until the day after tomorrow to see you, but I’m callin’ you tomorrow midnight. I need to hear your voice and I need to know you’re at home safe.”
“Okay, Michael. That’s very sweet of you.”
He only hums in response. Furrowing your brows, you ask him. “Mike, are you alright?”
“I just miss you so much, baby,” he replies after a short second. He says it so earnestly, your cheeks warm up.
“We just saw each other this morning,” you softly remind him with a laugh.
“I don’t care.”
You smile softly, finger coiling with the landline wire. “I miss you too, Mikey. I’ll see you, okay?”
“Don’t forget to call.”
“I won’t!”
“You better not… Go to sleep. Goodnight, baby. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mike. Goodnight.”
Hanging up, you let out the deepest sigh you could muster. Plopping your head on the back of the couch and staring off into space, you wonder why Michael is taking it so hard about you sleeping in your own apartment.
•
Taking a sip from your wine glass, you smile politely as Kev– Calvin tells his story. Sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant is honestly not what you expected, but when he stood in front of your doorstep dressed in a black suit and tie, that would have been your first hint. You’re immediately relieved about choosing the dark, sleek dress that was purchased spontaneously the day before.
“And then my boss just went off on him, I did nothin’ but walk away, it was so bad,” he laughs. Calvin Johnson has a really cute laugh. He was pretty, too, you think. His hazel eyes gleam brightly and he knows how to land a joke. He orders good food and good wine. His voice is pleasant and deep. He dresses nice.
But… nothing. You feel absolutely nothing.
Here you are, dinner with the perfect gentleman who knows to compliment, and you’re feeling absolutely nothing. Your mind is just filled with thoughts of what Michael would have done if he saw the waiter passing by with mismatched neon socks, or what Michael would have ordered if the menu only consisted of fourteen different types of spaghetti, if he would have vomited and just starved altogether, or what Michael would have said to you when you pointed out the painting of the restaurant’s owner at the entrance that resembled Gene Kelly. Michael, Michael, Michael. It’s like he’s taken over your life the more you try to forget about your feelings.
You’re immediately being consumed by guilt at the thought of hurting Janine and her nephew. They are both really nice and warm people, and you’re returning the favour by playing games. Michael would have been so disappointed. He probably would enjoy talking to Calvin. Maybe if it doesn’t work between you and Calvin, and you’re being real honest here, it definitely won’t, you could introduce him to Michael. They already have the musically talented section in common. Only Calvin was more towards classical instruments. Well, maybe they could read music sheets together.
Biting your lip, you realize you’re only thinking of things that include Michael to help you go through this date. And that only makes you feel worse. You’re a terrible person.
“ — Hey, are you okay?”
You slightly jump, wide eyes gazing back at Calvin’s concerned ones. “O-oh, yeah, yes! I am okay, I’m so sorry. I’m just so… full, I get a little breezy when I’m, uh, full.”
Just pulling shit straight out of your ass.
He nods in acknowledgement, giving a small smile before he continues his story about… kangaroos or underoos. Either one.
You couldn’t really focus on the rest of his story, not that you did in the first place, but this time the focus was actually elsewhere instead of inside your own head. Your eyes flicker to a few tables behind Calvin, and the familiar face catches you off guard. Slightly squinting, you try to make out who the person is, before pausing your breath. It’s one of Michael’s bodyguards, you think. He’s newly appointed, but he seems nice. He has ginger hair and a small tattoo behind his ear, that’s how you know it’s him. Tilting your head further to the side, you try to recognize the rest of the table he’s sitting at. Nerves racking, you hope with everything you have that Michael isn’t there with them. But after seeing the whole table only has burly men laughing aloud, you realize they’re just on their break. Michael gives them his card sometimes and tells them to get fancy dinners. This must be one of those nights where he wants to be completely and utterly alone. Your heart drops. Could something be bothering him? He was definitely off from the phone call last night.
Your eyes suddenly make contact with one of the guards, who looks just as dumbfounded as you are. It was the world’s worst staring eye contest before you clear your throat. Averting your gaze, you force a smile as Calvin cluelessly continues his story.
That redhead is so gonna rat you out.
•
Returning home couldn’t be any more relieving than it is now. You’re leaning against the front door after closing it, sighing heavily. Thinking of moments prior.
“Hey, listen… I had a wonderful time tonight. And I think you did, too. But just as friends, huh?” Calvin asks as he walks you to your doorstep. You only look at him with your mouth slightly agape, not knowing what to say.
He laughs, shrugging, “I only agreed because of Aunt Janine. And I’m assuming you did too. That woman doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, that’s for sure.”
“She sure doesn't,” you softly chuckle.
Calvin rubs his nape, looking at you with an almost sympathetic grin. “And uh… don't take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope you don't go on another date with a stranger.”
Trying to hide your offended face, you ask him. “Why do you say that?”
“Because this whole night, I was just talkin’ your ears off but your mind is in a completely different place. I mean, I was talking rubbish towards the end, with the kangaroos and all. Not even a peep from you, because you're busy thinking…” he trails off, displaying a pitying look as you nervously fiddle with your fingers, looking away.
“... Of someone else, hm?”
You don't respond, but you settle for a small smile. “You're too understanding.”
Calvin sighs deeply, “I know.” He says in a melancholic tone.
Laughing with him, you sigh and step closer to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Calvin. I'm so sorry this didn't work out. I'm sorry for not trying.”
“Eh, forget it,” he reassures you. “Honest. We wouldn't work anyway, I actually liked those risottos.”
“They were disgusting,” you tease back. Hugging Calvin a very short second, you let him off with a goodbye.
Which brings you to now, sighing like the world's biggest loser. You hated letting people down. It feels like you're hurting them on purpose, but it truly isn't your intention. You thought you'd get over your feelings for Michael at least a little.
Instead, the thing you want to do most right now is cuddle up against him.
You're thinking of the possible phrases on what your excuse could be if Michael asks what you've been up to today, not taking any chances that he wouldn't heckle. It's been a good two minutes since Calvin left your doorstep, and the date is being fast forgotten.
More so when a sudden knock comes down on your front door. You instantly know it's not Calvin. This one felt too comfortable, familiar…. Intimate.
You must be imagining things.
Walking back to the door, you take a look at the peephole. And lo and behold, Michael's standing right at your doorstep. His face unreadable.
As you open the door, you force a bright grin onto your face. “Michael, hey—”
“Who's he?” Michael asks sharply. Almost robotic. His body tense, jaw clenched ever so slightly.
“Hm?” You hum in response, tilting your head in confusion.
“The guy you were just with,” he quietly adds, walking into your apartment.
You realize what he's talking about and let out an ‘Oh’. “That's Janine's nephew,” you answer.
Michael just looks at you with a deep gaze. Murmuring hoarsely, he says to you, “C’mon, baby… don't play with me like this. Not right now.”
“Michael, I'm telling the truth, that is Janine's nephew. His name's Calvin.”
“Calvin…” he scoffs before turning around to pace back and forth in your living room. Meanwhile, you get more and more confused.
“What, you went on a date with him or somethin’?” Michael asks you shakily.
Well, the cat's definitely out of the bag, but Michael's reaction is not one you're expecting in any way, shape or form.
“Y-yes, I did… Come on Mikey, what's going on?”
He gives you the most incredulous look he's ever given anyone. “What's going on? Are you actually asking me that? What's… What's wrong with you?”
Hurt strikes through your chest at his words. Michael has never, ever been rude or said anything harsh like that towards anyone, least of all you.
Why is he talking like that to you? And why does it hurt so much with the way he's being so… different?
“What did I do, Mike?” You ask in a small voice, hugging yourself nervously.
“Oh no, no, no, you don't get to be upset, I'm upset,” he says with glassy eyes staring back at you. You almost gasp at the sight, his hurting can be seen as clear as day. Michael continues, “You were on a date with a rando? What, did you think I wasn't gonna find out? And you're so– so casual about it, do you even care at all?”
“Mike, what's… It's one date, Michael, what could be the issue? Please tell me why you're so bothered!”
“Why the hell do you think I'm bothered?”
“I don't know! It's just one date and you're not even my boyfriend, so tell me, Mikey, please.”
Michael throws his arms in the air, “Oh, sure! Just one would be fi– wh-what? I'm sorry?”
“What?”
“What did you say?”
“It's just one date!”
“No,” Michael whispers, shaking his head. “After that… what did you mean by that?”
Tilting your head, you furrow your brows. “Mike?”
He suddenly walks right up to you, hands slowly coming up to cradle your face. “I'm not… your boyfriend?”
“ … No?”
Michael's eyes flutter, pain being etched on every surface of his face. “Are you breakin’ up with me, baby?”
“What?” You ask with a soft voice, eyes widening. “When did we get together?”
“What?”
“What?” You repeat, starting to breathe really hard. Michael gives you an astounded look, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek. His lips part in surprise, and it appears as if his brain is taking an extremely long time to register your words.
“What do you mean when did we get together?”
Close to crying, you whine softly, “Michael, I don't follow!”
Michael clenches his jaw, eyes boring into yours as his brows furrow deeper. “Baby, this isn't funny.”
“I'm not trying to be funny!” You reply.
“Then what are you talking about? I am your boyfriend!”
“Since when?” You ask loudly, eyes getting wider by the second.
His jaw only drops further in response, head shaking repeatedly. “She's joking,” he murmurs softly to himself. You deny it again, strongly needing to know what the hell is actually going on.
“Well, baby,” Michael starts with a bewildered look on his face, “I happen to think we got together since I started callin’ you baby every day and how you're practically livin’ with me because I don't think I can actually sleep without you anymore, oh and I almost forgot, we're kissin’ damn near all the time!”
You stand there, yet another dumbfounded look on your face. “I just thought you took home some European customs,” is the only thing you could say in a small voice.
“What?” Michael asks again, another confused facial expression before he sighs and pulls you close. “Baby… you're telling me this whole time…?”
You shake your head, hand coming up to softly stroke his jaw. “I didn't know anything. God, I'm so sorry, Mikey. I mean, I mean what am I supposed to think? You never asked me about it– you didn't clarify anything, did you?”
“I thought in a way, you knew!”
You ask softly, “How could I have known?”
Michael looks away, arms still wrapped around you. “Okay… I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for yelling because now I’m just rethinking everything… I was a stupid twenty year old. Remember how we kissed for the first time?”
Heat rises to your cheeks at the memory. Yes, you certainly did.
By then, both of you have been friends for about a few months. It was late at night, and you were sleeping over at his family house. It was just you two in front of the television, everyone else having already gone to bed. The time was nearing 1.30AM when the movie finally ended.
“Mike, I told you we should have just rewatched Dog Day Afternoon.”
“How was I supposed to know it was gonna be that bad?” He snorts as he places the half eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.
Laughing, you lean back on the couch and make yourself comfortable. Turning to him, you ask. “We went straight for the movie earlier, I never got to ask you how your day was.”
Michael sighs and closes his eyes, making you frown in concern. Reaching out to softly grip his hand in between you two, you give a small smile.
“Wanna talk about it?”
He shrugs, looking elsewhere. “I don't know, it's just…”
“New album jitters?” You try, knowing how under the pressure he's been, with Off The Wall about to be released in a few days. If someone were to ask you how dedication was to be presented in real life, you'd point instantly to the man next to you. You've never seen someone so passionate about what they do as much as Michael is with his music.
“... No, it's not that,” he laughs softly. “I mean, I'm nervous about that too, but tonight is different. It's just my brothers. They wouldn't stop ragging on me earlier.”
Pulling your knees to your chest, you tilt your head. “Why? What's the matter?”
“I had them listen to the final picks for the album, and they—”
“If they didn't like it, that's their problem. The album is perfect!” You cut him off, already raging at the thought. You’ve always been his number one supporter and defender.
Michael laughs again, shaking his head. “No, no, they were real supportive about that… it's just the fact that I've uh, I've been singing about, y’know… romance and all.”
You nod, and raise your brow when he doesn't continue. “And?”
He sighs after what felt like forever, “Well it's silly... because I've never even had my first kiss yet, so.”
“Michael, that's okay. Me neither.”
Eyes widening, he sputters out, “You haven't?”
“No,” you laugh. “Is that so unbelievable for you?”
Yes, he happens to find it completely unbelievable because you're so gorgeous all the time. Boys were bound to try something on you. Now once he's realising nobody's ever come close, he feels a sense of happiness. Happy that nobody came close. That she rarely gives her time of day for anyone. And he happens to be one of the few exceptions.
He only shrugs in response to your question before shifting closer. “Does it bother you?”
Shaking your head, you smile at him. “Not really. I'm not dying to be kissed. I know it's gonna happen when it happens. There's no use dwelling on it. But then again, I don't have brothers, nor am I releasing songs about romance.”
“Yeah, they really did their thing when I Can't Help It played,” Michael grumbles.
Softly giggling, you grip onto his hand more firmly. “Don't let them get to you. You have so many girls that've been wanting to kiss you for years. Take your pick, Mike,” you tease.
He only smiles and brings your intertwined hands to his lap. “I know, oddly enough. And I'm flattered that a lot of pretty girls like me. But I don't know them. I can't… I'm not like my brothers.”
“I know you're not,” you whisper. “And that's okay. It's great, even.”
“Yeah?” He says softly in response.
“Yeah.”
Michael bites his lip, thoughts running in his head. He’s thinking of something stupid… Something reckless. Something that can’t be undone if he does it. The silent hum of the room becomes overbearing to him, gaze focused on your soft eyes, down the slope of your nose to your lips. He lingers there, thinking to himself how it would feel like. What it would taste like. Would he still taste the remnants of your flavoured lip balm? Would it be soft and light? Or something else he can’t even imagine?
