synopsis. you gift michael a stuffed animal during one of his chance public appearances.
wc. 470
tags. fluff. flirtatious!michael. flustered!reader. unprompted kiss. hayvenhurst. fall season (if you squint). no y/n. bill bray mention (my father-in-law!). no specified reader complexion/features (besides nails). walt disney's bambi. 1970s (at least 1976, so he's 18+). encino, ca. use of pet name mama (once).
mims yaps. it's about time that i posted something new! sorry it took so long. i'm going through a rough patch w my writing (who am i kidding—life in general actually 😭). anywho, i just recently had this idea and jumped on it immediately. surprised myself that i stuck w it! it was supposed to be a short drabble but evolved a little. it's short though. does this still count as a drabble in tumblr's eyes?
also, for some reason i wrote this with fall in mind... perhaps because i've been thinking about fall a lot today. idk. silk press season. my birthday. school back in session. yk. regardless, enjoyy! and if you would, disregard any errors. probably missed them in my impatience and eagerness to post this. also, i should note that i prefer not giving the reader a specific outfit or features, but i did with this one (just reader's jacket and nails, but still).
Pushing through the flock of fangirls and boys, you advance towards the front. The darkly stained, wooden buttons of your faded, dusty-raspberry-pink corduroy jacket were fastened, keeping close the heat your body exuded. In your manicured hands, a felt plush of Walt Disney’s Bambi is clutched tight, the length of your natural nails digging into the smooth, resistant material.
In front of Hayvenhurst, Michael’s stalling vehicle was surrounded by various individuals—mostly young ladies—the window agape beside the backseat in which he sat. A pale pink, cotton button up covered his torso and arms, tucked into a pair of denim jeans that trailed down to his dress shoes—worn, but polished nonetheless. The first few buttons of his shirt were left undone, his engraved heart locket nestled in the exposed space of smooth, chocolate skin.
As you make it to the forefront, you call out, “Michael! Can I give you something? Please?” His gaze flicks over to you, baby-doll eyes fixed on yours before taking a quick detour up and down the expanse of your figure. “Of course, mama.” He smiles shyly, teeth sinking into the supple flesh of his lower lip, reaching his right arm out. You hand him the Bambi merchandise, fingers brushing one another’s. “I bought it 'cause it reminded me of you, but I wan' you t'have it.” You explain, an instinctive smile seizing your lips.
Your pulse flutters rapidly in the side of your neck, like the wings of the butterflies inhabiting your stomach. You feel your breath shorten as his smile evolves into a grin, his entire face lit up—so much so, that in the eyes of those around him, there's no longer a need for the sun to break from its cloudy concealment. “Oh, thank you! You’re too kind. ‘S very cute—like you.” Michael chuckles, leaning towards you with the plush clutched against his abdomen. “Gimme a kiss?” He queries, though you’re already tilting in to meet him.
You anticipate a mutual kiss on the cheek, but are pleasantly and unbelievably surprised when your lips meet the plush of his in the softest, shortest exchange. You would have lingered, had the other girls not been pulling you back—some jealous, others excited for you. “Be gentle!” He chides them on your behalf, as a chorus of complaints and requests for his affection arise.
“Sorry.” He apologizes for subjecting you to the girls’ enthusiasm with a chortle and equally sheepish grimace, rolling up the window. “‘M sorry I gotta go now, but thanks for tha deer! Disney’s my favorite!” He expresses, quickly adding, “‘N I love your hair!”, before the glass division is fully up.
You stand speechless with an impossibly warm, fuzzy feeling, as Michael’s driver, Bill, pulls off while the singer waves goodbye. The kiss replays in your head as you ponder to yourself, “I jus’ kissed Michael Jackson.”
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can you make a part 2 of copy. Michael’s daughter follows his footsteps and is a singer. and she dances as well. people also say that her stage presence is exactly like her dads.
Heart
Michael x daughter! Reader
Part two of Copy!
Summary: Now its been twenty years later, you follow you fathers footsteps. You're a singer now and people say your stage presence is exactly like your dads.
Twenty years later, the arena was dark, more than seventy thousand people waited in anticipation, the crowd buzzing with excitement. The giant screen lit up, the audience erupted. A lone silhouette stood in the center of the stage, Head lowered and hands at your sides completely still.
The music hadn't even begun yet, and the crowd was already screaming. Backstage, one of the crew members laughed. "She hasn't moved." Another smiled. "She doesn't have to." Another crew member watched the monitor. "It's the presence." The lights flashed.
The first beat hit, you lifted your head and the crowd exploded. You smiled to yourself
Three songs later, You flew across the stage with effortless precision, every move was sharp and every spin controlled. You weren't copying anyone. You were performing the way you'd been taught as a little girl in a rehearsal studio. After the show, social media exploded.
"She owns the stage."
"She doesn't imitate him but sometimes you catch a little head tilt or a grin, and you instantly know who taught her."
Later that week, you sat backstage scrolling through interviews while your stylist finished packing, one headline caught your eye.
Does Michael Jackson's daughter have the greatest stage presence since her father?
You sighed dramatically. "Oh, here we go again." Your manager looked over. "What?" "They keep comparing me to Dad." He smiled.
"That's going to happen." You leaned back in the couch. "I know, I just hope people hear me." "You know what your father would've said." You smiled. You answered in his gentle voice. "'Be yourself, angel.'" Your manager laughed. "Exactly."
Months later, you accepted an award for Live Performer of the Year, the applause seemed endless. Standing at the microphone, you looked out at thousands of faces and smiled. "I wasn't planning on making a speech." The audience laughed. "But I think there's someone I should thank." The arena grew quiet. "My dad." More applause.
"When I was little." You smiled to yourself. "I thought he danced with his feet." A few people chuckled. "He knelt down and told me." You placed a hand over your heart. "'No, sweetheart, you dance from here.'" The room fell completely silent. "I didn't understand it then." You laughed softly.
"I do now." You looked toward the ceiling lights. "He taught me that performing isn't about being perfect, it's about making people feel something." Your voice trembled. "So every time I step on stage." You smiled through misty eyes. "I hope I make people feel the way he made me feel." The audience stood, you blinked rapidly. "Don't make me cry."
Laughter spread through the arena. "You know who I got that from." More laughter. You looked upward again. "Thank you, Dad." You smiled.
That night after the ceremony, you returned home. You kicked off your heels and wandered into the room you'd lovingly turned into a dance studio, one wall was covered with framed photographs. In the very center, there was a faded picture from 1997.
A little girl in denim overalls standing beside her father. Trying to copy his dance moves. You smiled, brushing your fingertips over the frame. "You were right, Dad" A tear slipped down your cheek. "My heart still dances." You laughed quietly to yourself. "I still get wobbly sometimes."
In your mind, you could almost hear his warm, familiar laugh. "That's alright angel, we can try again." You nodded to the empty room with a smile. "One more time?" The silence felt gentle. "One more time, my beautiful girl." You stepped into the center of the studio.
The music started, just like the little girl who had once copied her father in a rehearsal hall. You danced because it made you happy.
summary ✴︎ in which you're the 'crazy' super fangirl of michael's and you see him at his signing of invincible at the virgin megastore. he signs a poster and tells you to call him, which results in him telling you to come to his hotel.
4.1k michael jackson ╱ fangirl!reader invincible era smut (MDNI, 18+) , swearing, reader is between 25-26, flirt!michael (thats js him tbh..), michael & reader equally yearning, soft!dom!mj, afab anatomy, fem pronouns, use of petnames, alluding to masterbation (m) , whimpering, nipple play (if you squint) , unprotected intercourse, fingering, reader is us if we had no decorum, aftercare
a/n hello !! this is my debut post !! this fic came about from me hearing paparazzi by lady gaga and actually paying attention to the lyrics. i also wanted something that hit close to a lot of fans since we all know how parasocial he was towards us. this is my first time writing smut in years, so i hope it isnt terrible !
The sounds of people and music could be heard all around you as you stood in line. You were in front a group of teenaged girls, they were giggling and showing off their Invincible CD's to each other. They held their folded posters tightly in their grip like if they were to loosen it even a little it would fly out of their grasp.
You looked at the memorabilia in your own hands, a CD, a photo, and a poster, you clutched these objects similarly to the way the girls in front of you did. They were truly precious to your heart, just as Michael was.
As soon as your head lifted, you locked eyes with him. You knew he'd known you, your name was one that was familiar among other fangirls, the super crazy fangirl that has been to every Michael Jackson tour since Dangerous.
You watched as his eyes quickly drifted over your outfit, taking it all in before shifting his attention back to the shaking fan in front of him.
The line quickly dissipated and suddenly you were up facing Michael once again, as soon as you reached the table Michael's mood changed, a slight smirk appearing on his pinked lips.
"Hey, Mikey… Did'cha miss me?" your face quickly scrunched into a bright smile, your voice coming out soft, a giggle escaping your lips.
One of Michael's assistants began to try to move you out of the way, quickly catching his attention causing him to dismiss the action. The woman rolled her eyes before stepping to the side.
Your smile stayed as the sound of marker scribbling on paper and plastic was heard before an airy dramatic sigh left Michael's lips. His eyes meeting yours before he spoke, "I suppose so. You gonna be on your best behavior today, yeah? No gettin' kicked out."
He handed the items back to you, his hand lingering on yours longer than anticipated, fingers softly touching each other before resting back on the clothed folding table.
