#michael fluff

“I-I’m sorry, it’s just…MARLON?” He exaggerated as he caught his breath. You didn’t get the problem.

You jerked your head back, offended by his tone, “what’s wrong with that? Marlon is extremely attractive.” You defended. “He’s got nice abs, a pretty smile, pretty eyes and—“ Michael put his hand up and stopped you.

“Yeah, I don’t need the details.” He said with a chuckle, “besides, of all my brothers, him?” He asked again. “He’s great and all but, isn’t there anyone else?”

You sighed with a soft smile, thinking of Marlon as you stared up at Michael’s ceiling. “I dunno…” You breathed out with a blissful expression, “he’s just so….fine.” Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I mean, all your brothers are so talented and just so sweet to me, but Marlon...”

“Yeah, sweet until you leave…” he muttered. You shot him a quick glare. “I’m just sayin’!”

You rolled your eyes at him and shook your head. “You’re just jealous.” You replied.

“Jealous?!” Michael retorted. “And why would I be jealous?” You smirked at his annoyed expression and looked away from him.

“Well, for starters, Marlon is taller.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“You need ya’ eyes checked girl, I’m taller than him.” You huffed. “I have no reason to be jealous. I just think you have strange tastes.”

“Yeah you do.” You argued, “Marlon gets more girls than you.” This made Michael laugh, but not like before. It was more of a laugh of disbelief and smugness.

“More girls?” He taunted, “Girl, the women love me! Marlon wouldn’t know what to do if he woke up as me.” He teased. He leaned a bit closer, leaning on his palm as he spoke in a soft and confident tone, “why, he’d be drownin’ in beautiful women like a fool if he were me.” For some odd reason your heart fluttered, he looked you in your eyes with this daring and dangerously charming expression. “Gettin’ a girl aint a problem for me.”

You felt your breathing catch for a moment, you could very faintly smell his minty breath, it made you want to inhale a bit more, but instead you lightly pushed him back and rolled your eyes.

“Sure and I bet you could have any girl you wanted.” Michael shrugged.

“I could.” He said simply. “But what’s the fun in every other girl, ones enough for me.” You laughed as he laid back and put his arms under his head, he sighed softly and stared up at the ceiling with a smile as he closed his eyes. “My brothers don’t get that, I bet if a girl gave all of them a chance, they’d act like a bunch of dogs seeing’ who could get ‘er first.”

You clicked your tongue and held a bubble of air in your cheek. You have heard of their scandalous behaviors before, but you didn’t care. You really liked Marlon, or at least how he looked and spoke to you. He was sweet and talented, he was funny too and very outgoing. You liked those things about him. You imagined dating him would be so fun, you just had to know what it was like.

“Well anyway,” You started. “I need your help.” That was why you told him, you wanted Michael to give you advice on how to win his brother over. “Tell me what his type is.” Michael peaked an eye open at you and raised his brows.

“You want me to help you date my brother?” You nodded enthusiastically with a big smile. “I don’t think you wanna do that.” But it slowly fell when Michael said that.

He was being so difficult. Every time you like anyone he always acts like this. When you told him you liked a now ex, mutual friend, he laughed at first and then told you that he was a ‘bad guy.’ And a ‘total schmuck.’ You let it go that time-, and luckily so since you later found out he was a serial cheater. The second time it was a lifeguard you met at the water park with Michael. He gave you his number and you were gonna call until Michael told you he gave all the girls his number, you took his advice that time and threw the piece of paper out-, deciding to spend your time swimming at the Jackson estate instead. But now, you feel almost annoyed by his constant negativity regarding the guys you like.

“And why not? I’ve known your brothers for a long time now and, Marlon is a very sweet guy.” Michael sighed and went quiet for a moment.

You didn’t get the problem. You both know his brother is a good person, he’s never given you reason to believe otherwise either. While he was usually able to give you a reason why your short crushes were a bad idea, he hadn’t given one solid explanation of why it was a bad idea yet. You were beginning to wonder why he was always so against you liking guys. Maybe he was just overprotective—you have been friends since he was just a child—or maybe he was just weirded out by the idea of you dating. That made sense. You pondered for a moment and then something clicked. Your eyes widened in realization and you grinned knowingly.

“Oh, I get it now.” Michael opened his eyes and look at you, seemingly growing nervous at your expression. “I know why you always get so weird about me dating.” He propped himself up on his hands and stared with wide eyes as his apple cheeks flushed.

“W-What? I don’t get weird about you dating!” Michael denied. His frantic response and sudden anxiousness made you completely sure, it was absolutely adorable.

“You’re just worried I’ll stop being your friend if I get a boyfriend.” You claimed.

Oh, if only you knew how Michael’s pounding heart slowed at your allegation. You didn’t catch his sigh of relief or the way his tensed shoulders slowly fell into relaxation.

He chuckled at your claim and flopped on his back again. “I mean, it would cramp our style if you started invitin’ some airhead to hang with us, three’s a crowd, y’know?” You cooed in a teasing manner and leaned on your palm, looking down at him as you smiled.

“Ya know, when you get a girl, youll probably forget all about me.” You poked, “I bet youll be somewhere with a billion little Michael’s and some pretty girl clingin’ to you going, oh Mikey, the weathers beautiful this time of year.” You laughed at your own joke, lightly slapping his shoulder as he chuckled along with you.

“Mikey?” You continued to laugh as he shook his head with a warm smile on his face, he watched you with affection playing in his eyes. “You’re so dumb…” He murmured.

“But for real, help me Michael.” You said with a soft smile, “I wanna start dating soon too.” You reasoned, “at this rate, you might even get married before me.”

His smile slowly dropped and he stared at you again. “Married?” You nodded. It was clear you weren’t going to drop this, so he finally gave in. “Okay, fine…” He sat up again and moved closer to you. “First of all, Marlon likes mature girls.” His tone was a jarringly serious considering the playful moment you just shared seconds ago. It made you tense. “You know the girl who lives down the street? Carol Parker?” You nodded. “He loves girls just like her.” The excitement you felt in your heart faded.

“He does?” Michael nodded.

“And I heard she likes him, so if you want ‘em, you gotta get his attention off her.” Suddenly the crush you felt was becoming a distant and bitter tasting memory. “And you gotta stop hangin’ out with me.” Your eyes shot open wide at this.

“What?!” Michael shrugged. “Why would I have to stop bein’ friends with you just to date him?” You asked in an almost angry tone. “What does our friendship gotta do with it?”

“You really think my knucklehead brother would be okay with you bein’ in my bedroom till midnight?” He posed. Though you wanted to argue, you couldnt. What guy would be? Most guys would think you were dating if they knew how much time you spent with Michael. “I mean seriously, if you were a guy, would you want your girlfriend sleepin’ in the same bed as your brother?” It was irrefutable.

You spend practically every second with Michael. He’s your best friend. You sleep in bed together, eat together and do everything else together. When new movies come out you call each other to make sure you see it together, when new games are released you play them together. He’s so close to you that he’s even learned how to braid so he could help you do your hair. Michael is like…a second skin. You always feel so safe and comfortable with him. He’s like your home, you truly couldn’t imagine being without him—even for a day. It was out of the question, Marlon would just have to suck it up. You wouldn’t stop being friends with Michael even if the sky was falling, it was a nonnegotiable.

“Well he just has to put up with it.” Michael choked on a laugh and raised his brows at you.

“What?” You held your head high, for some reason you felt shy all of a sudden.

You turned your head forward and shrugged. “Marlon just has to put up with it. My relationship with you has nothin’ to do with it. If he doesn’t like that then…” You paused. If he didn’t like it then what? You do like him after all… “Then…that’s his problem. Not ours.”

Michael smirked at your choice of words. Ours… it was such an intimate pronoun. His heart warmed at your use of it. “So, what if he said no because of it?” Michael asked, it was like he was testing the waters. “Would you pick him over me?”

You whipped your head around at him. It was a ridiculous question. One that he should know the answer to for a billion years over, but you answered it anyway. “Of course not!” You assured. “Why’d you even ask somethin’ so stupid? You know I would never pick anyone over you.”

His grin grew. You could see his perfect pearly teeth as he looked up at you through his lashes. “You must not like em’ much if you feel like that.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes as you looked away, but your heart skipped a beat as you did so.

“I couldnt ever like anyone that much…” You admitted in a low mutter. “It’s like askin’ me to hate you. I couldnt hate you even in a billion years.”

“Are you sure you even like Marlon then?”

You didn’t reply right away. Now that you thought about it more, with your relationship with Michael being thrown on the table, you weren’t too sure anymore. Sure he’s nice but…he’s not as nice as Michael. He’s sweet but, Michael has always been much sweeter and, you get plenty joy out of looking at Michael anyway. All the things you could do with a boyfriend, you can do with Michael. You can’t really say you like Marlon-, especially not enough to let go of Michael. The only thing you can say is that you adore his brother. If it were between Michael and Marlon, you would always choose Michael.

“I dunno…” He scooted next to you, joining you on the foot of the bed where you sat with your legs folded. “I mean…he’s nice and all but…” You looked down at your lap, your body felt tensed, your emotions were suddenly beginning to turn into a mess of confusion and distress. “Would we really have to stop seeing each other?” You asked softly.

Michael cooed and pulled you into his side, hugging you as you squished your face against his chest. “Awww, that really bothered you?” You reluctantly nodded. “You know, if you ever start datin’ that’s just how things will be.” He softly explained. “One day, youll meet some jealous airhead who’ll want you all to em’ self. He’s gonna wanna marry you and have kids, he’ll steal you away from me before you know it.” Though his short assumption about your love life seemed sweet, it made you tense.

You didn’t like the idea of anyone trying to ‘steal’ you away from Michael, it made you feel so defensive. Your heart ached a bit even thinking about some loser trying to outshine him in your life. You didn’t quite understand why but you felt so strongly connected and attached to Michael. Nothing could change your mind, no one could make your heart race or make you smile the way he did. Even if you wanted to, you would never change your mind. You had to keep Michael in your life.

“That’s not true.” You argued.

“But it is.” He teased while softly laughing, “I’m tellin’ you, whatever man you end up with would be sick of me. He might think you’re cheatin’ on him with me.” You looked at the wall and inhaled deeply.

“Well what about you?” You asked.

“What about me?” Michael answered.

“When you get married…Will your wife be okay with us being this close?”

He snickered. “Oh not at all.” He said, “In fact, I think I’d get divorced in a month dealin’ with you.”

“But what if you really loved her?” As you asked this he slipped his arms from around you and gave you a look that made you smile.

“Loved her enough to leave you alone?” He posed, “Yeah right.” As he rolled his eyes you smiled.

The feeling of distress you felt before melted into a soothing warmth, a familiar feeling of comfort that only Michael induces. “So we’re just gonna be single forever, huh?” He raised a brow at you.

“Who says we gotta be single?” He asked.

“Well obviously we won’t meet anyone who won’t have a problem with us being friends, so the only option is to be single forever.” Michael disagreed immediately. “What else can we do?” And then he looked you in your eyes, it made your heart flutter again.

Something about his expression, the look in his eyes, it was making your hands sweat and your heart pound. You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips, he made you feel so unbelievably warm and happy. The charming look in his eyes was almost too much.

“Well I gotta idea, but I dunno if you’re gonna like it.” You felt so strange, like you were melting. You didn’t feel this way when thinking about Marlon, not even the other guys. You felt like a pad of butter on a stack of hot pancakes. His tone was so sweet and soft, like a gentle breeze.

“What’s the idea?” You asked, even your tone was being affected by him. You couldn’t help but sound so anxious and excited.

“I’ll tell you, but promise not to get mad.” You waved your hand at him and your smile grew.

“When have I ever gotten mad at you, Michael?” He nodded and took a deep breath, inhaling deeply before softly exhaling.

“Well…” he started, his cheeks flushed again and for the first time in a while, he looked away from you with a shy expression, like he couldn’t handle looking at you. “I was thinkin’…if you really wanna boyfriend…maybe—maybe I could be your boyfriend.”

His words settled into the air and for a moment, he seemed tense. But you couldn’t help the silence, his idea was so…surprising. Michael? Your boyfriend? Those words together feel so strange yet, good. You could never lie and say that you never wondered before, it’s always been a quiet thought in your mind, but you never thought he would ask. It only makes sense too. The feelings you have for him aren’t as simply explained away with the term, best friend. He’s much more than just a friend.

