#jackson

The year prior the questions from reporters were varied — When was your next album? Would there be a single released soon? What new music was being produced as of recent weeks? And maybe, if they were feeling nosey, they’d ask about your lover.

The lover they only care to hear about now that he’s an ex.

It was no secret that every news channel, magazine and radio station was milking your separation for everything it was worth — earning every dime off of your heartache. You’d been cornered and screamed at by reporters over the past few months over your break-up from the worldwide superstar Michael Jackson more times than for any music you’d put out.

So, you knew tonight would be no different.

Your manager had already warned you about keeping any responses to questions about Michael to a polite minimum to prevent bad press — but when every single reporter was asking the same thing, your irritation began to rise to the surface.

"Michael Jackson, your recent ex-husband, has just arrived here at the Grammy’s, he’s nominated for 12 awards — is there any resentment towards him now you’ve spilt as you’re only nominated for 2?"

Bitch.

You bit your inner cheek so hard you almost cried out as you forced down a nasty insult, but faked a smile and grit your teeth, "Not at all. He’s a talented man who worked hard for each nomination." You started, "But, I have also worked hard myself for my nominations which I am proud of if I win or not."

"And when will the divorce be final?"

Swallowing thickly, your breath shook as you exhaled gaining composure, "As of right now, there has been no divorce settlement papers drafted. We are just split up."

"So, technically, you’re still together?"

"No." You snapped, a forced smile still on your face, "We are split up." You repeated, trying not to sound too agitated.

"So,—"

"Thank you for your time." You cut off, picking up your dress and walking away.

You knew there’d be a story about that in the morning, but you didn’t care. It was either that or you screamed at her — and that certainly wouldn’t get you a Grammy.

You rushed through each interview, declining questions about Michael which only spurred the reporters on to press you about why you were saying no to questions about him. The inside of your mouth was practically red raw from how often you were biting down to force the agitation back down your throat.

Luckily, the ceremony was a blissful, magical experience — all memories of your ex-lover had been washed away, for the time being, as you watched each of your fellow singers and stars win their awards. A good friend of yours, country singer, Debbie Allen, had just won her award for Best Female Country Vocal Performance for her single ‘Baby I Lied’, who thanked her loved ones & producers, and rushed back down to the table you shared for the night.

"Well done, honey!" You beamed, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as you embraced in a hug, "So proud of you."

"Thank you, baby." She whispered, "How you been tonight? I hope those reporters haven’t been giving you too much trouble."

You scoffed, taking a sip of your Martini, "They couldn’t have given me more trouble, Deb."’

"Oh, Lord." She sighed, "I’m so sorry, honey, I know this must be real hard for you."

You huffed in defeat, shrugging, signifying you knew there wasn’t anything you could do about the situation. You and Michael hadn’t spoken since you moved out of your shared house, Hayvenhurst in Encino, and back to your own personal home. Since then, the media have spun lies and rumours, only forcing you further apart and building the awkward tension.

You quietened down as the presenters at the stage began talking, "This award is for Record of the Year, where many talented musicians have displayed some of their best work yet." One started, "The nominees are ‘Every Breath you Take’ by The Police," They read names and applause sounded throughout the room as each one was read, "'Flashdance… What a Feeling’ by Irene Cara, and ‘Beat it’ by Michael Jackson."

Your breath caught in your throat at the mention of his name and his smiling face on the screen in front of you. You refrained a gasp from slipping past your lips at his attire — Goodness, he looked good. His bedazzled suit, glove and signature sunglasses made him look like a true king. You were barely paying any attention as your heart hammered in your chest at the mere mention of his name. You hated how he still had an effect on you after all this time.

"And the Record of the Year goes to.." The silence was deafening as you held your breath,

“Michael Jackson ‘Beat it’!"

The room erupted into screams of adoration and loud applause as they all stood to congratulate him. Your heart thumped in your throat — part of you wanted to stand with a proud smile for the familiar lover, but the other half didn’t know whether it was worth the tabloids rumours.

In the heat of the moment, just as you were about to stand, a soft smile creeping on your face, you halted in your tracks.

Michael, your ex-husband of a mere few weeks, turned to his fellow nominee, Irene Cara, who was smiling sweetly at him, and kissed her.

Not once — but twice.

Air was knocked out of you as your mouth fell ajar as you watched him approach the stand to accept the award. Your mouth went swiftly dry and your eyes threatened to well up with tears, but you could feel the eyes on you, and soon the cameras too. So, a fake smile was forced onto your face as you stood to clap — ignoring the people around you glancing at you dramatically, as if waiting for your reaction.

Michael took the stage with his Producer Quincy Jones, who hugged him tightly, then jumped for joy at Michael’s second win of the night. Your chest rose and fell quickly as you watched the stage, your heart shattering as he stood at the stand — a smug smirk on his face while he held his two awards.

"I love all the girls in the balcony." Michael spoke, lifting his bedazzled hands in the air to point at the screaming fans beyond the stage.

Double homicide.

A sick, disgusted feeling crawled into your stomach as you listened to him talk. You honestly couldn’t believe what you were hearing — the man who devoted his life to you a few months ago, promised you children and a future, stability and love till the end of time, was now kissing women backstage at the Grammy’s and thanking his aroused, infatuated female fans. You were mortified.

You zoned out as he thanked his family, and Quincy took the stand to thank Michael and the editors to the album again. Your mind was in shambles as Debbie reached over to place a comforting hand on your arm, offering a sympathetic smile. You pursed your lips at her — trying to ignore Michael’s voice thanking the girls in the balcony once more before he exited the stage.

You swallowed thickly — you were in shock and disgust at the man you thought you knew. He clearly got a taste for being single and had his ego stroked too many times tonight, and decided to act a fool in front of everyone.

Embarrassment was an understatement.

"Men are pigs, sweetie. Don’t let him get to you. You’ve got a Grammy to win." Debbie whispered, squeezing your hand encouragingly.

You breathed out a laugh, smiling weakly at her as thoughts raced through your brain. Despite all the anger, sadness and disgust you felt right now, the most prominent emotion that was infesting your body right now was jealousy. You were sick with envy at Irene Cara — being able to stand up there and kiss your ex-man twice on stage. It made you violently jealous.

"The next award is for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance." The next presenters spoke, their voices pulling you out of your train of thought.

This was your nomination.

Your heart drummed with anxiety once more — the cocktail of emotions in your body knocking you sick as you waited.

"And the nominees are, ‘Flashdance…What a Feeling.’ by Irene Cara,"

Oh, now the competition was really on.

You hated that you secretly felt as though you were competing for Michael, but you couldn’t help but want nothing more than to win against her.

Your name was read last — the camera turning to you as a smirk crept onto your face, waving sweetly into the camera lense, attempting to look as unbothered as possible.

"And the winner is.."

Cheers erupted into the room as your name echoed in your ears, Debbie practically screaming beside you as she clapped feverishly.

You had won.

A wicked thought crept into your brain as you stood up, walking towards the stage with a dangerous grin on your face. This was going to get him back in every possible way. And her.

The applause died down as you were handed the award, which weighed your arms down, as you kissed the female presenter on the cheek. You leant the award on the stand as you approached the microphone.

"Firstly, I’d like to thank my Producer, who sadly couldn’t be here tonight, but gives his own personal thanks to all the editors and executive producers who helped us with this song that I’m beyond proud of." You started, smiling sweetly, catching the eyes of familiar faces in the crowd as you spoke.

"I also wanted to say that I am particularly proud of myself for this song as, I’m sure all of you are aware, these past few weeks have been difficult for me." You stated, whispers and shocked glances were shared across the room, "But, regardless, I’m here tonight, winning an award, feeling beautiful and happy to be alive." A round of applause was instigated as you laughed, "You will also know that despite common belief, when a separation occurs between man and wife — they are still, by law and under the word of God, still married. Which means no matter how many people you kiss on stage, I’ll still be your wife, Michael. And, I will always be, if you know you know, the Lady in his Life."

