#michael jackson

Michael shifted on the leather seat, his fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. He was wearing the iconic military jacket—the brilliant blue one adorned with heavy gold braiding, a sparkling sequined sash, and, of course, the single white glove. He looked regal, larger than life, like a king preparing for his coronation. But when his dark eyes flicked over to look at you, all that carefully crafted pop-star mystique completely evaporated. He just looked completely and utterly breathless.

"Oh my god," Michael whispered for what felt like the twentieth time since you’d left the hotel. His voice was soft, rich, and trembling slightly with an intensity that sent a shiver straight down your spine. "Angel… I just… I can’t take my eyes off you. I really can’t."

You couldn't help the brilliant smile that spread across your face, your rich, brown skin glowing warmly under the car's interior lights. For tonight, you had pulled out all the stops. You were wearing a custom-made, floor-length silk gown in a light, stunning white cream that provided a breathtaking contrast to your complexion. The dress hugged every single curve of your body before pooling elegantly around your heels. Your hair was styled to perfection, framing your face beautifully, and your makeup highlighted your features flawlessly. You looked like a literal goddess, and Michael was reacting like a man who had just witnessed a miracle.

"Michael, you've said that five times already," you teased gently, reaching over to place your hand over his gloved one. "You’re going to make me blush, and I don't want to ruin my makeup before we even step onto the carpet."

"I don't care," he insisted, his grip tightening around your hand. He leaned in closer, the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne—a mix of expensive musk and sweet vanilla—wrapping around you. "I mean it, Y/N. You look so beautiful it’s actually hurting my chest a little bit. Look at you. Just look at how gorgeous you are."

His free hand reached up, his bare fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a reverence that made your heart skip a beat. His eyes were wide, dark, and dilated, drinking in every single detail of your face, your shoulders, the slope of your neck. There was a raw, heavy hunger buried deep in his gaze, a sharp contrast to his usual gentle demeanor.

"You're going to be the most beautiful woman in that entire building tonight," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming a low, gravelly rasp that made your stomach flip. "Everyone is going to be looking at me, but all I'm gonna be doing is looking at you. I'm so proud to have you on my arm. So proud."

"Thank you, angelface," you whispered, using his nickname, a private intimacy saved only for moments like this. "You look incredible too. Tonight is your night."

"Our night," he corrected fiercely, leaning across the small space to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, being careful not to smudge your lipstick but still managed to communicate the sheer weight of his devotion. "Our night, beautiful."

The limousine finally crawled to a halt in front of the Shrine Auditorium. The noise outside swelled into a deafening crescendo. Flashbulbs began firing rapidly against the tinted glass, creating a strobe-light effect inside the vehicle. Michael took a deep breath, the public persona clicking smoothly into place, but as he looked at you one last time before the door opened, his eyes flashed with a promise that made your blood run hot.

The rest of the night passed in a dizzying, historic blur.

From the moment Michael stepped out of the car and reached back to pull you out with him, the world went completely mad. The cameras went into overdrive, the flashes so bright they left spots in your vision. But true to his word, Michael kept you glued to his side. His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his large hand pressing firmly into the small of your back, guiding you through the sea of reporters and photographers. Every few paces, he would lean down, his curls brushing against your cheek, just to whisper, "You look so beautiful, mama," or "They're all staring at you, I swear it."

Inside the auditorium, the energy was electric. It was gonna be a memorable night, and everyone knew it.

One by one, Michael’s name was called. Producer of the Year. Album of the Year. Record of the Year. Best Pop Vocal Performance. Over and over again, he stood up, the crowd erupting into thunderous applause, standing ovations that shook the very foundation of the building. And every single time he stood up, he kissed your cheek first. Every time he walked up those steps to accept another golden gramophone, he looked back at you sitting in the front row.

By the time he walked up to the podium for his final acceptance speech of the night, having tied and shattered records by winning a staggering eight Grammy Awards, the atmosphere was euphoric.

Michael stood at the microphone, adjusting his sunglasses, the crowd finally settling down into an expectant hush. He thanked the academy, he thanked his family, he thanked the Records, and he thanked his fans. His voice was humble, sweet, and filled with genuine awe. But then, he paused. He took off his sunglasses, his dark eyes sweeping over the crowd until they locked onto you.

A soft, incredibly tender smile broke across his face.

"And... I want to thank someone very, very special to me," Michael said into the microphone, his voice echoing beautifully through the massive auditorium. "Someone who has been my rock, my inspiration, and the joy in my life. Y/N..."

The cameras immediately panned to you, your face filling the giant screens in the arena. You offered a shy smile, your heart pounding against your ribs as the crowd cheered.

"Thank you for believing in me when things got hard," Michael continued, his eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring the thousands of people watching. "Thank you for your love, your patience, and for just being the beautiful, incredible woman that you are. I wouldn't be standing up here tonight without you. This is for you, too. I love you."

The crowd erupted into an absolute frenzy. Your eyes welled with tears of pure pride and love as you watched him hold up the trophy, his gaze never leaving yours. He wasn't just the biggest star in the world in that moment; he was a man completely, utterly consumed by his love for you.