“Michael…” You breathed out, he stared at you anxiously as you spoke. Your heart was pounding. “I—I would love that.”

His big doe eyes went wide. “Re—Really?!” You nodded, smiling just as big as he did. You threw your arms around him, knocking him back on the bed as you hugged him tightly. You fell down with him, lying almost on top of him as you held him. He laughed with his arms around your waist. “But what about Marlon?” He asked in your shoulder.

You leaned up a bit and looked down at him, “what about him?” You asked. Michael laughed and you felt butterflies in your stomach, how didn’t you realize this sooner?

“See? I told you, you didn’t want to be with him.” He teased. “I knew you always liked me.” His arms tightened around you, his fingers lightly pressed into your sides.

You rolled your eyes but remained smiling, you felt so anxious, so excited and so blissfully happy. “Shut up…” You muttered lowly.

“Oh I’ll never shut up about it,” He teased. “I’m gonna make sure everybody knows that you’re my girl.” The air in your lungs was snatched away. ‘My girl.’ Hearing Michael say that made your stomach tighten. “Did you like that?” He teased, noticing the way your breathing hitched in your throat. “Hearin’ me call you my girl?” You shuddered and hid your face in the side of his neck.

“Shut up, you’re so dumb.” You said against his soft and warm skin. You could feel him tense underneath you, his shoulders tense as his fingers twitched at your sides. You could even feel his heart pounding against his chest. He was just as nervous and strung as you. You smirked as an idea bloomed in your head. To get him back for his teasing, you pressed a soft kiss against his neck despite the nervous feeling in your heart.

Michael gasped, his breathing caught in his throat and he squeezed you tightly. “D-Don’t do that.” He whispered. You giggled against his neck and he closed his eyes.

“Why?” You taunted, “d’ya like it?” He let out a short huff of air and lightly pinched your side, making you laugh.

“Stop bein’ a brat.” But you didn’t let up, instead, you kissed his neck again, this time kissing just a bit longer.

“You started it.” You kissed him again, something was taking over you, a warm desire that had nothing to do with annoying him and all to do with touching him and kissing him as much as possible. “I’m just finishin’ it.” You continued kissing his neck, your lips parted just a bit and your tongue crept out to lightly lick at his warm flesh.

Michael gasped and let out something between a stifled whine and a sigh. The sound sparked something inside of you, fueling the fire growing inside of you. His big hands held you as if to anchor you to himself and his lips parted just a bit as he quietly called out your name. The heat in your chest traveled through your body, going lower and lower until you could feel it between your thighs. Accompanying it was a growing slickness that wet your underwear, making them feel sticky and hot.

“W—Wait…” he barely managed to get the word out, he couldnt know how his voice—sounding so needy and desperate, all for you—made the sensitive flesh between your thigh throb with want. You stopped and looked at him. His eyes were a bit hazy but full of love, you wore the same expression. “Can I…Can I kiss you?” You almost moaned in response to his question.

You always imagined kissing Michael would be like heaven on earth. The thought alone was always enough to make you squeal and kick your feet like an excited teen. You could hardly speak, you nodded your head wordlessly and breathlessly as he pulled your body all the way onto him before flipping you over so your back was pressed against the middle of the bed and he was on top. You felt so turned on you could cry. As he leaned in you closed your eyes and your hands found his shirt, gripping it tightly as your heart pounded like a drum. The moment you felt his soft warm lips against yours it was like something inside of you shattered. Your hands weakened and your whole body turned into jelly underneath him.

You weakly pulled him closer, deepening the kiss as you softly moaned against his lips. While he kept himself above you using his arm, his other hand tenderly stroked your side, inching up and down your hip until it reached your thigh, his lips moved against yours with a passionate rhythm. Michael was such a good kisser. His tongue swiped lightly against yours lips, quietly asking for permission—you granted it right away. A pool of warmth grew in your lower stomach, the heat and slickness you felt was becoming unbearable. You opened your legs a bit, allowing him an intimate space between your thighs as he kissed you with an—almost overwhelming—amount of tenderness and affection. His hand stopped and held your thigh, big and hot against your skin as he very carefully and lightly pressed his waist you. His crotch pressed right against your pussy, you could feel the bulge in his dark blue jeans pressing against your wet panties.

Your hips bucked upward and his down, you both moaned at the sensation it caused and pulled away for a second to catch your breath.

“Maybe we should stop…” Michael suggested in a breathless manner. But his hips were just barely grinding forward into you. “Before we carried away.” He said, his tone wasn’t direct though, it wasn’t definitive at all. It was like he was asking you, like he was tempting you.

“We don’t have to…” You replied in a tone similar to his. “What’s wrong with us gettin’ carried away?”

“Gosh…” Michael whispered, “You’re somethin’ else.” Before kissing you again, this time in a much more rushed and hungry manner.

It wasn’t like he stopped holding back, the layer of him that was worried about going too fast was peeled back and all that was on his mind was making you feel good. His hips moved with a bit more confidence and purpose, it wasn’t just an absent minded motion anymore. You could feel the roughness of his jeans even more now, rubbing against your pussy in a slow and deliberate fashion.

“I just like you so much.” He broke the kiss and immediately began peppering your face and neck in kisses, “you’re so beautiful…so lovely…” Michael praised, “Gosh…I love you so much.” He whispered, almost so lowly that you didn’t catch it. “I just wanna touch you, I wanna make you feel good.” His kisses trailed down to your shoulder, moving closer to the middle of your chest as he lowered his body just a bit. “Can I make you feel good, baby?”

You felt so horny you almost thought you were going to pee. You were so excited. His voice, gosh he was so needy. His eyes were twinkling with a passionate admiration, a deep unrelenting love that oozed out into his voice.

“Yes Michael, oh God, yes.” Your voice came out in a desperate tone, almost as if you were begging him. It didn’t take more than a second for him to slip you out of your sundress, he tossed it aside without looking away from your body and caressed your bare flesh ever so softly.

“Just look at you…oohhh.” He breathed in deeply, winching as if you were just so pretty it hurt. “So pretty.” You sighed out a soft moan as he kissed just below your bra. “I wanna touch you all over…feel you all over me.” He kissed lower, going all the way down to the waistband of your panties. “Don’t move…” He licked his lips and pressed his face against the clothed mound of your pussy, just above your clit. It ached and pulsed for him, but he didn’t go lower. He pressed his mouth against it but only for a short second before going back to your lips. “My pretty girl.” You wrapped your legs around his waist and moaned into his mouth.

When he pulled away you were panting, staring at him with your eyes glazed over. “I love you Michael, please don’t stop.” You whimpered.

And he didn’t, you didn’t have to ask or beg. Michael finally rid you of the last bit of your clothing, setting your bra and panties aside. He was breathless at the sight of you, so beautiful and exposed, all for him. You were everything he dreamt of, all he ever wanted. All naked and bare on his bed, panting and wanton eyes. He felt like he would eat you alive if he lost all control. Michael gawked at the sight, shaking his head as he bit his lip with a grin. He licked his lips and admired your body.

“Youre drivin’ me wild.” He dipped his head down and kissed the mound of your breast, “you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me girl.”

You closed your eyes and tried to keep your breathing steady, but when his tongue trailed a wet line up the middle of your breasts it became impossible. Your lungs wouldn’t fill properly, your hips bucked against him and the feeling of his jeans against your bare pussy-, that unmistakable bulge, you could feel a tingle spreading across your body, starting between your legs and going up your spine.

“You make me feel so good inside…” Your nipples were as hard as a rock, they could cut through glass. Michael stared in awe. So pretty and so perfect, all for him. His mouth watered as he cupped one in his hand and wrapped his lips around the perky bud. The sensation of his warm mouth made the pit of your stomach tighten, heat pooled there and your walls clenched around nothing at all.

“Michael…” You whined, “Don’t stop, it feels so good.”

“Such a needy girl…” he teased, but he kept going. Taking your nipple back into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around it, sucking lightly while massaging the other between his index finger and thumb. You had no idea he was even capable of doing something like this, your mind was fuzzy and your body was buzzing. You felt like you were about to burst. “My needy girl.”

You closed your eyes and tried your hardest to hold yourself together, but it was so hard. The way his perfect teeth grazed your sensitive nipple made your head spin. You were so close to reaching down and soothing the ache yourself, but you didn’t. You waited and fell into the sensations that he brought, thrusting your hips into him as he switches to give the other side the same attention and love.

“Michael, please.” You were so impatient, you needed something, something more than just the friction of his jeans. His lips, his tongue, his long and thick fingers. God, you needed Michael to sooth you. “I can’t wait anymore.” You warned.

“Tell me what you want.” He said while kissing all over your breast, keeping the other trapped between his thumb and index finger, rolling it between the two ever so gently. “Tell me what to do.”

“Kiss me…down there, please.” You begged.

“Here?” He kissed just below your breasts, teasing you as he grinned. You shook your head, breathing heavily as you watched him with wet and almost teary eyes.

“Lower…” and lower he went, his kisses went lower, trailing between the valley of your breasts and then to your stomach, stopping in the middle to litter it in kisses. You held your breath and watched him, your mind hazy as you anticipated what he would do next as he looked up at you again.

“There?” You almost sobbed.

“Michael…” You begged, “please…please lower, go lower.” This time he kept going, worshipping your body with kisses on the way down, only stopping when he go to the soft mound of flesh just above your clit. You moaned at the sight alone.

His intense doe eyes staring up at you, lips wet and face flushed. Your hips jerked as you stared. “Right…here?” Michael stuck his tongue out and traced a small heart right at the peak of your labia. Your walls clenched so aggressively you let out a soft sob.

“Y—Yes…there, please kiss it…touch me there, Michael.” He pushed you further up on the bed by your thighs and snatched one of the pillows on the side of you.

“Lay on this.” He slid it under your back and pushed your legs back, “stay just like that, don’t move.” Your legs were spread, leaving you exposed and open for him.

The air in the room felt cold against your slick flesh, but Michael’s gaze was even stronger than that. His eyes drank in the sight of the glistening skin, staring as if he were starving. It was a bit embarrassing, just a moment ago you were best friends who hadn’t seen each other naked once, and now he’s your boyfriend going down on you in his bedroom. You felt so shy under his loving eyes.

“Michael..” you complained. “…stop starin’, it’s embarrassing.”

He smiled, his fingers grazed up your bare pussy-, barely touching as he watched your face. Watching you shudder and pant. “Can’t help it, you’re just so pretty…so needy for me.” You closed your eyes, “Just be patient…I’ll give you everything you want and more.” He peppered your thighs in kisses, making you pur at the loving gesture. “I’ll give you all my love tonight.”

“You’re so beautiful…” His hands traveled up your body and groped your breasts as he rubbed his cheek against your inner thigh, you opened them just a bit more, bucking your hips again—the action unintentional—and arched into his hands.

“just wanna make you feel good.” Michael kisssd your inner thigh, closer and closer to your needy core.

He worshiped your thighs until every bit of them were covered in the lingering warmth of his lips and then finally you felt them where you needed it most. He kissed the mound of your pussy one more time and then licked a long and slow stripe up your lips, moaning quietly at the taste. You quivered and reached for the pillow behind your head, gripped it tightly and bit your lip to keep yourself from making a sound. It felt impossible though, his tongue glided through your pussy, licking at your walls and sucking lightly. Your legs were trembling and your body was weak, his tongue pressed upward and your vision blurred.

“M-Michael…oh…oh my gosh…” You closed your eyes tightly and shook your head. He hummed against you and shifted his focus to your clit, you could feel him grin against your wet flesh when you whimpered, his mouth latched onto the sensitive bud. Your hips grind against his beautiful face, practically riding it as you trembled before him.

You were making such a mess, leaking onto the pillow and wetting his face. Michael loved it, he loved the taste of you, the scent and your moans. It was beautiful. As his tongue lapped at your clit, he slid his hands down from your breasts, one pressed against your lower stomach and the other continued down to your messy pussy.

“You taste so good.” He moaned. His fingers brushed against your clit for a moment, lightly teasing it before he slid it down further and pressed it gently against your entrance. “Tell me if it hurts, okay?” You nodded and braced yourself, but there was no pain.

As his long, thick finger slipped inside of you and pressed against your slippery, gummy walls, you felt your whole body throb. It was like you were electrocuted. He watched your face, expecting you to make a pained expression, but he was so elated to see the look of unadulterated and overflowing pleasure contorting your pretty face. Your vision blurred and you could hardly make a sound, his name left your lips in a silent and desperate call. The pad of his finger pressed against the soft spongy area, right beneath your clit, moving in a slow and careful pace. He rocked his hand back and forth, almost massaging the area as your back arched and your eyes rolled.