“Michael?” comes your quiet voice.
“Hm?” He’s out of it, almost. Dazed with some type of need. He doesn’t want to call it lust. He doesn’t think you deserve that. He feels more. The need to be with you. Sit beside you. Hold your hand. Kiss you. Everything he imagines to do with a girlfriend, is what he’s imagining with you.
Good grief, since when did he start crushing on you?
“Michael, do you want to kiss me?”
His brain shuts down. His mouth, hands, and eyes don’t move. Mind blanking out.
After a few moments of silence, he manages to stutter out, “Wh- I’m sorry?”
Softly giggling, you shift your legs down and scoot closer to him. Hand still laced together with him, you look deep into his eyes. Gleaming with amusement, excitement and trepidation altogether. “Do you… Would you like to share our first kiss?”
He stares at you, jaw slack. “I thought it’ll… I thought it’ll happen for you when it happens.”
“Mhm,” you nod, “If you want to, it happens now. If you don’t want to, it will happen for me another time. I won’t be mad at you, Mike. I promise.”
You try to act cool, but the truth is your insides feel far from it. You don’t know what came over you, but from the way he was staring off into space, looking at your lips, the quiet surrounding you felt almost suffocating from the way you wanted him to lean in closer. To do something. Say something. So, you gathered your courage and took initiative. Even if there is no guarantee of him actually agreeing, you find yourself not regretting making your move. You wanted to know what a kiss feels like. And you wanted to know how it feels with Michael. You couldn't think of any better way to have your first kiss if not with him.
Michael is quiet for a few seconds, giving you some time to think of some lame segue out of this suddenly odd predicament you singlehandedly put you and him in. Before you could utter out an excuse, though, he cuts you off.
“I’d really like that.”
Your eyes widen, “Oh?”
“Yeah, I’d like that a lot, actually,” he whispers, leaning more towards you. “Are you sure you want this?”
You could only nod, breathing out a ‘yes’.
Michael’s eyes flicker down to your lips, before gazing back into yours. Shifting closer, his head slightly dips down, you moving with him. Lips a hair’s breadth away from each other, his fingers coming up to gently hold your chin, closing the distance.
When your lips meet his, it feels like a quiet magic blossoming from your lungs and into every crevice of your heart. Eyes closed, you press yourself further against him. Sighing out, Michael tilts his head to the side, parting your lips with his and kissing you deeper.
He does taste your flavored lip balm. And he thinks that’s the happiest discovery of his life.
A close second to knowing now how it feels to kiss you. At first, when you suggested to him to share his first kiss with you, he thought you were joking. But when you joke, he’d know right off the bat. And he knows your tone. You weren’t joking one bit. His mind was racing through what felt like numerous mountains of anxiety and anticipation. In that second, there was nothing he’d like more than to kiss you.
During the kiss, your hand comes up to stroke his cheek. A hum reverberates from him, sliding his tongue against yours, almost breathing into you. It’s a few more seconds of pure bliss before Michael slightly parts away, eyes still closed as he bites his lip. Closing the distance again, you leave some more pecks against the corner of his mouth, making him tilt his head and meet your lips with more passion and fervour. Smiling against the kiss, you melt into him as he holds you against him.
It feels like a long time before one of you takes the initiative to pull away, properly this time. The room is quiet save for the sounds of your heavy breathing. A soft smile is etched onto your face as you eye his gleaming face.
“Was that good?” You ask him, teasing.
“That was good, babe,” he laughs, “That was real good. I liked that a lot.”
Letting out a soft chuckle, you tell him, “I did too.”
“Can we do that more often?” he tries, leading to rounds of shy laughter to echo through the walls of the room.
Snapping out of your memories, you clear your throat. “Yes, what about it?”
Michael reaches and cradles your face, “Well, that was quite literally… one of the best things to ever happen to me. I loved that night. I loved kissin’ you. I loved it so damn much, and I assumed– I assumed you loved it too. I didn’t say anythin’ about you bein’ my girl because I thought it was gonna naturally happen. And the longer I left it alone, and the more we got closer, I just... I thought we'd been together for a while. Nothing too official, because… I didn’t know where you stand on that, but I figured we’d only feel like this towards each other.”
You lean into the palm of his hand, and he leans down and presses a kiss against your temple, continuing gently, “I didn’t think we needed any establishing. I thought you already knew I’d… I’m so in love with you, baby. I fall in love with you more and more each day. But it’s my fault for, well, for not telling you properly. For assuming. I’m really sorry, I should have said something sooner.” His voice is bordering on sounding pained now, but you hush him.
“Mikey, gosh, stop, you’re fine. You’re perfect, don’t be sorry,” you whisper as you leave kisses on his forehead, down his nose and to the apples of his cheeks. “We’re both really stupid.”
He laughs and pulls you closer, if it’s even possible. “Tell me about it. Baby, I really am sorry. Please forgive me?”
“Shh, I forgive you, and I hope you’ll forgive me too. I’m sorry,” you say.
“There’s nothin’ to forgive. You didn’t know. See how funny that sounds now? God, I could just hit myself,” he sighs heavily. “Sweetheart, are we together officially now? I want you to be my girl. Been wantin’ that for years, if you must know.”
You teasingly grin and shrug, “I don’t know… Quite presumptuous of you, already calling me your girl.”
“Baby, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Michael smirks smugly, “It’s not wholly my fault for thinkin’ we’re together when you gaze at me the way you do.”
“I don’t gaze at you,” you gasp.
His arms snake around your waist again, pulling you closer and nodding dramatically. “Yes, you do and I can’t blame you, baby. I’d want to be my girl, too.” Swatting at his chest, you could only laugh in response.
“I’m serious, y’know? I’d like for you to be my girl. And just mine. No foolin’ around with this amateur stuff,” he says in a quiet tone, “I want you. You’re my best friend and I’ve never loved or wanted anyone as much as I do you. I want to marry you one day, I want everything a man can have with the love of his life, and I want that with you. There had never been and never will be anybody else. I love you, so much. Can you be my girl for real now?”
A soft hum escapes you, “Michael, I love you too. God, I love you so much.”
He doesn’t reply. Michael only leans in and catches your lips so, so urgently, it almost brings you down to your knees. It almost feels like your first kiss again. Except, this time Michael wasn’t afraid. Or doubting. He knows you want him just as much as he wants you. Heat grows from the way he pulls you closer, every inch of you burning from his touch and passion. His lips brushing against yours, tongue slipping in between to glide against yours. Softly nudging you backwards until you’re leaning against the wall, he tugs your bottom lip with his teeth before continuing to kiss you fervently. Your fingers come up to run through his curls, and he tilts your head upwards into the kiss. And that drives you crazy.
Leaving small pecks against your lips before kissing down your neck, he murmurs against your skin, “I love you.”
You could only hum dazedly, weakening as he continues his ministrations on your skin. “I’m so glad you’ll have me, baby.” He continues to whisper.
A final kiss to your lips, he pulls away to softly grin at you. “Tell that Kevin schmuck to kindly get out of your life, please?”
“It’s Calvin, honey.”
“Whatever,” he laughs as he leans his forehead against yours.
i just love a good miscommunication trope 😩 it just hits different
patiently waiting for the 2026 world cup to revive football tumblr
i'm waiting to see when i can finally release all these oneshots just sitting in my google docs
thinking of you part two
ex!nettspend x fem!singer!reader
b.g.: y/n and gunner broke up eight months ago from a year and a half long relationship. the both of them have moved on and are dating other people, but y/n soon realizes that moving on and simply letting go are not the same thing.
← →
based on the song 'thinking of you' by katy perry!
my masterlist - my taglist
the city is eerily quiet at around one-thirty in the morning. most of the streets are empty as i speed my car down them.
the radio is softly playing in the background, but i barely hear it.
all i can think about are the lyrics sitting in my notes app.
'thinking of you'.
it almost makes me laugh, thinking about my current situation.
the title alone should probably be enough to make me turn the car around and go back home to my boyfriend.
instead, i drive even faster.
the studio building comes into view twenty minutes later.
the parking lot is almost completely empty, except for a few cars that belong to the producers and engineers who practically live here.
i step inside and for the first time all night, i don't feel bored. i suddenly feel awake.
"y/n?"
i glance up to find my producer staring at me from behind a desk. his eyebrows shoot up.
"it's almost two in the morning," he says, surprised to see me here.
i nod. "i know."
"why are you here?"
i clear my throat.
"i just have an idea. if i don't record it now i don't know when i will."
he nods, his eyebrows still slightly furrowed.
"okay, go ahead," my producer nods with confusion laced in his voice.
i head toward the booth before i can second guess my actions.
the lyrics are already written; and for once that's the easy part.
i pull out my phone and open the note, staring at the words that i've been too scared of to actually confront.
my producer follows me into the recording room.
"you got a melody?" he asks.
i shrug.
"kind of."
"kind of?" he repeats.
"i'll figure it out," i say dismissively.
he laughs.
"that's reassuring."
and normally i'd laugh back, but tonight i don't.
because for the first time in a while, a blossoming song is playing in my head. i just need to get it out.
i step up to the microphone and adjust the headphones over my ears.
i don't have any instrumentals nor a beat. so all i hear is silence.
my producer gives me a look through the glass.
"you want me to build something first?" he offers.
i shake my head.
"no."
he raises his eyebrow at that.
"you sure?" he clarifies.
"yeah," i tell him.
the room falls silent after that.
i don't even think i need the lyrics written out in front of me - they're practically engraved into my brain at this point - but i have the note open on my phone.
i then start singing.
when i fade out the last note, neither of us say anything.
my producer just stares at me through the glass. i can tell he is a bit confused and shocked at the lyrics i sang, but despite whatever concerns or questions he may have, he stays quiet. for now.
i stare back at him.
"well?" i ask.
he blinks a few times.
"where the hell has that been?"
i laugh nervously.
"hiding from me, apparently," i joke.
he shakes his head before turning toward the computer.
usually creating a song takes hours. sometimes days. sometimes weeks. but tonight, it feels effortless.
my producer builds around the vocal instead of the other way around.
he adds a soft piano first. then strings. then a drum pattern that's barely there.
and piece by piece, the song starts taking shape.
every sound feels like it's been waiting for the vocals instead of competing with them. nothing feels forced or rushed.
i'm finally not staring at a blank page hoping inspiration shows up. because it's already here.
we play back the song in pieces, making sure each snippet becomes better than the first version.
i redo some vocals and add on harmonies and adlibs and such.
and before i know it, it's almost four in the morning.
my producer's coffee that's sitting next to the mixing desk has gone cold. the city outside is still dark, and has gotten quieter, in fact. but somehow, despite spending months unable to finish a single cohesive thought for a song, i now have one sitting in front of me. finished.
my producer leans back in his chair.
"i think that's it."
i stare at the screen. at the title sitting in the corner.
'thinking of you'.
suddenly, the excitement i'd been running on starts to fade. now that the song is completely finished, i have to listen to the final playback.
the room is silent as my producer clicks 'play'.
the opening instruments fill the speakers. then my voice.
it's soft at first. then the lyrics start.
by the second verse, i can't even look at my producer anymore. because hearing the actual finished version out loud makes one thing painfully obvious: the song isn't subtle at all. every line practically screams his name.
well, not literally. but close enough.
when the song ends, i let out a breath i didn't realize i'd been holding in.
there's a silence that's almost awkward between us.
"so," my producer starts.
i already know what's coming.
"don't-"
"it's about gunner, right?" he interjects before i can even finish speaking.
i groan.
"seriously?" i ask, covering my face with my hands.
he gives me a look.
"y/n."
"it's not..." i trail off, my voice completely unconvincing.
i don't even believe it myself.
my producer laughs quietly.
"that's what i thought."
i rub a hand over my face.
"it's not like i released it," i try to plead my case.
"yet. you just spent two hours perfecting it," he points out.
"that doesn't mean anything," i dismiss.
he laughs a bit.
"but it means something."
i glance back toward the speakers. toward the title. toward the song that somehow managed to do what months of attempted studio sessions couldn't; make me feel something.
for a moment, neither of us say anything. the track continues sitting on the screen, waiting.
my producer studies me for a second.
"you're gonna release it, aren't you?" he questions, knowing me too well.
i let out a quiet laugh.
because the answer is obvious.
"eventually."
"even with jack?"
that question makes me pause.
not because i don't know the answer. but because i do.
my eyes drift back to the title.
'thinking of you'.
"i don't know," i admit.
and that's the truth.
i should probably feel worse than i do. actually, i should definitely feel worse than i do.
i have a boyfriend sleeping in my bed right now. a boyfriend who would absolutely hate this song if he heard it.
but at the same time, i didn't write it to hurt him; i wrote it because it's honest.
because it's the first thing i've cared enough about in a long time for me to stay up this late for.
because no matter how hard i try to ignore it, the feelings for him are there whether i write about them or not.
my producer sighs.
"that's gonna cause problems," he says, clearly thinking logically compared to my senseless thoughts.
i laugh.
"most good songs do."
he points toward me.
"see? that's the exact attitude that's gonna cause problems."
i breathe out through my mouth, still a stupid, foolish smile on my lips.
"probably."
but instead of feeling guilty, i mostly feel relieved for many things; that this song finally exists, that the thoughts that have been bouncing in my head have finally been expressed, that i actually have drive to make music again.
i stand up from my chair and grab my phone from the desk.