Flashing your wedding ring to the crowd that you still wore, you laughed loudly as the crowd went berserk, before exiting the stage. Screams of joy and shock erupted in the room as people sat near to Michael whispered to him, whose face himself was sporting a playful, shy smile, ignoring Quincy Jones laughing loudly next to him.

The rest of the night, where Michael went on to win 6 more awards, failing to address your call out of his stunt on stage, you were praised by many familiar stars — who claimed your speech was the best they’d heard in years. Unfortunately, you only won the one award, but you didn’t care — as the way you had outed Michael elicited a better feeling than any award could.

The end of the ceremony soon came around, and the after parties were beginning to start. Debbie had dragged you to one before you even got chance to decline, but you wanted to bask in your glory for a little longer before heading home.

Debbie had wondered off somewhere, claiming she needed to talk to Lionel Richie, and scurried off into the crowd — leaving you alone with your 4th Martini of the night.

"Nice little speech you gave earlier."

The familiar soft voice that sounded behind you sent shivers up your spine as you turned around to face the one man you’d wanted to ignore and be close to at the same time all night.

"Thank you." You smiled, "I thought it was fitting."

Michael hummed, nodding as the corner of his mouth threatened to curve into a smile, "I always admired your honesty." He spoke, "Congratulations by the way."

You chuckled softly, "Flattery won’t save you now, Michael."

"What? I can’t compliment my beautiful wife, as you say you are yourself."

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words, "I am when you’re kissing other women in public in front of me, I’m not when you want something from me now you realised you’ve fucked up."

Michael chuckled, taking a step closer to you, the waft of his cologne filling your nostrils — a sickly sweet reminder of his stunning scent that you once had smothered on your bedsheets and in your hair after a night of ecstasy. The thought of your late night love during your marriage sent a wave of uncontrollable arousal throughout your body as you looked up at him.

"I don’t think God would approve of you denying yourself as my wife whenever you please."

"That’s rich coming from you." You scoffed, furrowing your eyebrows, "You were borderline adulterous tonight."

"I would only be adulterous if you were still officially my girl. Yes, you’re legally my wife. But, the last I knew, we were ‘separated’" He teased, taking another step closer, your chests nearly touching as your breathing quickened, "So, unless you’re saying you want me back?"

You scoffed, avoiding the question as you looked away from, not wanting to be the one to admit you missed him, "In your dreams, Michael."

"Sure is."

Your mouth fell agape at his words, trying not to interpret it as sexual — but your already aroused brain instantly went there, eliciting a flush of heat through you.

"You can’t pick and choose when you want me, Michael." You stood strong, ignoring the small waver in your voice, "I’m either your wife or I’ll have the divorce papers drafted for Monday morning."

Michael didn’t speak — just stared at you through his sunglasses, his lips pressed together calmly as he eyed you. Your chest rose and fell quicker as you grew more and more impatient for his response, your lips forming an irritated pout, which you subconsciously forgot he loved as a smirk grew on his face.

"What’s so funny? I’m being seri—“

"Come with me."

Without having a second to comprehend what was happening, Michael grasped your hand tightly and began exiting the party. Your mouth fell open in confusion as his fingers laced through yours while leading you through the crowd, earning a few confused glances from other stars as you rushed past.

The cold February air hit you sharply as Michael guided you outside, the instant intense flash of cameras blazing your eyesight as he smiled at the cameras, squeezing your hand as a push to do the same. You forced a smile as he ushered you into the back of a car, jumping in with you and shutting the door.

"Where to, Sir?" The driver questioned.

"To our home — Hayvenhurst, please." Michael spoke softly, as he always did, your ears perking at the use of the word ‘our’, "And take the long route."

You turned to face the superstar as the partition closed, silence filling the car. Michael was already looking at you, his glasses had been taken off, and sporting a small smile.

"Don’t give me that look. I meant what I said, Michael." You sassed, crossing your arms.

"I know you did." He agreed, "I’m sorry for how I behaved tonight. A man without the support of his beautiful wife is a lost man who makes stupid choices."

You eyed him as he spoke, attempting to not fall for the flattery, which proved to be difficult as he met you with his classic puppy dog eyes.

"Like you said, I wrote that song just for you. That one among many. You are the only lady in my life — you inspire all of my love songs. You are the reason my heart swells with such passion to sing about love."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words — pink flushing your cheeks at the sweet confession as he smiled softly at you. He knew exactly how to play you to get what he wanted.

"Come on, baby, didn’t I make you happy?"

"Michael." You warned, eyeing his smirk as he shuffled closer to you.

"I know I did." He whispered, suddenly as close as he was at the after party, forcing your breath to catch in your throat, "I made you smile, and laugh, and feel content with your life and our future." His hand crept up to your knee, your breathing increasing ever so slightly at the sudden touch, "But, more importantly, I made you feel good, didn’t I?" He mewled, his hand sliding up your dress to caress your thigh.

"Michael." You sighed, arousal building between your legs at his tender touch.

"Admit it. I made you feel so good when I made sweet love to you every night." Michael teased, his hand now snaking around your waist and pulling you flush against his warm body, a gasp ripping from your throat in surprise, "I knew exactly how to pleasure my sweet, beautiful lady."

"Yes — God, yes, you did." You breathed, your chest heaving in pure arousal as your hands clung to his chest and around his neck, finally giving in to him, "Please."

Michael didn’t need to tease and wind you up tonight — he knew you needed each other so badly it would’ve physically hurt to deny each other one another for any longer. His hands around your waist pulled you as close to him as humanly possible, another residing on your red hot cheek as he pressed his eager lips to yours in a feverish kiss.

You instantly hummed in pleasure at the feeling of his warm, soft mouth against yours — your hands flying to tangle in his curls as you moved over to straddle his hips. Michael groaned into your mouth as his hands slid down your exposed back, pressing your body into his as he slipped his eager tongue into your mouth — desperate to taste you everywhere.

His excitable kisses edged down from your jawline to your neck, to your chest, your heartbeat hammering against his lips — love bites being littered across your skin.

"Baby, please."

Michael groaned at the sound of your desperate, aroused plea — his achingly hard cock twitching beneath his slacks.

"Let me make it up to you, darling." Michael started, moving to lay you down on the back seat, and kissing slowly down your body as you whined beneath him impatiently, "Let me taste your perfect pussy — make you feel good."

"Yes — God, yes, please."

Michael didn’t waste a second as the whiny, breathy words of desperation left your lips — bunching your dress around your hips. Michael let out a shaky breath at the sight of your drenched panties — your puffy pussy drooling for him even after the whole ordeal.

He hooked two fingers into your waistband and shimmied the soaked pink cloth off your cunt, the bare sight of your pretty pussy on show for him. He let out a sigh of pure adoration as he admired you, pushing your legs apart.

"Gosh, this pussy is beautiful — so wet for me."

You whined beneath him, bucking your hips in despair as your hole clenched around nothing, begging to be touched. Michael took this as a sign to slide his two fingers between your slit, a loud gasp ripping from your throat as he nudged your sensitive clit, collecting your essence on his digits. Pushing your legs back further, Michael slid his lubricated fingers towards your quivering hole, teasing the outside, earning a loud cry of irritation as you silently begged for him to fill you.

"Be a good girl now — let me make you feel better." He ordered, pressing a soft kiss to your elevated ankle as he slid two fingers inside you, an erotic moan leaving your lips, "Mm, that’s it, baby, let me hear you."

He knew exactly how to take you, how you liked to be pleased and what made you cum instantly. You felt as though even though he was making it up to you, he was also getting off on this. He pumped his fingers in and out of your tight cunt — the squelching of your juices and the sound of your delicious moans filled the car, Michael’s cock throbbing beneath his clothes at the pornographic noises entering his ears.

"Such a sweet, good girl for me. And I’m such a bad husband, aren’t I? But, I’m gonna make it all better, hm?"

