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SUMMARY: Y/N writes a song about loving Michael Jackson despite the scrutiny around them, and Michael gets overwhelmed realizing just how deeply and openly she loves him.
CONTENT: ‘guilty as sin?’ by taylor swift (all credits are hers! this is just for fun), stablished relationship, in love michael, angst, fluff, the world not deserving michael jackson, age gap, michael jackson x singer!reader
.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭ .
By the late nineties, the world had turned Michael Jackson into something impossible to touch.
A myth. A controversy. A headline.
People spoke about him like he wasn’t real anymore, as if the man beneath the headlines had disappeared completely beneath the fame, the scrutiny, the loneliness.
Then Y/N L/N happened.
Young, glittering, impossible Y/N L/N with voluminous hair and tiny dresses and the kind of charisma that made interviewers stumble over their own questions.
The public hated it immediately.
Not because she cared.
And certainly not because Michael did.
If anything, the criticism only made him hold her hand tighter.
“She’s too young for him.”
“She’s using him.”
“He’s obsessed with her.”
That last one, at least, was true.
Hopelessly true.
Because Michael looked at Y/N like she’d personally hung the stars in the sky for him.
It was embarrassing, honestly.
Everyone around them noticed it immediately.
The way she followed him around backstage after one of his shows.
“That was insane, you know that, right?” she said, throwing herself into his arms the second he walked offstage.
He caught her easily, spinning her around while a giggle and startled little scream left her lips.
He had just finished performing—dressed in black pants and one of his signature jackets, this one covered in gold details. Euphoric. Sweaty. Adrenaline still rushing through him.
Y/N did not care at all.
“I messed up that last note,” he murmured after setting her down, still bothered by it in true Michael fashion.
Y/N scoffed and smacked his arm lightly.
“Oh, shut up.”
Michael snorted softly.
“You were perfect.”
And God, the way she said it.
Like there wasn’t a single doubt in her mind.
Their secret moments in crowded rooms.
It was an awards night, both Michael and Y/N nominated. Because of that, their PR teams decided it would be ‘better’ if they sat separately.
After several dramatic complaints from Michael and one overly emotional speech from Y/N claiming her team was “actively planning her psychological destruction” by keeping her away from her boyfriend, both parties still refused.
Y/N spent the first half hour nervously fidgeting with her rings and biting her bottom lip.
She hated award shows.
Finally she found him across the lounge.
Michael had already spotted her. Of course he had.
He was staring directly at her with that soft look he always got whenever she entered a room. Then he made a ridiculous face at her from across the tables just to make her laugh.
And it worked instantly.
Y/N cracked a silent smile and shook her head.
God, she loved him.
The way she instinctively reached for his hand anytime he stood close enough.
The couple stood side by side during an interview, the reporter asking Y/N about her upcoming tour while Michael listened quietly beside her.
Y/N spoke excitedly with her hands, completely exhilarated.
So it surprised even herself when, mid-sentence and without even looking at him, she reached sideways and laced her fingers through Michael’s.
Like muscle memory.
Michael glanced down at their joined hands and smiled softly to himself.
And God, the way he looked at her while she performed.
That was dangerous.
Y/N would step onstage dripping in glitter and platform boots and tiny sparkling outfits while thousands screamed her name, and Michael would sit there completely captivated, dark eyes fixed only on her like the rest of the arena had disappeared.
Like she was the show.
He especially loved when she sang songs he knew were about him.
And Y/N adored it.
Adored him.
Completely.
What if I roll the stone away?
They’re gonna crucify me anyway
She didn’t care about the headlines or whispers or age-gap discourse dominating every magazine cover.
None of those people knew him the way she did.
They don't know how you've haunted me
So stunningly
They didn’t know how gentle he was.
How he kissed her forehead absentmindedly while reading.
How he called her late at night just to hear her voice.
How he got shy whenever she complimented him despite being the Michael Jackson.
Or how absolutely gone he became whenever she touched him.
Because Michael in private? He was devastating.
What if he’s written ‘mine’ on my upper thigh
Only in my mind?
They lay together in the master bedroom at Neverland, both in pajamas. (Y/N’s pajamas being underwear and one of Michael’s oversized old T-shirts)
Michael rested his head against her stomach while she stroked his scalp softly, careful around how sensitive it was.
The room stayed quiet except for the occasional hum of unfinished melodies.
Then Y/N felt it.
Michael’s fingers tracing slowly against the inside of her thigh beneath the blanket.
Again.
And again.
A repeated pattern.
Y/N concentrated for a moment before smiling quietly to herself.
‘Mine.’
That’s what he was writing.
And Y/N loved teasing him.
Especially because the older he got, the less subtle he became about wanting her.
The Dangerous-era flirtiness had matured into something slower now.
Hungrier.
More intense.
He’d stand behind her in the recording studio with one hand resting lightly on her waist while she sang, his chin brushing her shoulder as he murmured little suggestions into her ear.