The moment the televised broadcast ended, the backstage area became a madhouse of executives, celebrities, and security guards trying to steer Michael toward the official after-parties. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Everyone wanted to celebrate the historic night.

But Michael wasn't having any of it.

The second he was clear of the main stage, his hand clamped tightly around yours, his fingers intertwining with yours so fiercely it almost hurt. He was moving fast, his long legs eating up the pavement as his security detail cleared a path through the backstage corridors.

"Michael! Michael, wait!" Frank Dileo, his manager, came jogging up alongside him, puffing on a cigar. "We gotta go to the CBS party, Mike! Clive Davis is expecting you, the press is waiting, we gotta—"

"No, Frank," Michael cut him off, not even breaking his stride. His voice lacked its usual soft, compliant edge. It was firm, absolute, and completely non-negotiable. "Tell them I'm tired. Tell them I'm not feeling well. I'm going back to the hotel."

"But Mike, you just won eight Grammys! This is the biggest night of your life!"

Michael stopped abruptly, turning to look at his manager. He didn't look tired at all. In fact, his eyes were burning with a desperate, frantic energy, a wild hum vibrating through his entire posture. He looked down at you, his eyes raking over your emerald green dress, your exposed collarbones, the rich warmth of your skin, and a visible shudder went through his frame.

"I'm going home, Frank. Secure the car. Now."

Frank looked at Michael, then looked at you, seeing the absolute fire burning in Michael's eyes and the flush on your cheeks. Realization dawned on the manager's face. He sighed, throwing his hands up. "Alright, alright. Security, get the limo around back. Now!"

Within minutes, you were pushed through a back exit and shielded into the waiting limousine. The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the world once again.

The car hadn't even pulled away from the curb before Michael was moving.

He didn't wait. He didn't say a word. He practically threw himself across the seat, his large hands coming up to frame your face as he crashed his lips against yours.

This wasn't the gentle, sweet kiss from earlier. This was desperate. This was needy. This was a man who had been starving all night while surrounded by a feast. Michael groaned deep in his throat, his tongue immediately sliding past your teeth to claim your mouth in a deep, wet, possessive kiss. His hands tangled in your hair, completely disregarding the perfect styling, pulling you closer until your chest was crushed against the hard, heavily embroidered front of his bedazzled jacket.

"Michael," you gasped out against his mouth, your hands coming up to grip his broad shoulders as the limousine accelerated. "Michael, wait—the driver—"

"The partition is up," he panted, his lips moving down your jawline, biting softly at the sensitive skin right beneath your ear, making you arch your neck with a soft sigh. "It's up, mama. God, you don't know what you did to me tonight. You don't have any idea."

His hands left your face, sliding down the silk of your dress, his touch frantic and heavy as he gripped your hips, lifting you effortlessly and pulling you right onto his lap. You straddled his thighs, your cream gown riding up over your knees. Michael’s breathing was ragged, his chest heaving against yours. The heavy gold trophies were sitting in a bag at the floor of the car, completely forgotten. The only thing that mattered to him was the feel of your body against his.

"You looked so beautiful," he whimpered, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes dark, wild, and dilated to the point where the iris was almost entirely gone. He looked completely unraveled, his usual composure entirely stripped away. "Seeing you sitting there... watching me... knowing you're mine. All those people staring at you, wanting you. I thought I was gonna lose my mind, baby. I swear I was."

"Michael, I'm right here," you whispered, running your fingers through his damp curls, feeling the frantic heat radiating off his skin. "I'm yours. Only yours."

A broken, needy sound left his throat, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. "Show me. Please, just let me get you back to the room. I need you so bad. I'm shaking, mama. Look at me, I'm shaking."

He held up his hand—the gloved one—and it was indeed trembling with a raw, kinetic energy. The sheer adrenaline of winning eight Grammys, combined with the agonizing, hours-long torture of wanting to touch you, had pushed him completely over the edge. He was a desperate man, and you were his only salvation.

The trip up to the hotel penthouse was a blur of shadows and hurried footsteps. Michael kept his arm wrapped securely around your waist, his head down, his fingers digging into your hip through the silk of your dress as if he feared you might vanish if he let go.

The moment the heavy wooden door of the penthouse suite clicked shut behind you, the silence of the room was immediately shattered.

Michael didn't even turn on the lights. The only illumination came from the moonlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long, dramatic shadows across the luxurious room and highlighting the city skyline outside.

He grabbed you by the waist and pressed you back against the closed door, the heavy wood cold against your back, but your front was burning hot against him. He tore off his sunglasses, throwing them carelessly onto the floor, followed immediately by his single white glove.

"Michael—"

Your words were swallowed by his mouth. He kissed you with a ferocious, unbridled passion that left you completely breathless, his tongue plundering your mouth over and over again. He was needy, Whimpering into the kiss, his hands moving frantically over your body, tracing the curves he had been staring at all night.

"I need to see you," he panted, breaking the kiss for a fraction of a second, his eyes wild in the dim light. "I need to see this beautiful, gorgeous body out of this dress. Please, baby. Let me see you."