"send me the final version when it's exported," i tell him.
my producer raises an eyebrow.
"already leaving?" he asks.
"it's four in the morning," i say.
"fair."
i'm halfway to the door when he speaks again.
"you are gonna release it, aren't you?"
i stop.
for some reason, the question makes me glance back at the computer screen. at the title. at the audio waves stretching across the monitor.
"probably," i finally admit.
"eventually?" he asks, seemingly knowing the real answer.
i don't answer right away. instead, i pull out my phone. i open instagram. i open my music distributer app.
my producer's eyes narrow.
"y/n," he says, his tone warning.
i ignore him.
"y/n," he repeats.
"what?" i ask, my voice almost annoyed.
"don't do anything stupid."
i laugh. because i'm about to do something that's really stupid.
"did you send me the file?" i ask, disregarding his previous words.
he sighs, turning his attention to the computer for a brief moment.
"i can, y/n, but please don't do anything you'll regret," he tries to reason with me.
i nod.
the exported file lands in my inbox barely a few seconds later.
i open it.
then i open the app i use to publish songs.
my thumb hovers over the upload button.
it's 4:07 am. a random thursday.
no warning, no promotion, no countdown, no teasing lyrics. absolutely nothing.
which makes this all the more surprising.
but the more i stare at the screen, the more i like the idea.
music isn't supposed to sit in folders forever, right?
and this song definitely wasn't written to stay hidden. it was written because i couldn't keep it inside anymore.
so why wait?
i can tell my producer sensed my small hesitation turn into motivation after receiving the file via email.
"you're not serious right now, y/n," he says.
as he says this, i'm uploading the file onto the app i use to release my music.
"i'm completely serious," i respond, tapping away.
"your label is gonna kill you."
i laugh it off, scrolling through my camera roll for the cover art.
"they'll survive."
"your manager is definitely gonna kill you," he says.
i type in the title of the song.
"yeah, well she'll survive too."
then my finger hovers over the release button.
for half a second, doubt creeps in.
jack.
gunner.
mazzy.
the headlines and articles that'll inevitably come from this. the questions. the assumptions. the problems. i think about all of it.
and then i press release anyway.
yourusername
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yourusername thinking of you on all plats
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user GIRL IT IS 4 IN THE MORNING
user NEW MUSIC????
user who hurt her?? ⤷ user i don't think we were supposed to hear this ...
user y'all don't say gunner ⤷ user its him fs ⤷ user be serious rn who else would it be 😭 ⤷ user i wasn't gonna speculate but...
user somebody lock twitter before they start
user they broke up 8 months ago btw
user HOLD ONNN THE TIMING IS INSANE ⤷ user u people connect everything ⤷ user no bc why did she drop this TONIGHT
user y'all she literally has a boyfriend ⤷ user girl... this is NOT about jack 😭 ♡ liked by author
user mother has returned
user song of the year idc
user imagine being jack rn ⤷ user i just know he is sick to his stomach ⤷ user someone check on that man
user i don't care who it's about THIS SONG IS AMAZING
user i'm not saying she's wrong but i'd be devastatedddd
user it's been a long 8 months but it was worth the wait
a/n : messy ass .... she needs to chill ... but i can't blame her like highkey anything for nett 🤤 LMFAO anywayyyyy lmk what u guys think of this!!! feel free to send me comments, questions, suggestions, or anything thru my inbox!! my reqs are closed but i'll still take them for whenever i feel like working on anything new!!! likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated <22 love u guysssss
lmk if you want to be tagged in any future nettspend fics!
@leaawannabeastar @mariiaazz @radxdgal @evangelicgirll @k1ssmeimt0xic @bonnixxi @vanillasmoochs @thankyouforrain @fawnyboibeauty @sweet2sin @swagonometryfr @kingoveverything @missmodelsexx @lovemehardcoreangel @luvvconceal @2romllis @trynabespiffy @y-yasminn @ibelieveinfairyz @samisobased @rommvlas @222cellmate @333benadryl @forever2forgotten @gabisohot
young hearts, run free ⋆˙⟡♡
thriller era!michael jackson x guitarist!reader
synopsis: a couple of months ago, you landed the most lucrative gig you could've imagined: being the guitarist for michael jackson. without even knowing it, you were hand picked by michael himself to work on his new and upcoming album thriller. over the course of time you've worked for him, you and michael have established an incredible work relationship. on an artistic level, you understand him and the work he is trying to put out into the world. and your personal relationship with him? well that was also incredible—too incredible really, because now, your blooming relationship with michael was starting to disrupt your love life…and people are starting to notice.
content: fluff, workplace romance, no use of y/n, cheating (you and michael have lowkey been having an emotional affair), michael is mr. steal your girl, your boyfriend is lame, your boyfriend is a little misogynistic (in a 80s way), a little cursing, reader is a struggling artist, totally inaccurate description of what it means to be a professional guitar player but it's okay.
word count: 7k
a/n: not proof read and i wrote half of this on my way to and from track meets and the other half while gossiping with my friend, so it might be really bad. i hope yall enjoy and feedback is always welcomed, please and thank you!
divider credit: @uzmacchiato
westlakes recording studio, los angeles, california, 1982 .
the lights of the recording studio were dim. you were sitting on one of the many swivel chairs scattered across the studio, absentmindedly tuning the guitar that laid in your lap, completely untroubled by the world around you. just a couple of months ago, you could barely handle being in a room with so many important figures, let alone the michael jackson, whom you’ve been a fan of since he was a kid apart of the jackson 5, but now that you’ve gotten into the swing of things, you’re unfazed by it—no longer star struck.
you sat slouched in your seat, using your feet to turn yourself around in your chair just to make yourself dizzy. unconsciously, you started strumming your guitar—probably to one of the beats from the thriller album—and you just allowed yourself to sit in the moment, watching the lively room as if it was your personal entertainment. Producers, writers, musicians, all engaged in the process of creating this masterpiece.
“are we boring you or something?” michael suddenly appeared behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and leaning over so that he could whisper into your ear.
despite being a global superstar with a presence that could turn heads in seconds (which he had done countless times before), you had come to realize that when michael wanted to, he could move in absolute silence and easily sneak up on you.
“bored? no, i’m not bored. it's actually quite the opposite—i like all of this.” you confessed, turning your head to the side so that you could see his face fully.
michael, though his face was unreadable, you could tell he was thinking of what to say next. the two of you spoke in a hushed tone. why? neither of you could say, but both of you enjoyed the secrecy of it all. the fact that, even if it was just for a couple of seconds, just the two of you had shared something that nobody else was made aware of.
“you like this? what exactly do you mean by that?” michael’s eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion, but the tone of his question made it seem like he wasn't all that confused. instead, it seemed like he was anticipating a certain answer from you.
“well i’m a musician, i like seeing other musicians work, it's like watching dr. frankenstein create the monster from scratch. it's entertaining,” you clarified.
“oh, i see…” michael nodded thoughtfully, standing up straight, although he kept his hands firmly on your shoulders.
the physical contact didn't phase you at this point. michael had been very touchy with you ever since you were hired by him, and you took that as him being friendly because he really made the effort to get familiar with you over. but you did take a quick second to glance at his hand before looking forward again.
you thought for a second, grabbing one of his hands with yours and holding it for a second while you chose your next words, “that sounds like you're disappointed in my answer…” you paused, letting the silence linger before laughing and adding, “what did you think that was too corny or something?”
your laugh triggered michael’s own laughter before he shook his head, “no, no. i’m not judging you…it's just that i didn't think that was going to be your answer.”
“and what did you think i was going to say?”
“something else. obviously.”
his snarky response caused you to roll your eyes and teasingly shove his hands off your shoulders completely. despite your outward annoyance, you did wonder what he thought you'd say,but you would never voice that curiosity out loud. almost all the professional boundaries between you and michael had been stepped over and ignored, but you still felt that, as his employee, you still didn't have the right to try pressing him for answers like that.
“gosh your so irritating, michael," you scoffed right before you laughed again.
before michael could respond (probably with another snarky remark), the conversation the of you were having was interrupted by the sound of your name. both of your attentions were brought to quincy jones, who had been the one to call you. you raised an eyebrow at the producer, waiting for him to continue speaking. you sat up more in your seat and gripped onto your guitar tighter, as you regained a sense of professionalism now that you had eyes on you again.
“come over here,” quincy motioned for you to come closer with his fingers, “we want to change one of your parts in p.y.t.”
you gave michael a quick glance before standing up. you pondered how in the time you and michael had spoken, everyone else had made an executive decision about michael’s album without him, but you didn’t say anything outloud—obvisouly. instead, you just walked over to the quincy with your guitar in hand, leaving michael to stand alone.
“sorry mike, i have to pull your girlfriend away for a moment,” quincy added with a sly smirk.
your face burnt up quickly at the comment and you let out an embarrassed laugh, but you were somehow able to play it off, like the idea of you and michael actually dating didn’t have you fighting the butterflies in your stomach.
“how many times do i have to remind you that i’m already in a relationship?” you rolled your eyes, pretending to be annoyed.
“it’s not me you have to remind, it’s mike you need to be reminding,” quincy raised an eyebrow at you, causing you to laugh.
“shut up, q,” michael grumbled, but he barely attempted to hide the smirk on his face. instead, he chose to remove himself from the line of fire by talking to another producer.
now you were completely in work mode and you listened to quincy intently and nodded along as he gave you some revisions. it was interesting discussing the inner workings of somebody’s album without the present, but you didn’t want to focus on that too much. instead, you focused on flawlessly executing quincy’s instructions. your fingers glided across the guitar strings with a mastery that could only come with years of practice. after so many years, playing came easy to you, so it wasn’t surprising when you were able to get the exact sound quincy wanted just from his basic instructions alone.
“that’s the exact sound,” quincy applauded you before continuing, “now can you recreate that in the booth is the real question?"
“of course i can,” you replied, no hesitation.
quincy laughed at your unshakable confidence before picking up a scatter of papers. “well, first thing tomorrow, we’ll work on that revision,” he said before handing you some of those clustered papers, “and then these revisions as well, but it’ll be easy for you.”
your eye twitched slightly as you accepted the stack of papers with a semi-forced smile. quincy patted you on the shoulder, as if he was apologizing without saying it. your eyes dashed towards michael for a moment, pleading for some help, but when you looked at him, you could see he was already looking at you with a stern gaze, so you knew he was already lost in his own thoughts and wouldn’t be giving his input anytime soon.
“things are winding down for the day, so you can head out,” quincy added, gesturing towards the door.
“okay, thanks. but can i use the bathroom before i leave?” you asked, placing your guitar and the homework quincy had just given you down in a nearby chair.
“what am i your teacher?” quincy chuckled.
you laughed and shook your head no. then, you were off, heading out the studio so that you could find a bathroom. the journey actually took longer than you expected and you spent quite a bit of time in search for a bathroom, then even longer trying to find someone who could give you directions to the bathroom, but to no avail, the building was pretty much empty. you figured out pretty soon that the time you had spent in the studio was way longer than you expected, and most people would be at home at this hour.
after what felt like ages, you finally found a bathroom to use and your journey had come to an end. satisfied, you headed back to the studio in a rush. you wanted to get out of here as fast as possible because you already knew you’d be up all night trying to rework your parts to quincy’s satisfaction. he claimed it was just a “few revisions” but you knew better. neither him or michael were happy with the way this album was turning out and even though the album had technically been finished a while ago, the duo had been rewriting and fixing every single song on the track. not that you were complaining that much, you were getting paid all the same. but you also knew working with these perfectionists meant you’d be pulling all nighters, especially tonight.
you stretched your arms before stepping back into the studio. you were meant with absolutely nothing. in the time it had taken for you to use the bathroom, it seemed like everyone else had left for the night!
“how rude,” you muttered, making a b-line for your guitar so you could get out of here as well.
“what’s rude?” michael replied, suddenly standing behind you.
startled by the sudden sound of someone else’s voice, you yelped and jumped, causing michael to mimic your actions. he wasn’t expecting you to do that. you turned around to see michael standing in the doorway. for a second, you just stared at him, trying to recollect your soul that just left your body. when you finally did, you shoved him.
“what the hell? you scared me!”
“you scared me!” michael scoffed playfully, unaffected by your shoving as he stepped into the studio.
“what are you still doing here?” you asked once your heart started beating at a normal pace again.
“i’m working obviously. i should be asking you that question,” michael crossed his arms and smirked. he also made sure to lean down so that he could get in your face, “don’t tell me you’re just coming back from the bathroom…did you fall in the toilet?”
“no i did not fall in the toilet,” you rolled your eyes dramatically and stuck your tongue out at him.
if anyone walked in on the two of you, they wouldn’t think you guys were coworkers because you guys talked as if you were old friends. you looked him up and down before mocking his stance by crossing your arms over your chest and pretending to be annoyed with him. after a couple of seconds of having a sass off, you caved in, unfolding your arms as your curiosity beat your pride.
“i just lost looking for the bathroom. the only reason i came back is because i left my stuff here,” you finally confessed before gesturing towards him, “your turn.”
michael sighed, pinching his eyebrows together. even before he said anything, he had said a lot already.
“is it something you want to talk about?” you asked, giving him a reassuring pat on his shoulder.
for a second, michael momentarily forgot his issues. just feeling your hand on him calmed him down. it was no surprise to anyone that michael felt unusually close to you even though you hadn’t known each other that long. that’s why these days, he always finds himself subconsciously looking for you when he starts to feel overwhelmed by the stress of this album. just speaking to you was enough to silence his nerves for a bit. plus, it helped that he liked looking at your face as well.
you took michael’s silence as an answer, suddenly grabbing his hand to guide him to some seats. you sat in the swivel chair that was previously reserved for your guitar, patting the seat next to you for him to sit in.