Y/N kept forgetting lyrics entirely because his voice alone distracted her too much.
“You’re doing it again,” she laughed during one recording break.
Michael blinked innocently from the couch.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like that.”
His eyes flickered slowly over her bare legs before returning to her face.
“…Can’t help it.”
And he genuinely couldn’t.
Not when she wandered around his house in oversized shirts and lip gloss.
Not when she curled up beside him at the piano humming unfinished melodies.
Not when she climbed into his lap during interviews just to watch reporters panic.
Michael was completely devoted to her.
And Y/N
Oh, Y/N was ruined for anyone else.
Which was exactly how Guilty as Sin? happened.
It started late one night at Neverland.
Michael sat quietly at the piano improvising little melodies while Y/N sprawled dramatically across it in silk pajamas, staring at the ceiling.
“You know what I hate?” she asked suddenly.
Michael smiled softly.
“What?”
“That people act like loving you is something scandalous.”
His hands stilled immediately over the keys.
Y/N turned her head toward him, eyes softer now.
“They act like I’m supposed to feel guilty for it.”
Michael looked down instantly, jaw tightening faintly.
That happened sometimes.
The headlines still got to him no matter how gracefully he pretended otherwise.
Y/N sat up slowly.
“Hey.”
Michael glanced toward her.
“I’m serious.” She reached for his face gently. “I’ve never loved anybody the way I love you.”
The look Michael gave her then nearly destroyed her.
Completely open.
Completely vulnerable.
Like she’d just handed his heart back carefully after the world spent years trying to crush it.
What if the way you hold me
Is actually what’s holy?
He kissed her quietly after that.
Slow.
Emotional.
One hand cradling her jaw while the other pulled her impossibly closer against him.
And later that night, after Michael fell asleep with his arm around her waist, Y/N slipped out of bed and wandered into the music room.
The lyrics poured out almost embarrassingly fast.
What if he’s written “mine” on my upper thigh only in my mind…
Without ever touching his skin…
It wasn’t literal. Not entirely.
It was about yearning.
About wanting someone so badly it became spiritual.
Sinful.
About the way Michael could look at her from across a room and make her feel worshipped. And maybe a little ruined too.
About how she would do anything and everything to make him feel loved.
By morning, she sat cross-legged at the piano softly singing the chorus to herself when Michael wandered in wearing red silk pajamas, curls sleep-mussed and eyes still heavy with exhaustion.
“Baby, what are you doing, it’s five in the morning—”
Then he stopped completely.
Y/N looked up nervously. “I wrote something.”
Michael smiled sleepily. “Yeah?” He yawned softly and sat beside her.
She played the song quietly.
No audience.
No producers.
Just them.
And as the lyrics unfolded, Michael slowly realized.
This was about him.
Every line.
Every secret longing.
Every lyric dripping with forbidden devotion and wanting.
By the end, Michael stared at her silently, feeling completely wrecked.
“Y/N…”
She bit her lip nervously now. “Too much?”
Michael crossed the room immediately.
“No,” he said hoarsely.
His hands settled against her cheeks as he pulled her closer, eyes dark with overwhelming affection.
“It’s beautiful.”
The way he looked at her afterward made Y/N’s heartbeat stutter entirely.
Because beneath the love, beneath the softness, Michael looked almost overwhelmed by it.
Not just the lyrics themselves, but the fact that she loved him this openly.
Desired him this deeply.
That she’d turned him into something sacred instead of shameful.
“You think about me like this?” he asked quietly.
Y/N laughed softly. “Oh, Mike.” She teased in a ‘are you joking?’ voice.
But instead of smiling, Michael looked down.
And suddenly she understood.
“They make your life harder because of me,” he said quietly.
The room fell silent.
Michael swallowed once before continuing.
“I see the things they say about you.” His voice softened painfully. “Sometimes I wish you’d fallen in love with someone easier.”
This cage was once just fine
Am I allowed to cry?
Y/N’s face fell instantly.
“Michael.”
“I mean it.” He looked genuinely guilty now. “You shouldn’t have to defend loving me all the time.”
That nearly broke her heart.
Because after everything the world had done to him, Michael still spoke about himself like he was something difficult to survive.
Y/N reached for his face immediately.
“You say that like loving you is some terrible thing.”
Michael looked at her quietly.
“Baby,” she whispered, eyes stinging with tears, “it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
The look on his face afterward was devastating.
Like relief.
Like disbelief.
Like someone who had spent years being treated as impossible suddenly being held gently instead.
Y/N kissed him before he could say anything else.
Soft. Certain.
She placed little, gentle kisses all over his face.
And when she pulled away, she pressed her forehead against his.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
The Tortured Poets Department is a great reminder that women don't owe the world pretty. Taylor Swift doesn't owe anyone an easily digestible pretty pop album wrapped in a bow with short songs you can make TikToks to. She's allowed to present something raw, uncomfortable, and vulnerable to the world.