His hands found the zipper at the back of your cream gown. With a swift, practiced motion, he pulled it down. The silk hissed as it parted, loosening around your frame. Michael didn't waste a second. He pushed the straps off your shoulders, the heavy fabric sliding down your body, pooling at your feet in a dark wave on the carpet.

Michael stepped back just an inch, his breath catching audibly in his throat as he looked at you. You stood before him in just your underwear, your rich brown skin glowing like polished bronze in the soft moonlight. The contrast against the dark room was breathtaking, and Michael looked like he was staring at a masterpiece in a museum.

"Oh, God," he breathed, a hand coming up to cover his mouth, his chest heaving. "Look at you. You are so... you're a goddess, mama. You're so beautiful it makes me want to cry. Look at what you do to me."

He didn't wait for a response. He reached for his own clothes, his movements frantic, almost clumsy in his desperation. The iconic blue bedazzled jacket was unbuttoned and tossed carelessly onto the floor, the gold braid clinking softly against the carpet. His shirt followed, thrown aside until he stood before you bare-chested, his lean, toned muscles rippling in the moonlight, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin from the sheer adrenaline of the night.

He stepped back into your space, his bare chest pressing against yours, the heat of his skin instantly transferring to you. He swept you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing at all, and carried you over to the massive king-sized bed.

He came down over you immediately, pinning you into the soft mattress with his weight. He didn't give you a moment to breathe. His hands found your wrists, pinning them gently but firmly beside your head, his long fingers locking with yours.

"I need you so much right now, baby," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "I've been wanting this all night. Every time they called my name, every time I stood up there... all I could think about was this. Was you. How gorgeous you looked. How much I love you. Please... let me show you."

"Michael, yes... please," you groaned, arching your hips up against his, desperate for the contact, completely consumed by his heat and his need.

He moved with an urgent, frantic energy. In a matter of seconds, the remaining barriers of clothing were gone. Michael hovered between your thighs, his body trembling, his skin hot and slick against yours. He looked down at you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your beautiful, dark skin against the white sheets, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

"You're so beautiful, mama. So beautiful," he chanted like a prayer, his voice a low, gravelly rasp.

He didn't ease into it. Driven by hours of pent-up desire, the adrenaline of a historic night, and a deep, possessive need to completely consume you, Michael drove himself deep into you with one firm, heavy thrust.

A loud, breathless gasp tore from your throat, your back arching off the mattress as he filled you completely. It was intense, overwhelming, and utterly perfect.

Michael let out a low, guttural groan, burying his face in your neck as he began to move. He didn't hold back. He began to pound into you with a fierce, relentless rhythm, his heavy, powerful thrusts rocking your entire body against the mattress.

"Ah, god, my angel... you're so tight, so warm," he gasped out, his voice completely unraveled, stripped of any pop-star perfection. He was just a man, desperate and needy, completely losing himself inside the woman he loved.

His pace was fast, hard, and unyielding. Every time he drove his hips against yours, a soft, pathetic whimper would escape his lips, showing just how much your body was affecting him. He gripped your hips with his large hands, his fingers digging into your plush skin, anchoring you to him as he set a punishing, intoxicating pace.

The room was filled with the heavy sounds of his ragged breathing, the wet, rhythmic friction of your bodies meeting, and the soft, breathless cries slipping from your lips.

"Michael... oh my god, Michael," you cried out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back, your legs wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him even deeper into you.

"Tell me you're mine," he begged, his thrusts growing even harder, faster, driving into you with a desperate intensity that brought you right to the edge of a cliff. He leaned down, his sweat-damp curls brushing against your face, his lips frantically kissing your cheeks, your jaw, your mouth. "Tell me, baby. I need to hear it. I need you so bad."

"I'm yours, Michael! I'm yours!" you cried out, your voice breaking as the pleasure began to crest over you.

Hearing those words completely broke whatever restraint he had left. Michael groaned, a raw, dominant sound, and increased his pace even further, his body moving in a blurred, powerful rhythm. He pounded into you, showing you with every single heavy stroke just how much he worshiped you, how much your beauty had driven him insane all evening, how much he needed to claim every single part of you.

The friction was unbelievable. You arched your back, your eyes rolling back as a wave of intense, shattering climax ripped through your body. You clamped tightly around him, your voice crying out his name into the quiet penthouse.

The tight, crushing sensation of your release immediately pushed Michael over the edge. He let out a loud, ragged cry, his body going rigid as he delivered one final, incredibly deep, heavy thrust. He buried himself as deep as he could possibly go inside you, his muscles locking up as he poured himself into you, his chest heaving violently against yours.

For a long, breathless moment, the world stopped moving. There were no Grammys, no fans, no records broken. There was just the two of you, tangled in the sheets, breathing heavily in the moonlight.

Slowly, the tension left Michael's body. He collapsed against you, burying his face in your hair, his breath still coming in ragged, shaky gasps. He didn't pull away; instead, he wrapped his long arms tightly around you, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest, as if he still couldn't get enough of you.

"Oh, god," Michael whispered into your hair, his voice incredibly soft, returning to that sweet, vulnerable tone you knew so well. He was still trembling slightly. "My baby... thank you. Thank you so much."