“Right…right there…” You whispered, your walls throbbed and when his mouth latched onto your clit again you cried out his name loudly. “I’m…I’m gonna…” You tried to warn him, you couldn’t get the words out though. Michael knew what you wanted to say but he didn’t ease up, he didn’t slow or stop. He slipped a second finger inside and straightened them, fucking you slowly with them as he sucked and licked your clit.

“M—Mike…” You whimpered as your vision went white with pleasure, your eyes rolled back and you clamped down on his fingers as your love gushed around them. You couldn’t even breathe, your heart skipped a beat as an orgasm ripped through your body and turned you into a puddle of heat. Your stomach tightened until it couldnt anymore and as he continued, you felt something building inside of you. “Michael…oh Michael, w—wait! Please! Please I….” you couldnt get it out.

Michael went faster, he could feel it. He could hear it, the faint sound of squelching wetness that grew louder with every thrust of his fingers and flick of his tongue. It spurred him further. He curled his fingers upward and rocked them back and forth until you saw stars, tiny sparkles playing behind your eyes as your love trickled out. With one final flick of his tongue and press of his fingers, it gushed out in a messy pulse that splashed against him, wetting his shirt as he grinned against your hot and wet flesh. You cried beneath him and pushed against his head, your legs threatened to shut around him, trembling as you were driven to a point of sensitivity.

“Michael! Michael please! I—I can’t take it! I can’t take it more!” You cried.’ And finally, he stopped. Allowing you to catch your breath as you laid on his bed panting and wet all over. You looked so lovely, perfectly ruined and beautiful. He felt a sense of pride wash over him as he watched you stare up at the ceiling with a look of pure ecstasy on your face.

“You’re so pretty.” Michael said as before kissing you, “I love you so much.” He assured. And you truly believed that, you knew he meant it. You wrapped your weak arms around him and held him closely as you kissed him back, the taste of him on your lips made you feel so proud. It was like you had marked him as yours. “You wanna stop?”

You smiled up at him and shook your head, “are you sure?” You slid your hand down his chest and pressed it against his belt buckle. “We don’t have to rush, if you aren’t ready, we can wait…we can wait as long as you need.” But it was clear you were in no mood to wait.

“Michael, I don’t think I could wait another second.” You admitted with a breathless laugh. “Please, make love to me.” Michael sighed a soft moan, his expression almost pathetically soft and lewd. He looked like he could cry from how badly he needed you. In a blur of messy kisses and wandering hands, Michael’s clothes are stripped just as quickly as your own were.

He sits on his knees in front of you, bare and naked with his cheeks a pretty apple red and his chest rising and falling in deep, heavy breaths. He’s anxious. You can tell. You reach up and gently caress his face, smiling at him softly as you stare into his shiny doe eyes.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” You could see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he stared at you. He was more sure of this than he had been anything. He wanted you so badly it was killing him, he was just so anxious… He was worried that he might lose control and hurt you. “You look nervous.”

He pressed a kiss against your palm and held it against his mouth. ”I just wanna make sure you feel good.” Your heart melted.

“Here, you lay down.” Michael was hesitant but followed your lead, he allowed you to switch positions with him, laying down in the same spot you were as you sat pretty between his long, toned legs. “Do you feel better?”

Michael felt amazing. He nodded, his dick throbbing embarrassingly at the gentle graze of the cold air. You straddled his lap and pressed your hands against his chest, your bare pussy just barely hovered above his dick and at the slightest movement you could feel it graze against you.

You leaned in closely, teasing him as you pecked his lips and grinned. “Stop teasin’…” He whispered, “c’mon…kiss me…” You pecked his lips again, leaning back as he chased your lips for the kiss he craved. You were expecting him to groan and roll his eyes, to pull your hips down aggressively or force you forward to his lips, but instead his lips parted and he let out a soft whine. “Please…kiss me, baby.” And begged ever so softly. It made you fall even deeper in love with him.

You couldn’t deny him or tease him a second longer, you kissed him with pure lust as you pressed your bare pussy against his length. You sighed as he whimpered into your mouth and wrapped his hands around you to hold you still. But you moved anyway. Your hips rocked back and forth in a slow motion, you could feel every vein, the glands of his dick and the pulsing. The thick length felt like heaven between your lips, heavy and hard. Your slickness coated him as you kissed him until he was panting and trembling underneath you.

“Please…” he whimpered, his eyes were glossy when you pulled away, “I need you so badly…” he pleaded, Michael’s voice was thick and airy, like a sigh. “I—I can’t take it anymore, I need you…God, I need you.” You raised your hips and nodded your head.

“I need you too Michael.” Your hand wrapped around his dick, hot and wet with his precum and your juices, he moaned and looked up at you with a pout and shiny doe eyes.

He bit his lip and held his breath, looking up at you with his eyebrows turnt upward. As your flesh pressed against the head of his cock he threw his head back into the pillows and closed his eyes tightly, whimpering as you slowly sank down onto him. He gripped the pillow behind him and opened his eyes, they were teary and his bottom lip was red from biting. As he slid inside of you, both of you held your breath. The stretch of his dick made your hands tremble, it took every ounce of strength to lead his hands to your hips and slowly guide you.

“Sl—Slow…” He whispered. “Take…take your time.” His voice cracked as he spoke and he tried his hardest to hold in his tears. You nodded and inched down, your walls fluttering around him as your love drips down. “Just…oh God…j-just like that…mhmm.” he whimpered and bit his lip.

As you slid all the way down your back arched and your toes curled. The head of his dick pressed firmly against your cervix, kissing it as he stretched you out. You stayed there for a moment, both of you panting and moaning into each other’s mouths. You moved slowly, grinding against him with your tongue in his mouth. Michael thrusted slowly up into you, holding your hips down at he went as slow as he could manage. Every movement made the bed creak and his body tingle. The slow pace was killing him, but he endured it until he could feel you tremble, your hips faltering as you moved a bit faster in a desperate and needy grind.

“S—So deep…” You whispered, your walls fluttering leaned down and cling to him, moaning quietly into his ear. “Y-You’re so deep…Michael.”

November 7th, 2001

The crisp November air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped out of the car onto the bustling sidewalks of Manhattan at West 45th. Giant billboards flashed advertisements for Michael’s new album, Invincible, and massive screens on the buildings displayed the different covers in rotation. Your heart raced with a mix of excitement and nerves. You adjusted the strap of the diaper bag slung over your shoulder, glancing down at your two little ones. Your son, four years old with his father’s curious eyes and a mop of curls peeking from under a wool beanie, clutched your hand tightly. Your daughter, three and full of energy wrapped in a tiny pink coat, held onto your other hand, her small fingers warm despite the chill.

They’d been asking for their Daddy nonstop for the past two days.

“When is he coming home?” your son had whispered all morning on the plane, his voice small but hopeful.

“Soon, darling,” you’d promised. And now, that soon was here.

Michael had flown out to New York a couple of days earlier for this special signing event at the Virgin Megastore—his first-ever in-store appearance to celebrate Invincible. The album had dropped just over a week ago, and the world was buzzing. But being apart, even for a short time, felt like an eternity. The kids missed their father terribly; bedtime stories without his gentle voice reading them felt incomplete. And you missed your husband.

“Surprise time,” you murmured to the children, kneeling briefly to fix your daughter’s scarf. “We’re going to make Daddy so happy.”

Your son nodded solemnly. “We stay in line and wait for our turn?”

“Exactly,” you confirmed with a smile.

You’d secured the album and special passes through a discreet call to Michael’s team who were in on the secret and coordinated everything so you could blend into the line without drawing attention. Security was tight, but a few trusted people had helped make the surprise possible.

New York was still tender. You’d felt it the moment you landed. Something slower in people’s movements, this kind of gentleness that hadn’t been there before September. And yet here they were, hundreds of fans, standing in the cold to be near something that felt good.

The line stretched further than you’d anticipated. It wound from the entrance of the Virgin Megastore, down the block, and curved around 6th Avenue where a cluster of fans had been gathering since before sunrise, you were told. Hundreds of people, maybe more, bundled in coats and scarves and clutching their copies of Invincible to their chests like something precious.

You found your place in the queue and settled in.

“There are so many people here, mama,” your daughter observed, craning her neck to peer at the line ahead of you. Her breath made small clouds in the cold air.

“There are,” you agreed, shifting the diaper bag higher on your shoulder. “Daddy has a lot of fans. They are here because they love him.”

“More than us?”

You looked down at her upturned face, so earnest you felt your chest squeeze with something warm. “Nobody loves Daddy more than us, sweetheart.”

She seemed to accept this with great satisfaction, hugging her stuffed elephant tighter.

Your son was quieter, like he was thinking hard about something. He stood close to your side, his small hand still wrapped around yours, and watched the crowd with his father’s eyes—the same expression full of wonder, curiosity and attention that Michael had.

“Is he already inside?” he asked.

“He should be getting ready to come out soon, yes.”

“And he doesn’t know we’re here?”

“Not yet.”

A slow smile spread across his face. He liked surprises. He’d gotten that from his father too.

The wait was long, and you’d come prepared.

You’d packed juice boxes and little foil-wrapped crackers, a small activity book that your son quickly lost interest in, and a travel-sized container of animal crackers that your daughter rationed with the seriousness of a tiny accountant, counting each one before eating it. You’d brought an extra pair of mittens for each of them, which proved necessary when your son declared his hands were frozen approximately forty minutes into the wait.

Around you, fans speculated about what he might be wearing, whether he’d speak much, whether he’d sing anything. A group of teenagers near you had been practicing what they wanted to say to him, coaching each other, dissolving into nervous giggles every few minutes. You listened to them with quiet fondness. You understood that feeling. Even now, after everything, Michael still gave you that flutter. Maybe more so, because now you knew him. The whole of him, not just the image and somehow that made it more, not less.

Your daughter tugged your sleeve. “Mama. I’m cold.”

You crouched down and pulled her close, rubbing her arms briskly through her coat. “Better?”

She leaned into you, resting her chin on your shoulder, and sighed the contented sigh of a child who had decided warmth was satisfactory. “Can Daddy come home after this?”

“That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

“Good.” She patted your cheek once with her mittened hand. “I miss him, mama.”

“I know, baby. He misses you too.”

You thought of the phone call from last night, after the kids were asleep. Michael’s voice low and a little tired, the way it got when he’d been performing or working for too long and needed to just be himself for a minute. I miss you. I miss the kids. Tell me something normal. Tell me what you had for dinner. And you’d laughed and told him about the pasta your son had refused to eat and the way your daughter had spilled orange juice on the dog, and he’d laughed too, and for a little while it had been like he was right there.

“He said he couldn’t wait to see you,” you told her.

She smiled and tucked her face against your neck.

A ripple moved through the line—a surge of murmuring and you straightened up, your pulse jumping. Through the glass front of the store you could see movement, figures in dark clothing, the deliberate organized energy of a security detail coordinating itself.

“Mama,” your son said quietly, moving closer to you. “Is it time?”

“Almost,” you said. Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

You watched through the glass, trying to catch a glimpse. The staff inside were moving with more purpose now. Someone adjusted a display. A woman with a headset spoke into it with focused urgency. And then;

There he was.

Even from this distance, even through the glass and the crowd and the slight distortion of the window, you knew him instantly. He emerged from a back area wearing a royal blue silk shirt with matching pants, his dark hair falling past his jaw. He was speaking to someone beside him, nodding, and even from here you could see the quiet tension in his shoulders that meant he was preparing himself for the scale of it all.

Your son made a small sound which was not quite a word and you felt his grip tighten on your hand.

“Not yet,” you murmured. “We wait for our turn. Remember?”

He nodded, pressing his lips together, practically vibrating with eagerness.

The line began to move in earnest. Groups of fans filtered through the entrance, spent their moment at the table, emerged back through a side door with teary eyes and trembling hands. You heard various noises from inside; applause, squeals, the sustained low roar of excitement. Every few minutes the queue shuffled forward.

You were maybe thirty people back when your daughter started flagging.

She’d been a trooper, genuinely, more patient than you had any right to expect from a three-year-old in the cold for over an hour. But the warmth you’d maintained with crackers and cuddles along with the distraction of the glittery star stickers was wearing thin, and she was beginning to list against your leg with the boneless weight of a child approaching the edge of her reserves.