“come on, lay it on me. i’ll be your shrink,” you offered, causing michael to laugh and sit down next to you. “but let’s make this quick, i already know my boyfriend’s annoyed i haven’t come home yet,” you quickly added.
michael was happy that you were so willing to help him out. even though you were technically working for him, you never made it seem like you were his friend out of obligation, which was a huge weight off his shoulders. in this industry, he was more often than not surrounded by ‘yes men’ and there were very few people left who would offer him pushback—one of those few people being you. that’s why he held your opinion in such high regard.
michael opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. he really did want to speak to you about this, but the sudden mention of your boyfriend made him pause and his eyes to furrow. you once again managed to momentarily distract him from his problems, but this time it wasn’t so nice.
“please?” you added, placing one of your hands on his thigh and squeezing.
michael’s eyes widened and he had to swallow a lump in his throat, but he forced himself not to focus or even look at your hand on his thigh. his eyebrows furrowed again, wondering if you were messing with him.
sometimes he believed you were flirting with him and feigning innocence just to drive him crazy, but other times he thought you were genuinely clueless. michael liked you—that much was obvious—and he had no problem with the fact you were already in a relationship of 7 years. he never had a problem going after a taken woman. he liked the challenge and simply viewed your boyfriend as a nuisance that would eventually go away. the only problem he had was the fact you still seemed interested in said boyfriend at times.
“it’s nothing serious, but…” he started off, burying his thoughts into the back of his mind, “i just feel like this just isn’t going the way i wanted it to go.”
“meaning?” you asked, urging him to continue.
“meaning…” michael paused again, having to decide rather quickly what he was actually talking about, “ i expected so much more from this album. off the wall was a success, sure, but this one was supposed to so much more.”
“but it is already so great, michael. i think you’re too hypercritical of yourself,” you tried to reassure him.
“but it’s not,” he insisted, causing you to shut up and just let him vent, “it’s not entirely me. too many people keep giving their input, stepping over my vision of what i want this album to be.”
you eyes slowly fall onto the revisions quincy gave you earlier and the gears start turning in your head. the constant revisions made by the two men started to make a lot more sense now.
“it’s funny how you claim you hate how everyone around you is being suck-ups, but the moment someone comes at you with a different vision, you freak out,” you chuckled, teasing him for his hypocrisy.
“that’s not the same thing,” he insisted once again, dragging a hand across his face, “i respect quincy, there’s no doubt about that, but this is my album—my vision and he keeps trying to change it. all for the sake of being more marketable, but i know what i want is the best choice.”
you could tell this was stressing michael out a lot more than he was letting on right now. you tilted your head, trying to come up with the right words to say. you used your feet to roll his chair closer to yours and finally spoke, “well, you should always fight for what you want. if you genuinely feel like you’re right, then you shouldn’t let anyone stand in the way of what you want.”
michael squinted his eyes at you and just stared. your words were definitely encouraging him…in more ways than one. after staring at you for what felt like forever, memorizing your every feature and making sure to etch them into his mind forever, michael decided to take your advice. without warning, he closed his eyes and leaned forward, tilting his head so that he could kiss you like he had wanted to for months. unfortunately for him, as he was leaning forward to kiss you, you were turning in your chair away from him, to grab something nearby, causing you to completely miss his romantic gesture.
realizing the thing he was kissing was air, michael opened his eyes in panic and froze. even more unfortunate for him, this was the exact same time you decided to turn back around. the sight you were met with was confusing to say the least and you could only offer his panicked face a confused smile in return, questioning how he got so close to you in the span of three seconds. in your hand were the revisions given to you earlier. you slapped the sheets into michael’s lap, causing him to slowly forget his embarrassment so that he could look at the sheets.
“artisit to artist,” you pointed in between you two, “this is actually some really good stuff and you should just write it off because you didn’t think of it first.”
michael rolled his eyes slightly, staring at the papers. he was about to open his mouth to rebut your statement, but you, knowing him too well, cut him off.
“but, at the end of the day, this is a michael jackson album—not a quincy jones album—and if you don’t like it, i won’t play it,” you shrugged, getting up from your seat with your guitar in hand.
you gave michael, whose gaze was still firmly on the papers, one last pat on the shoulder, and with that, you made your exit, heading home for the night.
with the load of having to bring work home gone, you were actually excited to go back home. your apartment had turned into a mini recording studio these past few months and you were glad that wouldn’t be the case tonight. on the ride home, all you could think about is going home and relaxing. you assumed your boyfriend would be asleep by this time (it was practically midnight already), so when you got home, you would make time for yourself, probably watching a movie or finishing that book you swore you’d get to one day, or even better: getting a good amount of sleep for once.
eventually, you made it to your apartment complex and silently cheered at the fact. your apartment seemed empty, with your living and kitchen being dark, with the only source of light coming from the television playing an action movie, which you assumed was turned on by your boyfriend. you yawned, letting your eyes drift towards the couch, finding your boyfriend, wayne, sleeping peacefully.
your eyes softened. he must’ve been waiting up for you and fell asleep. your heart swelled out of adoration and a little guilt, which you didn’t understand why. you shook those intrusive thoughts away, grabbing a blanket that was hanging off the edge of the couch and draping it over wayne. then, you grabbed the remote to turn the television off.
“what the—? i was watching that!” your boyfriend shook awake suddenly and sat up on the couch a little, barely even aware of anything, despite the fact he was complaining.
you playfully shook your head, ignoring his semi-conscious outburst. “awww, did you wait up for me? i’m sorry i’m so late, i lost track of time,” you smiled, looking down at him.
“yeah, you’re real fucking sorry,” wayne scoffed, suddenly very awake. “do you know how long i waited for you to come home?”
your eyes furrowed, startled by his unnecessary attitude. “i said i was sorry, no reason to curse at me. it wasn’t like i was just out partying. i was working.”
“so? you’ve been working late all week,” he rolled his eyes, sitting up fully on the couch before continuing, “the apartment is a mess and i haven’t had a home cooked dinner in days!”
you blinked rapidly, completely taken aback by the reasoning behind his outburst. you scoffed, crossing your arms over his chest, staring daggers down at him. you were starting to get annoyed because of his audacity and the fact he was ruining your relaxing night. in a couple of hours, you’d have to get up and go to work again and while you did love music, you also loved being able to do nothing sometimes, and your boyfriend was ruining that for you!
“you can’t be serious, wayne," you groaned, letting your hand fall down your face before continuing, “i haven’t had a gig this good in years! and you’re mad i’m not home to cook and clean for you? do you hear yourself right now?—you’re insane!”
“i’m not!” he insisted while raising his voice, “this ‘job’ you're so worried about is getting in the way of you doing your job as my girlfriend!”
“my job as your girlfriend? my job isn’t to be your maid, cooking and cleaning for you!”
“taking care of me doesn’t make you a maid, it makes you a decent woman, but you can’t even do that right anymore.”
“what else am i supposed to do, wayne?” you asked, matching his shouting, “one of us needs to be making money, and you haven’t gotten a gig in years! maybe it’s time to get a real fucking job, singing clearly isn’t your thing!”
as soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. you knew you hit below the belt with that one. just like everyone else in los angeles, wayne an aspiring singer that had been struggling to start up his career. he had written almost every producer in the state and yet nothing came from it. the two of you were highschool sweethearts, so you had spent your entire adulthood comforting him and reassuring him. you were angry at his words, but you didn’t want to hurt him like that
“you need to check that bitchy ego of yours. you think you’re hot shit because you’re working for michael jackson now?” he asked, laughing cruelly, “enjoy it while you can because in a couple of months, this thriller shit will be over with, you’ll be kicked to the curb, and you’ll be back to being just another nobody.” he made sure to say that last line with extra disgust.
your eyes and mouth widen in surprise before you let out a noise of shock. you stammered trying to find what to say next. maybe an apology or maybe a mean comment back, either way, nothing came out because before you could get your brain to start working properly again, wayne got up and stomped past you, already to your shared bedroom, slamming the door behind him and you assumed he locked it as well.
you were still standing there stupidly, like a fish out of water trying to breathe. after what felt like forever, your brain finally caught up to the scene that unfolded just moments ago, and you allowed yourself to process things, so you could cry.
and you cried a lot.
you surprised yourself with how much you were crying and you couldn’t stop yourself no matter how many times you tried whipping your tears. your throat felt like it was on fire as you struggled to breathe through the gallons of tears that fell from your face. this was humiliating. you really did feel bad for what you said to him, which is why you couldn’t even fault him for his response. you felt it was fair game. he was just trying to hurt you after you hurt him back.
but damn, he was just so cruel. you felt like you were having a heart attack with the way your heart began to turn in your chest. you hated fighting with wayne, which is why you always took steps to avoid arguments. you wished you did the same thing tonight. just shut up and be a good girlfriend—it always worked before.
your crying became silent and you dropped to the floor, but the tears were far from over. you were hurt and the only thing you could think about was that feeling, over and over again.
was he right? probably. you never expected to become a world famous guitarist off of one job, but he was going way too far calling you a nobody.
wasn’t he?
you didn’t know anymore. you definitely didn’t feel like a somebody, crying on your living room floor because your boyfriend yelled at you. gosh, you felt so stupid. to think, just an hour ago you were happy to see his face. you fell backwards so that you could lay down on the floor. you finally stopped crying, but with the sound of your crying gone, the silence was replaced with the thoughts in your head, which was objectively worse.
the next morning, you woke up, limbs sprawled out on your living room floor. your eyes felt puffy and you didn’t need to look in the mirror to know that they were red as well. you let out a sigh, rolling over so that you could get up. the sun shined through the curtains of your apartment, which let you know it was time to go to work again.
fantastic.
you dragged your feet through your apartment to head towards your bathroom to start getting ready. you brushed your teeth in your kitchen just so you didn’t need to torture yourself by having to look at your dreadful face in the bathroom mirror. your hair was a mess, you only got one good hour of sleep (which wasn’t surprising, you slept on the floor), and you didn’t feel any better about the argument.
you tried tidying up your hair a bit before heading to your bedroom to find something to change into, only to be met with a face full of door.
“wayne!” you screamed, banging on the door repeatedly. “wake up! i have to go to work today, come on!”
you kept slamming your fist on the door. you were pretty sure you had woken up every single one of your neighbors with your banging, so you were flabbergasted that he could sleep through it. with one last bang of desperation, you groaned and turned away from the door.
you looked down at the outfit you were wearing. black pants and a black shirt. it was such a simple and unassuming outfit that if it really came down to it, nobody would be able to clock you repeating your outfit two days in a row. they would probably just think black is your favorite color…you let out a final defeated whine before heading downstairs and exiting your apartment complex.
the entire drive back to the recording studio, you had to keep telling yourself nobody would notice the fact you were wearing the same thing from yesterday.
nobody is looking that hard, nobody is looking that hard, nobody is looking that hard.
walking into westlakes studio today didn’t have the same effect it usually had on you. normally, you were excited to work doing what you love while working for one of your favorite singers in the world. today, however, you were anxious, sad, and most importantly, you felt guilty. the fact that you got to do what you love and make money off it, while your boyfriend couldn’t even get people on the sidewalk to stop to listen to his music, made you feel even worse about yourself.
you shuffled into the recording studio quietly, hoping to not draw any attention to yourself as you found an available chair to sit in. you were too caught up in your thoughts to focus on your surroundings like you usually enjoyed doing, and hoped to not draw any attention to yourself.
your wishes went ignored because not even five minutes after the thought crossed your mind, michael came through the door and with him came the attention of everyone in the studio, though his attention was focused on you. michael made his way over to you with the same easy confidence that he always seemed to have.
when he reached you, he sat down in a nearby chair, opening his mouth to say something, but it seemed like something caught his attention and his face scrunched up, before he changed what he wanted to say, “didn’t you wear that yesterday?”
you wanted to bang your head against the floor.
“it’s a black outfit! there’s no reason you should’ve been able to tell.” you replied, slightly annoyed.
michael chuckled, proud of his observational skills. he took a second to scan over your face, something he found himself doing a lot when talking to you, and he noticed the redness in your eyes, causing his smile to turn into a look of concern.
“are you okay?” he asked, careful not to overstep. he didn’t act like it, but he was well aware of all the stares the two of you were getting and the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass you.
you froze for a second before nodding quietly and reassuring him you were fine. you hadn’t expected him to ask you that. in less than five seconds, he was able to tell you were upset, and that was scary to you. you never had someone be able to read you so well and even worse, he genuinely sounded concerned for you. even wayne wasn’t this perceptive when it came to you and you had been with him since you were 16!
michael accepted your answer, not finding any reason to press you about it right now. it made no sense for him to try to get you to speak to him with everyone here. instead, michael decided that he would just focus on working today, planning to speak to you later when he could get you in private.
you followed in his lead, trying to distract yourself from your relationship issues with your work. you fell completely into your playing, forcing yourself to focus on the feeling of your fingers against the guitar strings, instead of the feeling of your heart tugging. you were overdoing it at this point, making sure to play every note with robotic perfection to make yourself feel better. by the end of the day, you had actually managed to cheer yourself up but it was short-lived because as you were putting your guitar back into its case, you remembered you’d have to go back home to your boyfriend, which made you sad all over again.
the only thing that could pull you out of your pity party was the feeling of a hand on your shoulder. you turned around to see michael looking back at you. he didn't give you his normal, easy going smile and he didn't crack a joke. instead, he eyes couldn't focus on meeting your own and he kept turning his head to watch as other people left the studio for the day.