You smiled softly in the dark, your hands gently rubbing his back, feeling the slow, steady heartbeat beneath his skin. "For what, Michael?"

He shifted slightly, lifting his head so he could look down at you. In the moonlight, his eyes were soft, wet with emotion, and filled with a love so profound it took your breath away. He reached up, his bare hand gently caressing your cheek, brushing away a stray curl.

"For being my real prize tonight," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Those trophies... they don't mean anything compared to this. Compared to you. You're the most beautiful thing in my world, baby. Never forget that. I love you so much."

You pulled his head down, kissing him sweetly, completely secure in the knowledge that no matter how big the world got out there, right here, in the dark, you were his entire universe.

by the time you turned eighteen, you cut her off entirely. you didn't want to give her another chance to ever disappoint you again, and you thoroughly meant it.

now that you were grown and generating a little buzz with your own girl group, diana had suddenly started calling. she was constantly asking to set up times to meet and offering for you to come meet your new siblings. you denied her every single time, of course. you were perfectly fine with not seeing her again because you had already made your peace with the past. that was until you and your group were invited to perform your number one song off your new album at a major award show.

all the biggest names in the industry were going to be there, so you knew diana would be in attendance too. you couldn't decline the invitation because it simply wasn't fair to the rest of your group, and you really needed the exposure. so, you sighed and said yes.

when diana heard you were performing, she attempted to contact you once more—this time through your father, wondering if you would want to do a duet on stage or something. you declined immediately. absolutely not. you would never give her the satisfaction.

michael hadn't planned on going to that particular award show either. he had more than enough going on in his life at the moment. the media was slandering his name in all kinds of ways, spreading false narratives and ridiculous rumors, claiming he hated himself, and saying everything terrible under the sun. it was completely exhausting for him.

you had seen the articles yourself, and you felt incredibly bad for him. you believed that even though he was a major celebrity, people still had a right to keep parts of their lives private. the way everyone dehumanized him was entirely unfair. but since he was being honored with a special award that night, his team advised that it would be in his best interest to go. reluctantly, he showed up.

when you first made eyes with him on the red carpet, you were in complete shock. everyone around you was starstruck as well. when your eyes met, it felt like he was staring straight into your soul from across the crowded carpet. the only thought you could muster up in that moment was how gorgeous he truly was.

feeling overwhelmed, you shyly turned your head and faced the other way to continue talking to your friends. that was when michael really got a chance to admire how beautiful you were from afar. "who is that?" he thought to himself, completely captivated. later, after being directed to his seat in the very front row, he finally found out your name, but what he didn't know was that you were diana ross' daughter.

soon enough, the opening notes to your hit song began to play, you walked out onto the stage and began to sing. the funny thing was, you actually hated this song. you didn't believe a single word you were singing because you thought it put out the wrong message about settling for less in relationships. yet, you sang it so beautifully and put so much emotion into it that the track had made it all the way to the top of the billboard charts.

the writers didn't care about your complaints, the label didn't care, and the audience damn sure didn't care because of how loudly they were reacting. they were singing the song nearly word for word, clapping along with the beat.

watching from the front row, michael was completely infatuated with you. you had a beautiful voice and an even more beautiful smile. he decided right then and there that he wanted to know you.

right after your set finished, the stage producers rushed over and told you that you and your group would be the ones presenting michael jackson with his award.

your heart was in your ass, to say the least. you couldn't believe this was happening. but before you could panic, you were walking back out, reading the cue cards you were given, then handing the heavy trophy over to him.

your hands brushed against each other lightly, his touch lingering just a second longer than necessary. he smiled warmly and placed a soft kiss on your cheek, which completely took you by surprise.

"thank you, beautiful," he whispered near your ear before stepping up to the mic for his acceptance speech.

you and your girls exchanged wide-eyed looks as you walked off the stage. "do you know him?" one of them whispered.

"no i don't, i swear!" you responded, your heart racing. but little did you know, your mother was waiting right in the wings for you.

"hi baby! how are you! you did wonderful! i’m so proud of you, my gosh! you definitely get it from your mother," diana said loudly, wearing a proud smile for anyone watching.

"hello diana. please excuse me," you said coldly, walking right past her toward your dressing room. she was absolutely not about to ruin your performance high.

when michael finally left the stage, his mind was still completely occupied by you. he wanted to know everything about you—what you liked, what you didn't like, where you were from, and even what you looked like when you woke up in the mornings. he wanted you bad. but he couldn't seem to find you anywhere for the rest of the night. so, he did the next best thing. he wrote you a quick note and had it delivered directly to your hotel room.

when you got back to your room and unpacked your things, there was a knock at the door. you opened it to find the concierge handing you a note.

we don’t know much about each other but i would love the chance to take you out and get to know you, michael.

his personal phone number written right at the bottom.

you staring at it, thinking this had to be a joke or a sick prank. that was until you actually dialed the number. the phone only rang twice before a soft, familiar voice answered on the other end.

"hello?"

your breath hitched in your throat. you had spent the last hour convincing yourself that one of your group members or a prankster from the label had somehow slipped that note into your bag. but hearing that unmistakable, gentle tone made your stomach do a complete backflip.