"N-No, you’re p-perfect, Mike." You forced out, your voice wavering as he pleasured you.

But, Michael knew exactly what was going to make you forgive him. Leaning down in between your legs, he littered your thighs in kisses before attaching his lips around your throbbing clit. His fingers still curling to hit that spongy spot inside you had your back arching off the seat, your cries reaching their loudest as your built up sexual frustration for your husband came to its peak.

"O-oh— Michael, God, I-I’m gon—gonn—“

"Cum for me, baby, give it to me." He egged on, his lips never leaving your clit, as his fingers sped up inside you to help push you over the edge.

You came with a scream, your hand flying to his curls to tug on while your legs clamped around his head — his name flooding from your mouth as you shook around his head, his tongue lapping up your juices as they leaked from your abused hole.

Michael didn’t waste any time after you came down from your high, perching up on his knees to free himself from his slacks and boxers, shoving them down his thighs to let his painfully hard cock spring free. You hummed in arousing anticipation as he spat a dollop of his saliva onto his hand and slicking his cock in the natural lubricant — pumping himself a few times with a hiss before positioning himself by your shaking cunt. He slid his cock between your slick folds — nudging your swollen, sensitive clit, earning a pathetic cry as you grasped his bicep.

"Ready to feel how sorry I am, sweet thing?"

You nodded with a whine as he pushed your knees closer to your chest in a brutal mating press — before pushing his tip into your tight walls. Both of you let out intense cries of pleasure at the feeling of one another’s genitalia after so long — the sexual frustration melting away as he slid in further and further. You always struggled to take his thick, heavy dick — but tonight you didn’t care. You were so caught up in your emotions that the burn and stretch of his fat cock didn’t phase you tonight. You just needed him to take you over and over again to prove his apology and how much he loved you.

Michael bottomed out with a groan, "Oh." He shivered, "I’ve missed this perfect pussy, Jesus." He leant down to capture your lips in a messy, passionate kiss, tongues and teeth banging together as he pulled out all the way, to slam back into you. Both of your explicit noises filled the car mixed with the stench of pure sex as he fucked you into the seat.

"M-Michael!" You whined, your hand reaching up to touch his face as his pelvis rubbed against your pathetically sensitive clit — that and the feeling of the tip of his cock abusing your G-Spot had you seeing stars and threatening to cum again already.

Michael, lost in the pure ecstasy of your weeping cunt, had words failing him as he slammed into you repeatedly — pure excitement flooding his veins at the feeling of you squeezing him in as you reached your climax once again.

"M-Michael, Michael, I’m there — I’m cumming!"

Michael cursed under his breath as his flopped forward, his face nuzzling into your neck as you arched your back into his chest, your fingers curled in his hair as you tightened around his aching cock — cumming with a loud cry against him.

Michael wasn’t far behind at the feeling of your pussy clenching him so hard as you finished — milking him for all he’s worth. He came with a growl into your neck, your name and little moans of pure pleasure whined from his lips as he stuffed you full of his load.

Michael flopped against you as his orgasm feathered away, being careful not to crush you under his weight. His legs shook as he slipped out of you with a hiss and a curse under his breath — the feeling of his warm cum trickling out of you had you whining quietly.

Michael leaned down to capture your lips in a gentle kiss — this one now delicate and tender, compared to the intense one prior. He took time with your lips, a soft hand on your neck as he lovingly pecked your lips.

"I love you so much, baby. I don’t wanna be without my wife any longer. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done — please don’t leave me again." He admitted, pressing his sticky forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut.

Your heart swelled at his gentle, kind words, suddenly feeling so full of love and purpose once more.

"I love you too, Michael.” You breathed, a shaky hand coming up to stroke his cheek, "And I’m sorry for embarrassing you tonight. I won’t ever leave your side again."’

Michael smiled against you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, before sitting up to tuck his softened cock back into his boxers. He then assisted you back into your underwear, fixed your dress and smoothed your hair for you, before calling out to the driver to tell him to head towards home.

"Does this mean you’re my official girl, wife, everything again?" Michael whispered, wrapping an arm around your sleepy frame as you slumped against him.

You nodded weakly, "Yes, Mike, I’m your everything again."

"You always were, my darling."

Something had shifted between Michael and Y/N so quietly that neither of them could pinpoint exactly what happened.

One day they were best friends sprawled across his living room floor arguing over movies and stealing bites of each other’s ice cream.

And then suddenly Michael was pulling her into empty hallways at family parties just to kiss her until neither of them remembered what they’d originally left the room for.

It happened constantly now. Sneaking around. Disappearing from rooms at the same exact time. Finding stupid excuses just to be alone together for five minutes. Ten if they were lucky.

Michael would mumble something about wanting to show her a new demo or needing help finding a cassette tape and Y/N would immediately follow him trying not to smile too obviously while his brothers booed dramatically behind them.

And every single time?

They ended up making out somewhere.

Against studio walls.

Inside parked cars.

Curled together on the couch long after everyone else had gone to bed.

It was honestly becoming ridiculous. Especially because Michael, despite kissing her every chance he got now, still acted painfully shy about it afterward.

Like he’d pull her flush against him one second, kissing her slow and deep like he physically couldn’t get close enough and then immediately hide his face in her shoulder afterward because she smiled at him too sweetly.

Y/N found it devastating. Because this was still the same Michael from the Twister mat.

The same boy who looked at her like she hung the moon every time she made him laugh.

Only now he touched her constantly too. And not even intentionally half the time.

Hand at the small of her back while walking through doors. Fingers hooking into the belt loop of her jeans absentmindedly while talking. Pulling her into his lap during studio breaks like it was instinct.

Like somewhere between Human Nature and Thriller and late-night drives through Los Angeles, Michael Jackson had quietly become addicted to touching her.

Y/N wasn’t doing much better than him.

His hand brushed hers once while reaching for the radio in Bill’s car and she spent the next twenty minutes staring out the window trying to remember her own name.

Especially now that she knew what kissing him felt like. Because that had changed everything.

The first kiss beneath the streetlights outside her house had broken something open between them permanently.

Now every glance lasted too long. Every joke carried tension underneath it. Every playful touch threatened turning into something else entirely.

And the worst part?

They still teased each other exactly the same way they always had. Which somehow made everything worse. Especially for Michael.

Because Y/N had realized very quickly that flustering him was embarrassingly easy now.

Like today.

The Jackson family kitchen buzzed with noise around them, Jermaine arguing loudly with Tito while Michael sat at the table pretending to write lyrics. ‘Pretending’ being the keyword. Because Y/N had just walked into the house three minutes ago and he hadn’t had a single coherent thought ever since.

She wore denim shorts and one of his old jackets over a tank top, his aviator sunglasses shoved into her hair because apparently she’d decided those belonged to her permanently now.

Michael looked up automatically the second she entered. And froze on the spot.

Jermaine noticed instantly. “Damn it, Mike.”

“Shut up,” Michael muttered weakly, eyes still fixed on her.

Y/N caught the interaction instantly and grinned.

“Well, hello to you too.”

Michael visibly swallowed.

“…Hi,” he answered softly.

Tito gagged. “This is disgusting.”

Y/N giggled while Michael turned pink immediately. She tilted her head affectionately at the sight of him blushing. It never stopped affecting her.

Because Michael always got shy in the prettiest way possible. Eyes dropping. Little nervous smile. Shoulders curling inward slightly whenever attention landed on him too hard.

Which only made Y/N want to kiss his entire pretty face.

She walked toward the table slowly before sliding into the chair beside him, close enough that her thigh brushed against his beneath the table.

Michael’s breath caught softly. Still, she noticed. Their eyes met for half a second. And suddenly that familiar tension slid quietly into place between them again.

Warm. Dangerous. The kind of tension that had been following them everywhere lately.

Y/N looked away first this time, suddenly feeling shy herself.

Which was kind of new to their dynamic.

Normally she could tease Michael endlessly without losing confidence. But lately? He looked at her too softly and it would completely unravel her.

