ੈ✩‧˚ ONLY WEAKNESS˙⋆✮
michael jackson x celebrity reader
series masterlist
summary: michael has one only weakness, and it’s y/n. that’s why he’s spotted at her fashion show the day of his thriller tour ending (which now exists for the sake of this storyline).
part two. part three.
word count: 2k+
a/n: I’ve always liked mj but I fear the recent michosis still got to me… so enjoy this imagine I wrote😋 (dw I haven’t given up on my other series and I still have many ideas for it).
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~part 1~ FIND ME IN PARIS ࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆
I loved the flashing lights. The cheers, the applause, and all eyes on me.
Even better was knowing how it was the reward I deserved for getting myself here. I reminded myself of that, as I stepped onto the catwalk in my white silk dress under the spotlight.
The fashion event was coming to a close and it was time for me to collect my final praises for the night as the designer. I smiled and waved to the audience, seeing many well-known faces and famous fashion couturiers all respectfully applauding for me.
And before I even saw him, I felt his presence.
Front and centre row in the dim lights: Michael Jackson, with his attention pinned on me.
He concealed his identity in a regular formal suit and vintage sunglasses. But it was impossible for him to hide. I knew straight away, and so would anyone that spared the spectators a moment of attention.
In the moment, I recalled how he was due to return from his tour that night.
So why was Paris his first stop?
Michael didn't quite smile when I saw him, as if forgetting he was actually physically there, but I noticed the way his lips parted in breathless, and had to hold back my amusement.
It had been a little over half a year since we last saw each other, and it was clear my effect on him never faded- a thought I relished in.
Another was the fact that instead of returning home after his biggest tour yet, it was clear he'd flown straight to Paris to see me.
As I finally approached the end of the catwalk, flashes from the photographers continuous, I took a bow and held my hands to my heart.
But when I looked up, Michael no longer had his sunglasses on, and I felt the full impact of his gaze.
He leant forward languidly with his arms resting against his legs, and slowly grinned- finally seeing one another in person again. I furrowed my brows at his newly found confidence; so unlike the shy version of him I knew all too well.
But his eyes- the way I felt under his intent stare - created a visceral feeling that always appeared no matter how much time had passed. Michael tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in a smug, mocking way at my reaction. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
Just before I turned to leave, he leaned back in his seat and almost-satirically shot me a wink.
I didn't hold back my amusement this time because I knew I would make him regret his boldness later.
Sidestage, I watched contently as my models all ran onto the catwalk together for their final applause. As the crowd erupted once more into cheers, my eyes drifted over to Michael, as they often did whenever he was near, subconsciously.
His attention wasn't even on stage with the models. Instead, he focused on something in his hands, lost amongst his own thoughts.
Then, as if sensing my gaze, he lifted his head.
It was near impossible for him to distinguish me from where I stood, but he managed. I raised my brows, like I had caught him out on something, and after a moment, a smile graced his lips. Sweet and innocent.
There was the Michael that I knew.
He quickly glanced back to the item in his hands. My purse buzzed at the same time, and I couldn't help but laugh because I realised that he was paging me during my own fashion event.
I retrieved my pager from my black leather Chanel purse and read the displayed numbers:
207
Meet me.
Looking back to Michael, I saw him already observing me. Awaiting an answer.
I smiled and gave an insouciant shrug, before turning to leave.
If he wanted to meet me, he'd have to come find me himself.
*ੈ✩‧˚
Backstage immediately bustled with excitement, smelling like luxury perfume and victory. Makeup artists and hair stylists packed their belongings away and models changed into regular attire, all still buzzing from the success of the event.
Somewhere along the rush, I'd forgotten about Michael and how I actually wanted him to find me.
“Excuse me, Miss L/n,” my secretary approached me, clipboard in hand with an immensely structured schedule.
Just as the thought appeared, so did he.
“Mr Jackson is here to see you.”
I attention shifted to behind her, finally seeing him up close in his full effect after so long: loose curls falling perfectly in to his brows, sleek black suit paired with his crisp white shirt, and that boyish smile that he couldn't quite resist.
Under the glistening chandelier glow, I could see just how much he'd actually changed. Like he wasn't afraid to take up the space that his presence commanded anymore.
The models and staff gathered instantly, vying for his attention.
But his eyes never left mine.
Like he didn't want to hide the way I affected him anymore.
That shouldn’t have unnerved me the way it did.
Michael moved closer, as if it were second nature, giving a perfunctory greeting to everyone fawning over him as he did.
I hadn't realised until that moment that he had a bouquet of flowers, that he knew were my favourite- yet another reminder of how well he really knew me.
As he handed me the bouquet- its floral scent mingling with the familiar, faint whisper of dark vanilla only detectable from our sudden proximity; so opulent it bordered ostentatious- he leant down to whisper “you're a very difficult woman to find, do you know that?”
Too comfortable with being so close to me.
The rest of the room watched us shamelessly, sharing giddy looks with one another as if our interaction was live television.
Neither of us paid them any mind.
It was normal for us. The tabloids, magazines, pestering interviewers were all desperate to know one thing: if the rumours of our relationship being more than just a friendship were true.
The answer? We were just friends.
But the real answer? There was definitely something more under the surface. Whether either of us were willing to take a risk to explore that was a mystery to everyone.
“You look devastating.” I teased instead of answering his question, as he moved to the closest respectable distance beside me.
“I missed you too, y/n.” Michael said pointedly, but I didn't miss the way his face tinted red ever so slightly.
“I didn't exactly say that.”
His gaze shifted to challenging.
But before he had a chance to respond, my secretary was bringing out the champagne and it was time for me to make a toast.
He shot me a smile, as if I’d gotten away with something. Too confident.