"hi," you whispered, suddenly feeling very small in your massive hotel bed. "is this... michael?"

"yes, it is," he replied, and you could practically hear the warm smile in his voice. "i’m so glad you called. i was hoping you would. you were absolutely incredible tonight. i couldn't take my eyes off you."

your cheeks burned hot. just hours ago, you were on that massive stage, trying your best to ignore the fact that you hated the very lyrics coming out of your mouth, while trying to dodge your mother's sudden, manipulative burst of affection backstage. you hadn't even fully processed the sheer weight of what happened afterward.

"thank you," you said softly. "you looked really nice as well."

michael softly blushed on the other end of the call, clearly pleased. the two of you continued to talk for a while, losing track of time, before he finally asked if he could come pick you up. you agreed. you spent the next hour getting ready, picking out a nice outfit, and then you were gone. michael and his security guard, bill, picked you up in a sleek car and drove you to one of the best, most private restaurants in new york.

after a wonderful dinner where the conversation just seem to flow so easily, he took you to a nice luxury boutique that he had completely shut down just for you, telling you to pick out anything you wanted. you were reluctant at first, but after his gentle insistence, you accepted a few things.

afterward, you ended up back at the hotel, standing out on the balcony watching the people, the flashing lights, and the beautiful city skyline. the night ended with a very small, gentle kiss goodnight. it wasn't too much, and it wasn't too intimate, but it was incredibly sweet.

by the next morning, the headlines were absolutely crazy. you and michael’s faces were plastered everywhere. the sun barely had a chance to peek through the curtains of your hotel room before your phone started ringing off the receiver.

you groaned, rubbing your eyes and reaching for it, thinking it was just your group members wanting to obsess over the night before. then you saw the morning paper that had been slipped under your door. there were clear pictures of you and michael from your night out.

one was of him holding the door open for you outside the restaurant, another was a blurry but obvious shot of the two of you laughing inside the boutique, and the biggest one was a photo of that sweet, gentle goodnight kiss outside your room. the headlines were completely wild, calling you "michael's secret romance" and asking where this mystery girl had come from.

and before you could even process how fast the media worked, the phone started ringing again. this time, it wasn't a random number or your friends. it was your dad.

"hey, dad," you answered, your voice a little shaky from all the sudden chaos.

"honey, are you okay?" he asked immediately, sounding deeply worried. "i'm guessing you haven't seen the papers yet, but that's not even why i'm calling. your mother just called me screaming her head off."

you sighed heavily, leaning your head back against your pillows. of course she did. "what did diana want now?"

"she's furious," your dad said gently, trying to calm you down. "she saw pictures of you and michael. then she was yelling about how you ignored her backstage but had time to go out with one of her closest friends. she thinks you did this on purpose to hurt her or use her name to get close to him. she's in a total jealous rage, honey."

it completely made sense to you. diana always loved being the center of attention, especially when it came to major stars like michael. the fact that her estranged daughter—the one she had ignored for years—was now the main topic of conversation next to the biggest star in the world was eating her alive. she couldn't stand that she wasn't the star of the narrative.

"i don't care what she thinks," you told your dad honestly, looking out at the city view. and that was the absolute truth.

"i know she wasn’t a great mother to you, but maybe this is a chance to finally put things behind the two of you," your dad said over the line, "people change. maybe you should try to reconcile."

you scrunched your nose, completely disagreeing. you knew diana, and this wasn't about maternal love—it was about control. before you could even start explaining that to him, your phone gave a sharp beep, signaling a waiting call. you pulled it away from your ear to check the screen.

"hold on father, i’m getting another call," you said.

you clicked over, pressing the phone back to your ear. before you could even say hello, that familiar, soft voice came through the receiver, sounding incredibly stressed.

“hello?”

“hi michael”

"i’m so sorry for all of the drama," he said quickly, voice laced with genuine guilt. "i should’ve been more careful. i never wanted to put you in the middle of all this media mess."

hearing how worried he was instantly softened your posture. after everything you'd read about how the press treated him, you realized he was probably terrified that he had ruined things with you.

"it’s okay, michael. i’m not upset with you," you assured him, keeping your voice calm and steady. "the press is going to do what they do. you don't have to apologize."

you could hear him let out a quiet, relieved sigh on the other end. "thank you," he murmured. he paused for a brief moment, the tone of the conversation shifting into something much warmer. "i really enjoyed the time that we of you shared last night. i'd love to see you again."

a small smile tugged at your lips, the drama of the morning momentarily fading away. "i'd love that too," you agreed softly. "i'm leaving the city today, but i'll let you know whenever i'm back in town."