Especially when he touched her. Like right now.

Michael’s fingers brushed absentmindedly against her bare knee beneath the table.

Not even dramatic. Just resting there lightly.

Y/N’s widened a little bit at the feeling of his warm fingers against her skin and she felt her cheeks getting warm.

The second Michael realized what he had done, he visibly panicked a little. His hand twitched like he meant to pull away.

Then Y/N placed her hand on top of his and Michael stopped functioning entirely.

Jermaine looked between them and groaned.

“This is actually hard to watch.”

Neither of them answered. Because Michael was too busy trying not to stare at Y/N’s mouth. And Y/N was trying very hard not to think about the fact his hand was still resting warm against her leg beneath the table.

It had gotten bad.

At one point earlier that week Michael had pinned her gently against the recording studio door after she’d teased him about the Thriller jacket and they’d ended up kissing for so long Quincy actually walked back out of the room muttering ‘absolutely not.’

And somehow, even after all that? Michael still looked stunned every single time she kissed him first. Like he couldn’t fully believe this was real.

Now Y/N felt her mouth dry, after staring at his hand on her leg for a bit too long. “I think I’m gonna get something to drink.” She rambled.

Automatically, Michael reached for the glass of orange juice that he head next to him on the table handed it over to her without even thinking.

The kitchen went dead silent.

Because Michael Jackson loved his orange juice more than life itself and almost never shared it with anybody.

Y/N blinked once realizing it at the exact same moment Michael did.

And suddenly both of them looked horribly aware of each other again.

Jermaine pointed aggressively across the kitchen.

“Love? In this economy, Mike?”

Michael covered his face immediately, a groan leaving his mouth.

“I hate this family.”

Y/N laughed helplessly beside him, cheeks as red as his now.

Then quieter, just for him: “You gave me your orange juice.”

Michael peeked at her through his fingers.

“Yeah.”

“So this is really serious, huh?” She teased, which should’ve made him embarrassed.

Instead Michael just looked at her with intensity and something else in his eyes.

Brown eyes soft beneath messy curls.

And something in Y/N’s chest flipped over completely because suddenly he didn’t look flustered anymore. Just honest.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “It is.”

Y/N immediately forgot how to speak. “Damn it, Michael.” It was her turn to cover her face with her hands as she tried to fight back a smile.

Because there it was again. That terrifying sincerity Michael carried so naturally.

No games. No performance. Just the brutal truth. And somehow that affected her more than all the kissing did.

Michael noticed her sudden silence and immediately got shy again himself.

His fingers curled nervously against the table.

“I mean—”

“You’re both disgusting,” Tito interrupted loudly.

With that, the moment was over.

Y/N burst into laughter while Michael groaned dramatically once again. His brothers did had a talent to frustrate him.

Without thinking too much about it, he reached for her hand beneath the table anyway. And intertwined their fingers.

Small. Instinctive. Shy. Possessive in the gentlest way possible.

Y/N looked down at their hands and felt her stomach twist. He held her hand like it was something precious.

Like he couldn’t believe she kept letting him do so.

Jermaine watched the entire thing happen and leaned against the counter. “But they’re just friends, right?” He asked rhetorically as he faced Marlon.

“Oh, Jermaine, don’t you know that nobody flirts harder than two ‘we’re just friends’?”

Michael hid his face against Y/N’s shoulder immediately while she laughed so hard the orange juice almost came out through her nose.

But then Michael mumbled softly against her shoulder, just for her: “Don’t laugh.”

Y/N melted instantly.

“I’m not laughing,” she whispered, trying to contain her giggles, smile softening. “I think you’re cute.”

Michael made the smallest embarrassed noise imaginable.

And the fact that Michael Jackson — global superstar, future owner of the biggest album in history — still got flustered because a girl called him cute?

That honestly ruined Y/N a little bit every single time.

“Boys, why won’t you leave Michael alone?” Katherine asked, stepping into the kitchen.

Then Marlon delivered the final blow.

“His girlfriend’s here.”

Silence.

Brutal silence.

Michael froze.

Y/N froze.

His brothers collectively lost it instantly, wheezing at their faces. Katherine just shook her head and winked at Y/N. The poor girl felt her blood running cold.

Michael opened his mouth automatically to correct him—

and stopped.

His girlfriend.

The words echoed around his skull for one horrifying second.

And unfortunately he liked the sound of them way too much.

Y/N slowly turned toward him, eyes still wide and cheeks pink.

Michael’s face went bright red immediately.

“I mean— not that you’re not— I just mean—”

Jermaine was crying from laughing at this point. “Oh my GOD.” He wheezed, his mom slapping the back of his head.

Michael looked seconds away from spontaneous combustion.

Meanwhile Y/N kept staring at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks and suddenly the kitchen felt way too hot.

Because Michael hadn’t corrected it.

And judging by the way he couldn’t even look directly at her right now that seemed very important.

Michael stood abruptly.

“I’m going outside.” He blurted out while fleeing the kitchen.

“Coward!” Tito yelled after him.

Y/N let out a nervous laugh. But then, a few seconds later, still a helpless smile made its way into her face. “I’m gonna—“ She motioned to the door Michael had just gone through, but didn’t really waited for an answer, following after him anyway.

Michael sat on the back steps with his face buried in his hands when Y/N stepped outside.

“You’re alive?”

Michael groaned dramatically, his voice muffled by his hands. “No.”

Y/N sat beside him, shoulder brushing softly against his.

“That bad?”

“I’m never opening my mouth again.”

That made her laugh quietly. Michael glanced sideways at her then. And immediately got distracted again.

Because Y/N just looked so pretty in the afternoon sunlight. Too pretty.

That was becoming a serious issue for him.

Especially wearing his jacket. Especially looking at him all soft like this.

“I didn’t mind it,” she admitted quietly after a moment.

Michael blinked.

“Huh?”

“The girlfriend thing.”

Oh.

Oh no.

Michael’s heartbeat immediately became catastrophic. ‘What the hell is was happening’, he thought to himself. He was trying so hard to act cool and nonchalant, but it was backfiring so badly.

Y/N looked down at her hands now, suddenly feeling (more) nervous.

“I mean…” She smiled, trying to avoid his gaze. “If you meant it.”

Michael stared at her for one full second. Then another. Because he had meant it.

Accidentally. But also not accidentally at all. And suddenly the words came rushing out before fear could stop him.

“I do.”

Y/N looked up immediately, eyes locking on his.

Michael swallowed hard.

“I mean— if you wanted— I mean only if you want to—”

“Michael.”

“—because you don’t have to and I don’t wanna make things weird and—”

Y/N cupped his face with her hands suddenly.

Michael stopped vomiting words instantly.

Then she smiled. Soft. Warm. Completely devastating.

“I do wanna be your girlfriend.”

Michael genuinely looked stunned. He felt like he would burst into flames at any given moment. Like that sentence coming out of her mouth knocked the air out of him.

“R-Really?”

Y/N laughed quietly, taking a second to just look at his beautiful face. Warm, brown and kind eyes. Cheeks flushed. Lips so inviting.

“Yes, really.” One of her hands caressed his cheek softly.

And Michael smiled so hard it almost looked painful. Hopelessly happy. Like he physically couldn’t contain it.

Then very shyly, he squeezed her hand tighter.

And for the next several minutes neither of them really knew what to do.

Because now they were together.

Officially.

Which somehow made them both dramatically more awkward.

At one point Michael tried putting his arm around her shoulders and nearly elbowed her in the face by accident.

Y/N laughed so hard she snorted.

Michael hid his face in embarrassment immediately while she kissed his jaw, still laughing.

God.

That girl was going to be the death of him.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

The problem was that Michael really did want to take Y/N on a proper date afterward.

Desperately.

He wanted normal things with her.

Movies.

Holding hands.

Sharing popcorn.

Stupid little moments that didn’t involve screaming fans or cameras.

He just wanted to be boyfriend and girlfriend.