“michael?” you broke the silence, tilting your head in confusion.
“sorry,” he apologized, snapping out of whatever trance he was in and letting go of your shoulder, “stay here with me tonight.”
“was that a question or an order?”
michael paused for a second, “a question.”
you nodded quickly. you had no idea where this was headed, but you did know that michael was unintentionally giving you a way to avoid going home, which you really needed. plus, you appreciated the privacy the studio offered now that everyone had filed out.
“i hope this isn’t your way of firing me…” you joked, giving him a suspecting look.
“what? of course not.” he genuinely sounded taken aback by your comment, as if the idea disturbed his soul. “i wouldn’t have been able to make this album without you and anyways, you’re my friend, why would i fire you?”
“am i actually your friend? really?” you asked, basically ignoring everything else he said.
“well…” michael trailed off, trying to find a way to correct himself with coming off as rude.
sure, he would label the two of you as friends, but he didn’t want to call you that. he’d rather be more than friends and he didn’t need you labeling him as “just a friend” before he could properly make a move on you. speaking of which…
“is there a problem with that?” he asked, answering your question with his own question.
“well no—”
“don’t you want to be my friend?” michael teased, bending over a little to get closer to you and quickly adding, “does your boyfriend not want you to be my friend?”
at the mention of your boyfriend, you froze up despite your best attempt at staying neutral and your eye twitched slightly before shaking your head a little too quickly. michael let out a genuine laugh, standing up straight again. as a veteran homewrecker, he knew the exact signs of a woman wanting to get out of a relationship and you were showing all the signs. wanting to stay at work late, leaving home upset, and the immediate annoyance at the mention of your boyfriend, not to mention the fact you never once stopped him from hugging or touching you. you could say one thing, but your actions definitely showed another. you were clearly itching to get out of your relationship and he was more than willing to help you out.
“we can be friends,” you tried to come off as indifferent, but you could barely meet his gaze.
michael laughed even louder before he raised an eyebrow. “you okay? i know you came in today a little upset…”
michael was genuinely concerned about your happiness. but he also knew your boyfriend was the one the upset you, even without you telling him, so he didn’t bad trying to use the opportunity to get you to break up with you boyfriend.
you bit your lip, weighing your choices. on one hand, michael was still your boss, and you didn’t want to overshare with him, but he did just say he considered you a friend, so you felt you would be within your right to vent to him a little bit. you only took another second before plopping yourself down on the couch that rested against one of the studio walls. michael followed your action, sitting down next to you, while making sure to only leave a couple of inches of space between you two.
“i think…” you sucked in a breath and rubbed your hands up and down your thighs to shake off your jitters. you could only whisper, as you continued, “...my boyfriend is jealous of me.”
michael was dumbfounded. he knew your boyfriend was a loser but he didn’t think he was that big of a loser. michael’s face twisted into one of disgust, which caused you the laugh. at least he made you feel valid in your feelings.
“last night, we got into a fight. i don't even know how. maybe it’s because i’m always here or working while i’m home, but i thought we were perfectly fine!” you spoke in an animated way, throwing your hands up in the air.
“what happened then?” michael egged you on.
“i don’t know! i don’t know! i come home and suddenly he’s yelling about my job!” you were speaking faster than you could filter your words. the more you spoke, the easier it was to rile yourself up.
“you know he was mad i can’t come home and cook his dinners anymore? i’ve cooked for that man since i was 16, but a couple months of having to be a grown man, and all of a sudden i’m the worst girlfriend ever. he doesn’t even work! i’m the only one paying bills. all he does is send his records to different record labels…”
“just leave him.” michael blurted out, stopping you from venting further.
you literally short circuited. you just wanted to complain for an hour or three, not break up with your boyfriend! michael’s response was way too real for you and you struggled to form a sentence after he said that. you just wanted him to validate your feelings, jesus christ!
“it’s easier said than done, michael. i can’t just leave him—”
“why not?” he immediately cut you off, not even giving you the chance to come up with a flimsy excuse.
“because he’s my boyfriend!” you scoffed, throwing your hands up in the air as if it was the most obvious thing ever.
“don’t be a fool. whatever the two of you have isn’t love. maybe when you were kids, but now? it doesn’t even seem like you can tolerate him anymore” michael shifted closer, using the heat of your conversation to touch his thigh against yours.
“please, i love my man!” you shot back, suddenly feeling defensive of your shitty boyfriend.
“then why are you here with me when you could’ve been at home with him, working on your relationship?” michael smiled like an asshole, already aware that you didn’t have a response.
and you didn’t. you should’ve been at home with wayne trying to communicate with him and work through the argument the two of you had last night, but you didn’t want to do that because wayne was just so…and michael was so much better to talk to, but you knew you couldn’t say that outloud, so you just stayed silent.
you became aware of how close michael was to you with your thighs touching. was he always sitting this close? your heartbeat was slowly picking up. the defensiveness you had for your relationship filtered out pretty quickly and was instead replaced with that other feeling you never wanted to think about.
michael noticed the mood shift, but he didn’t care because right now he was on a roll.“in fact, i don’t even think your boyfriend loves you. he treats you like shit. no half decent boyfriend—no, no half decent person makes someone pay their rent and cook their meals too.”
you looked down in your lap. he was right, that much was obvious. your boyfriend was pretty much a bum, but still…it wasn’t as easy as michael made it out to be. it was complicated. it was so complicated, you struggled to articulate your point into words.
“you know you deserve better. if stay with this guy, you’ll only be miserable. you deserve to be with someone who you actually enjoy being around,” michael finished, speaking so definitively.
michael decided to take a page from your book, placing a hand on a thigh, causing your gaze to be stuck on his hand and how it felt warm against your leg. the feeling felt, so familiar and you could get used to it.
you forced your eyes back onto his own before whispering, “maybe…but you can’t be so sure. maybe wayne really is the love of my life and i just have to try a little harder…” you tried to be positive though you did little to actually convince yourself of what you were saying, “or maybe the love of my life is out there somewhere, but it's not like they’ve made themself known.”
michael took this as his sign. he didn’t hesitate, leaning forward so that he could finally kiss you. but fate still didn’t seem to be on his side because at that exact moment you turned away from him, completely missing his gesture. michael wanted to freak out, but knew he needed to stay silent. what are the odds the same thing happened twice? he hoped you were just messing with him, but when you turned back around, meeting his brown eyes with your own, he realized you weren’t messing with him.
“i think i have to go…” you sighed, standing up.
you didn’t really want to leave, but there wasn’t anything holding you here. you turned towards the door and michael knew he had to make a split second decision, so he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from walking away. you turned around surprised. your eyes trailed down to his hand, now holding your wrist in an iron grip before they went back to his face. he wasn’t even looking at you, instead he was looking off to the side with furrowed eyebrows, obviously lost in thought.
but you didn’t need him to speak, his face said everything he wouldn’t say out loud. he was trying to tell you something and you were finally ready to listen. michael turned back to face you, but it was too late, because you were already softly grabbing your chin and pulling him closer so that you could meet your lips with his. for a second, you panicked, because he wasn’t kissing you back. you were seeing your career flash before your eyes. it was over and he was going to fire you for misconduct, but then another second passed and michael was moving his hand from your wrist to around your waist, pulling you into his lap and tilting his head in order to deepen the kiss.
you felt him smile into the kiss as you allowed yourself to be pulled into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. goosebumps graced your skin, yet you still felt hot all over. you were sitting in his lap and straddling him, but the two of you were kissing like you weren’t close enough. butterflies were fluttering in your stomach and this time, you didn’t try to pretend like they weren’t there. the kiss felt like fireworks and even after the both of you pulled away to catch your breath, the sparks were still there. you placed your forehead against his.
“i’m glad you actually listened to what i said,” michael joked, licking your lip gloss off his lips.
you buried your face into the crook of his neck before mumbling, “yeah, i realized you were right. i’d much rather spend time here with you.”
©shakinghamster 2026
﹕ (✿˘͈ᵕ˘͈) ┈ mr. steal your bitch.
┊ ♡ ﹒ otw michael! 𖹭
┊ ♡ ﹒ summary : after a fight with her commitment-phobic situationship at a pool party, (name) hides in a laundry room to contemplate her life choices. unfortunately for her, michael has been looking for her like a lost puppy for the better part of twenty minutes and accidentally confesses he’s memorized her entire personality. things escalate from there.
┊ ♡ ﹒ byi : love triangle, sibling rivalry emotional infidelity / cheating themes, arguments and relationship conflict, age gap (reader is four years older than michael), complicated relationship dynamics, emotionally messy people making messy ass decisions, slight smut, reader uses michael’s hand, shy / submissive michael, lowkey pussy drunk off kissing alone.
(Name) and Jackie exist in a relationship that’s somehow both serious and.. not serious at the same time. It’s ridiculous, yeah. To everyone around them, they’re practically together. They arrive places together, leave parties together and know each other with a level of emotional and physical intimacy that usually only belongs to committed couples. Jackie calls her when he’s lonely, when he’s bored, when something exciting happens and she’s the first person he wants to tell. He knows how she takes her coffee, which songs and movies make her cry, and exactly what expression means she’s seconds away from telling him to get out of her face because she’s annoyed with him and overstimulated. Their lives have become intertwined in a hundred ways, making it very difficult to explain why they aren’t.. officially anything at all.
The problem isn’t that Jackie doesn’t love her. No. In fact, that’s what makes the situation so fucked up. Let’s keep it a buck, Jackie is a dog. But if someone asked him whether he loved (Name), the answer would come without hesitation: yes. The issue is that love and commitment have never felt like the same thing to him. Jackie has spent most of his adult life moving freely through the world, unburdened by permanence. Women come and go, opportunities come and go, cities come and go. And somewhere along the way, freedom stopped feeling like a luxury and started feeling like a necessity. Marriage doesn’t scare him because he doubts her or anything like that. It scares him because it feels so final, like a door closing on every other possibility and a version of himself disappearing forever.
And what makes Jackie selfish is that he already knows exactly what he has. He knows (Name) isn’t temporary. He knows she’s the kind of woman a man marries once and spends the rest of his life trying not to lose. He can picture a future with her effortlessly: a home, a family, growing old together. Those visions sound like heaven on Earth, but that’s on hold for right now. So instead, he keeps one foot in the future and one foot out the door. He continues seeing other women, fucking these women because giving them up would mean admitting his life has already made its choice. He wants the comfort of knowing she’ll be there when he’s finally ready, while refusing to offer the security that would justify her waiting.
And because (Name) loves him, she stays longer than she should. She keeps giving him chances he hasn’t earned because she sees the man he could be and mistakes that potential for a promise. That’s the mess at the center of their relationship—the “I can fix him” mentality of a woman who deserves better and the “I want options” guy who thinks the best option is going to wait forever. The gag is neither of them are confused about how they feel about each other, the feelings are actually the easiest part. Jackie already knows he wants to marry (Name) someday. The problem is that someday keeps moving further away. Every time he asks for more time, he assumes she’ll still be standing exactly where he left her. Deep down though, he knows there’s a very real possibility that one day she’ll wake up, realize she’s spent years waiting for a man who already knows she’s the one, chooses to not choose her still, and decide she’s tired of waiting for him to catch up. And he’ll be damned if he lets another man take you away from him.
What makes Jackie so difficult to leave is that every complaint (Name) has about him is real, but so is every reason she loves him. The problem has never been that Jackie doesn’t care; he cares just enough to keep her holding on. Every time she reaches her breaking point, every time she decides she’s tired of waiting, tired of sharing him, tired of feeling like she’s standing in line for a future that never seems to arrive, Jackie somehow senses it. He becomes softer. More attentive. More present. And suddenly he’s calling just to hear her voice. Suddenly he’s showing up at her door with flowers, gifts, sweet treats. Suddenly he’s holding her a little longer when he hugs her goodbye, looking at her with that look that makes her feel like she’s the only woman in the world.
And Jackie knows exactly what to say and exactly what to do.
He knows how to hold her when she’s upset and slowly talk her down from the ledge of every reason she has to leave. He’ll tell her he’s trying. Tell her he’s been thinking about things. Tell her he’s getting older now and starting to see life differently. He’ll talk about the future in vague, beautiful pieces. A house somewhere quiet. Waking up next to her every morning. Growing old together. Knocking her up. All these things when he’s digging in her guts with nine thick inches of dick, mind you. So, poor girl doesn’t even know left from right or up from down because he fucks her so good—pressing down on her tummy so he can feel himself rutting into her.
These are the kind of conversations he’s avoided with her for years, and they suddenly spill from him so naturally that she starts to wonder if maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment she’s been waiting for.
Maybe he’s finally ready.
The insane part is that Jackie usually believes himself when he’s saying it. In those moments, looking at her, holding her, fucking her, imagining a future that feels so comforting rather than.. restrictive, and he genuinely means every word. That’s what makes him so convincing because isn’t delivering these bullshit lines. He’s speaking from whatever emotion he’s feeling at that exact second and when Jackie loves, he loves completely. The problem is that his certainty only seems to exist in the moment. Once the emotion fades, once life resumes, once the pressure disappears, so does the urgency to change.
That’s why (Name) keeps getting pulled back in. Because every version of the future she’s ever wanted exists somewhere inside Jackie. She can see it. Sometimes he lets her see it too. She catches glimpses of the husband he could be, the father he could be, the man who would spend the rest of his life loving her. Those glimpses are powerful enough to make her stay another month. Another year. Powerful enough to convince her that maybe all he needs is a little more time.