"We'll see.." your voice was soft and silky, as you held the possessions to your chest. Before walking off, you put your arms out to him; hesitantly, he stood and walked around the table, carefully wrapping his arms around your waist enveloping you in a deep hug. The smell of his perfume taking over your senses as your head rested on him. You muttered into his chest, "I love you, Michael."
As the hug broke, you heard Michael whisper back to you:
"I love you more."
You felt as he placed a soft kiss to your right cheek, then quickly wrapped his arms around you again before releasing you. These consecutive actions took you by surprise while at the same time had your face feeling hot.
The fact that the Michael Jackson just told you personally that he loved you was otherworldly after trying to get his attention for so many years. Of course, you knew he'd told many fans personally that he loved them, but it still felt special to you. Like you really could have a chance with him. Michael initially didn't approve of your actions and the craziness, but he didn't like breaking the hearts of his fans.
Over time, though, your overbearing nature left a mark on him. One he loved, but one he'd never admit to loving.
He loved how determined you were, even if the lengths you went to were less than appropriate, such as getting kicked out of events and even being temporarily barred from concerts to the point where even his security knew who you were.
Despite these things, his unusual love for you never faltered. You were a diehard fan after all, you loved him through thick and thin. Through the media scrutiny and the rumors, he still saw you at every event, every concert, every tour.
He'd even seen the interview you did with your local news speaking about him and how other people have noticed your unusual connection to the man. The worldwide sensation, the King of Pop and a random fangirl of his.
When you left his arms, your eyes never left his. If you weren't extremely delusional over him before, you definitely were now. After leaving the store, you sat in your car looking over the items Michael signed for you. Your hands couldn't help but reach your face, obsessing over the spot where he kissed you.
Suddenly, your eyes noticed ink-bleed from the other side of the poster; the blank side. Flipping the poster to the backside, you were met with a phone number and a little note that read:
'We didn't get to talk enough for my liking.'
After returning home, you placed the now signed CD and photo on the coffee table. Sitting on the sofa, you kept the backside of the poster visible as you pulled your cellphone out of your pocket.
You contemplated before deciding on dialing the number. It'd been a few hours since the signing, you had no idea if Michael had even made it back to his hotel yet. The phone rang, until a quick click was heard then a voice.
"I was waitin' for your call, y'know," an airy giggle could be heard on the other end. You didn't even know what to say, Michael Jackson was waiting for his phone to ring like a teenage girl waiting for a call from her landline.
"Really? That's kinda hard to believe seeing as you're Michael Jackson. You're a pretty busy guy." your eyes instinctively rolled. You knew Michael was a flirt, you'd seen the interviews, wishing they were you. You'd seen how he'd been with fans, even onstage. The way he'd kiss their hands, their foreheads, their cheeks, and now your cheek.
Not receiving any of that love just made your obsession and your desire for Michael's attention worse. You wanted to be the special woman in his life, his child-like spirit resonating so deeply with you. You related so much with him too, you found that's why you were so attached to him. Suddenly, you heard him speak.
"I noticed your efforts a while ago. I'd say around the tour for HIStory," you could hear the smile on his face through the cellphone, "I saw you at my 30th Anniversary Celebration, you were in the front. I looked right at you."
You'd thought you went crazy that night, you had moments where you forgot that Michael knew who you were. So when he looked at you, you didn't think he was actually looking at you.
"I saw… I mean, I didn't realize you were actually looking at me. I thought you were just looking in my direction," you replied as you pushed yourself off the sofa to go to your bedroom. "When you and Chris Tucker were on stage, and he did your kick wrong, it was really funny."
Michael could hear you giggling at the thought, the sounds of your sweet laughter melted his heart, you could hear Michael struggling to hold in his own laughter. "That right? Yeah, he's a clown, had me falling out."
"I know! I saw," your voice lowered slightly, as you sat on your bed, "You know, you looked really good that night. You looked good today, too. I love that blue on you."
"Oh, thank you. That's very sweet of you to say. You looked beautiful today too," you adorned a silver spaghetti-strap baby-doll top and low-rise jeans. The jeans fit the curve of your ass just right, Michael noticed as you walked away. His eyes were hooked on the sway of your hips, and the way your ass bounced ever so slightly with every step you took. "Y'know, those jeans—they looked amazing on you. They fit you just right."
The compliments took you by surprise, you weren't really expecting so many from Michael so soon. Even thought it was expected, his flirtatious nature still took you by surprise. After a while, you could hear Michael sigh on the other end. Then he spoke:
"You know what…come to my hotel."
You were quickly taken aback, Michael's request left you speechless. You didn't know how to respond, none of this felt real. Michael Jackson just asked you to come to his hotel for who knows what, well, you assumed you knew why but still.
"So," you heard him say. Your heart felt like it was gonna beat out of your chest, he left you stammering on the other end trying to come up with a coherent response just to fall flat. "You gonna take my request or not, sweetheart?"
You took a deep breath before answering, you'd made up your mind. You were gonna go to Michael's hotel room, and you were going to see where this visit was going to take the two of you. A parasocial fangirl and her—apparently—equally as parasocial King of Pop.
"Yes, Michael, I'll come to your hotel."
"Good choice," you could hear the smirk on his face through the phone. The giddiness evident, he really wanted you to say yes. He loved his fans, he loved you, when he said he loved his supporters he truly meant it.
Soon enough, you were met with a limousine at your front door but no sign of Michael until you were informed that you were to be picked up, then dropped off at the hotel. Your legs bounced with anticipation and anxiety, this was Michael Jackson, the man you would consider to be the sexiest man alive.
You were ushered out of the limo once you made it to Michael's hotel, a body guard waiting outside the building for you. Once out, the guard gestured for you to follow him into the lobby of the hotel, quickly prompting you to do so. You walked into the lobby and were met with something you'd never seen; chandelier all around, it was clear this was an elite hotel.
The lobby of the hotel was bigger than any you've ever seen, but you should've expected something as fancy as this from the King of Pop. The bass in the bodyguard's voice quickly took you from your marveling of the lobby, bringing you back to reality and settling you into the scenario you were currently placed into. You were going to Michael Jackson's hotel room.
The sounds of Michael's breathless moans filled his hotel room as he leaned his head back into his pillows, his hips bucking into his hand, your scent coming back to his mind from earlier in the day. The sweet, vanilla-y scent lingering on to his senses as he stroked himself ever so slowly, his thumb softly rubbing circles.
"Oh— God.." his voice cracked as a shy whimper came from his mouth, causing his hand to go to his mouth to cover it. His brow furrowed before he heard a deep knock on the door of his hotel room.
The sound caused him to begin to scramble, pulling his pajama pants back up to his waist before walking to answer the door. As he opened the door he was met with you and his bodyguard at your side. He wasn't informed that you were here already, before you walked into the hotel room he let out a quiet "Hi."
Discomfort was written all over his face as you went in for a hug, he held you close to his chest as if afraid to let go; he could feel you rubbing against his now softening erection, which only made his desire for you stronger. Michael's face was stuffed into your hair, he inhaled deeply as his hand rested on your head, stroking softly before releasing you.
Michael quickly took your hand into his, catching you off guard but bringing you deeper into his room. He led you to his bed, causing you to sit as he walked back over to the door—you could hear him talking to the bodyguard but you couldn't hear what he was saying.
Soon enough, the hotel room door was closed and the bodyguard was gone.
Michael joined you in sitting on the bed, you didn't really notice at first but he looked disheveled. Hair stuck to his forehead and sweat glistening on his face like he'd just finished something that exerted a lot of energy.
His eyes were half-lidded and tired. And you couldn't forget about the clear boner he had, you didn't want to say anything out of respect for him but it was more than obvious what he'd been doing.
"So, Michael, clearly there was a reason as to why you wanted me at your hotel. Mind sharing?" you scooted a little closer to him, the heat of your bodies so close together took the man by surprise. He could smell you again, that soft vanilla-powdery smell, at this point he felt like it was your natural scent.
Your question echoed through his mind before stopping on a response, he couldn't let his nervousness get to him now. The obscene thoughts he just had of you and him, his hands on your body, your face in his pillow, his hands on your thighs, your waist. His voice was broken and quiet, it wasn't meant to come out that way.
"I… I just wanted you over," Michael cleared his throat and swallowed hard, he didn't want you to know how you were making him feel. He didn't want you to know how he wanted to take your hands and run them all along his body, he wanted to let you touch every part of him. He wanted to be as close to you as possible, he wanted your bodies to meld together as you made sweet love. "I wanted to talk more. You're a beautiful woman. I'd love to get to know you… better."
You watched as Michael's eyes hungrily ran up and down your body, watching the way your chest rose and fell with each breath you took, the way your eyes blinked—your eyelashes long and pretty. He could feel his erection growing again as his breathing quickened, then he looked at you with the sweetest doe eyes, and it made your heart melt.
"Is that so? It's flattering being called beautiful by probably the sexiest man in the world, you know," your voice was sultry and plush, like the softness of a pillow, making Michael take your hand and put it on his chest. You could feel his heart beating, it felt like the fluttering of a butterfly, constantly running. You knew Michael was relatively shy, but you didn't expect him to be so nervous.
Michael's soft grasp on your hand never faltered as he moved it down his chest, allowing it to rest on his erection. You could feel the outline of his dick in your hand, softly you palmed it before ceasing the action.
"I love that you love me," his voice was low and shy as he rested his forehead against your shoulder. Your hand moved to the back of his head, softly gripping his hair as he mumbled into your shirt, "I don't think I've ever wanted someone this badly. Let alone a fan."