"i'll hold you to that," he replied, a hint of that sweet smile returning to his voice. "have a safe trip."

after a few more quiet words, you hung up the phone and tossed it onto the mattress. you let out a long, heavy sigh, staring up at the hotel ceiling. your dad was still waiting on the other line, but honestly, he was the least of your worries right now.

you knew your phone was about to start blowing up all over again, and you still had to hear your manager’s mouth about this entire incident the second you walked down to the lobby.

an entire month later, and you and michael’s schedules had been completely conflicting. michael was buried in tour prep and grueling dance rehearsals, while you were constantly in and out of the studio recording new tracks and campaign shoots. but despite the distance, nothing faded or fizzled out. you two talked on the phone nearly every single night.

during one of those late-night conversations, he asked you about your upbringing. you told him that it had just been you and your dad growing up and he opened up about what it was like for him to grow up with such a big family in the spotlight.

you felt a small twinge of guilt for not mentioning diana, but to be fair, you figured that it was public information, if he wanted to find it he could’ve. besides, you didn't consider her a mother in the first place, so why bring negative energy into your safe space?

one night, you were sitting on your bed, carefully painting your toes while waiting for michael’s call. when it finally rang, you picked it up with a smile, but the smile quickly dropped. michael sounded completely distraught.

"michael, what’s the matter?" you asked, setting the nail polish bottle down.

"are you really diana’s daughter?" he blurted out, his voice heavy with confusion and hurt.

you sighed, your heart sinking slightly. "yes, but—"

"and you didn’t think to tell me this?" he interrupted, sounding breathless.

"honestly, michael, no. i didn’t," you responded truthfully, keeping your voice steady. "because it doesn’t matter to me."

"well, it matters to me—"

"and why is that?" you countered.

he sighed, "because diana is a friend of mine."

you rolled your eyes hard, a sudden wave of irritation washing over you. "are you sure that’s all she is to you?"

"what are you trying to say?" he asked, his tone turning defensive.

you took a deep breath before responding, trying to ground yourself. "michael, i could care less about diana. i like you. regardless of your ‘friendship’," you said, crossing your legs. "in my eyes, she isn't my mother. she couldn’t even tell you my favorite color if you asked her. please. don’t let her ruin a good thing between us."

there was a long, painful silence on the other end of the line. you could hear him breathing, processing everything.

"i understand that, lovey," he finally said, his voice dropping to a soft, troubled whisper. "i just... i need some time."

and with that, the call ended.

you slowly lowered the phone from your ear, staring at the phone in absolute disbelief. a pit of anger and hurt formed in your stomach. you couldn't believe that diana was truly that evil, that she would reach out to michael and use her relationship with him just to sabotage your happiness. her own daughter.

the anger burning in your chest was too much to ignore. before you could talk yourself out of it, you found her number and hit dial. the line didn't even ring three times before she picked up.

"hello?" her smooth, practiced voice echoed through the speaker.

"diana, stay out of my life," you snapped.

there was a sharp pause on the other end. she immediately recognized who you were from your hostile tone, but she quickly masked her surprise with that airy, fake ass tone she always used. "you’re my daughter. why would you ever want that?"

"because you’re a poor excuse for a mother," you spat back, not holding a single thing. you were done playing nice.

diana let out a dry chuckle. "is this about michael? dear, you do know he’s been in love with me for years, right?"

the sheer malice and jealousy in her voice made your blood run cold, but you refused to let her see how much it stung. "i don’t care," you told her, your voice dropping to a deadly, quiet calm. "he could’ve been in love with the pope. i meant what i said, stay out of my life. what i do doesn’t concern you. you lost that right a long time ago."

before she could even attempt to weave another lie, you slammed the phone back onto the receiver, cutting her off completely.

the moment the line went dead, the walls felt like they were crashing in on you. you grabbed the nearest pillow, pressed your face deep into the fabric, and screamed at the top of your lungs. you were so damn frustrated.

she had ignored you your entire life, and now that you were finally building something for yourself—both in your career and with a man you actually cared about—she just couldn't sit back and let you be happy.

People just absolutely loved being able to hold him in their arms, and you honestly couldn't blame them. You got to do it everyday, and it was addicting. Most people were respectful about it, although it did occasionally come across as people wanting him badly. Again, you completely understood, what was there not to want? There were a few guys who you swore up and down had crushes on Michael, something you found kind of impressive. He was so loved that even grown ass men were thirsting over him, and yet he came home to you every night. God definitely had favorites, and you were one.

It was cute most of the time, you loved seeing Michael get the love he so very much deserved. But there were other times where you felt it was a little unnecessary. Like with Diana Ross.

She absolutely loved wrapping her slimy arms around his waist, pulling him close to her chest and pressing a gross kiss to his cheek. Part of it was utterly revolting, and the other part made you want to double over laughing at the idea of her thinking she actually had a chance.

Michael had outgrown her years ago, which was funny because she was the one who needed to grow up.

The first few times it had happened Michael had worried that you would be upset with him, that it would cause a big issue like it had with some of his previous relationships. What he didn't expect was for you to assure him that you knew he meant well and that you didn't feel threatened in the least. If anything, each time she pushed at the boundaries he had clearly set up, it just made you want to shove your steady relationship with Michael in her face. Which is exactly what you did.

You and Michael had been invited to some after party for an award show. He had immediately told you that the she-devil would be there and that the two of you didn't have to go. You assured him that you were a big girl, you weren't afraid of the woman. Michael had smiled, admiring your confidence with small stars in his eyes.