But.
If Jackie is the source of (Name)’s uncertainty, Michael is the complete opposite. There is nothing uncertain about the way Michael feels about her because his crush is so painfully obvious.
Everyone notices it eventually. The way he watches her when he thinks she isn’t looking. The way conversations he’s half listening to seem to brighten the second she joins them. The way he suddenly becomes hyper aware of himself whenever she’s nearby, straightening his posture, fixing his clothes, stumbling over words he’d normally say without thinking. Michael is utterly, hopelessly gone, and the worst part is that he doesn’t have the slightest idea how to hide it.
Unfortunately for him, (Name) knows.
She figures it out much earlier than he realizes and finds it almost impossible not to tease him about it. He’s just so cute—and granted, there is a little age gap but it’s nothing crazy. Michael is four years younger than her so naturally, she’s endeared by him because he makes it so easy to dote on him. He blushes when she compliments him. Gets flustered when she touches his arm. Completely short circuits whenever she cups his jaw and tells him how pretty he is. She’ll smile at him across a room and spend the next ten minutes watching him try to recover. There’s something almost irresistible about how sweet he is, how transparent he is. Michael wears every emotion openly, and when he looks at her, it’s like watching someone hand over all their secrets without realizing it.
What Michael loves most about her isn’t one singular thing. It’s the totality of her. Her confidence. The softness. The way she carries herself like a woman who knows exactly who she is and what she wants. He notices everything, from the sound of her laugh to the way she fills a room simply by walking into it. Even her presence seems capable of rearranging his priorities. There have been moments where he’s caught himself standing beside her and become so acutely aware of his own lankiness that he’s genuinely considered spending more time in the gym. And she’s never suggested he should, but being around her makes him want to be the best version of himself. He just.. has these thoughts worrying about if he could be able “handle” all of her from her hips, to her thighs, her breasts—he doesn’t think he has a chance in hell but still. He understands why she’s with his big brother.
But anyway, around (Name), Michael becomes strangely domestic without meaning to. He remembers little things. He carries things for her before she asks. He saves her a seat. If she’s tired, he’s immediately concerned. If her feet hurt after a long night, he’ll end up sitting on the floor in front of her, gently rubbing the ache from them while she talks about whatever happens to be on her mind. And there’s no expectation of getting something in return. Taking care of her simply comes naturally to him. Sometimes he doesn’t even realize he's doing it until somebody points it out and embarrasses him.
Unlike Jackie, Michael isn’t holding anything back. His affection is constant, uncomplicated, and sincere. He looks at (Name) like she’s already something precious. Like she doesn’t need to become anything more to earn his devotion. And while she finds his crush endlessly adorable, there’s a small part of her that tries not to think too hard about it. Because every time Jackie leaves her waiting, every time he asks for more time, every time he chooses freedom over certainty, Michael is there in the background offering the exact thing she’s been asking for all along without ever demanding she choose him back.
And that’s.. not good.
The party had settled into that golden hour that made everything look softer than it really was. The pool shimmered beneath the setting sun, throwing ribbons of orange light across the patio. Music drifted from the speakers, low enough to blend into the conversations and laughter around them. People leaned against the bar with drinks in their hands, clustered together in little groups, their skin still warm from a day spent in the sun.
(Name) couldn’t enjoy any of it.
The farther she got from the pool, the quieter everything became. The music was still there, buried beneath the sound of splashing water and laughter, but it felt distant now and muted. She stopped near the side of the house where the shadows had started to creep across the stucco walls, holding her glass that had been bleeding condensation
Of course he followed her.
Jackie rounded the corner a minute later, irritation already written across his face. His sunglasses were pushed onto the top of his head, one hand resting on his hip as he looked at her.
“Now what you stompin’ off for?” He asked, stopping a few feet away. There wasn’t much concern in his voice anymore. Mostly annoyance. “I been lookin’ for you. What’s your problem?”
(Name) stared at him. “My problem?”
“Yeah, your problem.” Jackie gestured vaguely toward the party behind them before letting his hand fall. “You've been givin’ me attitude all afternoon.”
She laughed in disbelief. “I’ve been giving you attitude?”
Jackie immediately sighed and tipped his head back.
“Nah, see, here we go.” He dragged a hand across the back of his neck and looked away toward the pool for a second. “I knew it was gonna be somethin’.”
“No,” she shot back, shaking her head. “Here you go, Jackie.”
“Baby, I was standin’ there talkin’.” Jackie pointed vaguely toward the party behind him before looking back at her. “That’s all I was doin’.”
“You were flirting with those girls in front of my face. Do you understand how embarrassing that is? How pathetic you make me look in front of your family and friends?” (Name) asks, a bewildered look on her face.
“I was not.” He laughed once through his nose and adjusted the sunglasses sitting on top of his head. “See, that's what I'm talkin’ bout."
“Jackie, literally nothing is funny right now.”
"I wasn—” He stared at her for a moment before throwing one hand into the air. “You know what. Sometimes I think you make your mind up before I even open my damn mouth.” He took a few steps closer, frustration beginning to creep into his voice. “You decide what happened and then that’s it.”
“Oh my God.” (Name) looked away, rubbing her forehead.
“I'm serious.” He responds.
“No, baby. You’re not, you’re actually being very unserious right now and it’s about to piss me off.”
“Baby.” Jackie pointed toward the backyard again. “Half them folks over there was standin’ around talkin’. Was I supposed to sit by myself in a corner all day?”
(Name) laughed, but there wasn't an ounce of humor in it. “You always got a smartass answer.”
“‘Cause you always got an accusation.” He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight onto one leg. “It gets old.”
Her expression hardened. “You know what gets old? Watching you do this to me every single time.”
“Do what?”
“Act like I’m crazy.”
Jackie's face tightened immediately. “Ain’t nobody callin’ you crazy.”
“You imply it enough.”
He rubbed both hands down his face and let out a long breath. “Lord have mercy.”
“No, seriously.” She stepped closer now, her drink sloshing dangerously in the glass. “You flirt with women right in front of me and then somehow I’m the problem for having eyes—Jackie, we’ve had conversations about you sleeping with women outside of me. So, I don’t know why you’re playing dumb. Yes, I’m going to feel upset when I see you whispering in another girl’s ear and touching on her!”
Jackie looked away for a second, jaw working and clearly irritated. “See?” He pointed at her. “That right there. That’s what I'm talkin' about.”
“No, Jackie, what’s crazy is that you genuinely think this is normal.” For a moment neither spoke and music drifted through the evening air. A burst of laughter erupted somewhere near the pool. Jackie’s gaze dropped to the ground before returning to her face.
Jackie's patience finally snapped.
“Nah,” He spread his arms wide and took a step back. “The fact that I gotta stand here defendin’ myself over a conversation.”
“It wasn’t just a conversation, Jackie!”
“For God’s sake.” He looked up at the sky before looking back at her. “I didn’t sleep wit’them girls yet.”
Silence.
The second the words left his mouth, the fight drained from her face and the disappointment landed slowly. He saw it happen, saw her shoulders sag, saw her look away.
“..Yet?” (Name)’s voice was so small.
Jackie’s expression immediately shifted. Knowing. He told on himself. “Aw, c'mon.” He stepped forward, one hand reaching out. “That ain’t what I meant, babygirl..”
“But that's what you said.” She’s tearing up.
“You know what I mean.” He watches how she can’t even look at him anymore—but she never could when she was about to cry.
“(Name)..” Jackie opened his mouth, closed it and opened it again. She set her drink down on a nearby table with a sharp clink and grabbed her heels. “Baby, hold on.”
“’M going inside, I’m all partied out..” She said quietly, brushing past him.
“You really gonna walk away over this?” Jackie asked, following her a few steps.
(Name) turned before Jackie could stop her, her shoes dangling from two fingers as she headed back toward the house. The concrete was still warm beneath her bare feet, damp in places where pool water had been tracked across the patio. Each step left a faint wet print behind her. Her pace was quick, bordering on a storm, shoulders stiff with frustration as the sounds of the party swelled and faded around her. The loose ties of her bikini skirt fluttered against her thighs while her hair clung slightly to the back of her neck from the lingering heat of the day.
She didn’t look back. The only indication that Jackie had spoken at all was the brief swallowing of her throat. The movement of her body carried the urgency of someone trying very hard not to cry, not to turn around, not to give somebody one more chance. Even the rhythm of her walk felt determined, her heels knocking softly against one another where they hung from her hand while the sunset stretched her shadow long across the wet concrete ahead of her.
By the time (Name) made it inside the house, the party felt like it belonged to another world.
The music was still there, but just muffled through walls and glass. Every so often she could hear a burst of laughter or the distant splash of someone jumping into the pool, but it all sounded far away now. Detached like she was listening to it from underwater.
She wandered through the kitchen first, passing half empty bottles and abandoned cups, countertops were crowded with evidence of a good time. People drifted in and out of rooms without really noticing her and she wasn’t sure where she was going. She just knew she needed to be somewhere Jackie wasn’t.
Eventually she found herself standing in front of the laundry room, the door was partially open and the room was small, warm, and quiet. Smelled nice too.
Perfect.
(Name) slipped inside and nudged the door shut behind her. The hum of the machines immediately wrapped around her, steady and comforting in a strange sort of way. There was something nice about the simplicity of it. No music. No conversations, just white noise.
She climbed onto the dryer and sat down, setting her heels on a towel hook beside her. For a moment she simply stared at the opposite wall. Her drink remained in her hand, condensation continuing to gather against the glass before dripping onto her fingers.
The adrenaline from the argument was beginning to wear off. But that was always the worst part, because the anger never stayed. It always dissolved into something that felt uncomfortable to sit in.
Her shoulders slumped slightly as she leaned forward, massaging her own neck with the opposite hand. The dryer vibrated faintly beneath her. Somewhere down the hall, somebody laughed. A door opened and closed.
She barely registered any of it. Instead, her thoughts drifted back toward Jackie despite her best efforts. The argument replayed itself automatically, each line hurt more now than it had been in the moment. The dismissiveness. The frustration. The way he’d looked at her when he thought she was overreacting. The way she’d almost let him pull her back in again.
Almost.
The glass felt cold against her palm and she watched a droplet of water slide slowly down its side before falling onto her thigh.
For a long time she simply sat there, disassociating.
Michael didn't realize he was looking for her until he couldn't find her.
The party had settled into that dreamy part of the evening where everything felt warm and golden. Music drifted across the backyard, people gathered around the bar with drinks in their hands, and laughter seemed to rise from every corner of the patio. Normally, Michael would’ve been right in the middle of it. Instead, he kept catching himself scanning the crowd. Looking toward the pool. The patio doors. The groups of people clustered beneath strings of lights. Every few minutes his eyes searched for the same person before he could stop them.
At first he didn’t think much of it. Maybe she’d gone inside. Maybe she’d gotten caught talking to somebody. But as the minutes passed, an uneasiness began settling into his chest. He’d seen the look on her face earlier. Seen her watching Jackie. Seen her walk away. Michael had always been the sort of person who noticed things, especially when it came to her. The longer she remained missing, the harder it became to focus on anything else.
Eventually he gave up pretending he wasn’t distracted and slipped inside the house. The cool air immediately swallowed up the noise of the party. He wandered through the kitchen, then the living room, barely registering the people he passed along the way. His attention remained fixed on one thing. Finding her, and the house suddenly felt much bigger than it had an hour ago.
When he finally noticed the faint light spilling from the closed laundry room door, something in him relaxed before he even opened it. Sure enough, there she was. Sitting on top of the dryer in her bikini with a drink still dangling loosely from her fingers, staring at absolutely nothing. For a moment Michael simply stood in the doorway. Relief washed through him so quickly it almost felt silly. She wasn’t hurt, at least from what he could see. She was just somewhere far away inside her own head. And somehow, after spending the last fifteen minutes searching for her, the sight of her sitting alone in a laundry room felt like finding exactly what he’d been looking for.
For a moment, Michael simply stood in the doorway, one hand resting against the frame as he looked at her. The dryer hummed softly beneath her while she stared down at the drink dangling from her fingers. Outside, the party carried on without them. Music drifted through the walls, accompanied by distant laughter and the occasional splash from the pool.
“Hi.” The quiet greeting was enough to pull her from her thoughts. (Name) looked up, and some of the tension in her shoulders eased when she saw him standing there.
“Hey, lovebug.” The nickname immediately softened his expression. Michael stepped into the room, letting the door close shut behind him. His eyes moved over her face for a moment before he asked the question she’d known was coming.
“You okay?”
(Name) glanced down at her drink and shrugged lightly. “I’m okay.”
Michael didn’t respond right away, he just looked at her. The silence stretched long enough to make it obvious he didn’t believe her. But she smiled anyway, small and unconvincing. “Really. I'm fine.”
His hands disappeared into his pockets. “Did Jackie make you cry?”
The question caught her off guard enough to make her laugh. It wasn’t a happy laugh. More surprise than anything else. “What?”
“Did he?” Michael's expression remained completely serious. He wasn’t teasing, genuinely wanting to know. (Name) looked away toward the tiny window above the washer.
“No. But almost..” A truthful answer. “Tired of crying over the same thing..” She says under her breath.
His jaw tightened slightly as he looked down at the floor. “He makes you sad a lot.”
The words seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised her. Almost immediately he looked away, like he’d accidentally said something he'd been keeping to himself for a very long time. The laundry room fell quiet again, filled only by the hum of the machines.