“Up?” she asked, lifting her arms.

You settled her on your hip and felt her immediately go limp with relief, her head dropping to your shoulder. It was going to be difficult for you to carry her comfortably for long, but you decided to go for as long as you could. Your son pressed close to your other side, alert again now that the end was visible, his earlier quiet replaced by a barely-contained energy.

Twenty people. Then fifteen.

You could hear Michael’s voice now, just barely, filtering through the sounds of the crowd, brief exchanges, warm and low. You couldn’t make out words, only tone. You knew that tone.

Ten people. Eight.

Your daughter had fallen into a light doze against your shoulder, which you took as both a mercy and a complication. You pressed a kiss to her temple and kept her steady.

Five people.

Your son looked up at you. His eyes were bright, serious, his father’s eyes in his father’s expression with the look of concentrated emotion, too big to fully contain, being held carefully.

“Mama,” he whispered.

“I know, darling. We’re almost there,” you whispered back.

Three people. Two.

One.

And then it was your turn.

A staff member held back the small velvet divider and smiled at you knowingly. “Right this way, Mrs. Jackson.” He took the diaper bag off your shoulder and passed it on to another staff member, signaling them to place it somewhere safe.

You took a breath and walked forward.

The table was set up near the center of the floor, with displays of the album on all with all five covers. The overhead lights were bright, and there was a backdrop behind the table, and there were cameras, staff members positioned at intervals, and a whole organized infrastructure of the thing. You took it all in in a peripheral, secondary way because the primary thing was him.

Michael sat at the table with a Sharpie in his hand and his attention on the album being placed in front of him, saying something to the previous person that was wrapping up.

He hadn’t looked up yet.

The previous fan moved away and a staff member reached for your album to place it on the table, and you shifted your sleeping daughter on your hip, and took the last step forward, and Michael looked up—

And stopped.

The Sharpie hovering above the album cover, his eyes landing on you and then widening like something cracked open in his face, all the careful measured grace of the public version of him dissolving instantly and completely.

He stared at you for one second, two—

“Surprise!” you said softly.

Your son, who had been managing himself with admirable restraint for nearly two hours, completely abandoned any further effort at restraint. “Daddy!”

And Michael was already moving.

He was on his feet before the word had fully left your son’s mouth, already coming around the table, the Sharpie forgotten, the album forgotten, everything forgotten except the small boy who had broken into a run toward him. He dropped to his knees right there on the floor of the Virgin Megastore and caught him, and your son hit him with the full momentum of several days of missing his father, both small arms wrapping around Michael’s neck, and Michael wrapped around him just as completely, one hand cradling the back of his head.

There was a murmur through the crowd of staff and waiting onlookers.

Michael’s eyes were closed. His jaw worked. He held your son like he was checking something, making sure something was still true, and then he pressed his face into your son’s hair and you heard him exhale, a slow, shuddering breath.

“Hey, buddy,” he managed. His voice was rough. “Hey. I got you.”

The four-year old said something muffled into Michael’s shoulder. You couldn’t hear it. After a long moment, he finally lifted his head and looked at you.

In all the years you’d known him, in all the ways you’d seen him look at you with love, with gratitude, with the tender warmth he reserved for you alone, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him look at you quite like this. Like you’d done something he hadn’t known how to ask for.

His eyes were wet.

“Hey,” you said.

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Hi.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you—how did you—“

“We took a plane, daddy!” your son informed him, pulling back to look at his father’s face.

Michael laughed as he pressed his forehead to your son’s briefly before standing, keeping one arm around him and turning to you.

He reached out and touched your face with his free hand—fingertips only, brushing your cheekbone gently.

“You brought them all the way here,” he said.

“They were going crazy without their daddy. I was going crazy without you.”

“You could have called. I would have set everything up—”

“Absolutely not.” You shifted your daughter on your hip, and she stirred faintly at the movement, grumbling without waking. “We stood in line like respectable fans. We wanted the element of surprise.”

“You stood in line?”

“Yes.”

His expression was something close to disbelief. “Baby. It’s so cold outside, I don’t want you guys getting sick.”

“We had crackers while we waited,” your son offered helpfully. “And she got glittery star stickers.”

Michael looked at the star sticker on his daughter’s coat, now slightly crumpled from being carried. He reached out carefully and touched the sticker, then looked up at you.

“How long has she been knocked out for?”

“She almost made it the whole way from departure but crashed right before the event started.”

He was already reaching for her, his hands going to her with the practiced ease of a father who had spent countless hours with his baby draped over him. You transferred her carefully, and she shifted in the transition—made a small complaining sound and then her head found Michael’s shoulder and she settled immediately. Her tiny head fit perfectly in the space between Michael’s shoulder and neck.

He tucked her close and looked at you over her head.

“You must be so tired, baby,” he said.

“Not really, I am not the one signing albums.”

There was a brief disruption while the team figured out what to do with the four of you. Michael’s manager appeared at his elbow, murmuring something into his ear, he listened and nodded while keeping one arm around your son and holding your daughter with the other. He looked down at the boy while he listened and made a face—a silly face meant only for his son—which always earns him a laugh.

Some rearrangement happened. A small area was cleared slightly to the side of the main table. A staff member brought over a chair. The signing would continue—Michael had insisted on that but you and the kids would be nearby rather than shuffled off to a waiting room somewhere, and a couple of additional security team members were repositioned to keep the immediate area clear.

It was handled with the efficiency of people who were practiced at managing extraordinary circumstances, and within a few minutes it had simply become the new arrangement, absorbed into the event without further disruption.

You sat down with your daughter, who had finally surfaced into drowsy wakefulness and was now sitting in your lap looking around the store with an unbothered expression of someone still partially in a dream. Your son had stationed himself right beside Michael’s chair and was watching everything with wide, attentive eyes—the fans as they approached, the albums being signed, his father’s steady and gracious presence through it all.

“I wanna sign albums too, daddy!” he insisted.

“Oh, do you now?”

The little boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Here, let me see your autograph first.” Michael pulled a spare piece of paper toward him and handed him a Sharpie.

Scribbling an unintelligible mess, he handed the paper back to his father.

Michael examined the scribbles with exaggerated seriousness, turning it sideways as though he were evaluating a priceless work of art.

“This is actually much better than my autograph.”

“It is?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He tapped the paper. “Look at this confidence. Look at these bold artistic choices.”

The four-year old beamed. Michael leaned closer and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“I think I’ll have to let you sign an album just for Daddy.”

“Really?!”

“Mm-hm.” Michael glanced toward the line of waiting fans. “The fans aren’t ready for this level of talent yet.”

A few people nearby burst out laughing.

The last fan came through and the staff began the gentle, organized process of winding down the event. Adjusting displays, speaking into headsets, beginning the conclusion of the event. Michael signed the final album, spoke the final kind words, and the person left with the same shining eyes as everyone before them.

Then the table was just a table.

Michael set down the Sharpie and turned, and for the first time in the past hour or so he wasn’t in the middle of something. He exhaled slowly and rolled his shoulders once, and you recognized that particular exhale—that he was really tired but still gave his all to the fans.

Your daughter held up her stuffed elephant. “Daddy. Look.”

He crossed the few steps between you and crouched down in front of her. “I’m looking.”

“His name is Peanut.”

“I remember Peanut,” Michael smiled.

“He came on the plane.”

“That was very brave of him. He’s as brave as my princess.”

She considered this, then held the elephant out toward him. Michael accepted it with appropriate gravity, examined it, and handed it back. She tucked it under her arm, satisfied, and then reached out and patted his cheek with one small hand, the same gesture she’d given you in the cold outside.

He gathered her up and stood, settling her on his hip, and turned to find your son already close, leaning against his side in that particular way kids had of simply annexing a parent’s space. Michael put a hand on the back of his head, ruffling his curls gently.

“You both waited in line,” Michael said. He was talking to both of them, but his eyes found yours over their heads. “I hope you did not trouble mama too much.”

“Mama said we had to be patient,” your son told him.

“She was correct.” His voice was dry but warm. “She always is.”

“I know,” the boy said, with an earnestness so complete it almost sounded like a medical fact.

You stood up and looked at Michael.

In his arms, your daughter was braiding a section of his hair with focused concentration. At his side, your son was speaking a mile a minute about the plane and the clouds and his unsuccessful mission to find their house from the sky. And Michael listened to all of it, and at the same time he was looking at you.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

You took a step closer. “For what?”

“For doing this.” He shifted the girl slightly, freeing one hand, and reached out to touch your face again, fingertips at your cheekbone, like he was still checking. “For standing in the cold for I don’t even know how long. For bringing them. For—” He stopped. His jaw tightened briefly. “I needed this. I didn’t say so, but—”

“I know,” you said.

“You always know.” A faint, quiet smile. “That’s why I’m thanking you.”

You closed the remaining distance and leaned up to press a kiss to the corner of his jaw, brief and soft. He turned his head into it slightly, like a reflex.

“We’re in public,” you murmured.

“So?” he said, his voice low.

“So behave,”

“God forbid a husband missed his beautiful wife and wants to kiss her.”

“You’ll survive,” you laughed, and your daughter looked up at the sound of it with bright interested eyes. Your son stopped talking about the plane ride long enough to look at both of you with the mildly suspicious expression of a child who knew something was happening that was for grownups.

His staff had arranged cars. That was the other thing about Michael’s staff, the logistics that had an invisible coordination that moved things from one arrangement to another. You’d half expected some debate about hotels, about whether you’d all head to a restaurant first, about the details of the evening. Instead, there was simply a car waiting when you emerged from the side entrance of the store, and a small security presence around it, and a team member who smiled at your children and told them both they’d been very patient today.

Michael settled both kids in the car, buckling them securely.

“Hotel’s not far,” he looked at you.

“Good. Somebody’s going to be fully asleep in about eight minutes.”

He glanced at your daughter already leaning heavily against her brother. A small smile. His hand found the small of your back briefly.

“Come on,” he said.

She was asleep in six. Your son made it to the hotel lobby before his eyes started losing the fight, and by the time you’d gotten upstairs and through the door of the suite and managed the brief logistics of pajamas, he was moving on autopilot, responding to instruction with the half-conscious compliance of a child running on fumes.

Michael took over without discussion and that was something you’d loved about him from early on. How fatherhood came to him naturally. You caught fragments from the bathroom where you were washing your face, removing the makeup of the day: the beginning of a bedtime story and the specific register he used only with them.

By the time you came back into the room, both children were in the hotel bed, and Michael was just rising from where he’d been sitting at the edge of it, his voice trailing off from wherever the story had left them.

He stood up and looked at them for a long moment.

“She’s got a new thing she does,” you said quietly. “With her hands when she’s falling asleep.”

Michael glanced back at your daughter.

“Braiding things. She was doing it to my hair earlier.” He said immediately. “She started about three weeks ago.”

Your gaze drifted to the little girl. Even now, her tiny fingers were absentmindedly twisting the edge of her blanket as sleep pulled her under.

You hadn't even realized when the habit had started but Michael did.

“And he’s taller.”

“What?” You snorted.

“I’m serious.”

“Michael, you’ve been gone two days. That’s not how growing works.”

“Time zones. California’s three hours behind New York. That’s three whole extra hours of growing.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and shook your head, fighting a laugh. “Michael…”

He put his arm around you, and you leaned into him, as you both stood there for a moment in the soft dim hotel room. Your children sleeping, the city a distant murmur outside.

“I’m glad you came,” he said.

“I’m glad we came too.”

“The line, though.” He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t have to. The kids must be so tired and cold. And you had them all by yourself.”

“We wanted to. We wanted to be in the line with everybody else.” You tilted your head up to look at him. “I wanted to see your reaction when you didn’t know we were coming.”

A reluctant smile tugged at his mouth.

"You got me."

"I know."

"And they were very well behaved," you continued.

Michael's eyebrows rose.

“You should've called me."

"And said what?" You laughed. "'Michael, come rescue me from the line you're currently signing for’?”

"Yes. Would have dropped everything to be with my family.”

You turned toward him and he kissed you softly. His hand found your waist as he leaned in, pressing his lips briefly against yours before resting his forehead against yours for a moment.

When he pulled back you rested your head against his chest and listened to the steady, reliable sound of his heartbeat.

“Take me home tomorrow?” you murmured.

The first time they met, neither of them knew it would become the kind of friendship people spent a lifetime hoping to find.

It was the summer of 1966.