He was accustomed to Diana causing problems in his relationships. He understood she was overly affectionate with him, and how it came across to others, but none of it was purposeful (at least on his end). With you, he didn't feel like he had to step on eggshells. He knew that if things got too much for you, that you would happily step in and shut things down with a smile and a backhanded comment. He found the whole thing really attractive, to the point where he often let people hang onto him just to see you come up and claim him as your own.

So when you left to get drinks that night, he could already tell that Diana was about to make her move, and he wasn't too inclined to stop it. She came up to him, a coy smile tugging on her lips, "I see you've finally gotten a moment to breathe." She disguised the comment as a joke, laughing slightly.

Michael shrugged, "If anything, my lady is the one that's getting a break. I like keeping her glued to my side."

She brushed off the comment, "M'sure. But you know you suit a more mature woman."

He did everything he could not to laugh at her obvious advances. "I've got one."

She decided to move on from the topic of you, opting to weasel her way into his arms with pure flattery instead. She congratulated him for what felt like the 50th time on his newest album and the awards he had won. He nodded politely, thanking her each time. She finally decided to make her move, an arm wrapping around Michael's waist as she introduced him to someone he already knew.

Almost like you could sense it, you turned from a conversation right as her arms settled around his waist, cheek pressed up against his. Michael felt your gaze, and he couldn't wait for the silent storm that was coming.

Your eyes narrowed as she continued to hug him, waiting for the woman to get a grip on reality and pull her wrinkly arms away from him. Except she just kept holding him, she was clearly feeling bold today.

You politely excused yourself from the conversation you were having, walking slowly towards Michael. You didn't feel the need to rush yourself, you knew this would be over before she even realized. Once you got to him, you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. The action should have shaken off the older woman, but she simply shot you a glance.

You felt a laugh bubbling up, she really had some nerve. "Hey, baby" You spoke sweetly, grabbing his chin and turning his face towards yours as you placed a long kiss on his lips. Out of habit, Michael immediately turned his full body towards you, twisting out of Diana's grip. His hands found your hips as he kissed you back. You deliberately wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him closer, staking your claim. The kiss lasted far longer than it should have, but you really wanted to shove it right in her face and Michael had absolutely no qualms.

When you pulled away, Michael's lips chased after yours. You smiled and kissed his cheek, well aware of the stares you had gathered. "We're in public, baby." You carefully fixed the hem of his jacket.

He spared a glance around the room, "Then let's go somewhere private."

You nodded, a smile playing on your face. Your eyes finally landed on Diana, a fake surprised expression dawning your face. "Oh! Diana, I didn't see you there, how are you doing?" She started to answer before you cut her off, "Sorry, you've got something in your teeth. Well, it was alright seeing you." You turned on your heel, making your way to the door.

Michael quickly fell into step behind you, pulling your arm around his waist to really let the message sink in. You cast one last glance over your shoulder at Diana, a triumphant smile on your face as you gave her an 'innocent' wave goodbye.

You didn’t sleep. or should i say? you couldn't sleep.

Every time you closed your eyes, your body reminded you it was still awake in ways your mind didn’t understand yet.

Cramps..? Nausea??

A strange heaviness that had been sitting in your chest for days, growing louder the more you tried to ignore it. You sat on the edge of your bed with your phone in your hands for a long time.

Your grip tightened around the receiver. You almost hung up.

But then—

"Hello.. who is this?" Silence hit you hard at first."Michael," you said quietly. He melted when he heard your voice.

Then softer, already alert: "Baby?" Your eyes closed for a second. You hated that it still did that to you.

"I-i shouldn’t have called," you said. "You did though." He said fast, no pressure in his voice. Just awareness. "Somethin’ wrong?" he asked.

You hesitated.. The truth sat there, heavy and unclear. Days of nausea, random campings that came and went, a strange exhaustion that didn’t belong to exams or stress anymore.

"I don’t know," you admitted. "I can’t sleep." Silence on his end shifted immediately. Then, a shift of breath on the other end. "Where you at?"

"Home."

"Are you alone?" You swallowed."Yes." That pause was longer.

Then— "I’m comin’ over."

"No," you said quickly, Like very quickly. It didn’t sound convincing, and He heard that.

You heard it in the soft exhale that followed. "Don’t do that," he said quietly. "Do what?" You sighed.

"Push me away when you called me first." Your throat tightened. "I’m fine.."

"You don’t sound fine." Another heavy silence. You leaned your forehead briefly against the wall beside the phone.

Very tired suddenly..too tired to argue properly.

"I just needed—" you stopped. Then started again. "I don’t know what I needed."

Michael’s voice softened. "I’m already on the way, deer."

Click.

The line went dead before you could answer.

He showed up twenty minutes later. that was the problem with him.

When Michael decided something, distance never mattered. You heard the knock before you heard anything else.

Three knocks.

Then a pause..Then one more.

You opened the door slowly.

He was standing there slightly out of breath, jacket half on, hair still messy from whatever he’d left behind. His eyes went to your face immediately.

Then stayed there. "Hey," he said quietly. You didn’t move aside right away.