You let out an airy laugh before Michael raised his head off your shoulder, sliding his hands that was once resting on your lap onto your cheeks cupping them—he spoke, barely a whisper, "So pretty…"
He caressed your face softly before carefully bring his lips to yours, melting into the touch. Your hands rested on top of his as the kiss deepened, but never faltering the same velvety feeling; the need he had for you resonating with the carefulness of his actions.
The kissing slowly turned sloppy as you laid on the bed—Michael on top of you, his knee making its way between your legs to separate them. He precisely moved from your lips, planting kisses on your jawline, moving lower to your neck to your collarbones.
"You're so beautiful. God, you're perfect," his hands ran under your shirt as he rubbed the skin of your waist. Lifting your shirt up, he began to litter kisses on your stomach and chest. Pulling your shirt over your head he started to unclasp your bra leaving you feeling exposed, unintentionally you crossed your arms over your bare breasts, "Let me see how beautiful you are… Please."
You hid your face with the arms that were once covering your chest, as Michael's hand continued up your chest, softly cupping your breast tracing over the nipple before going back down to your waist. You shuddered at the feeling as he unbuttoned your jeans tugging them off you, one arm under your back to lift you off the bed, in the same move he slid your panties down—letting them fall onto the floor of the room before returning to kiss your body.
Your lips parted to release a quiet whine as Michael's hands rested on your pelvis, the man couldn't help telling you how alluring you were, how angelic every part of your body was to him. Soon, you felt his hand snake down to your clit as he made soft little circles, adding the smallest bit of pressure.
"Mmm.. Michael," your hands nearly flew to your face as you tried to hide the building arousal that was evident on your expression. Michael couldn't hide his smile as he bit his lip, his hand moving farther down to tease your entrance with his fingertips.
"You're so wet, lovely girl," Michael continued placing kisses on your stomach as he carefully push a digit into you, then two, your arousal swallowing him whole, the pumping of his fingers into your cunt made an ungodly noise—wet and squelching as his now curved fingertips pressed up into you. Each thrust hitting your g-spot as his hand started to gain speed causing your thighs to nearly snap together on his hand.
"Mikey.. mmph.. shit-"
"Language, dove. I know it feels good, but try to keep a modest mouth, hm?" he spoke softly while using the hand that was once rubbing your clit sore to separate your thighs, holding them apart as he used his thick fingers to guide you to your orgasm. You clenched around him, your free hand gripping the comforter that dressed the bed. Michael continued fingering you, bringing his face back up to your lips engulfing you into a passionate kiss.
He pulled his fingers out of you as he broke the kiss, gaining a hurt gasp out of you. He pulled the waistband of his pajama pants and boxers, pulling them down his legs. The act of leaving you empty had your aching cunt feeling bare as it clenched around nothing, a hurt drawn-out whine left your lips before he shushed you.
"Shh, shh. Oh, honey, it's okay. You're gonna be filled soon, don't you worry," his hand immediately went down to tug at his already leaking dick from base to tip, he repeated the action multiple times before centering it on the entrance of your sopping cunt. Michael pushed ever so slightly, causing only a little more than his tip to slide in. You shuddered, a hand coming to grip him roughly, his eyes tracing all over your naked body.
You looked so pretty under him, your legs spread for him; Michael gripped the plush of your thigh and wrapped it around his waist, following in suit with the other leg. Slowly he thrusted into you, a whimper crawling up your throat, the stretch of the thrust driving you insane as your back arched.
"Mike… Michael, oh my god, I can't-" your grip on Michael's forearms tightened as you nearly dug your nails into him, he leaned over you bringing your lips back to his as his thrusts gained rhythm and pace. He held you closer to him into a kiss as you whined into his mouth with every thrust that was made—driving you over the edge.
"I know I'm a lil' big, baby, 'm sorry," he moaned out. You shook your head in response, you weren't going to make him apologize for something that felt otherworldly; your eyes squeezed in ecstasy as Michael continued to make loving, calculated thrusts into you. His lips met your neck again, placing kisses as his moans started to crack. "I'm.. God, I'm so proud of you, baby."
"You're taking me so—mm—so well," he whined against your neck as short locks in the front of his hair stuck to his forehead, his thrusts progressively getting faster. Your hands met the back of his neck as his girthy length relentlessly pounded up into your g-spot, a rasped moan leaving you mouth.
"Mikey.. 'm close," you sobbed out. Michael's hands grazed down your body before reaching the soft nub of your clit once again, rubbing slow circles as he continued to thrust up into you, desperate, filthy noises coming from your plush lips. He lifted his head off your shoulder and placed his hands onto your waist.
His hands gripped the skin of your waist softly as he threw his head back slightly, his eyes squeezed as pure bliss reached his core. You felt your own orgasm flourishing as Michael mercilessly thrusted into you, your face flush and your eyes watering.
Soft moans escaped your lips as your thighs began to shake, your body felt like it was on fire. Michael's thrusts started to stutter, losing their sense of rhythm, your voice was shaky as you mumbled, "Mm- Michael, 'm gonna cum."
Your eyes shut and you bit your lip as the wave of your orgasm crashed down onto you, the coil in your stomach snapping as whimpers and moans of his name left your mouth. His eyes met yours as he continued thrusting, pulling your legs up onto his shoulders and gripping your thighs in an attempt to get deeper.
"Shit—ah," he swore, whining out. Suddenly he pulled out of you, his dick resting on your pelvis as milky white ropes of cum landed on the soft skin of your stomach, his hands gripping your thighs harder before carefully massaging them. Michael sucked in deeply as he delicately released your legs, letting them hang off the bed.
Michael walked to the bathroom returning with a warm damp towel in hand, softly he cleaned you off without saying a word, while doing so placing tender kisses on your stomach, waist and thighs. The actions took you by surprise, but you should've expected actions as gentle as these to come from the man.
When he was done, he picked your clothes up setting them onto the floor in the bathroom, muttering to you how he'd make sure to get them washed and that you could sleep in something of his tonight.
"Unless, you're not planning on sleeping here…" you could see the expression on his face drop almost immediately at the thought of you abandoning him. Even though he was older and less strict about his sex life, he wasn't much of a one-night-stand-er. He wanted to establish a relationship of sorts with you. His face caused a giggle to erupt out of you as you were now under the comforter you were once laying on.
"Of course I'll stay Michael," his face immediately lit up as he continued to grab you something of his to wear. He landed on a worn-down The Peanuts graphic t-shirt and a pair of his boxers, he handed them to you before sitting on the end of the bed. You slipped the clothing on then peeled back the blanket, patting the spot next to you, urging him to come lay with you.
He complied, crawling under the blanket with you. You weren't really sure what to say exactly, you'd never done this before, and you'd definitely never slept with the most famous man in the entire world. So you asked him, "What do we do now—as in, what are we, what is… our relationship towards each other? A one night stand, or more?"
Your questions rose a defeated sigh out of Michael, leaving him nearly speechless. He wanted something like a relationship with you, but he had kids, he was in his forties, and you were nowhere near his age.
"I don't know, where this leads us. I do know, however, that I want you around," he rested his hand on your head, as the two of you sat up in the bed. Your eyes met his, a smile growing on your faces, he put his hand back down into his lap before speaking again. "You're a beautiful woman, I'd be worse than a fool to pass up someone as breathtaking as as you."
dangerous era! michael jackson x wife! female reader
summary. 1995, you and michael do a joint interview on primetime with diane sawyer—it’s going great, until it isn’t.
warning. uncomfortable & invasive questions.
content. angst, fluff, romance, comedy, slightly suggestive (no explicit nsfw) you and michael have been married for quite some time now—first interview together! you and michael are so in love...makes me feel single too. 😅😂
taglist. @angelxcs
———————
1995.
The studio lights had not yet reached their full brightness, but already the room hummed with quiet preparation.
Cameramen adjusted focus, assistants whispered into headsets, someone counted cables while another carefully dabbed powder onto Diane Sawyer’s face under the glaring lamps at the makeup station.
It was all routine—professional, organized, almost mechanical.
Yet, sitting together on the cream-colored loveseat just a few feet away, you and Michael somehow managed to dismantle every ounce of professionalism the crew tried so hard to maintain.
Michael looked impossibly handsome in a deep red silk button-up tucked neatly into tailored black slacks, the sleeves rolled just enough to reveal his wrists, his wedding band catching every stray beam of light whenever he gestured.
His shorter, layered wolf cut framed his face softly, a few strands refusing to stay tucked behind his ears as they curled against his cheeks.
Beside him, your dress mirrored the same rich crimson, elegant without trying too hard, your own wedding ring glimmering whenever your fingers absentmindedly played with his.
Neither of you seemed aware—or perhaps neither of you cared—that every member of the crew could see exactly what was happening.
“You’re wearing my favorite color,” he murmured, pretending to straighten an invisible wrinkle near your shoulder only to brush his knuckles against your neck instead.
“Mm… that’s funny,” you answered with an amused smile, “because I seem to remember you saying every color becomes your favorite when I wear it.”
Michael clutched his chest dramatically. “Well, because it’s true, mama…”
You rolled your eyes, unable to stop smiling as he kissed the back of your hand, making several crew members exchange exhausted glances.
Someone behind one of the cameras groaned.
“They’re worse than teenagers,” another crew member whispered.
“I know,” someone answered. “It’s kinda adorable but like eugh…”
“They’ve been like this all morning.”
“I don’t think they’ve stopped touching each other even once.” One of them said whilst rolling his eyes.
“I’m married and I feel single…jeez..” One of the producers murmured out.