“Michael.” He looked up. “I don't wanna talk about Jackie.”
Something softened in his face immediately. “Okay.”
And just like that, he dropped it. No pushing. No questions. No attempt to convince her otherwise. He simply moved farther into the room and leaned against the washer across from her, content to sit in the quiet with her if that’s what she needed.
For a while, neither of them spoke. Michael remained leaning against the washer across from her, his hands tucked into his pockets while the dryer beneath her hummed steadily. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt strangely safe.
Then, without looking at her, he said it. “I wouldn’t treat you like that.”
The words were so quiet she almost thought she’d imagined them. Michael was staring at the floor when he said it, the toe of his sandal nudging absentmently at a crack between the tiles. He looked embarrassed before he’d even finished the sentence.
(Name) blinked.
The comment tugged at something inside her despite herself. She was still upset. Still angry. Still carrying the emotions of the argument with Jackie. But there was also something undeniably cute about Michael standing in a laundry room trying very hard not to confess the world’s most obvious crush.
A small smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. “Oh, yeah?”
Michael immediately looked like he regretted opening his mouth. “Forget it.”
“No.” She shifted slightly atop the dryer, tilting her head. “Go ahead.”
His face flushed. “There ain’t nothin’ to go ahead with..”
“Michael.” He groaned quietly and looked away and smile on her face grew. “And what do you know about making me happy?”
She meant it teasingly, lightly. You know, playfully. The sort of question she expected him to stumble over. But, Michael surprised her.
“A lot, actually.”
(Name)'s smile faded a little and Michael swallowed.
“I know you like extra ice in your drinks even when everybody tells you it waters ‘em down. I know you pretend not to care what people think until somebody you love says somethin’ mean and then you think about it for three days.” He gave a nervous laugh. “I know when you’re genuinely happy because you start talkin’ with your hands more.”
(Name) stared at him and Michael wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring at the floor.
Still talking.
“I know you get quiet when somethin’s wrong, even when you’re tellin’ everybody you’re fine. I know you hate being embarrassed in front of people. I know you act tougher than you are.” His voice had become quieter now, thoughtful.
“I know you like when somebody remembers little things.” Michael finally looked up and he second he saw her expression, realization hit him. His eyes widened like he’d suddenly become aware of everything he’d just admitted. Inadvertently admittedly his feelings for her.
“Oh.” He immediately pushed himself away from the washer. “Oh, man.” A nervous laugh escaped him. “’M sorry..”
“Michael—” (Name) can barely get a word out before he’s stumbling over his words.
“No, that was weird.”
“It wasn’t.”
"It was." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, already retreating toward the door. ”I shouldn’t’ve said all that.” The poor thing looked mortified but really, he’d accidentally handed her pages from a diary.
“‘M sorry,” he repeated. “Forget I said any of that.” He reached for the doorknob. That’s when she hopped off the dryer.
“Michael.” This time her voice stopped him and his hand froze.
Slowly, he turned around and (Name) was looking at him with an expression he’d never seen directed at him before. For lack of better words.. it was suddenly feeling a little too grown. He’s only ever been envious of this look because it’s what Jackie gets. Never in his life would he have thought he’d even been remotely close to unlocking.. this..
(Name) stared at him for a few seconds before tilting her head.
“Can you keep a secret, papa?” Michael blinked, caught off guard by the question. Then he nodded immediately. Once. Twice. So quickly it was almost funny.
“Yeah. ‘Course I can.”
A smile tugged at her mouth. “C’mere.”
He hesitated for only a moment before crossing the room. The closer he got, the more nervous he seemed to become. By the time he reached her, his hands were practically glued to his sides. (Name) reached up and slipped her fingers into the curls at the nape of his neck, and the movement stopped him completely. His breath caught as he looked down at her, doe eyed and uncharacteristically speechless.
Gently, she pulled him closer. Michael followed without resistance, one hand finding the edge of the dryer to steady himself as she closed the distance between them and led him into a kiss. It was soft and tender, the kind of kiss that felt like an answer to a question neither of them had been brave enough to ask out loud.
When she pulled away, Michael remained exactly where he was. Frozen. His eyes searched her face for a long moment, disbelief and hope flickering across his expression so openly that it nearly hurt to look at. As if he genuinely couldn’t decide whether what had just happened was real. And somehow, that look affected (Name) far more than the kiss itself ever could.
Their lips find each other again hungrily, moving in sync with one another. The air is thick with nervous energy as their figures collide lips meeting in a clumsy, urgent rush. No soft buildup this time around, no gentle lean in; just teeth accidentally clashing before they find the right angle. (Name) tries her best guiding him through it but he seems to be really eager to even be touching her.
One hand grips the back of his neck tightly—fingers tangled in curls that’s slightly damp from the pool while her other presses flat against his chest, his heart pounding like it might burst. Mouths open messily, not quite synced and when tongues finally meet, it’s sweet from candy and salty sweat. A quiet mmph escapes him as their noses squish together again and again.
The second kiss left Michael strangely still.
When they pulled apart for air, he didn't go very far. His forehead settled against hers almost immediately, his eyes closing as though he were trying to gather himself. One hand remained braced against the dryer beside her while the other hung loosely at his side. The laundry room hummed around them, the sound of the machines blending with the distant music and laughter filtering in from the party outside. Neither of them seemed to notice. Michael, especially, looked completely disconnected from everything beyond the small space they’d carved out for themselves.
“We should stop.” The words came out so quietly she almost thought she'd imagined them.
“Huh?”
Michael swallowed hard. His eyes stayed closed for another second before he finally opened them. “We should stop..” It didn’t sound like something he wanted. It sounded like something he was forcing himself to say.
For a moment he simply looked at her. Really looked at her. Then his gaze dropped, as though holding eye contact made it harder to think. His forehead remained resting against hers, neither close enough nor far enough to make the situation any easier.
“I’m havin' a hard time thinkin’..” A shaky breath left him. “I know how I feel about you..” The confession was quiet and matter-of-fact, because at this point it had become impossible to deny at this point.
“And I know you just had a fight with Jackie.” He shuts his eyes tighter. “I don’t wanna be somebody who takes advantage of that..”
The honesty of it landed harder than she expected. For all the longing written plainly across his face, there was still that stubborn gentleness in him. The part that cared more about doing the right thing than getting what he wanted.
Yet he still hadn’t moved away.
If anything, he seemed incapable of it.
His eyes drifted shut again and he let out another slow breath.
“But if we keep kissin’..” His voice faltered for the first time all evening. A faint flush climbed into his cheeks. “I don't think I’m gonna want to stop..”
The admission hung between them in the soft hum of the laundry room. Michael looked almost embarrassed by his own honesty, but he didn't take it back. He simply remained there with his forehead resting against hers, looking completely overwhelmed by her, a man who’d been in love for far too long and was finally running out of ways to hide it.
She reaches up and caresses his face, eyeing him with those pretty eyes he’s only ever dreamed of even though he can’t bring himself to open his own eyes just yet. She peppers kisses all over his face before leaning over to whisper in his ear.
“Do you wanna touch me, Michael?”
Michael nods against her. “I-I do,” He swallows. “But I’ll need your help..” He says shyly, he’s not very experienced quite yet—not like his brothers.
The moment stretches, humid and thick with anticipation as (Name) smiles, fingers hovering just above Michael’s wrist where his hand rests at his side. Her grip is firm but warm as she drags Michael’s palm down the curve of her hipbone, over fabric damp with choline and pool water. She presses hard until his fingers slip beneath the elastic waistband; the hot skin of her pussy meeting his fingertips that jerk reflexively at first contact.
She gently guides his wrist up and down, “Like this..” She says resting her forehead against his shoulder.
“Soft..” Michael whispers as he plays with her, but its short lived before there’s a knock at the door and they both scramble.
“(Name), baby. You in there? I wanna talk. ’Ya got me feelin’ bad..”
Jackie.
© michaeldiary. 2026. do not copy, repost, translate, or feed into ai.
this truly captures the essence of what being a bird is like 😝 i love it so much

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⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐫𝐚! 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥, who makes you take photos with him on his iPhone 3. Michael still struggles to work it even after at least six months of owning it. He gets you to sit on his lap while he makes you send his texts for him, earning impressed hums as you quickly type on the small screen. Honestly, the only reason he bought it was to keep in contact with you, and to receive calls from his assistant, of course.
His entire gallery is pictures of you. He's also definitely taken a picture of you while you're peacefully sleeping on his shoulder, only for you to be woken up by the bright flash he forgot to turn off. He'd also forget to turn off the timer, so you'd have to hold your smile for ten seconds straight.
One night, he called you into the bedroom of the fancy hotel you were staying at.
"Baby, could you come here for a moment?" you heard him call out.
Walking out of the luxurious bathroom, you were trying to unclip the necklace he had bought you earlier that day during your shopping spree in Paris.
"What's up?" you asked, walking towards him.
"A friend of mine showed me his phone, and his background is a picture of his family," he said, his hands rubbing up and down your thighs as he looked up at you. "Why is mine a picture of pebbles?" he asked.
"Jesus, Michael, I don't know," you replied, rolling your eyes.
After finally taking off the necklace, you let it drop in to his pocket and sat down on his lap, your legs resting over his own. His hands found their way around your waist.
"What do you want it to be?" you asked, tapping on the screen.
His background ended up being a picture of him smiling while your serving cunt beside him.
© brookllynbxbyy
AWWWW SO CUTE (in speed's voice) 🥺🥺🥺🥺
his browssss during the thriller era was so damn fabbbbbb just sexy fr
why do men always have the best eyebrows 😩😩
⭑ — only you.
꩜ off the wall ! michael x reader
summary: you and michael finally have that long awaited talk right before he goes on tour. warnings: rushed, lazy confessions, implied smut, michael high-key being in love with you, overall just pure fluff! <3 author's note: my first michael fic! i'm like, super rusty, but I'm genuinely happy with how this turned out! i wrote this in three hours so there's likely going to be some errors.
“I didn’t hurt you too much, did I?” Michael asks softly, his fingers lazily tracing circles on the small of your back. Warmth floods your chest at his concern; you can’t help but hold him a little tighter.
"No… no,” you reassured him, adjusting your position to look at him properly. He was already looking down at you, his doe eyes gazing into yours with such warmth. “You were perfect.”
Michael hummed.
Neither of you spoke after this; the only thing that could be heard was the rhythmic tapping of the rain outside and Michael occasionally peppering kisses on your neck. Sure, the tension was gone, but the smell of sweat and passion still lingered in the air. For a while, you thought things were going to be left unsaid, until—
“What is this?”
“What do you mean?” You ask, feigning confusion. You readjusted your position to sit up, gently pulling the blanket over your breasts.
“C’mom,” He mummers.
“Well, um,” you stammered out, scooting back towards Michael’s headboard—the cold cedar wood now touching your back. “What do you want this to be?”
“Look,” he scoots back against the headboard to join you. “I really like you.” He reveals, as if it’s been a secret this whole time. “I-I completely understand if you don’t feel the same—with me about to be on tour and all. I just.. I don’t know, I couldn’t just leave without telling you how I felt.”
“God, Michael,” you say finally, releasing the breath you didn’t even know that you were holding. You scooted closer to him, gently placing your hand on his cheek. “I’ve quite literally been in love with you for years. I’m pretty sure everyone has noticed but you.”
Michael blinked at your confession, but his disbelief soon turned into laughter. He dragged his hand down his face before looking at you, a soft smile forming on his lips. “What exactly have we been doing this whole time?”
“I don’t know,” you giggled, running your fingers through his soft curls. “I just can’t believe it took this,” you say, gesturing between the both of you. “For us to say something.”
Michael’s smile had only gotten wider by the second. Rather than speaking, he gently pulled you in, his soft lips finally connecting with yours. You immediately reciprocated, running your fingers deeper through his curls—earning a soft whimper from him. Before things could escalate further, Michael pulls away, his brown eyes gazing into yours.
“Come on tour with me.”
“What?” You blinked, moving away a strand of hair from your face.
“Come on tour with me,” he repeats. “I want you there—only if you want to, of course. I don’t want to force you.”
“What about Joesph?”
“I’ll talk to him,” he says immediately, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Just—come with me. Please.”
You searched Michael’s eyes to find any reluctance, but you didn’t see any. He actually wanted you there. He wanted you there with him. Finally, your concern turned into a soft smile—placing a quick, but affectionate kiss on his lips.
“I’d love to go on tour with you, Michael.“
taglist: @pytsnupi @enzo6ekiii
my guy pretty like a girlllll

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so i just figured out that you can't actually follow people on a secondary blog and i've basically been following people on the wrong account 😭😭😭 i wish i knew this before ughhh 🤦🏾♀️🤦🏾♀️
𓂃 drag that bitc—
⋮ ⌗ ┆ off the wall era michael.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ summary: it’s genuinely on sight if you catch diana by herself.
⋮ ⌗ ┆ no crazy warnings. female reader, public verbal argument (reader and diana), brief emotional stress and anxiety, romantic jealousy, relationship strain, smoking / cigarette use—pls its the 80’s, mikey in the doghouse.
So.. Michael doesn't think he's ever been this fucking scared in his life.
Which feels deeply unfair considering he’s Michael Jackson. He’s performed in front of thousands of people, he’s danced on national television. And yet somehow none of those experiences prepared him for the sight currently waiting across Studio 54.