The Jackson house was strangely quiet.

No harmonies drifted through the open windows, no piano keys echoed through the living room, no Joe barking corrections every few seconds.

For once, the boys had a day to simply be children.

Michael sat cross-legged on the front steps, absentmindedly dragging a stick through the dirt, tracing uneven circles that the wind erased almost as quickly as he made them. Across the yard, Marlon and Jackie raced each other, laughing as they shoved one another and argued over who had cheated. Tito sat on the porch restringing an old guitar while Jermaine tossed a rubber ball against the side of the house.

It felt normal.

A rare thing in the Jackson household.

Then a car pulled into the driveway next door.

Michael barely looked up.

The neighbor stepped out first before walking around to the passenger side, the moment the little girl climbed out, the entire sidewalk seemed brighter.

She couldn’t have been older than seven.

She skipped instead of walking, her soft hair bouncing with every step beneath a bright yellow ribbon tied neatly into her hair. A powder-blue dress swayed around her knees, crisp white socks with tiny lace trim peeked above polished black Mary Janes, and despite the fancy shoes, she somehow still looked ready to climb every tree on the block.

She looked like sunshine.

Curious eyes, a smile that never seemed to leave her face.

The neighbor, assuming to be the girls mother, led her to the Jacksons’ front door and knocked. “Katherine!” she called.

A moment later, Katherine answered with her familiar warm smile, rocking baby Janet. “Oh, hello.”

“I hate to bother you,” the woman said apologetically. “I’ve got to run into town for a little while. Would you mind watching Y/n?”

“Oh, of course,” Katherine replied immediately. “She can stay as long as she needs.”

The little girl beamed. “Thank you, Miss Jackson!”

She politely wiped her shoes before stepping inside, looking around with wide-eyed fascination as if she’d just entered some grand adventure instead of a neighbor’s home.

Then she spotted him.

Michael had wandered inside and was sitting on the staircase, elbows resting on his knees, quietly watching everyone else.

She tilted her head. Then, without the slightest hesitation, she walked over and plopped down beside him. “Hi.”

He glanced over. “…Hi.”

“I’m Y/n.”

“I’m Michael.”

She smiled so widely her cheeks puffed out. “I think we’re gonna be best friends.”

That was all it took.

From then on, every single day, the phone rang.

Katherine would answer with a smile, already tugging at her lips. “Hello?”

“Hi, Miss Jackson!”

“You wanna talk to Joe?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She’d hand over the receiver. “Joe, it’s for you.”

Joe would let out a tired sigh before taking the phone. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Jackson, is Michael almost done practicing?”

Most days it’d be short a short—

“No.”

Click.

Sometimes she’d ask, “Can he come outside today?”

“No.”

“Alright!”

Click.

Joe wasn’t rude, he simply had one priority, and that priority was making sure his sons rehearsed.

Still,she never stopped asking. Every afternoon, like clockwork.

And if Michael couldn’t come outside, she came to him. She’d skip across the yard, knock twice, then wait patiently on the porch.

Sometimes Katherine would answer with an apologetic smile. “He’s still rehearsing, sweetheart.”

“Oh…”

Then Katherine would add, “You can come watch if you’d like.”

Instantly, Y/n’s face lit up. “Really?”

“Of course.”

She’d quietly slip inside, settle herself in the corner with a coloring book or talking his sisters' ears off, and most days she’d stay there for hours without complaining.

She watched the boys rehearse.

Watched Michael sing until his voice cracked, watched him dance until sweat soaked through his shirt, watched Joe stop them over and over, correcting every missed step and every wrong note.

Every so often, Michael would glance across the room.

She was always there, she’d grin and give him an encouraging little wave.

And that made rehearsals just a little easier.

The chances they actually got to play grew fewer as the years passed.

Sometimes weeks went by. Sometimes months.

But whenever they finally had a free afternoon, they made every minute count.

They climbed trees, raced bicycles until they were out of breath, played tag until the streetlights flickered on, split candy from the corner store, made up games that made absolutely no sense to anyone except the two of them.

They laughed until their stomachs hurt. Sometimes she’d convince him to sing just for fun instead of practice, sometimes he’d convince her to dance with him in the middle of the yard, both of them laughing too hard to care how silly they looked.

Then, as the sun disappeared behind the houses, Katherine would call from the porch. “Michael!”

A moment later, Y/n’s mother would call from next door.

“Y/n!”

They’d look at each other and laugh, “Five more minutes!”

In sync, they laughed harder.

Five years slipped by before either of them noticed. She was eleven, and he was twelve, both taller and older. But no less inseparable.

Then, one afternoon in 1971, everything changed.

Y/n came walking down the sidewalk with a small paper sack swinging from her hand, filled with jawbreakers, chocolate bars, and just about every piece of candy her allowance could buy.

As she reached the Jackson house, she slowed her steps.

Her mother stood on the porch, and Katherine stood beside her. The two women were hugging tightly. Neither of them looked happy.

“…Mama?”

No one answered.

Her gaze shifted toward the front steps.

Michael sat there alone, his elbows resting on his knees, his head hung low.

She walked over quietly and sat beside him. “…Mike?”

He looked up, his eyes were red.

She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

He swallowed. “…We’re moving.”

She blinked. “…Moving?”

He nodded once. “…California.”

Silence settled between them.

He braced himself, expected tears, expected her to beg him not to leave.

Instead, she simply nodded. “Okay.”

He looked at her in confusion. “…Okay?”

“Wait here.” She jumped to her feet and ran across the yard.

Before he could ask where she was going, she disappeared into her house. A minute later, she came sprinting back, slightly out of breath, holding a blue ink pen.

Without saying a word, she grabbed his wrist.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Hold still.” Carefully, she wrote across the inside of his forearm, taking her time with each number. When she finished, she held his arm up proudly and blew on the fresh ink. “There.”

Michael looked down, a laugh escaped him. “You wrote on me.”

“So?”

“It’ll wash off.”

She folded her arms.“Then memorize it, dummy.”

He smiled. “I will.”

“You better.” She pointed a finger at him. “And when you get there…”

“I know.”

“No.” She shook her head firmly. “I mean every day.”

“I will.”

“No matter how busy you get.”

“I promise.”

She held out her pinky. “Pinky promise.”

He hooked his around hers without hesitation.

“Pinky promise.”

Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, he hugged her just as tightly. Neither of them trusted themselves to say anything else.

A few minutes later, the suitcases were loaded into the car.

Doors slammed shut, the Jackson family climbed inside.

Michael rolled the window down.

Y/n stood at the curb, waving with both hands. “Don’t forget!”

“I won’t!”

“Every day!”

“I promise!”

She kept waving until the car disappeared around the corner, only then did she lower her hand and quietly walk back home.

Thirteen years passed.

The miles between Gary and California never became miles between them.

Just like he’d promised

He called.

Every single day.

Sometimes the conversations lasted only a minute before another rehearsal or interview pulled him away; other nights, they talked until one of them fell asleep with the phone still pressed against their ear.

He called from recording studios, hotel rooms, backstage before concerts, and airports while waiting to board another flight. Sometimes he called with exciting news, sometimes because he needed advice, sometimes because he'd had a bad day.

And sometimes just because he wanted to hear her voice.

No matter where he was, the phone rang. And no matter what she was doing, she answered.

Without fail.

Their friendship wasn't built on convenience—it was built on consistency.

Every summer, and every chance she got throughout the year, Y/N flew out to California to spend time with the Jacksons. She always offered to pay for her own plane ticket, insisting she was perfectly capable of buying it herself, but Michael never let her.

Not once.

The conversation always ended the same way.

"I've got it."

"Michael, you don't have to—"

"Too late. It's already done."

She'd roll her eyes every single time, knowing there was no point arguing with him. If she somehow managed to buy a ticket before he did, he'd find another way to spoil her the minute she arrived, determined to make up for it one way or another.

To him, it was simple.

If he wanted her there, he was going to make sure she got there.

And she always did.

Which was why, on a warm, crisp afternoon in October 1983, she found herself exactly where she had spent so many afternoons before, in Michael's room, where time always seemed to move a little slower.

Michael had been on his feet for nearly an hour, the stereo playing the same section of music over and over again.

The opening of the thriller echoed through the room as he paced across the floor, completely absorbed in his own world. Every so often he'd stop, replay the music, and try the sequence again, piecing together movements that had been bouncing around in his head for weeks.

Nothing about it was polished yet.

He'd hit one move, hesitate, shake his head, then back up and start over. A turn became a snap of the shoulders. A step transformed into a sharp kick. He'd mutter to himself, try a different rhythm, then string two or three movements together before abandoning them entirely.

Across the room, Y/n lay sprawled comfortably on the carpet, one leg bent at the knee as she absently flipped through television channels. The screen held her attention just enough to keep her occupied, but not enough to distract her from the familiar soundtrack filling Michael's bedroom.

The click of the cassette, the soft squeak of loafers against the hardwood.

His constant muttering, occasionally a frustrated sigh.

It had been going on for so long that it had become background noise, something she hardly noticed anymore unless he suddenly groaned or started talking to himself a little louder than usual.

Every now and then, she'd glance over.

He was still dancing.

Still counting under his breath.

Still piecing together the same sequence he'd been chasing for weeks.

Every time it wasn't exactly what he'd imagined, he'd stop, rewind the tape, shake his head, and start again.

Finally, with a sigh of her own, Y/n muted the television. "Mike."

"Hm?"

"You haven't even started filming the music video yet."

He barely acknowledged her, immediately restarting the same eight-count for what had to be the hundredth time that afternoon.

She watched him stumble, reset, and try again. "You've been doing this for hours," she said, propping herself up on one elbow. "Come rest for a little while."

Michael stopped the cassette with a sharp click and turned to look at her, pointing dramatically as though she'd committed some unforgivable offense.

"I make movies," he said. "Other people make music videos."

She couldn't help rolling her eyes. "Movie. Music video. Same thing."

He clutched a hand over his chest, feigning absolute horror. "It is not the same thing."

"It literally is."

"It isn't." He crossed his arms with exaggerated confidence. "What music video is thirty minutes, hm?"

Y/n stared at him for a long beat before shaking her head. "I just can't win with you, huh?"

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Absolutely not."

He turned back to the stereo, rewound the cassette, and pressed play once more.

"But get this," he said as the music started again. "We've been practicing this dance since early September."

His shoulders snapped into position as he moved through another section, every motion crisp despite the obvious fatigue settling into him.

"I've got the whole thing in my head..." He demonstrated another combination, turning sharply before stopping himself, his foot caught the floor, taking a small tumble. "...ugh."

The frustration escaped before he could stop it. He dragged both hands down over his face and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Y/n's teasing smile faded. "You okay?"

Michael stood still for a moment, catching his breath before answering. "I'm trying to make people remember this forever."

The playfulness had disappeared from his voice, sincerity taking over.

"I know exactly how I want it to look." He tapped the side of his head gently. "It's all in here." His eyes drifted down toward his feet. "But my body's not listening."

Y/n offered him a small, reassuring smile. "It'll get there."

"I know." He nodded, though it didn't sound like he believed it as much as he wanted to. "I just wish it'd hurry up."

Silence settled over the room. Michael stood in the middle of it all, staring at the floor as if the answer might be hidden somewhere between the floorboards.

Then his eyes suddenly lit up, a slow smile spread across his face. "I have an idea."

Y/n immediately narrowed her eyes. "...What kind of idea?"

Michael's grin was instantaneous. "The good kind."

She snorted. "That's never reassuring."

Before she could question him any further, he crossed the room in three quick strides, caught both of her hands, and gently tugged her toward him.

"C'mon."

She burst into laughter as he pulled her to her feet. "Michael!"

"Come on."

"What are you doing?"

He only smiled, leading her toward the open space in the middle of the room like he already had the whole thing planned.

Y/n dug her heels dramatically into the carpet. "If you think I'm dancing, then you've officially lost your mind."

"No, no." He laughed, shaking his head. "Not dancing."

"Good."

"The director, John, said he'd find a female lead." He let go of one of her hands but absentmindedly kept the other in his, thumb brushing lightly across her knuckles as he spoke. "And I trust him."

He paused, studying her for a moment. "But..." A slow smile crept onto his face. "I honestly think you'd be perfect."

Y/N blinked. "Me?"

He nodded without a second's hesitation. "You."

She stared at him for a beat before laughing outright. "There is absolutely no way."

"Why not?"

"You want me in front of cameras...acting?"

"Yeah."