A production assistant called out from across the studio, signalling that there were only a few minutes left before cameras would begin rolling.
Michael was still smiling at something you had whispered moments earlier when you reached over without thinking, your fingertips finding the slightly crooked collar of his bright red button-up.
"Hold still," you murmured with a tiny shake of your head, smoothing the fabric flat against his neck with practiced familiarity. "Honestly… I don't know how you do it."
Michael blinked innocently. "Do what?"
"Wrinkle yourself," you replied, carefully straightening the other side of his collar before brushing away an imaginary speck of lint from his shoulder.
"Every single interview. Every award show. Every photograph. It's as though you wrestle your shirt five minutes before anyone turns a camera on." He laughed softly while watching you fuss over him, completely content to let you continue.
Your hands lingered just beneath his jaw as you admired your work with a satisfied nod. "There…" you whispered. "Much better." Your smile softened. "You look awfully handsome in this color."
Michael's eyebrows lifted immediately. "Just handsome?" he asked, feigning heartbreak as he placed a dramatic hand over his chest.
"Mm-hm." You bit back a grin. "Very handsome."
"Only very?" His eyes sparkled mischievously.
"I was hoping for devastatingly handsome... breathtaking... irresistible..."
You laughed under your breath. "Don't push your luck."
Michael leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Maybe I should wear red more often."
You tilted your head. "Oh?"
"Well..." His grin widened into one that immediately warned you he was about to say something outrageous. "...I was wearing red the day our son was conceived."
A collective chorus of horrified groans erupted across the studio.
"Oh, come on!"
"Michael!"
"I did not need to know that!"
One sound technician dramatically ripped his headphones off while another covered both ears with exaggerated panic. "Nope! Nope! That's enough!"
You gasped in mock scandal before bursting into helpless laughter, lightly smacking Michael's arm.
"You cannot say things like that before we're about to go live!"
Michael simply burst into delighted laughter, shoulders bouncing as he leaned into you, completely unashamed.
You covered your face for only a moment before laughing just as hard, unable to believe he had actually said it aloud.
"You are unbelievable," you whispered, shaking your head while trying—and failing—to look scandalized.
"What?" he asked with the sweetest expression imaginable. "It's true."
"Michael!" you laughed, giving his chest another playful shove. "There are people here."
"I know," he replied matter-of-factly.
He reached for your waist, drawing you closer without thinking, while you slipped your hands naturally around his forearms.
"You're lucky you're cute," you teased.
"No," he corrected softly, his smile melting into something much more tender as he looked into your eyes. "I'm lucky you're my wife."
Your expression softened instantly. "Well… that's a little better."
"Only a little?" he whispered to you, grinning.
"Mm…" you hummed teasingly. "Maybe."
Michael couldn't help but a quick kiss, gentle and brief, barely more than a lingering brush of his lips against yours before you smiled into it.
The entire crew erupted.
"Oh, come on!"
"They're doing it again!"
"Can someone separate these two until we're live?"
The floor manager pinched the bridge of his nose before finally clapping his hands together. "Alright, lovebirds! Places! We're rolling in thirty!"
Neither of you looked remotely embarrassed.
Michael merely squeezed your hand once before both of you settled into your chairs, your wedding bands catching the warm studio lights as your fingers reluctantly slipped apart.
The floor manager raised his hand. "Stand by... ten... nine... eight..." The studio gradually fell into silence, cameras gliding into position. "...seven... six... five..." Michael glanced sideways at you one last time, smiling so softly it almost made you laugh again.
"...four... three..." Diane Sawyer walked calmly onto the set with her notes in hand, greeting the crew before taking her seat opposite the two of you.
"...two..." She adjusted her microphone, smiled warmly toward the cameras, and folded her hands in her lap.
The red light blinked on.
Everything was live.
———————
Diane Sawyer welcomed viewers with practiced elegance before turning toward both of you with a warm smile, and immediately the atmosphere shifted into something calmer.
“So,” Diane began warmly, “Dangerous has become an incredible success. Michael… how are you feeling now that it’s finally out in the world?”
Michael smiled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck before glancing toward you as if drawing courage from your presence.
“Uh…” he chuckled softly. “It’s… it’s been wonderful. I worked very hard on it, y’know? And… I just hope people feel the love I put into it.”
He said as he instinctively reached for your hand, squeezing it. You smiled.
“And you’re finally getting some rest?” Diane asked.
“Oh…” Michael laughed, shaking his head. “No, not really.”
You giggled beside him.
“This man don’t know what rest is.”
Michael pointed toward you with an exaggerated expression of offense. “See? She’s already exposing me.”
“I am,” you nodded seriously before smiling. “He’ll say he’s taking a nap and then I’ll find him three hours later writing lyrics on the kitchen counter.”
“I get inspired!” he protested with a grin.
The entire studio laughed.
Diane smiled before turning toward you. “And how is motherhood treating you?”
Immediately your expression softened into something impossibly tender.
“Oh…” you breathed. “It’s exhausting.”
Michael burst into laughter before nodding enthusiastically. “Very exhausting.”
“But it’s the happiest I’ve ever been.” You said as you squeezed Michael’s hand.
“And your little boy?” Diane asked. “How’s he doing?”
You and Michael looked at each other.
The silence lasted barely a second before both of you dissolved into laughter.
“Oh gosh…” you said between giggles.
“He…” Michael laughed harder, covering his mouth. “He got his daddy’s lungs that’s for sure…”
You managed through your laughter. “That baby can sure cry loud.”
“So loud.” Michael echoed.
“For hours.”
You wiped at the corners of your eyes, still smiling. “There was one night…” you said. “He just wouldn’t stop crying.”
Michael nodded dramatically. “Nothin’ worked.”
He started checking things off on his fingers.
“We checked his diaper.”
“Fed him.”
“Rocked him.”
“Sang to him.”
He shook his head with a smile. “Nothing could make that boy stop crying.”
“So…” Michael shrugged innocently. “We did everything to make him stop and we found out that he will…if we started dancing.”
Diane blinked. “Dancing?”
You nodded with complete sincerity. “We put music on. And danced around the living room with him in Michael’s arms.”
Michael demonstrated a tiny shoulder movement that made you laugh all over again, making you think about the memory when he started moonwalking with your son in his arms.
“I’d hold him and move just like this—I don’t know why,” he admitted. “He just… stopped crying.”
“He stared at us like we were complete idiots.” You giggled out.
“And then he fell asleep.” Michael said with a shrug, laughing.
The room erupted into laughter again.
“I think,” you smiled warmly, “he was embarrassed enough by our dancing that he decided sleep was the better option.”
Michael leaned his forehead against your shoulder, laughing so hard he couldn’t answer.
For a while, everything stayed light. They asked about balancing family with touring, about sleepless nights, about favorite lullabies. Michael admitted he often hummed melodies that would later become songs. You confessed that he was far more emotional with your son than anyone expected.
“He cries more than the baby sometimes,” you teased.
“Really?” Diane prodded.
Michael laughed, nodding at your statement. “Oh yeah, it’s true. I just suddenly start crying…I just can’t believe how happy I am right now…”
He squeezed your hand in his, making you smile and your cheeks warm.
The conversation continued comfortably until it didn’t.
Diane folded her notes together. “There have been…a lot of rumors.”
Michael’s smile faded just slightly. “Mm.”
“Some people say you sleep in separate bedrooms.”
You blinked before looking toward Michael. “…What?”
Michael turned toward you with the same confused expression. “…No? We’re married…we sleep in the same bed…”
Diane continued.
“People also wonder whether you’re actually intimate as husband and wife.”
Neither of you could stop yourselves from laughing outright.
Michael leaned back in disbelief, rubbing his forehead. “Oh my goodness…”
You shook your head, trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing. “Uh…I don’t know how to answer that without…answering that.”
Diane remained composed.
“There are also people questioning whether your son is biologically Michael’s.”
Michael looked at you again, his eyes impossibly wide before a grin slowly spread across his face. “…Then I guess…” he shrugged dramatically, “…she would be Billie Jean.”
You covered your mouth, laughing so hard you nearly doubled over.
“Well, is she?” Diane asked seriously, making you two look around in disbelief at her seriousness.
“What? Of course not. If you saw our baby boy, you’d see he has my eyes and Michael’s smile.” You said softly with a grin, Michael nodded at that, equally smiling.
Even several crew members snorted behind the cameras.
Diane pressed forward anyway.
“There are rumors you’re already pregnant again.” “…I’m not,” you answered politely, shaking your head.
“And…” she continued, somehow even more seriously, “…there are people who still believe the two of you remain virgins.” Complete silence.
Then both of you looked at one another.
Michael’s eyebrows slowly climbed higher and higher until they practically disappeared beneath his bangs. “…We…have…” He pointed toward you, then toward himself “…a baby.”
You nodded, confused. “…A whole baby.”
Michael looked back toward Diane. “…He didn’t…uh…” He gestured vaguely toward the air. “…He didn’t just…appear like poof!”
You both burst into helpless laughter again, unable to process the absurdity, Michael hiding his face in his hands while you leaned against his shoulder.
Even members of the crew were visibly trying not to laugh, one cameraman lowering his head entirely.
The laughter disappeared almost instantly when Diane’s voice became noticeably sharper.
“There are also many people who believe you married Michael Jackson for his money…for his fame…and that this marriage is ultimately a carefully constructed publicity arrangement. Is there any truth to that?”
Everything became still.
You didn’t answer.
Michael felt your fingers tighten around his hand before he even noticed the tears collecting in your eyes.