But Michael also knew what happened anytime he stepped into public now.

Especially with Thriller about to release.

The crowds were getting bigger every week.

People pushing.

Photographers yelling.

And the thought of Y/N getting caught in that because of him made guilt twist painfully in his chest.

So by the time he picked her up one Friday night, he already looked nervous.

“We don’t have to go,” he said immediately while she climbed into the passenger seat beside him.

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Michael kept both hands tight on the steering wheel.

“I just mean— if people recognize us or something…”

Y/N’s expression softened instantly.

Because there it was again. That guilt Michael carried everywhere now. Like being in love with him had consequences she didn’t deserve.

“Michael.” He glanced over quietly. “You know I don’t care about any of that.” She shook her head.

Michael didn’t look convinced.

“You say that now, but—”

Then Y/N rolled her eyes and stretched herself to the driver seat, pecking his lips and shushing him.

“Good thing I came prepared.” She said while staring at him, their faces really closed.

Michael pecked her lips again and frowned slightly. “Prepared for what?”

Without answering, Y/N reached into her bag dramatically and pulled out:

Two baseball caps.

Huge sunglasses.

And and two absolutely ridiculous fake mustaches.

Michael stared at her in silence.

“What in the world is that?”

“Our disguises.”

“Those are not a disguises.”

“They are!” Y/N complained, placing the fake mustache above her lips and the baseball cap on her head. She looked absolutely ridiculous.

“You look like a divorced father of three.”

Y/N looked delighted. “Perfect, I knew you’d be into that.” She added.

Michael burst out laughing so suddenly he had to lean forward against the steering wheel for a second.

And just like that, the tension eased.

Because Y/N always did this somehow.

She could make him laugh in the middle of any fear.

Eventually Michael put on the other cap and mustache too, plus sunglasses despite the fact that it was fully nighttime.

“You look more suspicious than famous,” Y/N informed him in a very serious tone, doing her absolute best to keep a poker face.

Michael pointed at her mustache. “You literally cannot speak to me right now.” The two kept staring at each other for about two seconds before busting out laughing.

Miraculously, they actually made it inside the theater unnoticed.

Mostly because nobody was expecting Michael Jackson and his weird little mustached girlfriend to be buying popcorn and a insane amount of candy together at 9 p.m. of a Friday.

Y/N looked unbearably proud of herself the entire time.

“I’m a genius.”

Michael shook his head laughing at her. “You’re insane.”

“But did it work?”

“Fortunately, yes.”

The theater itself was mostly empty.

Dim lights.

Cold air.

That soft movie-theater quiet before previews started rolling.

And suddenly both of them got weirdly nervous again.

Because this was technically their first real date.

Michael sat beside her clutching popcorn like it had personally wronged him.

Meanwhile Y/N kept stealing glances at him beneath the flickering screen light.

He looked so beautiful tonight. But then again, she had that thought every time she laid eyes on him.

Soft curls tucked beneath his cap.

Big brown eyes hidden badly behind sunglasses he absolutely did not need indoors.

And that ridiculous mustache resting on top of his lips.

Every few minutes their hands brushed against each other in the popcorn bucket. And each time both of them reacted like they’d been electrocuted.

At one point Michael reached for popcorn at the exact same moment she did, their fingers tangled briefly. And both of them froze.

Y/N looked down immediately smiling shyly.

Michael held his breath for a second.

Then very carefully, very nervously, he turned his hand slightly until their fingers linked together properly.

Y/N’s felt like she might drop dead right there.

Because Michael looked so shy doing it.

Like he was still asking permission somehow.

And when she laced her fingers through his?

The smile Michael gave her could’ve ended wars.

The movie played was being completely ignored in the background. Neither of them had any idea what was happening onscreen anymore.

Y/N kept leaning closer accidentally (not acidental at all).

Michael kept stealing glances at her mouth.

And eventually the tension became genuinely ridiculous.

Until finally Y/N whispered: “Can I ask you something?”

Michael looked over instantly. “Yeah?”

She tried to sound casual. Failed completely.

“…Should we make out right now?”

Michael choked. Actually choked.

Y/N burst into helpless laughter immediately while Michael covered his face with one hand, shoulders shaking. She patted him in the back lightly as he cough.

“You can’t just say things like that.” He whispered softly after regaining his composure.

“Why not?”

“Because—” Michael looked at her. At the teasing smile on her face. The fake mustache still somehow hanging on crooked. The softness in her eyes only meant for him. And suddenly he couldn’t think straight anymore. “…Okay,” he whispered.

Y/N blinked and raised a brow at him.

“Okay?”

Michael nodded once, visibly flustered.

“Yeah.”

And then somehow they were kissing in the back row of a movie theater like two teenagers.

Soft at first. Shy.

Both smiling too much against each other’s mouths because neither of them could believe this was real.

Michael’s hand stayed tangled carefully with hers the entire time.

And when Y/N laughed quietly into the kiss because his sunglasses bumped her nose, Michael started laughing too.

Which only made them kiss harder.

Messier.

Sweeter.

Completely drunk on each other.

“You know,” She mumbled in between kisses. Michael didn’t answer. “You still have a mustache on.” He stopped kissing her for a second, pulling apart. She let out a small laugh at his face. Sunglasses crooked and mustache almost falling off.

“What?” Michael asked breathlessly. "You know what, I really don't care. You still look hot and I'm trying not to kiss you senseless right now." He blurted out, not really giving his words a second thought before pulling her close again, locking their lips one more time.

Y/N laughed into his lips, reaching out for his jaw and forgetting about everything around them.

⋆⭒˚.⋆

A few weeks later, Thriller released.

And suddenly the entire world shifted beneath Michael’s feet. The release party was massive.

Industry executives.

Celebrities.

Press everywhere.

Everyone in Los Angeles seemingly desperate to witness what Quincy Jones was already calling history.

Meanwhile Y/N stood in front of her mirror at home feeling wildly out of place.

Because this wasn’t her world. It didn’t feel like it was.

Michael belonged here. He was becoming something untouchable now. Bigger than life.

And suddenly the idea of standing beside him in a room full of famous powerful people made insecurity curl painfully in her stomach.

So when Michael called before Bill came to pick her up, she sounded quieter than usual immediately.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

Y/N hesitated.

“Should I even go?”

Silence.

“What?” He questioned, sounding genuinely confused at her words.

She sat down slowly on the edge of her bed.

“I don’t know, Mikey.” She laughed nervously. “It’s your release party. There’s gonna be all these celebrities and important people and I’m just…”

Michael frowned instantly hearing her voice shrink like that.

“Just what?”

Y/N picked nervously at her sleeve.

“I don’t really belong in that world.”

Michael went completely quiet for a second.

“Yes you do.” He said firmly.

Y/N blinked.

“Michael—”

“No, don’t ’Michael’ me.” His voice softened slightly now. “Listen,” And suddenly he sounded so sincere it made her chest ache. “Where I’m going, you’re going.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“You’re my priority,” Michael said quietly. “Not those people.”

Nobody had ever spoken to her like that before.

Like choosing her was the most obvious thing.

Like he couldn’t imagine not wanting her beside him.

Michael sighed softly on the other end of the line. “I invited you because I want you there.”

Then quieter:

“I need my girlfriend there.”

That completely ruined her.

Because beneath all the excitement surrounding that stage of life, Y/N knew how overwhelmed he really was.

The pressure.

The expectations.

The fear nobody else besides her saw.

And suddenly this wasn’t about social circles anymore.

It was about Michael wanting someone safe beside him while his whole life changed overnight.

Y/N smiled softly despite herself.

“…Okay.”

Michael sounded relieved instantly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The grin in his voice became obvious immediately.

“Good.” He paused briefly. “And wear something pretty.”

Y/N laughed.

“So you’re saying I’m not already pretty?”

Michael made the most offended sound you can imagine.

“You know that’s not what I meant and you also know that I find you the prettiest when you’re wearing pajamas.”

She smiled wider, her cheeks were starting to hurt.