"Michael." She pointed emphatically at herself. “I'm very inexperienced."

"So?"

"So what if I mess it up?"

Michael looked genuinely confused. "How would you mess it up?"

"I don't know!"

"You'd be on screen for, what..." He pretended to calculate. "...maybe ten minutes."

"That's ten whole minutes to embarrass myself."

"You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do."

"You can't."

"I can."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Your confidence in me is concerning."

"My confidence in you is well placed."

She blinked at him.

He simply smiled then shrugged casually. "LaToya did it."

"LaToya loves cameras."

"And she was amazing."

"Exactly!" Y/n pointed triumphantly. "She's a natural."

"So are you." He wandered over to his dresser and picked up his camcorder.

Y/n pointed at it immediately. "No."

"Oh, yes."

"Michael."

"Nope."

"Mike."

He turned back to her with the most innocent smile he could manage. "Just follow my lead."

Y/n let out a long, theatrical groan. "I don't want to star in your movie."

Michael grinned. "You aren't starring."

"Good."

"You're inspiring."

She blinked. “That's somehow worse."

He laughed.

"I don't think this opportunity should go to somebody who's never acted before," she said matter-of-factly. "You should give it to someone who actually knows what they're doing."

Michael waved the thought away as if it wasn't worth entertaining. "I disagree."

"You disagree with facts?"

"I disagree with your facts."

"They're still facts."

"They're opinions."

She opened her mouth to argue.

He beat her to it by switching on the camcorder, the tiny red recording light blinked to life.

"Oh no..." Y/n pointed dramatically. "Don't you dare."

Michael was already lifting the camera, immediately, he zoomed in until her face filled the viewfinder.

She squinted into the lens. "Really?"

Without missing a beat, Michael slipped into an overly dramatic documentary voice. "And here..." He zoomed in another notch. “We have a beautiful Y/n."

She groaned, already laughing. "Michael."

"...in her natural habitat."

"Oh my gosh."

"Who is pretending she isn't about to help me make cinematic history."

She rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might get stuck. "I am not."

"Oh, but you are."

"I've already said no."

"Present Y/n did." He lowered the camera just enough for a crooked smile to peek over the top. "Future Y/n said yes."

She folded her arms. "You don't know Future Y/n."

"I do."

"No, you don't."

"We're very close."

"Oh really?"

"Mhm."

"What'd she tell you?"

"That she thinks I'm charming."

Y/n laughed so hard she had to put a hand over her mouth. "She lied."

Michael clutched his chest dramatically. "Ouch."

"I'm just being honest."

"I admire your honesty."

"I know you do."

He smiled to himself, unable to hide it, then carefully set the camcorder on the bench and angled it toward the open space in the room. "There."

He clapped his hands together once. "Now." He walked back over to her. “All you have to do..." He gently guided her by the shoulders until she was standing where he wanted her. "Is walk straight."

She looked around the room. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"No secret choreography?"

"Nope."

"No dramatic acting?"

"Not yet."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't trust that 'yet.'"

He laughed. "I'll circle around you." He demonstrated, weaving around her with exaggerated grace. "And I'll sing," He spun dramatically, "and do my thing."

She watched him with obvious skepticism. "That's all?"

"For now."

"You're definitely leaving something out."

"I would never." He flashed her an innocent smile. "So?"

She sighed with exaggerated reluctance. "Fine."

"That's my girl."

The words slipped out so naturally neither of them caught them at first.

Y/n simply nodded. "Don't make me regret it."

Michael, meanwhile, was already hurrying to the stereo, cheeks just a touch warmer than before.

He pressed play.

The music filled the room.

He circled around her exactly the way he'd imagined for weeks, softly lip-syncing under his breath as he watched every movement she made, adjusting his own timing as if the entire scene were already playing on a movie screen inside his mind.

Y/n watched him from the corner of her eye, he looked completely absorbed.

Like nothing else in the world existed.

And yet there was something undeniably funny about watching Michael slowly stalk circles around her while dramatically lip-syncing to invisible lyrics with the intensity of a Shakespearean actor.

A tiny snort escaped.

Don't laugh.

She bit the inside of her cheek.

Failed.

A giggle slipped out.

Then another.

Within seconds, she was doubled over, laughing so hard she could barely stay standing.

Michael stopped so abruptly it was like someone had hit a switch. "What?"

Y/n laughed harder, one hand flying up to her mouth while the other pointed straight at him.

"I'm sorry!"

"What?" he asked again, half offended, half bewildered.

"You just—" She gasped for breath, shoulders shaking. Then she pointed at him all over again. "You look silly!"

His jaw dropped. "Silly?"

She nodded, absolutely delighted with herself. “So silly.”

“I look cool.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You look like an overly dramatic cat.”

He blinked at her. “A cat?”

Y/n nodded enthusiastically, still grinning from ear to ear. “A dancing cat.”

Michael let out a long, dramatic sigh and tipped his head back like he was addressing the heavens. “I can’t believe this.”

That only made her laugh harder.

He stood there for a second, staring at her like he was trying to decide whether to be annoyed or amused. Then, very suddenly, his expression changed.

An idea.

He snapped his fingers. “I’ll tell you what.”

Y/n looked up at him, still smiling. “What?”

“Tomorrow.” He pointed at her with a little too much confidence. "You’re coming with me to rehearsals."

Her eyes widened immediately. “What?”

“You’ll do this in front of John.”

“Michael—”

“And,” he said, talking right over her, “if he likes it..” He smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "And casts you..." He gave a tiny shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Then you’ll do it."

Y/n stared at him as though he’d completely lost his mind. “Michael.”

“What?”

“I don’t even have a background in...” She made a helpless little gesture with both hands. “Anything.”

“Film-wise?”

“Yes,” she said, very firmly. “I’ve never acted. I’ve barely been photographed.”

He took a step closer, and his voice softened just a little. “Just try.”

She shook her head at once. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

He leaned in with the biggest puppy-dog eyes she’d ever seen in her life, and Y/n immediately pointed at him like he was breaking some kind of law.

“That face should be illegal.”

Michael’s mouth twitched. “It works.”

“It absolutely does not.”

He smiled, smaller now, but hopeful. “...Please?”

Y/n held out for exactly three more seconds before letting out a long, dramatic groan. “One rehearsal.”

His whole face lit up. “Really?”

“One.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

Before she could even finish the sentence, Michael threw both arms around her.

“Oh, thank you!” He squeezed her tight and bounced a little on the balls of his feet, practically vibrating with excitement. “We have to be up at six.”

Y/n laughed into his shoulder. “Six?”

“I like starting early.”

“Then we’d better get some sleep.”

Michael pulled back just enough to look at her. His grin lingered, soft and bright and just a little too pleased with himself. “...Can we just try it one more time first?”

She stared at him. “I wanted to watch my TV show.” She pointed toward the television. “Spider-Man’s coming on next.”

Michael looked from her to the TV, then back again, like he was seriously considering his options then he gave in with a sigh. “...I’ll make popcorn.”

Y/n smiled instantly. “I’ll come with.”

He grinned, and together they headed for the bedroom door.

Halfway there, Y/n suddenly shoved him sideways with her shoulder.

He stumbled a step. “Hey!”

She flashed him the biggest grin in the world. “First one to the kitchen doesn’t have to pick up animal crap.”

Michael gasped. “Oh, you’re cheating!”

She was already halfway down the hall. “Too late!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

He took off after her, and the whole house seemed to fill with laughter as they flew down the stairs two at a time, nearly slipping around corners, bumping shoulders, and trying to beat each other to the kitchen like their lives depended on it.

Y/n reached the bottom first.

For one glorious second, she thought she’d won.

Then Michael darted past her at the very last possible second and slapped both hands dramatically onto the kitchen counter. “I win!”

Y/n stumbled in right after him, bent completely over with both hands on her knees, laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

“Okay...” Y/n wheezed, still bent over with laughter, one hand pressed to her stomach while the other pointed weakly at him. “You win...” She drew in another breath, shaking her head at the sheer audacity of him. “You lanky— ow my chest.”

Michael threw his head back and laughed so hard he had to brace one hand against the counter just to keep himself upright. His curls bounced slightly as he straightened, still grinning like he’d just won something far more important than a race to the kitchen.

“I’ll take it,” he said, all smug satisfaction.

Y/n finally stood up straight, still smiling, still a little breathless, and he looked ridiculously pleased with himself as he folded his arms across his chest.

“Which means...” he began, his tone turning mock-serious.

She narrowed her eyes at once, already suspicious.

Michael’s grin widened. “You have to clean Louie and Lola’s crap.”

Y/n went completely still, then she slowly lifted her head and stared at him with the kind of blank expression that made it very clear she was not amused.

“For as long as I’ve been coming over here,” she said, stepping closer, “not once.” She poked him hard in the chest “Have I ever done that.”

Michael barely made it two seconds before cracking up again, trying and failing to keep a straight face. He lifted both hands in surrender, laughing as he shook his head.

“You made the bet.”

“I didn't expect you to speed past me like a damn... speed demon!”

“Well, I wouldn't ever make you do that.” His voice softened a little on the last part, and when he looked at her, there was something warm and unmistakably fond in his eyes. “You’re a lady.”

Y/n’s brows lifted. “Oh?”

“Mm-hm.”

“So now I’m a lady?” She tilted her head, smiling like she was calling him out already. “That’s new.”

Michael’s mouth twitched, and for a second it looked like he might backpedal. But then he just smiled at her, easy and sweet and a little too knowing. “You’ve always been one.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

The room seemed to pause around them.

Y/n only blinked once, then gave a little soft laugh, completely missing the way his ears had started turning pink. “Well...” She bumped his shoulder with hers, light and playful. “That’s sweet.”

Michael immediately cleared his throat and looked away, suddenly very interested in the bowl of popcorn kernels sitting on the counter, as if they were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“So...” he said, reaching for it a little too quickly. “Extra butter?”

Y/n leaned against the counter beside him, still grinning, still entirely unaware that his voice had gone just a touch quieter when he said it. “You already know the answer.”

Michael smiled to himself as he tipped the popcorn into the bowl, the corners of his mouth lingering upward. “Yeah,” he said softly, almost under his breath. “I guess I do.”

Y/n pushed herself away from the counter, still a little breathless from their sprint downstairs. Wisps of hair had fallen loose around her face, and her cheeks were pink from laughing so hard.

She was smiling like she'd won some grand competition, despite the fact that Michael had beaten her to the kitchen by the smallest margin imaginable.

She pointed an accusing finger at him. "I still think you cheated."

Michael looked over his shoulder from the stove, gently shaking the pot as the kernels inside began to rattle. A slow, innocent smile spread across his face. "I did not cheat."

"You absolutely did."

"I used strategy."

She scoffed dramatically. "That is not strategy."

"It is."

"No."

He lifted a shoulder in an exaggerated shrug. "It absolutely is."

Y/n folded her arms. "Michael Joseph Jackson, that wasn't strategy." She pointed at him again for emphasis, “That was being a liar."

A laugh escaped him anyway, warm and quiet, as he gave the pot another gentle shake. "You only say that because you lost."

She waved him off between giggles. "You're annoying."

"Mmm."

He peeked beneath the lid as another pop echoed from inside the pot. "I wonder where I get it from."

She immediately pointed at him.

"It has got to be one of your brothers because it is not me."

He slowly looked at her over the rim of the pot. "You are easily the most annoying person I know."

Y/n blinked dramatically before letting out another bright laugh. "Mike, please." She leaned against the counter with a grin. "Don't get all big-headed just because you won one little race."

"One very important race."

"It was from your bedroom to the kitchen."

"A victory is a victory."

Without another word, she reached into the bowl beside him, intending to steal one of the handful of pieces that had already popped.

Before her fingers could make contact, Michael lightly tapped the back of her hand. "Hey."

She looked at him with exaggerated disbelief. "Hey yourself."

"I saw that."

"You left it unattended."

"I was standing right here."

"Exactly."

She plucked a piece anyway before he could stop her, tossing it into her mouth with a smug little smile. "Mmm." She nodded thoughtfully while chewing. "Worth it."

Michael leaned one elbow against the counter, watching her with an expression that hovered somewhere between amused disbelief and quiet affection. "You are a menace."

"I wonder where I get it from." She mimicked his voice almost perfectly, complete with the same little tilt of her head he'd used moments before.

He laughed. "I don't sound like that."

"You absolutely do."

He opened his mouth to argue—then stopped.