His expression changed immediately.
“What kind of…” he started quietly before sitting forward. “…What kind of question is that?” His voice had lost every trace of politeness.
“This is my wife you’re talking to!” He raised his voice, glaring.
Diane calmly responded. “It’s what people are asking.”
“I don’t care what people are asking,” Michael snapped, the hurt and anger in his voice making it shake. “That’s—”
You squeezed his hand gently.
He stopped speaking immediately.
You took a slow breath, your eyes lowered into your lap before finally looking back toward Diane, tears already slipping down your cheeks despite your best effort to remain composed as the camera zoomed in on you.
“Um…” Your voice cracked almost immediately. “…It hurts.” You laughed softly through tears, embarrassed by your own crying.
“It…it really hurts hearing things like that because…” You wiped your face quickly. “…because they’re so…wrong.”
You glanced down at your wedding ring, turning it gently with your thumb. “I’m…I’m already a very insecure person.”
Another tear escaped despite your smile.
“I read things sometimes—I know I shouldn’t…but sometimes I do, and people say that I’m…not pretty enough for him…or not talented enough…or…or that he could’ve married anyone else in the world.”
Your breathing hitched.
“…And…sometimes those things…they get to me. They really do.” The studio had become so quiet as the crew felt horrible for you.
“But…” You smiled through your tears before turning toward Michael. “…Every single morning without fail…”
Your voice softened. “…every single day, before anyone else says anything…Michael tells me he loves me.”
Michael’s own eyes were already beginning to shine.
“He tells me I’m beautiful when I don’t believe it. He tells me he’s lucky…and…and he says it with this…” You laughed through another tear.
“…this absolute certainty that…that I start believing him instead of everyone else.”
Your fingers intertwined with his completely now. “Because…” You looked directly into his eyes. “…he knows me more than anybody else ever could.” Your voice trembled.
“…And if the person who knows me the most…the person who’s seen every part of me, even at the days where I’m at my worst…still looks at me like…” You smiled at him shakily.
“…like I’m the greatest thing that’s ever happened to him…” You shook your head softly.
“…then why should anyone else’s opinion matter?”
Your thumb stroked across his knuckles.
“…I’m…I’ve never been more certain of anything in my entire life…”
Another tear rolled down your face as your smile became impossibly gentle.
“…I am utterly…and completely…in love with him.”
You laughed, sniffling, you squeezed his hand tightly. “I love you.” You said directly to him, with such firmness.
“I love you too.” He whispered to you, making you cover your eyes and cry.
For several long seconds, neither of you spoke.
Michael simply stared back at you with an expression so heartbreakingly tender it looked almost too private for television.
His lips trembled into the smallest smile before he quietly reached into his shirt pocket, unfolding his familiar black sunglasses with slightly shaking hands and slipping them over his eyes, though they did little to hide the tears already streaming beneath the dark lenses.
He took your hand in both of his, bowed his head, then wrapped an arm protectively around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest with extraordinary care as though shielding you from every cruel word ever written or spoken.
When he finally looked toward Diane again, his voice was gentle but firm, carrying an unmistakable finality. "I… I think we're done now."
No anger remained in his tone anymore—only exhaustion and heartbreak. "Thank you… but… we're done."
Without waiting for another question, he stood while keeping you close against him, one hand resting protectively at your back.
.
.
.
Note: Just a little something before the next fic! 😆 I wrote this just now so my apologies if it’s quite janky. Much love to you all ❤️
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synopsis: you and history! michael finally have a date night after being full time parents. based on this request!
warnings: some cursing
notes: i get so worried i am so wordy sometimes like girl get to the point. enjoy though and thank you for 100 followers!!
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
“mommy i don’t want you to go. i wanna be in the house with you and we play in my room.” prince cried.
prince had latched himself onto you as he cried into your shoulder. you stroked your hands up and down his back trying to calm down your toddler. he had been in this position for about ten minutes as you attempted to leave the house. janet agreed to watch him and paris while you and michael had a night out together. it had been about six months since the two of you had alone time. your son was your little shadow, while paris was michael's. michael was currently upstairs consoling your daughter as she wept into her pillow. you and michael hated being apart from your babies, but being full time parents was causing a lot of stress for the both of you.
you pulled your son away from your embrace and wiped away the tears from his flushed face. janet came and squatted down next to the two of you.
“baby, daddy and i are just going to hangout for a few hours okay? when we come back i’ll come get you and you can sleep with us. i told auntie janet about all of our games and cartoons so she knows your favorites.” you say.
“yes prince mommy told me you have dvd’s of the simpsons. let’s go get paris and we’ll check out which to watch first. maybe when mommy and daddy leave we can make ice cream sundaes. what do you think?” janet says.
prince smiles and nods quickly. you give your son a large grin and give him multiple kisses across his face. janet picks him up and you give him another kiss before telling him you love him. the two of them disappear down the hall as they head to paris’ room to alleviate michael. after a few minutes he comes down the hall and you spot a wet spot on the front of his shirt. you giggled as you pointed to the matching one on your shoulder. michael chuckles and then presses a kiss to your forehead.
“these kids are just complete drama! no matter how many things i promised paris she would just cry harder. then here comes janet promising ice cream and then all is well.” michael says.
“you’re telling me! same thing just happened with prince, i can’t believe them. let’s make a run for it before they start up again.” you say.
michael took your hand, and the two of you hurried out to the waiting car before either of your toddlers could decide they wanted one last hug.
as soon as the doors shut behind you, the house faded into silence. for a moment, neither of you said anything. then you looked at each other and burst into laughter.
"i can't believe we almost got held hostage by two toddlers," you teased, shaking your head.
"they've definitely mastered the guilt trip. i was two seconds away from canceling.” michael chuckled.
"you and me both." you say.
the drive to the bowling alley was filled with easy conversation, the kind that had become rare lately. instead of talking about diapers, nap schedules, or cartoons, you found yourselves reminiscing about your first dates, singing along to the radio, and enjoying the simple fact that you had nowhere to be for the next few hours except with each other.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
“you know you throw that ball as hard as you can, your points are going to catch up to mine.” you said giggling.
michael stood at the beginning of the bowling lane staring at the several pins still standing that he attempted to knock down. you had scored three strikes in a row, michael had only scored one and a couple spares. michael was very competitive. which wasn’t surprising with him growing up with so many siblings. every time it was his turn to bowl he would change his method trying to get a strike. you couldn’t help but laugh at his frustration. he walked over with his head low but you could see him trying to hide his smirk.
“i can’t begin to comprehend how you just prance over there roll the ball and then immediate strike. you have to be cheating, tell me your secret baby.”he says sitting down next to you.
“well mr. jackson where would the fun be in that? i have to stay mysterious and kick your ass.” you say.
he flips you off and rolls his eyes as you stand to take another turn. you lined yourself up perfectly as you began to roll the ball. you let the ball glide out of your hand and a gasp left your mouth as the ball leaned towards the left and hit only one pin. michael clapped his hands letting out a loud laugh. you looked up at the screen seeing now that michael was in the lead. you had a second turn and this time you only hit three pins.
“so much for being mysterious huh?” michael asks, still laughing.
you walked over to your seat and sat with your arms crossed across your chest. michael scooted closer to you trying to kiss your cheek while you dodged each one.
“oh come on princess, it's okay to not always be number one. you can’t be as good as me and that’s okay.” he says with a cocky grin.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
the two of you stepped out of the bowling alley with matching smiles spread across your faces. your stomach still ached from laughing so much. between michael's ridiculous bowling techniques and the way he tried to convince you the lane itself was against him, you couldn't remember the last time you'd laughed that hard. it reminded you that before the late nights and busy days, the two of you had always been best friends first. michael had lost by twelve points and wouldn’t let you hear the end of it.
“baby you’ve gotta accept that i’m quite amazing at bowling.” you say.
michael groaned.
“i told you, it was getting hot in there and my hands were getting slippery. if it was only a few degrees colder i would’ve beat you fair and square.” he says.
you shook your head, trying to hide your smile. there was no point arguing with him when he got like this. michael hated losing almost as much as he loved pretending he wasn't bothered by it. the two of you continued walking through the arcade, the sound of flashing games and distant music filling the mostly quiet space around you.
the employees stayed nearby, occasionally checking on the machines. as you rounded the corner, the something caught michael's attention. a row of arcade basketball games sat against the wall. michael slowed his steps and then he stopped completely. you looked over at him and immediately recognized the grin slowly spreading across his face.
“okay absolutely not this won’t be fair! you know i’m not athletic this is a complete set up and easy win for you.” you whine.
michael grabbed your hand and pulled you over until you both were standing at your own machine. he dug into his pockets placing coins in each of the slots. as the balls slid down the lane michael grabbed the first one he could get his hands on. you sighed following michael’s lead grabbing the basketball. michael giggled and quickly stole a kiss from you as the numbers counted down.
“one round babe and when i beat you i’ll only rub it in just a tiny bit.” michael says while shooting the ball perfectly into the hoop.
you rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the smile that appeared on your face. michael was already fully invested. his competitive side coming out as he jumped between laughing at your missed shots and cheering whenever you managed to get a few in a row. every time the ball went into the hoop, he would give you an exaggerated look of surprise as if he couldn't believe you had actually made it. you couldn't help but laugh at how seriously he was taking an arcade basketball game. it wasn't even about winning anymore, he just loved seeing the two of you joking around like you used to.
“see? i told you this wasn't fair.” you said as another basketball bounced off the rim.
michael laughed as he grabbed another ball, shaking his head at your complaint.