"You shouldn’t be here, michael."

"I know." But he stepped in anyway, like he always did.

Boundaries were something he respected only after making sure they weren’t necessary.

The apartment felt smaller once the door closed.

He turned back toward you, And something in his expression shifted.

very... concerned.

"You been sick?" he asked. You looked away. "I don’t know..." Michael took a step closer, slower now.

"Where’s it hurt?" You hesitated to show him, then you did "...My stomach." His brows pulled together slightly. "Since when?"

You shook your head. "I thought it was nothing." That made him go quiet. "Talk t’me," he said.

Your throat tightened. "I don’t know what’s happening." That made his expression soften instantly.

He stepped closer. "What do you mean deer?" he asked. Like he was trying to read something he couldn’t see yet.

He lowered himself in front of you slightly, not touching immediately.

You shook your head again.

"I’ve been feeling weird. Sick. Tired all the time. And I just—" You exhaled shakily. "I don’t know what it is." Michael didn’t interrupt.

"Sit down," he said gently. You did.

The couch dipped as he sat near you, angled toward you without crowding you. Still close enough that it was impossible to ignore him.

"Have you been eatin’?" he asked. You let out a breath that almost turned into a laugh. "That’s your priority right now?"

"It’s a fair question." You didn’t answer. He looked at you for a second longer. Then, carefully, he reached out.

"Can I?" You nodded. His hand settled over yours. You realized only then how tense you’d been holding yourself.

He noticed that too. Of course he did.."You should’ve called sooner," he said quietly.

"I didn’t think it mattered." That made his expression change slightly.. softer in a way that hurt more.

"Baby," he said quietly, "don’t talk like that." Your chest tightened at the word.

You looked away. "I didn’t want to bother you." He gave a short exhale through his nose, like he didn’t agree with anything you were saying but didn’t want to fight you either.

"You never bother me," he said.

Silence followed.

He stayed right there in front of you, thumb barely moving over your knuckles like he wasn’t sure if he should stop or keep going.

"You can stay," you said finally. It came out quieter than you meant.

He didn’t answer immediately.. Just looked at you. Then nodded once. "Yeah," he said softly. "I can stay."

Then, almost under his breath: "I’m here." And for some reason, that was the part that made you lose your breath.

Because for the first time in a while—he actually was.

9 minutes later.

The pain came in waves now. Just constant enough to make everything feel slightly off balance, like your body wasn’t fully cooperating with you anymore.

Michael noticed immediately. His hand tightened a little around yours. "Hey," he said softly. "Look at me." You didn’t at first.

Another wave hit and you winced before you could stop it.

"Okay—hey, hey," he murmured, shifting closer on the couch. "Come on, mama. Breathe wit' me."

You finally looked up. His expression had changed completely from earlier.

All focus now, all calm in a way that didn’t match how fast your thoughts were moving. "Talk to me," he said gently. "What’s it feel like?"

You swallowed.

"I don’t know," you admitted. "It keeps coming and going." He nodded like he was trying to understand without making you repeat it too many times.

"Like earlier?" You gave a small nod. Michael’s thumb brushed over your hand again, slower now.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay, we’re gonna take it slow, yeah?" Another cramp hit and you leaned forward slightly without thinking.

"Hey," he said immediately, voice softening even more. "I got you mama. I got you." You hated how much that helped.

not the words. Just him being there. You exhaled shakily.

"I don’t like this," you muttered. "I know," he said.

You glanced at him. That was all he said. No dramatic reaction, No panic spiraling into questions you couldn’t answer.

He shifted closer on the couch, careful not to overwhelm you, and lightly adjusted the pillow behind your back.

"Sit up a bit," he said gently. "Like this." You let him. He studied your face for a second.

"Energy's off, you don't look okay." he murmured.

"I’m fine." You clapped back. "You’re not fine," he said, not unkindly. That should’ve annoyed you... But It didn’t.

Another wave passed and you closed your eyes, breathing a little uneven. Michael stayed right there.

"Okay," he said softly. "Look at me again." You did.

His voice dropped even more. "Breathe with me, baby. Just slow. In... 'nd out."

You followed without thinking.

In... Out... then again.

It didn’t fix the pain, but it grounded something else, like panic, the noises, the spiral in your head. Michael watched you carefully the whole time like he was counting every breath with you.

"There you go, mama." he murmured. "That’s it." Your shoulders loosened slightly without permission.

He saw that. A faint exhale left him like he’d been holding it back. "You’re okay," he said quietly, almost like he was telling himself as much as you. "You’re okay, alright?"

You nodded weakly. Another cramp came, softer this time, and you instinctively leaned toward him again. He caught you without hesitation. Arm sliding around your shoulders, steadying you against his side.

"Yeah," he said softly. "C’mere." You didn’t argue.

You just stayed there, Head resting against him now, his hand still holding yours.

Michael leaned his head slightly against yours for a second, careful not to move too much.

"I’m right here," he said again. You closed your eyes.

"...Don’t leave yet," you murmured. "I’m not going anywhere, baby."

And for the first time that night, your body finally stopped fighting you long enough to rest against someone else.

© 𝙢𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