For just a second.

His eyes drifted to the smile she'd been trying to suppress, then they lifted to meet hers again.

She was still smiling. Still completely oblivious to the way he was looking at her.

A soft warmth settled in his chest before he quickly cleared his throat and turned back toward the stove. "You should probably go back to school."

She tilted her head. "For what?"

"A master's degree."

"In?"

He smiled to himself. "Stealing."

Y/n laughed, bright and effortless, before nudging his shoulder with hers. "Don't hate the player, hate the game."

Michael chuckled, shaking his head as he switched off the burner. Carefully, he poured the fresh popcorn into a large bowl, the warm, buttery aroma immediately filling the kitchen.

He sprinkled on an extra shake of salt before offering her the bowl with a small flourish. "Your favorite."

Y/n smiled without thinking. "You remembered."

"I remember important things."

The words came out so naturally that neither of them paused to think about them.

Y/n simply beamed. "Well..." She took the bowl from him carefully. "Thank you."

Michael smiled to himself, quietly pleased by how happy something so simple seemed to make her.

Together, they wandered back upstairs, Y/n leading the way down the hallway with the oversized bowl balanced carefully in her hands while Michael followed behind carrying two cans of soda tucked beneath one arm and the television remote in the other.

The bedroom felt even cozier when they stepped back inside.

The warm glow from the bedside lamp washed the room in soft amber light, casting long shadows across the walls. The cassette player still sat beside the stereo exactly where Michael had left it, abandoned in favor of a much-needed break. Outside, the evening had settled in completely, leaving only the quiet chirping of crickets filtering through the cracked window.

Y/n kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed, settling cross-legged against the pillows with the popcorn in her lap.

Michael flopped down beside her with an exaggerated sigh, close enough that their shoulders brushed for a moment before he reached for the remote.

He clicked on the television just as the opening theme for Spider-Man began to play.

Y/n's face lit up immediately. "Oh! Perfect timing."

Michael smiled, though his attention wasn't really on the television anymore, it was on the way her eyes sparkled with excitement over a Saturday morning cartoon.

He shook his head to himself with a quiet laugh. "You really love this show."

"I really do."

"I can tell."

Without looking away from the screen, she offered him the popcorn bowl. "You want some?"

He glanced at her, smiling softly. "I thought you'd never ask."

Michael settled beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and for a minute neither of them said anything. The TV glowed across the room, the sound of the cartoon filling the silence while they both pretended to watch it.

Y/n reached over without thinking and laid her head on his shoulder the same way she used to when they were little, all sleepy and shameless and comfortable, like she belonged there.

Michael went still for half a second.

Then, slowly, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he leaned a little toward her.

The old memories came rushing in with that one simple movement.

Playing in the backyard. Falling asleep on couches during family visits. Sitting side by side while grown folks talked around them. Him whispering jokes in her ear until she snorted and got in trouble. Her stealing his snacks. Him stealing her soda. Both of them trying to act too grown for the exact same silly things they still did now.

“You remember when you and Marlon used to prank me during movie nights?” Y/n asked softly, her voice muffled a little against his shoulder.

Michael smiled at the screen. “Yeah, especially when you'd fall asleep during the movie you wanted to watch.”

She laughed. “That is not my fault.”

“It definitely is.”

He turned his head just enough to look down at her. “You always complained, but you never stopped falling asleep.”

Y/n lifted her face just a little and gave him a sleepy grin. “Because I was plotting.”

That made his eyes soften before he could help it. He looked back at the television, but his smile stayed.

For a while, they just watched Spider-Man and ate popcorn in comfortable silence. Every now and then Y/n would make some tiny comment about the show, and Michael would answer with something dry enough to make her laugh. The room stayed warm, quiet, familiar.

Then, after a while, Michael shifted a little and looked down at her again.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“When are you going back?”

She lifted her head just enough to look at him with one eyebrow raised. “I really don’t know. Why? You trying to get rid of me already?”

His eyes widened immediately. “No.”

She studied him, smiling a little at how fast he answered. “Mm-hm.”

“I just…” He hesitated, suddenly a little awkward, fingers drumming once against the popcorn bowl. “I just want you to stay a little longer, that's all.”

Y/n blinked at him, then smiled in a softer way than before. “I’ll think about it.”

Michael looked relieved for exactly half a second before another thought came to him. “Have you ever thought about moving here?”

That got her to turn fully toward him. “Moving?”

He nodded, trying to sound casual and failing just enough that she could tell the question mattered more than he wanted to admit. “Yeah. You could stay here.”

Y/nblinked again, then gave a little breathy laugh. “And where exactly am I supposed to stay?”

Michael looked at her like the answer was obvious. “Here.”

She stared at him.

He kept going, now a little more earnest. “You’re practically family.”

That made her smile, the kind that came from somewhere deep and warm. “That’s sweet, Mikey, really. But I really don’t wanna intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.”

“I would too.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would.”

Michael gave her a long look, then tried a different angle, his voice going softer. “Can you leave next month? Please?”

Y/n laughed, leaning her head back against the pillow. “You are so weird.”

“I know.”

“I’ll think about it,” she repeated, reaching over and poking his arm. “Now hush.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He said it with just enough softness that it made her glance at him for a second, but she only smiled and settled back against his shoulder again.

After that, the room drifted slowly into evening and then into night. Spider-Man ended. The television got quiet. The house outside their door softened into that hush it always had when everybody else was asleep. At some point, Y/n’s breathing evened out, and Michael realized she had dozed off.

He turned his head carefully and looked down at her.

Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder, her lashes resting against her face, one hand still curled loosely around the blanket. In the dim light, she looked peaceful in a way that made something in his chest go very still.

“Y/n,” he whispered.

No answer.

He smiled faintly to himself and shifted just enough to brush a hand lightly against her arm. “Hey. You sleepy?”

She made a soft noise and slowly lifted her head. “Mm?”

Michael’s voice went gentle. “Get in the bed, N/n.”

She blinked at him with sleepy confusion, then nodded without arguing. “Okay.”

He watched her push herself up, all slow and soft and half-awake, and then flop face-first onto the mattress with absolutely no dignity at all. Michael let out a quiet laugh and lifted the blanket over her more carefully.

“There you go,” he murmured.

Y/n made the faintest little sound and rolled onto her side, already slipping back beneath the pull of sleep. A loose strand of hair had fallen across her face, shifting every time she breathed.

Michael noticed it before he realized he was moving.

Carefully, almost nervously, he reached over and brushed it away with the backs of his fingers, featherlight against her skin.

She didn't stir.

His hand lingered for the smallest moment before he pulled it back, smiling to himself. "...Always in your face," he whispered with a quiet chuckle.

The room was dim except for the glow of the bedside lamp, casting soft amber light across her sleeping face. She looked peaceful. Warm. Safe.

His chest tightened. He leaned down almost without thinking and pressed the gentlest kiss against her temple, so soft it barely counted.

When he pulled away, he stayed there for a second longer than he should have.

His eyes drifted over her face.

Then to her lips.

His heart immediately betrayed him.

No.

He swallowed hard, feeling heat creep up the back of his neck. "What are you doing..." he mumbled under his breath, giving a tiny shake of his head.

He forced himself to stand back up before his courage could do something incredibly stupid.

Instead, he climbed into bed beside her, leaving the same careful distance he always did—as though an invisible line existed that he refused to cross, no matter how badly every part of him wanted to inch just a little closer.

He folded one arm behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

The house creaked quietly around them.

A car passed somewhere outside.

The television downstairs murmured faintly.

His eyes slowly drifted shut.

Then, not even  a minute later, a warm brush touched his temple.

Michael's eyes flew open.

He froze.

Very, very slowly, he turned his head.

Y/n had rolled toward him in her sleep.

Without opening her eyes, she'd pressed the tiniest sleepy kiss against his temple, and then immediately let out the loudest, most fakest snore he'd ever heard.

Michael blinked once, then he clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

"Oh my gosh..." he whispered between muffled laughs. "You are impossible."

As if offended by his laughter, Y/n shifted again, her arm flopped straight across his chest. A second later, one leg tangled carelessly over his, effectively pinning him where he lay.

Michael looked down at the way she'd somehow managed to claim nearly the entire bed. "You know," he whispered, smiling helplessly, "this was my bed."

Another snore.

"...Mm. I see negotiating isn't an option."

He laughed quietly to himself, careful not to move her.

Truthfully, he didn't really want to.

Her head rested against his shoulder now, warm and impossibly close. He could smell the faint scent of her shampoo, feel the slow rhythm of her breathing against him.

His heartbeat immediately decided to become everyone else's problem.

He stared at the ceiling again.

"You're gonna kill me one day," he muttered softly.

Not because she was heavy.

Not because she was taking up the whole bed.

But because she could be this close without realizing what it did to him.

He smiled despite himself. Then he carefully rested his head back against the pillow, a hopeless smile tugging at his lips.

A minute later, Y/n stirred.

Her eyes cracked open lazily, she blinked once, trying not to laugh. Then looked up. "...Mike?"

His eyes dropped to hers. "Yeah?"

She smiled immediately, soft and sleepy enough to make his stomach do a complete flip. "You comfy?"

He looked down at the way she was practically lying on top of him. "...Not particularly."

She frowned in confusion. "Why?"

Michael couldn't help laughing.

He looked pointedly at her arm across his chest, then at the leg hooked over his, then back at her.

Y/n followed his gaze. Her eyes widened. "Oh!"

She burst out in laughter so quickly she nearly rolled clean off the bed.

Michael reached out instinctively, catching her wrist before she disappeared.

His hand wrapped gently around hers.

Y/n looked down at where he was holding her hand, then back up at him. "Thanks," she said with a sheepish little smile.

A comfortable silence settled again before Y/n suddenly brightened. "Wanna play games?"

Michael looked at her. "Right now?"

"Mhm."

"You were asleep thirty seconds ago."

"I was faking, there's no way you thought that was real.”

He laughed softly, unable to look anywhere but her face. "You are something else."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was." His answer slipped out before he could stop it.

Y/n simply beamed. "Good!" She hopped out of bed, grabbing the stack of card games from the shelf.

Michael watched her go with a smile that only grew softer.

She was humming to herself, completely unaware she'd just held his hand for several seconds, and nearly sent his heart into cardiac arrest.

"...Unbelievable," he murmured fondly.

"What?"

She looked back over her shoulder.

He smiled to himself. "Nothing."

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "You're thinking again."

"I always think."

"Dangerous."

"For me, usually."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

She accepted that answer without another thought and climbed back onto the bed, settling cross-legged across from him. "Okay," she declared, shuffling the cards enthusiastically. "Prepare to lose."

Michael smiled, resting against the headboard. "I don't think so."

"Oh, confidence."

"I've been practicing."

"Against who?"

"My brothers."

She gasped. "So you've been training?"

"A little."

"I can't believe this."

He leaned forward just enough for their knees to brush beneath the blanket. "Scared?"

She snorted. "Please."

"You should be."

She pointed dramatically at him. "If I win, you have to admit I'm the greatest card player alive."

"And if I win?"

Y/n thought for exactly two seconds. "Then you got lucky."

Michael laughed, shaking his head. "You never give me any credit."

"I give you plenty."

"Oh?"

"Mhm."

She smiled brightly. "You're funny."

His smile softened. "Anything else?"

She counted on her fingers. "Nice."

Another finger.

"Smart."

Another.

"A little dramatic."

He laughed.

"That's true."

"And," She looked at him thoughtfully. "You're my favorite person to hang out with."

She said it so naturally.

So easily.

As though it were the simplest fact in the world.

Michael forgot what he was holding.

The deck slipped from his hands, cards scattering across the blanket.

Y/n burst into laughter. "You dropped them!"

"Yeah." He was still looking at her. "I noticed."

She reached over, gently bumping his shoulder with hers. "Silly."

Michael smiled, almost helplessly. "...Yeah."

She started gathering the cards, completely unaware she'd just unraveled him with one innocent sentence.

Michael leaned down to help, reaching for the same card she did.

Their fingers brushed.

Then paused.

Neither of them pulled away right away.

Y/n only smiled, sliding the card free with an absent little, "Thanks," before tossing it back into the deck, blissfully unaware of the way his heart had stumbled.

Michael quietly cleared his throat and reached for another card instead.

It didn't help.

Every now and then their hands bumped again, knees brushing beneath the blanket as they scooted closer together to pick up the scattered cards. Each tiny touch lasted no more than a heartbeat.