“…I know.”

And later that night, when she stepped into the party and immediately spotted Michael across the room—surrounded by executives and cameras and people desperate for his attention—his entire face lit up the second he saw her.

Not the superstar smile.

Not the public one.

Something softer, meant just for her.

Like out of everybody in the room, she was the only person he’d actually been waiting for.

And when she finally reached him, Michael didn’t even hesitate before reaching for her hand.

Holding it proudly. Openly. Like he wanted the whole world to know exactly who she was to him.

“Hi.” She blurted out, smiling up at him. He already was smiling back at her.

“Y-you look…” Michael felt a blush make its way up to his face as he stared at her. “Wow.”

Y/N giggled at him and shook her head.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She said and bit her bottom lip, trying not to think too much about how ridiculously hot he looked at that moment.

Because Katherine Jackson absolutely knew what she was doing. That became painfully obvious the second Michael really looked at Y/N standing in front of him.

Because somehow—without discussing it beforehand—their outfits matched perfectly.

Michael wore a deep violet-black sequined suit that shimmered indigo beneath the lights, silver detailing sharp against the tailored lines of his waist and shoulders while layered necklaces rested against the open collar of his shirt.

And Y/N? She looked like midnight wrapped in starlight.

The gown Katherine had helped her pick flowed over her body like liquid amethyst, tiny crystals shifting between lavender, silver and blue every time she moved beneath the lights. The neckline draped elegantly across her chest while the slit along her leg flashed every time she walked.

Michael forgot to breath for a moment.

And Quincy, who observed the scene unfolding in front of him, noticed this ‘coincidence’ instantly.

“Oh Katherine absolutely planned this.” He pointed out to Tito, who stood next to him with an amused expression on his face as he watched his little brother and his girlfriend struggle.

Michael blinked, finally looking away from Y/N “What?”

“Mom knew exactly what she was doing,” Tito continued gleefully. “You two look like a damn wedding topper.”

Michael turned bright red immediately.

Meanwhile Y/N stared at him with a grin. “Aww, we’re matching!” She pointed out excitedly, looking down at her dress and at his suit.

Michael looked so flustered.

“I— I didn’t know.”

“Neither did I.”

Their eyes met again.

The kind of eye contact that had become genuinely hazardous lately.

Especially after the movie theater.

Especially after weeks of sneaking away from rooms just to kiss until neither of them remembered they’re names.

And right now? Michael looked one compliment away from combusting.

Y/N leaned closer carefully.

“You look really handsome tonight.” She told him in a low voice.

Michael swallowed hard immediately.

Handsome.

God.

She always called him things like that like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

His hand found her waist instinctively, warm fingers pressing lightly against the crystal fabric of her dress.

And suddenly it seemed that both of them forgot there were hundreds of people around them.

“You’re staring,” Y/N whispered teasingly.

Michael’s eyes dropped to her mouth immediately.

“…Can you blame me?”

Her stomach made a catastrophic flip.

Because Michael still sounded shy saying things like that. Adorable. Still looked almost embarrassed by how badly he wanted her.

Y/N felt heat crawl up her neck immediately.

“Michael Jackson,” she whispered, half laughing, half gasping.

Michael ducked his head slightly, smiling to himself. Then quieter:

“You’re making it very hard to behave right now.”

Y/N’s smile dropped immediately. Because Michael never said things like that directly. Not with that low shy honesty in his voice.

“Oh my God.”

Michael immediately looked embarrassed afterward. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Y/N answered way too fast. “No, actually, you should say more things like that.”

Michael burst into a flustered laughter while Quincy and Tito turned away muttering:

“Lord help these children.”

The party kept swelling louder around them.

Music.

Laughter.

Industry executives orbiting around Michael every few minutes trying to congratulate him.

But despite all of it? Michael kept drifting back toward her.

Every single time.

One hand on her waist.

Pulling her closer while introducing her to people.

Looking for her across rooms automatically anytime they got separated.

And the chemistry between them was getting hard to ignore.

Especially because Michael could not stop touching her tonight.

A bit inappropriately.

Constantly.

His fingers brushing the small of her back.

Hand settling low against her waist while talking.

Thumb absentmindedly stroking over her hip through the shimmering fabric every time she stood close enough.

Like he needed reassurance she was really there.

At one point Y/N laughed at something Quincy said and tipped her head back slightly—

and Michael stared at her mouth. Completely hypnotized.

Obviously Jermaine noticed instantly.

“I’m starting a rumor.” He said bluntly, a smirk on his face at the sight of Michael.

Michael snapped out of it immediately.

“Isn’t this embarrassing,” He mumbled rhetorically, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’ve been staring at her for twenty minutes straight.”

Michael looked horrified.

“I have not.”

“Mhm.”

Y/N smiled innocently beside him before jumping into the conversation.

“Yeah, he kinda has.”

Michael looked at her in betrayal while she and Jermaine burst into laughter.

Then suddenly the opening bassline of Billie Jean exploded through the ballroom speakers.

The entire room reacted instantly.

Cheers erupting everywhere.

And Michael groaned.

“Oh no.”

Y/N grabbed his bicep immediately, eyes completely wide and a giant smile on her face.

“Oh yes.”

“Baby—”

“Nope.” She started pulling him toward the dance floor. “Absolutely not. You are dancing to your own song.” Jermaine clapped and cheered after them.

Michael laughed helplessly while letting her drag him anyway.

The second they hit the dance floor? Chaos.

Because Michael Jackson physically could not hear Billie Jean and act normal.

The crowd around them immediately opened up watching him instinctively fall into the rhythm, shoulders loosening while the familiar confidence slid naturally into place.

And Y/N? She matched his energy instantly.

Dancing dramatically beside him, pointing accusingly during the lyrics while Michael laughed so hard he almost missed his cue mouthing along.

“She says I am the one—”

Y/N pointed at herself dramatically.

Michael clutched his chest theatrically.

“—but the kid is not my son!”

The two of them dissolved laughing.

And people around them were losing it.

Because Michael Jackson —coolest and most famous man alive— was currently being an absolute goofball with his girlfriend in matching sequins.

And the way he looked at her while dancing? It could’ve actually ended wars.

Every spin ended with him pulling her closer than necessary.

Every laugh turned into lingering eye contact.

Every playful touch started lasting a little too long.

At one point Y/N sang directly into his face dramatically:

“Billie Jean is not my lover—”

Michael grabbed her waist suddenly and pulled her flush against him. Y/N shut her mouth immediately.

“She’s just a girl,” he finished softly.

Y/N gulped.

The tension snapped instantly.

Michael’s hands remained low on her waist.

Too close now. Way too close.

The ballroom lights reflected gold against his curls while he stared down at her breathing slightly heavier than before.

And God.

That look.

That look had become a serious problem lately.

Like he wanted to kiss her until neither of them remembered their own names.

Y/N’s fingers curled lightly into the front of his sequined jacket.

“You’re staring again,” she whispered.

Michael’s eyes flicked to her mouth.

“I can’t help it.”

That did it.

Absolutely done.

“Okay, we’re done.” Y/N grabbed his hand instantly. “Come with me.”

Michael blinked.

“What?”

But she was already pulling him off the dance floor. Fast. Through crowded hallways and backstage corridors while Michael followed breathlessly behind her trying not to laugh.

“Where are we going?”

“You ask too many questions.”

“You’re kidnapping me.”

“Correct.”

Eventually they found an empty hallway near the dressing rooms.

Quiet. Dimly lit. Far enough from the party that the music became muffled through the walls.

And the second they were alone?

Michael barely had time to breathe before Y/N grabbed the front of his jacket and crashed her lips into his.

Hard.

Michael made a startled sound against her mouth immediately before kissing her back with equal desperation.

And oh.

Oh this was different tonight.

Hotter.

Needier.

Weeks of tension and sneaking around and wanting each other finally boiling over all at once.