His girlfriend is sitting alone in a velvet booth with a drink in front of her, looking so spectacularly deadpan that Michael briefly considers leaving the country. The problem is that she isn’t crying, isn't yelling. She isn’t even causing a scene. She’s ignoring him. Which is infinitely worse. When she gets loud, at least he knows where he stands. When she gets quiet? Oh, baby that’s when God himself starts abandoning his people.
The club pulses around him in flashes of gold and red light, cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air while celebrities and socialites laugh their way through another night they’ll be talking about for years. Meanwhile, Michael is standing near the bar wondering if it’s possible to die from being in trouble with a pretty girl. The worst part is that she has a point, enough of a point that every defense he’d come up with has fallen apart the second he’s tried saying it to himself.
The evening had started perfectly fine. Then Diana arrived. And somehow Michael had spent the next two hours getting continuously pulled into her orbit. One conversation became three. One dance became several. Every time he managed to drift back toward his girlfriend, Diana found a way to pull him somewhere else. A joke. A story. A hand on his arm. A request for “one more” dance. Michael hadn’t noticed how bad it looked at first, but his girlfriend had. The first warning came in the form of a look. The second came as a pointed comment. The third involved her physically appearing beside him while Diana stood entirely too close and entirely too comfortable. And Michael, complete idiot that he was, had smiled. Smiled! Like there wasn’t a bomb actively ticking beside him.
The argument afterward had not gone.. well. Mostly because it stopped being about jealousy almost immediately—that would’ve been easier. Instead it became about disrespect. About spending an entire evening standing in a room full of people while another woman monopolized her boyfriend’s attention. About feeling invisible and like a second choice. About Diana acting like she possessed a claim on Michael that nobody else was supposed to fucking question. Then, Diana made the catastrophic mistake of questioning her right back. Michael doesn’t remember every detail because the second the tension started rising, his survival instincts kicked in and his brain effectively left the building. But he remembers (Name) asking if she could maybe have five uninterrupted minutes with her own boyfriend. He remembers Diana not appreciating the tone. He remembers trying to smooth things over then—the drink in (Name)’s hand found itself splashing in Diana’s face before Michael had to physically pick up and pull her away while another nearby did the same with Diana.
Now Diana is on one side of the club pretending none of it happened. His girlfriend is on the other side pretending he doesn’t exist.
And somehow Michael is the common denominator in both disasters.
After spending nearly fifteen minutes pacing around the bar (like a condemned man awaiting execution), Michael finally orders her favorite drink. Then orders another because his hands are shaking badly enough that he drops the first one. By the time he starts walking toward her booth, he’s rehearsed approximately seventeen? different apologies and forgotten every single one of them. His girlfriend notices him immediately but she simply chooses not to acknowledge it. Michael stops beside the table and waits. Nothing.
“Hi.” Silence. “Hi,” he tries again, somehow sounding even more nervous the second time. Still nothing then carefully, he sets the drink down in front of her.
“..I got this for you, baby..” That finally earns him a reaction: she looks at the glass. Then at him and back at the glass. A smile appears and Michael’s stomach immediately drops to the floor. Because it’s not her happy smile. It’s the smile. The one that means she’s about to make him suffer.
“Oh.” One word as she picks up the drink and studies it thoughtfully before slowly lifting her eyes back to his. The smile widens.
“Oh,” She says again. “Finally remembered who your girlfriend is?” And just like that, every apology Michael spent the last fifteen minutes rehearsing evaporates completely.
Michael just stares at her. Which, unfortunately, is probably the worst possible thing he could be doing right now. He just.. stares. Partially because he's terrified and genuinely, sincerely terrified in a way that feels ridiculous considering he’s a rising star, one would think very little scares him. But he’s staring mostly because she’s angry, and he's never actually seen her like this before. Not really—not directed at him. Usually when she’s upset, there’s still something soft underneath it. Its huffy, pouty, there’s some visible crack where he can see his way back in. Tonight there isn’t. Tonight she’s sitting across from him looking completely unimpressed, completely unaffected by his presence, and somehow so damn beautiful. She’s beautiful everyday, yeah. But right now? Whew. Her eyes seem darker, her posture straighter and there’s a confidence that feels like she owns the entire nightclub and everyone inside it. Michael knows he should be apologizing. Knows he should be speaking. Knows he should be doing literally anything other than staring at her. Instead, his brain completely betrays him by noticing how pretty she looks when she’s mad.
The silence stretches longer than it should and her eyebrow slowly lifts. Michael continues staring.
“Hello?” Nothing. “Michael?”
His brain finally restarts with all the grace of a car refusing to turn over. “Pardon?” The second the word leaves his mouth, she lets out a short laugh and leans back against the booth cushions.
“Oh my God,” she mutters. “You're not even listening to me.”
Michael immediately opens his mouth to argue before deciding against it. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Then she gestures casually across the club toward Diana and smiles in a way that makes every survival instinct in his body activate at once.
“Please go back over there before I drag that old bitch.” Michael’s eyes widen and his gaze instinctively flickers toward Diana before snapping right back to his girlfriend. Huge mistake. She catches it immediately.
“Oh, don't worry,” she says sweetly. “I’m sure she’d love to see you.” And suddenly Michael understands that this isn’t really about Diana at all—or at least entirely. It’s about spending an entire evening making his girlfriend feel unwanted while he floated around Studio 54 like he didn’t even have one. The realization settles heavily in his stomach, and for the first time all night, he's no longer scared of her being angry. He’s scared because she has every right to be.
(Name) stares at him for another few seconds before letting out a long sigh and sliding out of the booth. Michael immediately straightens because the fact she's standing up usually means a decision has been made, and Michael has a horrible feeling he isn’t going to like it. She smooths down her outfit, picks up her purse, and points directly at him.
“I’m leaving.” She says and Michael blinks.
“Okay..” He nods.
“You can stay if you want.” His face falls instantly. “But,” She continues holding up a finger, “I’m changing the locks if you do.” The statement confirms he is, in fact, still very much in trouble and (Name) watches the realization happen in real time. His shoulders sink. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Then without a single argument, he simply stands up and follows after her immediately with no hesitation. He’s trailing along a few steps behind like a giant, miserable puppy that knows exactly why it’s being punished.
(Name) makes it approximately ten feet before glancing over her shoulder and finding him still there looking guilty and pathetic. Looking like if she left him alone in Studio 54 for more than twenty minutes he’d probably just stand in the corner thinking about life. The sight nearly breaks her resolve. Nearly.
“That's what I thought,” She says, reaching back and hooking a finger into the collar of his shirt and Michael doesn’t even protest. If anything, he seems relieved to be collected. (Name) rolls her eyes and starts steering him toward the exit while he obediently follows along behind her. They’re halfway across the club when a familiar voice cuts through the crowd.
“Well, look at this.” Quincy appears out of nowhere, drink in hand and a grin already spreading across his face as he takes in the scene before him. (Name) with one hand on Michael’s collar. Michael following behind her with all the dignity of a man being escorted out of kindergarten. Quincy immediately starts laughing.
She brightens instantly. “Hi, Q!” she calls cheerfully, as if she isn’t actively dragging her boyfriend through the middle of Studio 54. “We're leaving!”
Quincy glances at Michael and at the hand attached to his collar. “I can see that, sweetheart.”
She nods enthusiastically. ”Early too!” And behind her, Michael closes his eyes for a brief moment as Quincy nearly doubles over laughing.
“What’d you do, Mike?” Quincy asks.
“I don't wanna talk about it,” Michael mutters.
“He knows what he did,” She answers at the exact same time, giving his collar another tug toward the door and Quincy laughs even harder. Michael wishes the floor would open and swallow him whole.
The walk to the car is painfully embarrassing for Michael but she saves him from the embarrassment of the paparazzi because releases his collar the second they step outside, but somehow that’s worse. At least when she was dragging him around, she was touching him. Now she’s just walking beside him with her purse tucked under her arm and her expression fixed firmly ahead. The night air is cooler than inside the club, carrying away some of the heat and noise of Studio 54, but none of it helps the growing sense of dread sitting in Michael’s stomach. When the car finally pulls up, he nearly lunges for the door handle, rushing ahead to open it for her before she can do it herself. She doesn’t acknowledge the gesture beyond sliding into the seat without a word and Michael follows a moment later, settling beside her as the door shuts and the city begins moving past the windows.
The silence inside the car feels louder than the music had.
(Name) sits with her arms crossed tightly over her chest and one leg thrown over the other, looking out the window because she’s suddenly become fascinated by New York traffic. Michael glances at her once.. then again. Then a third time. Every few seconds his eyes drift back toward her before darting away when she doesn’t react. He lasts maybe five minutes before finally giving up. Slowly and cautiously, he reaches across the seat and rests his hand lightly on her knee.
She just refuses to look at him.
“Lovey..” Michael says quietly. No response.
“I’m sorry.” His thumb moves against her knee. “Will you look at me?” Nothing.
“Please? What can I do?” The worst part is how sincere he sounds. He’s not making excuses or defending himself. He’s just being her Michael. Soft and sweet and looking so genuinely miserable that she can physically feel her resolve beginning to crack down the middle. She hates it. Hates how easy it is when he uses that voice. Hates how his eyes get all sad. Hates that she still wants to forgive him..
So instead she turns her head slowly and narrows her eyes at him. Michael immediately brightens.
Big mistake.
“Don't,” she warns and his smile falters. “You are going to massage my feet until your hands hurt.”
For a moment he stares at her then relief washes across his face so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. “That's it?”
Her eyes narrow further and Michael wisely corrects himself. “I mean.. yes. Absolutely. As long as you want.”
“Good.”
“Okay."
“And I'm still mad at you.”
“I know.”
“Very mad.”
“I know, lovey.”
She turns back toward the window, fighting the smile threatening to appear on her face and a few seconds later, Michael’s hand quietly slips from her knee into her hand.
This time she lets it stay there.
The second she lets his hand stay in hers, Michael immediately gets hopeful in that cutie way he gets when he thinks he might still be forgiven. She doesn’t even have to look at him to feel it. Its the little glances he keeps sneaking at her and the way his thumb moves against her knuckles. She keeps her gaze fixed out the window acting like she hasn’t noticed any of it even though she absolutely has.
The quiet doesn't last long.
“..Can I have a kiss?” Michael asks, voice softer than it already is because he’s testing whether the ground is stable again. (Name) closes her eyes for a second like she’s physically bracing herself, then finally turns her head toward him. The look she gives him is unreadable, but it doesn’t stop her from leaning across the space and pressing a quick kiss to his lips anyway. It’s brief, barely even a second, and the moment it’s over she’s already pulling away and turning back toward the window like nothing happened. Michael goes completely still beside her for a second then lets out a small, disbelieving laugh under his breath.
“I got a kiss,” he says softly, and she immediately groans and hides her face in her hand.
“Don’t start,” she warns, but her voice isn’t nearly as firm as she wants it to be. And Michael, still holding her just leans back in his seat with a smile that makes it very clear he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.
By the time they get back to her apartment (he pays for), the argument has started to lose its intensity. She kicks off her shoes the second she walks in and Michael follows her in without a word, already looking for ways to make things right without overcomplicating it.
A few minutes later she’s settled on the couch with one leg tucked under her, a cigarette resting between her fingers as she leans back into the cushions, watching him move around the room. Michael eventually ends up sitting on the floor in front of her, carefully taking her feet into his hands and he starts massaging slowly, thumbs pressing into her arch. She doesn’t look at him at first, just exhales smoke toward the ceiling, acting like she’s still mad, but her foot relaxes in his grip anyway, betraying her before she can stop it.
Michael glances up at her once, then keeps going when she doesn’t tell him to stop. “Still mad at me?” he asks quietly, like he already knows the answer but needs to hear it from her anyway.
(Name) doesn’t look down at him right away. She just takes another slow drag from her cigarette, considering it for a second longer than necessary, then finally tilts her head slightly in his direction with the faintest trace of a smile pulling at her mouth. And Michael, still on the floor with her feet in his hands, keeps massaging like he’s already accepted whatever verdict she decides to give him.
Michael keeps working his thumbs into her feet and she lounges back into the couch like she’s testing how long she can stay annoyed before it dissolves on its own. She finally speaks without looking at him, voice light but still edged with something he knows better than to fully relax around.
“I dunno,” she says, exhaling another thin stream of smoke toward the ceiling. “Do you think I should still be mad?”
Michael pauses for half a second, hands still resting around her ankle. Then he looks up at her properly, curls a little messy, expression soft and painfully earnest.. that look always makes her anger feel less solid than it should. “Yes,” he says immediately, then corrects himself just as fast, “I mean—no. I mean.. I think you were right to be mad.”
That earns him a look.
So he keeps going, “I was stupid,” he admits, thumbs resuming their slow pressure like he needs the movement to stay grounded. “I should’ve been with you more. I didn’t mean to.. make you feel like that.” His eyes flick up again, searching her face carefully, like he’s trying to read whether he’s losing her in real time. “But I.. also really don’t want you to stay mad at me.”
(Name) watches him for a moment, cigarette still between her fingers, expression unreadable in a way that makes his stomach tighten slightly. Then she tilts her head, studying him like she’s deciding something she hasn’t fully committed to yet. Michael doesn’t move, he just waits there on the floor with her foot in his hands.
Finally, she lets out a small breath through her nose, something almost like a laugh buried in it, and leans her head back against the couch.
“You’re lucky you’re pretty,” she says, not quite forgiving him but not holding on to the anger either. Michael lets out a relieved breath he clearly didn’t realize he was holding and immediately goes back to massaging.
“But you’re definitely putting that mouth to work tonight.”
© 2026 michaeldiary.
diana slander is 😋😋😋