“baby, you're doing great. you're just not doing better than me.” michael says.
“you're so annoying.” you say laughing.
he loved when he could get you to laugh, especially after the last few months of feeling like the two of you were constantly trying to keep up with everything around you. moments like this reminded him that underneath everything, the two of you were still the same couple who could turn anything into a competition.the timer eventually reached zero, the final score flashing across the screen. michael looked up at the numbers with a proud smile, raising his hands slightly in victory. you shook your head as you watched him celebrate a win that technically came from a machine designed for children.
“you're really proud of yourself right now, aren't you?” you asked.
“very.” he says quickly.
you laughed, walking over to him as he wrapped an arm around your waist.
“you know this doesn't count as a real win.” you say.
“a win is a win, baby.” he says, snaking his bottom lip in between his teeth.
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
the rest of the evening passed by in a blur of laughter and playful competition. the two of you challenged each other at every game you walked past, from racing cars to skee-ball, neither of you willing to admit defeat. michael celebrated every small victory like he had just won a championship. however, you made sure to remind him of every game you managed to beat him at.
by the time the two of you finally decided to move on, you weren't even sure who had won overall. you just knew you couldn't remember the last time you had laughed this much together. with your tickets collected and michael's hand locked with yours, the two of you made your way toward the prize counter. out of the corner of your eye you caught two large teddy bears.
“even though i’d love to use all of these tickets on us, look at those! the kids would love them mike!” you exclaim pointing to the bears.
“you’re right and this will be a perfect distraction from all of their tears earlier.” michael says, looking over at the stuffed animals with a smile.
“prince is gonna love this, and you already know paris is gonna want to carry hers everywhere.” you say.
the ticket counter employee turned around checking the tag to see how many tickets they would cost. the two of you had just enough to be able to purchase the two of them. you squealed in excitement as the employee handed over the stuffed animals to the both of you. you both thanked him and headed into the parking lot , ready to get home to your children. the drive home was filled with light teasing as you two reminisced on the night. even though you both missed your kids, having this time alone was something the two of you desperately needed. it reminded you that before you were parents, you were two people who loved spending time together, and that part of your relationship was just as important to take care of.
summary: you’ve had complicated feelings towards the biopic, but the first time you visit set and see your cousin in full costume as your dad, feeling like you’re seeing your dad again for the first time in years, it brings you to tears
themes: angst, hurt/comfort, family fluff
authors note: from this request. it's not connected to my michael's daughter au series, because in that series michael will be alive! hope you enjoy!
2024
los angeles
you remembered when the estate announced that it had cleared for a biopic about your father to be made. your feelings had been complicated from the very beginning.
you had never really liked that branca was the executor of your dad's estate instead of your brother, prince. sure, you understood the reasoning when you were younger. prince had still been a kid himself back then.
but now prince was twenty-seven years old. he was intelligent, levelheaded, and more than capable of taking over. and at twenty-four, after spending years researching your father's life beyond the memories you already carried with you, everything you learned had only solidified the feeling you'd had all those years ago.
branca should not be the head of the estate.
the announcement of a biopic only made you more suspicious. it wasn't because you didn't think your dad deserved one. if anything, he deserved one more than almost anyone.
it was because of everything that had come before.
you had seen the documentaries, the made-for-tv movies, the sensationalized portrayals that reduced your father to tabloid headlines instead of the man he actually was. they were disrespectful, cruel at times, and every time you thought about them for too long, you could still feel your blood begin to boil.
that lingering mistrust was part of why you had joined your sister's lawsuit against branca.
so when prince told you that he, along with your uncles jackie, tito, and marlon, and your aunt latoya, were all going to serve as executive producers on the film, your feelings only became more complicated.
with them involved, did that mean your father's story would finally be told with the love it had always deserved? or was it still just another project with the estate's fingerprints all over it?
you didn't know how much you could trust it.
but as more pieces slowly fell into place, some of the tension you'd been carrying in your chest began to loosen.
graham king had an incredible track record as a producer, and antoine fuqua had been one of your favorite directors for years, but what ultimately eased your mind the most was seeing your cousin, jaafar, announced as the lead, as your dad.
you loved jaafar with all your heart, and after growing up together at hayvenhurst following your father's death, you and jaafar had always shared a bond that was especially close. you knew the kind of man he was, you knew his heart.
there wasn't a single part of you that believed he would ever agree to portray your father in a way that was disrespectful, and his involvement made you believe that maybe, just maybe, your dad's story was finally being placed in the right hands.
so, with jaafar leading the film and your brother, three of your uncles, and your aunt serving as executive producers, prince had eventually managed to convince you to visit the set.
it wasn't as if you needed much convincing after a while, either. you'd been a huge fan of colman domingo and nia long for years, and you knew you probably would've visited eventually just for the chance to meet them. getting to know everyone had been wonderful. colman and nia captured your grandparents so beautifully that there were moments they genuinely reminded you of them, juliano was absolutely adorable, and the actors portraying the older versions of your uncles and aunt had all been incredible.
but none of it prepared you for seeing jaafar. he stood there in full hair, makeup, and costume as your dad, and the moment your eyes landed on him, the rest of the set seemed to disappear.
you hadn't been alive during the seventies or eighties, but you'd seen more pictures of your father than you could ever count. that had always been one of the strange blessings that came with him being the most famous man in the world.
people always talked about how, after losing someone, time slowly stole the details from your memory. they would forget the exact shape of their loved one's smile or the sound of their laugh until they could barely remember it at all.
you knew you would never have that problem.
there would always be photographs of your father. there would always be music that carried his voice, interviews that preserved the way he spoke, home videos that captured the warmth in his smile whenever it reached his eyes. no matter how much time passed, you would never forget what he looked like or sounded like.
it was one of the few small blessings hidden within a grief that never truly left you.
but seeing jaafar standing in front of you was something entirely different. it wasn't a photograph or a video playing on a screen. it was your cousin occupying the space your father once had. for a moment, it felt like you were seeing michael again.
your chest tightened so quickly it stole the air from your lungs, and before you even realized what was happening, tears blurred your vision. jaafar had been smiling the moment he noticed you, excited that you'd finally come to visit the set, but as he watched your face crumple and the sob you'd been desperately trying to swallow finally escaped, his smile disappeared just as quickly.
without a second thought, he ran to you.
prince and your uncles did too, immediately recognizing what had happened, but jaafar had already reached you by the time they caught up, wrapping his arms tightly around you as the dam finally broke and years of grief came pouring out.
“it’s okay, birdie, i got you,” jaafar whispered, running his fingers gently through your hair as you finally let yourself cry. his voice was soft and steady, grounding you as the emotions you'd been holding onto for so long poured out all at once. you could feel prince's hand rubbing slow circles against your back, and somewhere beside you, you heard your uncle jackie sniffle quietly, unable to hide his own emotions.
when your sobs finally began to settle, you slowly lifted your head from jaafar's chest. your face burned with embarrassment as you wiped at your eyes, noticing everyone giving you a little more space now that they knew you were beginning to calm down.
“i’m sorry, j, i didn’t mean to lose it like that, i just… i haven’t seen my dad in so long and… you look great,” you said, your voice still catching on the last few words. jaafar simply nodded, his expression impossibly gentle as his eyes softened with understanding.
“his spirit is here, i can definitely feel him at times,” he said, his quiet sincerity making your eyes sting all over again.
“really?” you asked, another sniffle escaping before you could stop it.
he nodded. “i don’t know how to explain it, there’s just times where it feels like, he’s really here.”
you nodded as you wiped away another tear. somehow, hearing him say that brought you comfort instead of sadness. jaafar wasn't trying to be your father, nor was he pretending he could ever replace him. he was simply sharing the connection he'd developed while dedicating himself to telling your dad's story with as much love and respect as he possibly could.
“i haven’t been avoiding this or you, it’s just… complicated,” you admitted. jaafar nodded without hesitation; he always understood how complicated this was for you.
“i know, don’t worry. i’m glad you’re here. you wanna stay for the day?” you glanced over at prince, who smiled back at you with the same reassuring expression he'd always given whenever he wanted you to know that there wasn't a wrong decision to make. it was the smile that reminded you to do whatever felt right, whatever you were ready for.
when you looked back at jaafar, you smiled and nodded. “i’d love to stay and see you in action.”
a grin spread across his face before he wrapped you in another hug, pressing a kiss against the top of your head. you closed your eyes for a brief moment, taking a long, steady breath as you felt your heartbeat finally begin to settle.
as the day went on, you found yourself watching everything with a different perspective. you realized this movie was going to be good and more importantly, it was going to give your dad the portrayal he deserved.
the estate may have approved it, and your feelings surrounding that would probably never disappear entirely, but as you watched the people around you work, you realized that what mattered most wasn't who had greenlit the project. what mattered was that everyone standing on that set genuinely loved your father.
between setups, you overheard crew members talking about their favorite michael songs and laughing over memories of iconic award show performances. they weren't discussing him as a celebrity whose name sold tickets. they spoke about him with admiration, as though they had all grown up with pieces of him woven into their own lives.
nia and colman spent time talking with you about their favorite memories of watching your dad throughout the years, smiling as they reminisced about seeing him become the global phenomenon he eventually was. you couldn't help but laugh when nia admitted that she used to start every morning by listening to p.y.t.