Michael backed her gently against the wall without breaking the kiss once, hands sliding urgently along the glittering fabric of her dress like he couldn’t decide where to touch first.

Y/N’s fingers tangled into his hair.

And the sound Michael made?

Devastating.

He was completely hopeless for her.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered against her mouth.

Y/N actually shivered hearing it. She felt something warming up with urgency inside of her. Specifically between her thighs, if we’re being honest.

Because Michael still sounded shy saying things like that.

Still sounded almost embarrassed by how badly he wanted her.

Which somehow made it infinitely hotter.

His mouth moved down her jaw slowly.

Then her neck.

And when he kissed the sensitive spot beneath her ear Y/N’s knees nearly gave out entirely.

“Michael—”

“I know,” he breathed shakily against her skin. “I know, baby.”

Michael’s hands tightened instinctively at her waist while she kissed him harder, pulling him impossibly close against her.

Sequins scratched softly together every time they moved. Their matching outfits glittering beneath the dim hallway lights while they practically melted into each other.

And somewhere far away Billie Jean still echoed faintly through the ballroom while Michael Jackson kissed his girlfriend like a starved man.

Completely ruined. Completely in love.

And absolutely never recovering from her.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .

Taglist:

your breath hitches, you've never been exposed on a big screen before, and knowing that it would be in a room with multiple people and especially jaafar, the idea scared you. you weren't that kind of actress yet. heat creeping up your neck, you dart your eyes to jaafar before responding. "what kind of nudity?"

the jackson next to you doesn't look away from you, you can tell he didn't want to see you uncomfortable, but he was observing quite closely. you and jaafar knew surface level information about one another, and it was safe to say you both were aware of the age-gap between the both of you. keeping your sight forward, you look at the man while you try to ignore jaafar's gaze on you.

"topless nudity, but it doesn't have to be your full chest. we want to go with the flow, but since you're so new to this we want to…" the director looks around the room, snapping his fingers while he tries to look for the word, "protect you." he lands with, holding your eyes again. you don't see, but jaafars adams apple bobs. jaafar felt shameful about his immense attraction to you and the idea of working with you naked made him quite nervous.

you hear him out, "are you uncomfortable with an entire studio seeing you bare?" he asks, clicking his pen and lightly twisting in his chair with wheels.

you swallow, answering honestly. "i've never filmed anything where i needed to be, so yes, i think i'm a little uncomfortable."

jaafar drops his gaze, he knows that after you it would be his turn to get asked these questions.

the man pops a shoulder, "thought so, it's only natural." then he abruptly asks a question that feels out of place. "have you worn backless dresses or tops before?" he randomly questions.

you nod, "yeah."

the man gives a look to one of the writers beside him, who jots something down on a sticky note.

"y/n, we'll get back to you on this, we want you to feel as comfortable and safe in this environment as possible. i'll discuss things further with you regarding nudity later, okay?"

you smile, and jaafar makes sure to lift his eyes and see it. "of course, thank you so much. i am willing to negotiate further, and make exceptions, i don't want you to think i won't do anything at all."

the man lifts his palm, "you're sweet, but you're only so young. now," he turns to jaafar, who was rubbing his palm on his thighs. "i'm not gonna make you get naked while you portray your uncle," jaafar laughs, and you cant help but chuckle too, "but this will be a very tension-filled, sexual scene. i'm going to give you both enough wiggle room to behave however you want but this is basically the scene—"

the writers pull out a stack of stapled paper, an older woman begins reading it out.

Cameras flash all on Michael, but he was staring at [Reader's character] who stands on the sidelines, away from paparazzi and interviewers and beside Bill and Michael's manager. The audience gets a view-shot of her entire flattering, sultry dress. Michael, despite being on the red carpet, pulls away early, eager to leave.

"Blah blah blah, okay, here's the scene."

Now that Michael was finally alone with [Reader's character], it's quiet and tension is thick in the air. Michael decides to speak first. He mentions something about how [Reader's characters]'s feet must be aching from her shoes. She, feeling bold, lifts up her legs and points her feet to Michael. She asks him to take her heels off for her. Michael doesn't think twice, feeling her feet once they are off.

"now jaafar, you're going to massage her toes and when you press against the middle of her foot, y/n will moan, this will take michael by surprise, kind of—shyly, boyishly smiling."

this was all starting to settle on to jaafars shoulders, he will really have to do these things with you. he wasn't sure how he felt, outside of his nervousness, but he would be a liar if he said this didn't excite him a little.

listening to the script kind of felt like a blur for you, a moment is brought up where jaafar will have to slide his hands under your dress and off of you, exposing you, you felt lightheaded. jaafar was good-looking, of course you couldn't wrap your mind around it.

"but don't worry, y/n. we'll edit this back if you're sure that you don't want to be naked."

as the explanation went on, you realize just how close you will need to get with jaafar.

phrases like "palm him", "pull his hair", "your tongue is gonna—" were thrown around, and that was only what you had to do. jaafar was left with much more work.

"remember, michael was quite the ladies man, he knew what he was doing when he put on a soft-act, and jaafar, you will also have to."

"yeah, i think i caught on with that." he jokes and you grin. just by his tone you can tell he was just as new to this as you. you often forget that he was never an actor before the first film, you both probably felt the same exact way.

"is there anything about the scene you two want me to change?"

you and jaafar both turn to look at each other but you both decide to remain silent, it seemed you both were open minded which was great news for the production.

you shake your head at the man, and he exclaims.

"great! now, this scene will take around a few days to film despite being a short one. our intimacy coordinator suggested, since you two have never filmed a romantic scene before, that you dedicate a few days together. you know, getting comfortable with each other and practicing the scene alone together before she interferes and organizes everything. we still want there to be passion, so we're relying on you two to make that happen. don't let it get unprofessional, but loosen each other up before the production interferes and filming starts happening, okay?"

alright, now you are a little scared. a few days of just you and jaafar together and, what, having sex? based on jaafar's shy, boyish expression, you can tell he was overthinking this just as much as you were.

everyone already starts to leave but you and jaafar are still planted on your seats.

"i would suggest starting as soon as possible, we're already behind schedule, so like, today.'

today.

is this a prank?

you can't even complain, you quite literally signed up for this.

the room began to empty out and you were still there, staring at your copy of the script. so was jaafar, who immediately rubs his forehead after it's just you two now.

"i had no clue they were gonna make me do this after i accepted doing the first movie." he said, humor behind his voice.

you laugh, "yeah, i got no excuse. not sure what we're gonna do with the whole topless thing though."

he takes a moment to respond back, there was a thickness in the air now that it was just the two of you. it was to be expected, after getting a step-for-step guide on how you're gonna be having sex for the next few weeks of practicing and filming. "do ah, do we just get right into it or do you want to get to know each other better first?"

looking at the dimple on his cheek, you say "i think getting to know each other sounds better right now."

-

you burst out laughing. you were back at his apartment now and you realize he's way funnier than he lets on, the sounds of your laughing giving him a sense of pride floating in his chest.

despite him saying he doesn't drink, he makes an exception today in order to pave some room for you both. no one was exactly drunk, just tipsy.

"i mean just look at his mustache!" he doubles down and you actually feel tears forming.

"oh my god, stop, i can't breathe." you throw your head back on his couch, gasping for air as you force yourself to calm down. he can't help but laugh when you do, so you both were just giggling messes.

you make a noise that sounds like a content sigh, turning your head to look at him as silence finally settles between you two again. you notice how jaafar doesn't make eye contact with you for long, looking away every time you catch his gaze. now he looks at the empty glass cups on his coffee table and the folders beside them, but you were too busy focusing on his curls which he grew out since the last movie. his hair wasn't too long per se, just a casually messy head of curls that he looked fabulous in.

he now knows more about what kind of music you listen to and your relationship with your family, but also your personality now shined like a sun-beam outside of a work setting. he absoluetly adored you.

he tried to push the thought to the back of his mind. he felt shameful for his violating, ungentleman-like thoughts but god. he could not wait to fuck you.

jaafar picks up the folder, giving you a wide smile which makes you try to swallow down how flustered you felt.

your sight darts to the folder now in his hand, nervousness eating you up again. "i guess we gotta get to it, huh."