I gave a brief speech praising everyone for their hard work and toasted to our successful evening.
“And a last toast for my dear friend, finally returned to grace us with his presence, Michael.” My voice laced with satirical charm.
A round of cheers echoed through backstage, as I finally wrapped my remaining duties in a neat bow and called it a night. Everyone shared their goodbyes, with hugs and promises of meeting again soon.
*ੈ✩‧˚
“I must admit, I was surprised to hear you started your own fashion line, especially so soon after your last film project, but your designs are really something.” Michael said, while we were by the outside steps watching my entire collection carefully prepared into the garment vans to be transported back to the showroom. “Enchanting.”
Behind us, decorative columns were framed with bright purple lights illuminating the main entrance of the Grand Palais. I breathed in the Paris night air, as distant sounds of the city echoed.
“It was just an idea that came to me when I was bored.” I elaborated, turning back to him to see him already looking at me with what seemed like pure admiration. “But it's nice to know.”
“What is?” He tilted his head. His suit jacket was now removed and draped lazily over his back, where he held it with his shirt sleeve rolled up. A sight many would swoon over.
“That you've been keeping tabs on me.” I acknowledged, a grin playing on my lips.
“As if you haven't done the same for me.” Michael mirrored my expression, as the intricate Paris streetlights outside the palais casted yellow hues against his features.
“It would be impossible not to know what 'the King of Pop' was up to.” I reminded him.
He raised his brows, as if that answer didn't satisfy him.
“Of course, I was interested from time to time,” I rolled my eyes playfully. “It's been a while.”
“Eight months and two days.” Michael added instinctively.
“You really have been keeping track.” I laughed.
“I missed you.” He admitted as if it explained everything. A reminder of our previous exchange before being cut off by the champagne.
I let out a breath of amusement, ever so dramatic, and stepped closer, the comforting scent of sandalwood and vanilla returning.
My fingers traced under his crisp shirt collar, as I looked up at him, searching for a reaction. But there was none; he simply waited to see what I would do, letting another soft curl fall before his eyes to look down at me.
A light twitch of his brows: daring.
With that, I lifted on my heels to kiss his cheek, before leaning closer to whisper “I missed you too.”
I felt awfully smug about the way he looked down to hide his any detectable trace of a blush and how he bit back a smile.
“Tease.” He countered as I pulled away, feeling the lack of warmth instantly.
“You love it.” I confirmed and snickered at the rosy pink lipstick print on Michael's face.
“You've left a mark haven’t you?” He accused, holding back his humour.
I laughed, but before I could think of a response, the cargo driver approached us.
“Miss L/n, it’s ready to be transported back now.”
“Great, thanks for everything.” I replied, still lightly laughing, as the driver got into the garment van and drove off.
“Seems like the night is almost over.” I looked back to Michael, already staring at me, as usual.
He didn't bother removing the kiss staining his cheek.
“Already?” Michael seemed genuinely disappointed.
“You’re not tired from the tour?” I asked, knowing how it affected him. “Have you even slept yet?”
He simply smiled. Unconvinced.
“Are you tired?” His focus suddenly shifted to brief concern that I dismissed with a shake of my head, holding back my grin. He beamed triumphantly. Unyielding.
“Michael, it's almost midnight.” I pointed out purposely just so to see how far he’d push to spend more time with me.
“What, your carriage turns into a pumpkin past midnight now?”
Another laugh.
A soft breeze flickered between us, lightly swaying my cream silk dress. Before I could even begin to feel the effect, Michael was draping his suit jack over me, his hand lingering a beat too long on my shoulders after.
“Stay with me for a while longer?” He asked softly, eyes so intent and the heat from his hands buzzing through the material.
I wasn't used to this lack of restraint from him. How he was so comfortable initiating contact, so confident in asking for what he wanted.
“You know, I have a movie premiere tomorrow night in Hollywood.”
He drew out a sigh.
“You're right.” He said and removed his hands from me. “Let me take you home.”
“Or,” I circled around him and stood forward on my silver heels once more to drape my arms over his shoulders and rest my chin into the muscles there, hearing the exact moment his breath froze at the sudden proximity. “We can spend the night out in Paris together and you can fly back tomorrow with me to attend the premiere.”
“Y/n.” He warned. Then looked to me, our faces inches apart. “You're playing a dangerous game.”
My stomach flipped.
Before, I was used to always making him flustered. Now, he matched my energy. And, with neither of us willing to back down first, he was right: it was dangerous.
But the temptation lingered between us. The tension so palpable it barely hung on by a thread.
One move and the trajectory of our relationship would forever be altered.
That fear was what ultimately peeled me away from him.
“Why don't you make another song about it.” I attempted to jest, feeling the cold loss of contact and a different wave of nerves.
Our interaction proved to me just how much I actually cared about our friendship; if we could even call it that anymore, or ever before.
Michael loosened his tie, as if it was suddenly restricting his ability to breathe. And, as devastatingly attractive that move was, I felt the same.
The world of fame wasn’t designed for relationships you opened your heart to. I knew that.
Judging by the way his gaze grew heavy like I was some sort of forbidden fruit- something he couldn’t have, but needed like oxygen itself- he knew that too.
But somewhere along the way, without even realising, I allowed him to mean more to me than imaginable.
That frightened me.
“You haven't eaten yet, have you?” He finally broke the silence.
And yet.
“What?”
“If you don’t want to head back just yet, we could get dinner.”
Being around him was addictive.
“Or I could send food straight to your hotel room and take you back—”
“No… I’d like to get dinner with you.” I admitted, and my chest felt lighter already.
“Come on.” He smiled softly, satisfied. My arm slid around his instinctively, as we walked to his car.
next part.
꧁ ༺ ❀ ༻ ꧂