“that’s still one of my favorites,” you told her with a smile, making her laugh.
even antoine fuqua and graham king spoke about your father with an incredible amount of respect. everyone did. from the lead actors to the extras waiting patiently between takes, there wasn't a single person who treated the project like just another job. every conversation you overheard, every interaction you witnessed, made it clear that the people there understood the responsibility they had been entrusted with.
by the time you left the set that evening, you could feel just how special the atmosphere had been.
your complicated feelings hadn't disappeared completely, and you weren't sure they ever would, but they had quieted enough for hope to finally settle where uncertainty had lived for so long.
for the first time since the biopic had been announced, you found yourself genuinely excited to see how it would all turn out.
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( ˶°ㅁ°) !! 0.4k, suggestive/nsfw fluff ) husband!michael jackson x fem wife!reader: you're head over heels with michael's new figure <3
you can't help but love how thick michael's gotten. how, when he stretches and his shirt rides up, you can see the smooth expanse of his lower belly, just begging to be rubbed and kissed on. how his thick thighs look when he's seated (and how his already-big hands look resting against them). how the bed dips slightly when he climbs into it, unused to the increased weight. how his strong arms feel whenever they're wrapped around you, firm, grounding, certain— oh, what a man your man has become! thicker than a snicker and tastier than one, too!
"mmm," he hums gently, his thumbs running along the arches of your feet as you rest in bed, watching a movie. michael lets one hand slide up, feeling over the skin of your shin before he crawls closer, pressing his body against your side. as he cuddles you, you become overly aware of the heat of his stomach against your own, his thickness jostling against your frame through thin night-time layers. another content hum slips from his lips, and then he settles, resting one hand along your thigh before closing his eyes.
it's an innocent moment. a familiar one, even, a bout of romantic domesticity. the innocence does nothing, however, to ward off the carnal desires that begin to consume you; what you wouldn't give to have him pounding into you, tonight...
"what's on your mind?" your husband asks sweetly, "your heart's racing. is it me?" a childish smile dances along his lips as his eyes slowly open to search your face.
"it's always you," you reply, though you don't expand any further than that, keeping your gaze on the screen.
rmichael presses a kiss to your shoulder regardless, smiling against your skin. "you're such a nasty woman," he remarks quietly, "i can see it in your eyes."
"you can't see anything, michael."
"baby, i can see everything," he pauses, then adds, smirking, "i can see that you're a pervert, at least."
"don't call me that," you huff, shaking your head.
"don't be mad, honey. i like you this way." michael lets his voice slide lower, the hand along your thigh gliding upwards as he shifts to properly lay beside you. "open your heart to me, baby," he whispers, parting your legs with a firm grip so that his hand can easily reach you. his stomach and chest are a wall against your side, well-built and unmovable. "let me give it to you."
you might still be annoyed, mildly, with his calling you a pervert... but when your husband's mashed against you like that, with his meaty thighs against your own and his long, graceful fingers tracing the heat between your thighs? you're more than happy to let him give it to you all night long.
looking for more?
community needs more dad bod michael content; i'm willing to do my part, i need other fic authors to do the same. need to feel his belly against my ass/back when he hits from behind, need to rest my head against his meaty thighs when i'm done sucking him off </3 sighhhh i need papa. like just imagine telling big daddy mike "relax baby you don't have to do any work tonight" and bouncing on it while he watches, letting your hands roam his stomach and chest as you bring yourself closer & closer, and michael's biting his lip as he watches you come undone. genuinely let me tell you how i got this ring...
synopsis ! michael tries to draw you but you can’t stop moving.
jai speaks ! I keep changing my layout and posts so much but now i'm finally obsessed with my own theme 🤭 something short and simple today but i hope you like it.
contains ! nothing but fluff, reader has coily hair (mentioned), no use of y/n, use of nicknames (baby & bubba), they're so in love with each other, gets maybe the tiniest bit of mikey’s low self esteem but reader quickly cuts that out
lowercase intended + navi
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀˙ "baby, stay still f'me!" michael laughed, putting the pencil and sketchbook down. you couldn't help but laugh as well, rasing your hands to cover your face.
"i can't! i feel too shy." you pout your lips, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the task your boyfriend determinedly wanted to complete. it wasn't him making you uncomfortable, but the thought of him looking at you so intensely to get every detail right that did.
he tsked. "it's just me, baby." michael gently reminded, slouching down to meet your gaze. "there ain't nothing to be shy or embarrassed about."
the contactless gesture made you feel way too hot, butterflies fluttering around crazily in your stomach, and heat creeping up your neck to your face. he always made it impossibly hard to keep your composure neutral.
"that's the problem, bubba, you're too focused on me and no one else."
your boyfriend smiled. "i'm always too focused on you, this time i get to use it for greater use." he teased before fixing his posture, taking your hands within his and fixing your form.
"now please, baby, stay still. i'm almost done anyways, promise." he truthfully tells you, his big bambi eyes pleading you to let him finish. and you can't help but cave as always.
"just... hurry, bubba, my heart's ready to beat outta my chest." you admit in a shy murmur.
as if michael's love for you couldn't grow impossibly more, you just had to let those pretty words fall out of your mouth. your transparency over the way he makes you feel was a constant topic that made everyone (including michael himself) tease you for.
but you couldn't help it, the love bug bit you hard. the feeling was very mutual, michael just had a way of keeping the obvious at bay around his ruthless siblings.
hastily his sketchbook and pencil were back in his hands, he took a nice long look at you before focusing on making the definition of your coils evident on the paper. your heart was in fact beating rapidly against your ribcage, while your face grew way too warm. it was entirely too easy to fall apart around him.
"you're giving me that look again." you had finally broke the silence between you two, much to his dismay as you moved along your words.
he groaned lightly. "baby, you gotta quit movin'." he reminded you for the... who's counting at this point. he was onto the final touches, the ones were he focused on the faint wrinkle on your forehead, the little blemish scars that were too stubborn to disappear, to the shadowing above your lip were your cupids bow dipped. "what look 're you even talkin' about?"
you pause, noticeably, before you erupt in giggles. "like, i dunno. like i'm some enchanting being and it gets me all nervous and fidgety." you say, playing with your finger much too embarrassed to look at him. "can't we be done already, my butt's starting to hurt from sitting on this chair too."
you both laugh before michael ultimately decides to wrap up his artistry. “alright, we can finish, but don’t go getting upset that i ‘didn’t get this or didn’t get that’! my model kept movin’.” he warned.
“just show me the darn thing, bubba, i’m impatient.” you urge him on, excitement replacing your once completely abashed emotion.
reluctantly he handed over the pad, taking in your expression with hopeful eyes. it was beautiful to say the least, michael had somehow managed to capture the biggest of details down to the smallest. the coils of your hair, obviously not all there but the illusion that they were evident, the dip of your nose bridge, the plump of your cheeks, the attention to detail of your eyebrows, it was all perfectly laid out on a pad of paper.
“michael, i don’t think singin’ is the only thing you should be known for, this is amazing, baby.” you complimented, unable to take your eyes off.. yourself.
michael brushed off your praise. “it’s good, but it’s not perfect like that.”
you furrow your eyebrows. “and what’s ‘like that’? don’t doubt yourself, baby. you’re like the most talented man out there.” you strictly stated, having no room for his self doubts. carefully but determinedly reminding himself that he’s much more than he himself thinks he is.
michael looks at you for a moment before pressing his lips onto yours, the gesture short but you could feel the warmth in it. “you’re too good to me.” he hums into your warmth.
“it’s cause i love you, way too much for you to think otherwise.” you whisper, closing the small gap between you two.
jai’s final word ! possibly have a 18+ jaafar in the works 🫣🫣
Just a cute lil fic of michael and reader who basically share the same mind (what people call “childdish”) and them hanging out at neverland
forever in neverland
summary: An enchanting night in Neverland shared by two free-spirited, loving souls.
note: this was so refreshing to write! my writing style is angst and heartbreak writing so to write this super fluffy cute one shot was new to me, I hope I did okay xx
꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂
They called it "childish."
To the rest of the world, a spontaneous game of chase, a silly kitchen prank, or running around an empty amusement park at midnight were things you were supposed to outgrow. But to you and Michael, the entire world was a playground. You shared the exact same whimsical, joyful mind, and there was no place on earth that celebrated that bond quite like Neverland.
༻✦༺
It was a warm, golden afternoon, and you were standing at the very edge of the sparkling swimming pool, dipping your toes in the cool water.
You didn't hear him sneaking up. Michael was like a cat when he wanted to be.
Before you could even register the soft rustle of grass behind you, two hands gently but firmly pressed into the center of your back. With a startled shriek, you pitched forward, hitting the water with a massive, spectacular splash.
You broke the surface, wiping the wet hair from your eyes, to see Michael standing on the edge, doubled over. His hand was clamped over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he let out his high-pitched, breathless giggle.
"Michael Joseph Jackson!" you gasped, splashing a wave of water right at his shins. "You are so dead!"
"I'm sorry! I couldn't help it, you were just standing there!" he squealed, dancing back from your splashes. But the moment he saw you shivering slightly, his mischievous face melted into instant, tender concern. "Oh, you're cold. Come here, come on."
He rushed to grab a massive, plush Neverland beach towel. As you climbed out of the steps, dripping wet, he wrapped it snugly around your shoulders, pulling you into a warm, burrito-like hug. He gently used the corner of the towel to rub your hair dry, his eyes soft and incredibly sweet as he looked down at you.
"Let's get you warmed up," he murmured.
He led you inside and personally picked out one of his favorite, oversized red flannel shirts and a pair of soft sweatpants for you to change into. When you stepped out, swallowing the giant sleeves of his shirt, he smiled warmly and kissed the top of your damp head. "There. Much better."