"nah, not right away if you don't want," he flips through it quickly before dismissing it back on the table again. "how about we just do what we remember today, and tomorrow we follow it step by step?'

still in a mood where you felt like joking, you jump straight into it.

"oh gosh, my feet, michael. they just hurt so bad…" you made up your own dialogue as you lifted your right foot, where you only had a sock on since you had taken your shoes off before entering his apartment.

already, he laughs, the sound comforting you as he scooches close to you. "nope, no i cant have that, give me your foot," he grasps it and places it on his lap, shoving your socks off and doing a surprisingly good job at massaging it.

actually, it took you by surprise how good it was, you unexpectedly shove a hand to your mouth to keep yourself from making any noises.

"awh, i didn't even get to the pad of your foot yet." he grins at you, lifting a hand to pull your own hand away from your mouth. his being significantly bigger, softer.

you remembered you were supposed to be making noise, so you just let him, but it was just a massage and despite being tipsy, you didn't want to embarrass yourself by being too vocal so you force yourself to remain quiet.

you weren't wearing a dress, so he couldn't follow the steps of sliding his hand under it and groping your thighs, so instead he goes over your pants. his hands were warm, the heat of it seeping through your material until he reached your thigh, your character spread her legs open wider, so you do too.

he moves slower for a moment, you think it's because he was trying to remember what to do next, but what you don't know was that his heart was thumping so hard in his chest he thinks you can hear it. really. jaafar was building up his courage.

slowly getting closer to you, breathing in your scent, he looks up at you with such a puppy dog expression, you almost ask him what's wrong. "i'm going to touch you over your clothes today, okay?" jaafar tells you instead of asking you.

"okay," you respond softly, his character was supposed to grope your actual body, but jaafar barely even hovers above your clothed breast. he was so nice, it began frustrating you. you understand this was your job, but you were both new to this and you couldn't change how you feel at this moment.

"jaafar," your voice above a whisper, the humorous environment quickly shifting to exactly what the production was thinking when they wrote out this scene. jaafar looks back at you with his brown, sweet eyes. "i know you can tell i'm not wearing a bra under this," he watches your mouth and he gulps, "but you can loosen up, we need to."

he nods, hesitantly palming you while his other hand squeezed your thigh. arching your back from the sofa, you go to kiss his jaw like you remembered you should. jaafar got shivers at the feeling of your soft pillowy lips pressing against his skin, completely engulfed in your scent.

jaafar has never been this nervous preparing for a scene before, not even when he had to spin and do moonwalks. His mind went blank, he couldn't contain himself under the gaze of your doe eyes, eagerly waiting for his next move. he didn't expect the cotton of your shirt to be so thin, feeling your nipple grow harder against his grasp.

now he really couldn't focus.

"ah.." he drops his head to look at his lap, "what did it say i do now?" he was too shy to even look at you, all the blood rushing up to his face. he didn't think this would be so hard.

"kiss me," you purred. you didn't mean for it to come out that way, your tone making jaafar's heart skip a beat until he almost started praying.

slowly, he closes the space between you. you sucked in a breath while your lips brushed against each other. finally, he pressed his own lips against yours, and you tasted so sweet he felt as if he was growing high. the kiss was short, but so perfect. your lips felt lonely when he pulled away.

nervously rubbing his thumb over your clothed nipple, his body language proved his anxiousness, kneading your thighs as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder.. you bite your lip at the feeling, not ignoring the fact that none of this was in the script. "what do i do now?" he asks, afraid to look at you.

your fingers tangle themselves amongst the curls over his nape, "doesn't matter, this was about getting the tension out of the way, right?" you asked. he felt like a student who was being guided by a teacher, god he was so hard. he was an amateur actor, he didn't know how long he could hide it for.

you had no idea this was practically like the blind leading the blind, but he lifts his head from off your shoulder anyways and nods. "yes," he tells himself, "you're right."

focus jaafar.

he kisses you again and you are more than welcoming, but this kiss was far more extensive than the one before. his demeanor is broken, desperate. he moves his hand from your boob, leaving you colder while he reaches for the other side of your hip, pressing you against him.

"come on," he softly orders, fighting the urge not to stick his tongue in you, "sit on my lap, please…"

you're supposed to be in character, but calling his uncle's name out right now doesn't feel right. doing as you're told, you feel how hard he is now that his crotch is nuzzled between your ass, straddling both his sides.

taking matters into your own hands, you decide to part between his teeth using your tongue, but it seems he also had the urge to do it at the same time, so your tongues end up swirling against each other. this makes him whimper while your hips start rocking against him.

you suck his bottom lip as you tug on his hair, he instinctively stands up while he carried you from your thighs, you hooking your legs around his waist for extra security while he took you to his bedroom. he was such a gentleman, he didn't want the first time you two "rehearse" to be in the middle of his living room.

you didn't care where it would be, you were so wet you were sure you were damp through your pants.

he gently lays you down on his bed, and you can smell him everywhere. the sheets, the pillows, everything was so him. the scene didn't include any real penetration, and he promised to practice this without any clothes being taken off either of you, so the two of you felt so incredibly restricted.

you couldn't admit to each other you were frustrated that the first day on the job for this scene didn't include skin to skin contact.

"don't let it get unprofessional."

jaafar had to hold himself back so much, it physically hurt. he just stuck with what he knew he was allowed to do. pulling away from your mouth to look at the hard nipples poking through your shirt, he whines, grabbing a handful of it while crawling over you.

"i wish you could suck them," you impulsively, very unprofessionally gasp.

as soon as you were about to regret it and hate yourself forever, he responds immediately. "me too," he moans, a pained look on his features.

you look at each other, intoxication playing in both your eyes. without another word, you shove your shirt above your head and he helps it off you. his mouth immediately salivates, licking past your nipple as he buries himself in your tits.

he calls favorite for your right breast, kissing it and moaning into it while his other hand plays with the other one, flicking your nipple and twisting it. you didn't want to be obnoxious, biting your lip to suppress your whimper. your legs spread open, your tits jiggling in his face when you lift up your hip to press yourself against his crotch.

he pulls away from your chest, his chin just as wet as your boobs. his fixes himself, aligning his clothed cock against your clothed pussy, he can't believe what he's doing. "jaafar…" you mewled, embarrassingly covering your face with the back of your hand.

"stop," he particularly ordered, shoving your hand over your head. "i have to see you…" jaafar licks his lower lip. you blush hard, rolling your hips as the thick, rock-hard outline of his dick gets you even wetter.

unable to contain himself, he presses harder into you, humping you through your clothes as the contact presses against your clit. he doesn't know where to look, you're a distracting billboard. there was a dark wet circle of precum on his pants, he was so embarrassed, but it only turned him on more.

your soft, smaller hand goes to touch his throat, he leans closer to you, his shirt-covered chest hovering just above your bouncing, exposed one. gently wrapping your hands around his throat, his adams apple bobs against your palm and you kiss him again.

your pussy clenches around nothing and his dick twitches against you, you didn't know how much longer you could roll your hips, feeling as if you were about to cry out in frustration." jaafar," you coo against his mouth, accidentally squeezing his throat tighter. jaafar didn't think he could get any harder.

"jus' ah little longer y/n." he slurs, seeing stars. he takes your leg and puts it over his shoulder, humping through your pussy harder while you tried fucking yourself back on him. your orgasm completely sneaks up on you, jumpscared with the sudden cum pulsing out of you, leaking through your clothes. "jaafar!" you shuttered, your back almost completely arching off of his mattress. he keeps dryhumping you, throwing his head completely back until his hip stutters.

now you both were soaked messes of cum.

don't let it get unprofessional my ass.

<

ok let me know if you guys want a part 2 to this where they do a little more than just dryhumping if you catch my drift