Neither of them seemed in any hurry to create more space.

When the last card was finally back in the deck, Y/n set it triumphantly between them. "There." She looked up at him with the brightest smile. "Ready?"

Michael had already been looking at her. He blinked, almost like he'd forgotten there was a game at all. "Yeah."

"You sure?" she teased, giggling. "You keep zoning out."

He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "I guess I got distracted."

She grinned. "By what?"

His eyes met hers.

For the smallest moment, he considered telling her.

By you, your beautiful smile, the way your ears move up when you smile, the way your eye twitches when you are trying not to laugh. By everything about you.

The words sat right there, balanced on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he smiled that shy, crooked smile she adored. "Nothing."

Y/n narrowed her eyes dramatically. "Hm."

"What?"

"You're suspicious."

"I am?"

"Mhm." She leaned forward conspiratorially, lowering her voice. "I think you're plotting how to beat me."

Michael laughed, relief washing over him. "Maybe."

"I knew it!"

She pointed at him accusingly before dissolving into laughter herself. Her laugh filled the room, bright and effortless, and before he realized it, he was laughing too—not because she'd said anything particularly funny, but because she was laughing.

She always did that to him.

Y/n gathered the deck into her hands and shuffled the cards with exaggerated determination. "Prepare yourself, Michael."

He smiled, watching her with quiet affection. "I don't think I'm ready."

"Oh, you should be." She dealt the first card between them with a flourish.

Outside, the October wind whispered against the windows, and somewhere downstairs the house settled into its familiar nighttime creaks.

Inside, the room stayed warm.

Just the two of them.

A deck of cards, a bowl of half-finished popcorn, and a kind of happiness that neither of them had a name for yet.

Y/n flashed him another grin. "Your turn."

Michael looked at her for a second longer than he meant to. "Right."

His smile softened into something almost impossibly fond. Maybe one day he'd find the courage to tell her.

But for tonight, just for these past few days, being here with her was enough.

To be continued . ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

plz reblog & comment if you enjoyed!!

taglist ! @a-dal7490 @wistariah @plqnetkiyaa @meowswrites @unseenleylinesecret @vict-oryy @hugylong @cappaslota @jermajestyluvvv @gravenoirr @angelroary @undoette @ebonymuse @dilfloverhoney please lmk if i missed any!!

x

“Hi, Gertrude. How are you doing today?” you greet your patient with a smile.

“Oh, just fine, dear. You know I love seeing your face but I hate being back here.”

“I know. You did a great job last time. The cancer has gone down a bit. The treatment is working.”

“Good. I’m glad,” she smiles.

“I am here to take some blood and be on my say. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

“You’re never a bother, dear.”

She puts out the same arm you’ve been using for the past year to take blood. She has been battling cancer for a long time and has been seeing you for treatment since the beginning. The best part about being a nurse is seeing patients grow and heal. Gertrude is on her way if she keeps up the treatments.

You grab the blue tourniquet and tighten it around her upper arm to constrict the flow of blood. It makes for an easy vein. You wipe an alcohol pad across her skin to sterilize it before poking at her skin to get her veins to show.

“You’ve been drinking water, right?”

“Eight glasses a day. My daughter makes sure I have it. I forget sometimes.”

“You have good veins. You’re doing everything right.” You grab the butterfly needle and she looks away before you stick her with the needle. She’s been doing this for a long time but seeing the needle enter her skin still makes her squeamish. “Alright, the needle is in, you can look now.”

“How have you and the baby been?” she asks with a smile.

You place your left hand on your growing stomach with a shy smile. When her blood is done filling one tube, you take it out and push in the next so that the second tube can be filled.

“He’s doing so good. Kicking a lot,” you chuckle.

“Awh, that’s good, dear. I’m glad to hear it. I remember having my first child. It seems like she never slept because all she would do is kick me.”

“Yeah, I’m glad he’s not much of a mover, especially when I’m sleeping. He must sense I need a break,” you wink. You get done filling all three tubes before taking the needle out and placing a cotton swab over the wound before tying it down with two pieces of skin tape. “Alright, I will be back in a little bit. You just relax.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she smiles.

You leave her room and head back to the nurses’ station where you package the blood correctly and have an intern rush this to the labs to get tested.

“So, when is Michael going to come by again?” one of your nurse friends, Jessica, asks. “We miss him.”

“You only miss his cookies,” you smirk.

“Maybe,” she shrugs with a smile. “I can’t help it. His cooking is so good.”

Whenever Michael does have time to come down, he always brings something he cooked for you to share with the other nurses. It’s his way of apologizing for never being around all the time.

“He’s busy with work,” you keep it vague. “I’m not sure when he’s gonna be back. All I know is that it’s soon.” You grab three more empty clean vials to take someone else’s blood who is next on your list. “Gotta go.”

You’re halfway to the patient’s room when you get a searing pain in your stomach. This kind of thing has happened before so you don’t want to alert anyone about premature labor or anything. You walk to the nearest bathroom and make sure it’s empty before leaning over the sink. You take three deep breaths and try to calm down in hopes it will ease your son’s worries.

“Baby, Mommy’s doing fine. I’m okay.”

That doesn’t seem to ease him so you look at your reflection and change the color of your eyes from their natural tint to pitch black. You use some of your magic to calm your son down which works once he feels the comforting aura. As soon as you know he’s not going to cause you any more pain, you turn your eyes back to their normal color and ease up on your magic.

“There you go, baby. See? Mommy’s fine.”

You’re half-demon and half-witch who doesn’t like to use powers unless you really have to. The only time you will is if a patient is in critical condition with no hope of survival. You have some healing abilities and try to help as many people as you can. You’re not as evil as a demon but you’re sweeter than a witch. Maybe that’s why Michael took to you many years ago.

You’re different than the others.

You leave the bathroom and continue with your shift, going from room to room to gather vitals, take blood, and check up on patients to get them anything they need. Once the clock strikes twelve, you take your badge and rush to the time clock.

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes!” you announce to your friends and clock out.

You’re on your way to grab a quick bite from the cafeteria when two men step foot into the hospital.

“Help, he needs help,” the taller one says.

“Are you okay?” you rush over without thinking you’re supposed to be taking your lunch. “What happened?”

“He’s been stabbed. I can’t seem to stop the bleeding.”

“Come here.” You take them to an empty room and lay the shorter one on the examination table to get a better look at what you're working with. You unbutton his shirt and see a deep ash on his abdomen. “Oh, yeah, they got you good. What happened?”

“I walked into a knife.”

“Accident,” the taller one says at the same time as the shorter one.

“He accidentally walked into a knife,” the taller one grounds out, giving the shorter one a weird look.

“Right. Let me get the doctor in here.”

You’re about to leave when the shorter one sits up.

“Sweetheart, I just need some stitches and I’ll be as good as new.”

“This is a stabbing. I need to get the doctor.”

“Alright, then I guess we’ll leave. Come on, Sammy.”

He tries to get off the table but you gently push him back down so he doesn’t go anywhere.

“You’re going to get me in trouble.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he smirks.

“Wait here,” you sigh and leave the room. You return with a kit that will help you stitch his skin back together. You open his shirt the rest of the way to clean the wound when you notice something on the left side of his chest. An anti-possession tattoo. “You’re hunters.”

“I mean, sure, we like to hunt animals here and there but nothing serious,” the tall one stutters.

“That’s not the kind of hunters I’m talking about, and you know it.” You dab the wound to clean it and the man hisses. “I know an anti-possession symbol when I see one.”

“How do you know about hunting?”

You look at both men and flash your eyes black to show them what you really are. They lean back in shock but you’re quick to ease their concerns.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” You change your eye color back to normal and continue to fix the man. “I’m half-demon anyway. Half-demon and half-witch.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Helping as many people as I can with the curse I’ve been given. I didn’t choose to be this way. I was born a witch, a full-fledged witch who was happy in her coven. My coven was ransacked by a group of demons who took a liking to me. Long story short, I was with them for five tortuous years when they finally put a blade in my heart. Well, I had created a serum I kept in my body, much like the hex bags Rowena kept in her body to keep herself from dying, and I was brought back to life. Only this time, I was half-demon. I don’t know how or why because I never saw those demons again. Now I just keep to myself and help out as many people as I can.”

You don’t tell them about Michael because you know he’d be pissed if you kept telling people about him. He’s very hated in the hunting community, so the more people know about him the more you and your son can be in danger. You’re not sure why because Michael is nothing but sweet, kind, and loving. He’s good but most people don’t see that.

“What about you two? What really happened here?”

“I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean. We were on a demon hunt not far from here when one of them stabbed my brother. I usually do the stitching but this seemed a bit too deep to just patch up.”

“Winchester?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve heard about you two. I never thought we’d meet. I tend to stay away from hunters.” You quickly fix Dean up and place a large cotton pad over the wound, securing it with skin tape. “I was on my way to get something to eat if you two want like to join me?”

“Sure,” Sam smiles.

You clean up the mess you made and escort the two brothers to the cafeteria. You and Dean get a hearty lunch while Sam gets something mild like a salad.

“Not to point out the obvious but I can see you’re pregnant.”

“Your point?” you ask and take a bite of your food.

“We’ve met a half-human, half-demon child before. He was too powerful for his own good.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t met a witch-demon-angel tribrid before.”

Shit, you weren't supposed to tell them that an angel impregnated you.

“You got pregnant by an angel? Which one?” Dean asks.

“Doesn’t matter. I know what you’re going to say. Every child of an angel ends up motherless. They all die giving birth but not me. I am not going to let my child only know pictures and videos of me. I made a spell so powerful that I can draw from when I give birth. I don’t have to die.”

“Wow, I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Honestly, me either. It might not work. It’s all speculation at this point.” Your phone rings and you smile when you see who is calling. “Sorry, excuse me.” You answer it. “Hi, baby.”

“Darling, I’m sorry but it’s going to take a little bit longer until I can come home.”

“It’s okay, I get you’re busy.”

“I hate leaving you all alone without protection.”

“I don’t think that will be an issue. I met two hunters who I hear are the best. I just met them. Plus, I have my magic to protect me.”

“What hunters?”

“Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Michael’s ears ring at the mention of them. Panic envelops his entire body.

“Change of plans. I’m coming home right now.”

He hangs up abruptly and you pull the phone from your ear in confusion.

“That was weird,” you mutter. Since you stayed and helped Dean, your lunch break was cut down by fifteen minutes. “I have to get back to work. You can stay here and hang out if you want.”

“Sure, thanks,” Sam smiles. You leave the cafeteria to return back to work and Sam turns to his brother. “Are we staying?”

“She’s a demon/witch who got pregnant by an angel. Of course, we’re staying.”

Sam and Dean kept a close eye on you from a distance while you worked until your last break of the day. You don’t have to clock out for this one since it’s only fifteen minutes so you grab a granola bar to snack on and your tablet. You almost run into the brothers because you’re not watching where you’re going.

“Oh, hey! Have you been here the whole day?”

“Yeah, you know, just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Thanks but I’m okay. I have a couple of more hours left before I get to go home. You don’t have to stay here.” You walk around them to find an empty on-call room when you spot your boyfriend standing at the nurse’s desk. “Michael!”

You run into his arms and kiss his cheek but he’s staring at Sam and Dean with a deadly look.

“You alright?”

Sam and Dean are floored at who you’ve just kissed because they know exactly who this is. Dean met him when he went back in time to meet his father. It’s like he’s staring at someone he used to know but he has to remind himself that the person in front of him isn’t a young John Winchester. It’s Michael, the archangel.

“You know him?” Sam asks.

“This is my boyfriend,” you grin.

“Can I talk to you two alone?” he says and kisses the top of your head. “I’ll be right back, darling.” He takes them to an empty room and allows them to go in first. “I don’t care what you want. You win. Take whatever you want. Just leave her alone.”

“You don’t even know what we want,” Dean says.

“I don’t care. I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll leave Heaven alone. Just don’t bring her into it.”

Sam and Dean look at each other before the younger one nods in agreement. They make some sort of deal where Michael leaves everyone alone and no one will come after you or your son before and after birth. Michael leaves the room twenty minutes later and brings you into his arms.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re leaving.”

“Now? I have two more hours of my shift.”

“Don’t worry about that. We need to go.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” he smiles down at you. “I’m not leaving you anymore.”

You’re his entire world and he’d give up everything to make sure you’re safe and sound, even giving up the throne.

“Let’s go home, then,” you smile back.

x