༻✦༺
An hour later, you were in the kitchen, and your plotting mind was hard at work. You were supposed to be making a simple, comforting tomato soup, but as you stirred the pot, you spotted the spice cabinet. A brilliant, wicked idea struck.
You grabbed a jar of ultra-hot cayenne pepper and dumped a ridiculously generous amount into a small separate bowl of soup.
"Michael!" you called out innocently. "Can you come taste this? I think it needs something."
Michael strolled into the kitchen, completely unsuspecting. "Sure, let's see."
You scooped up a spoonful of the heavily spiked soup and blew on it gently before offering it to him. He happily took the bite.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, Michael’s dark eyes went wide. The color drained from his face, only to be replaced by a bright, blossoming pink that started at his neck and rushed up to his ears. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his chest heaving as his body screamed for water.
Yet, looking at you, he forced a strained, heroic smile. He cleared his throat, his voice cracking slightly.
"Mmm! It's... it's very... flavorful, sweetie," he squeaked, his eyes watering. "Really... it's got a good kick to it but you did a... a wonderful job."
You couldn't hold it in anymore. You burst into loud, ecstatic laughter, holding onto the kitchen counter for support. "Michael! Your face!"
Realizing he had been had, Michael’s heroic facade crumbled. He gasped, let out a dramatic whine, and practically flew across the kitchen to the refrigerator, grabbing a carton of milk and drinking straight from it.
"You tricked me!" he gasped, wiping his mouth, a huge, bright grin breaking across his face despite the burn. "Oh, that was mean! My tongue is on fire!"
"You pushed me in the pool!" you laughed, pointing a finger at him.
He shook his head, giggling as he walked back over to wrap his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. "You're bad. I have to keep my eye on you."
༻✦༺
"Let's get someone else," Michael decided, his eyes sparkling with a sudden, brilliant idea. "Let's prank call the front gate security house. But we have to make it believable."
You both scrambled into the living room, sitting cross-legged on the plush carpet right next to the landline phone. Michael decided to call Frank, one of his dry-witted, highly professional personal security guards who was notoriously hard to crack.
Michael dialed the number, put it on speaker, and immediately dropped his voice into a thick, deadpan, incredibly formal British accent—sounding like a highly demanding, aristocratic art appraiser.
"Yes, hello. This is Lord Alistair calling from the Royal Historical Society," Michael said, his face completely serious while his eyes danced with mischief. "I am calling to confirm the delivery details for the seventeenth-century, life-sized marble statue of a chicken. We understand Mr. Jackson requested it be placed directly in the centre of the helicopter pad. Is the landing zone clear?"
On the other end, there was a long, incredibly dry silence. You had to bite your lip so hard it hurt to keep from laughing.
"Sir," Frank’s voice came through, sounding completely exhausted but trying to remain professional. "Mr. Jackson has not informed us of any... marble chicken statues arriving tonight."
"Well, this is an absolute outrage!" Michael sniffed, pitching his voice up with dramatic, offended grandeur. "He paid four million pounds for it! It requires twenty-four-hour temperature control and must be serenaded by a classical harpist upon arrival! Are you telling me you have not hired the harpist, Frank?"
Hearing Michael call Frank by his actual name in that ridiculous, posh accent was your breaking point. You let out a loud, snorting gasp.
On the line, Frank sighed. "Mr. Jackson, please tell your accomplice that her laugh is on speaker."
Michael completely lost it. The aristocratic facade shattered as he buried his face in your lap, his shoulders shaking violently as his signature, breathless giggles spilled out. You quickly grabbed the phone.
"The harpist is on her way, Frank! Prepare the landing pad!" you laughed, slamming the receiver down.
The two of you collapsed onto the floor, rolling around and laughing so hard your stomachs ached, completely breathless in your own little world.
༻✦༺
As the night deepened, the bright, colorful lights of the Neverland amusement park flickered to life just for the two of you.
Hand-in-hand, with your fingers tightly laced together, you strolled through the empty park. The air was cool, but you were warm, pressed close to Michael's side. You shared a giant bag of warm, buttery popcorn, feeding each other as you walked past the glowing game booths.
When you reached the carousel, the beautiful, ornate horses were glowing in a warm halo of gold and white lights, slowly turning to a soft, dreamy instrumental melody.
"Come on," Michael whispered, his eyes shining as he led you up onto the platform.
Instead of choosing separate horses, he guided you toward a grand, majestic black stallion near the outer edge. He hopped onto the stirrup first, settling onto the saddle, and then reached his hand down to you. With a gentle pull, he hoisted you up in front of him.
You sat sideways, nestled securely between his arms. Michael's chest was pressed against your back, his chin resting softly on your shoulder as his hands held onto the golden pole in front of you both.
The gentle, rocking rise and fall of the wooden horse. The soft, comforting hum of the gears and the quiet swell of the music. His heart beating a steady, reassuring rhythm against your back.
As the carousel slowly spun, the empty park and the towering trees became a beautiful, swirling blur of light. Michael shifted closer, wrapping one arm tightly around your waist to hold you steady while his other hand gently brushed a stray lock of hair away from your face.
"Do you ever feel like we’re the only two people who actually know how to live?" he asked softly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"Every single day," you whispered, resting your hand over his arm. "People spend so much time trying to be serious, they forget how to just... be."
Michael squeezed you a little tighter, kissing your cheek. "I’m glad I found you. I’d be so lonely in my little world if you weren't in it."
༻✦༺
Eventually, the carousel slowed to a gentle stop, and you wandered away from the glowing lights toward his favorite place: the massive, ancient oak tree.
With practiced ease, you both scrambled up the sturdy branches to your favorite high perch, nestled safely within the leafy canopy. Michael settled back against the trunk, pulling you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, keeping you safe and warm. Above you, a brilliant, velvet sky dusted with a million diamond stars.
Michael rested his chin gently on your shoulder, his breath warm against your cheek. He looked out at the peaceful horizon, a soft, incredibly tender sigh escaping him.
"I wish we could stay here forever," he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet, childlike wonder. "Just like this. Just you and me."
You turned your head slightly, looking at him. In the soft starlight, his eyes were incredibly deep, filled with so much love and sincerity that it made your heart ache in the best way possible.
"Look," Michael murmured softly, pointing a finger up through the leaves. The very first shooting star of the night streaked across the dark sky, leaving a glittering trail behind. "Make a wish."
You closed your eyes for a brief second, but when you opened them and looked up at his beautiful, smiling face, you knew you didn't have to search for a wish anymore.
"I already have everything I could wish for" you whispered.
Michael’s smile softened into something breathtakingly sweet. Slowly, gently, he leaned down, and his lips met yours in a soft, tender kiss that tasted faintly of sweet popcorn and felt like a quiet promise to never grow up.
pre-invincible era! michael jackson x shy wife! female reader
summary. 1999. you and michael have been married for over 7 years now, yet you—him, as well, still get butterflies around each other like you were still those two young lovesick people who fell in love all the way back in the 80s.
tags. romance, fluff, suggestive (no explicit nsfw). michael is 41, you are somewhere in your mid 30s. toddler prince & baby paris being the most mischievous and cutest kids! established relationship since mid-late 80s, married in 1992. michael loves teasing you.
———————
Seven long and beautiful years.
Married since 1992.
Nearly 2 decades together if anyone counted from the first time the two impossibly shy, young adults met in the eighties. Back then, people used to laugh because conversations between the two of you would take an eternity of awkward silences, sheepish smiles, and a bunch of flustered glancing at each other.
Neither of you wanted to speak first, neither of you wanted to make the other uncomfortable—or even redder than you both were already are.
Dates consisted of long walks where whenever your shoulders, and your hands brushed together...a sudden jolt made you both shiver and make your cheeks warm. And entire evenings were spent together, making deep talks about everything under the sun—yet when your eyes met, you both would go into a lull of silence, smiles on your bashful faces.
Michael had once been every bit as timid as you, maybe even worse.
But time had changed him. Fatherhood had changed him—and God, did he look magnificent with the glow it brought. It was like he was destined to be a father.
He'd became even gentler somehow. Calmer, certain. He walked with purpose, and confidence now, willing to do anything and lay down everything for his family, his world.
He became more self-assured.
He no longer questioned whether or not he deserved happiness.
Because every morning, happiness slept beside him.
Although for you, somehow, seven years of marriage hadn't changed one very important thing about you.
You were still impossibly, incredibly, and adorably shy.
The nervous smiles, the way you would tuck your face into Michael's shoulder whenever too people would look at you, and the way you would immediately pull away and look off into another direction when it was Michael that stared at you.
You never really grew out of that, not really. And Michael just thought it was the cutest thing ever.
———————
"Mrs. Jackson?" The interior designer called out as they walked into the living room.
"What color were you thinking for Ms. Paris and Mr. Prince's playroom?" They asked with a polite smile.
You looked up from where you sat next to Michael on the couch. Suddenly, every worker in the room looked at you. The decorators, contractors, assistants. Your cheeks immediately warmed.
You instinctively tried to hide your face into Michael's shoulder but he evaded you and sat up straight. You looked at him with a slightly horrified expression.
Michael smiled without even looking away from the papers in his lap. "Baby?" His voice was gentle. "What were you telling me this morning?"
You stared at him, eyes wide. "The..."
You swallowed. "The pale...yellow..."
"A little louder." He said softly. You almost melted from him saying that, biting your lower lip. He glanced at you, raising his eyebrow. "They can't hear you, mama..." he smiled, amused.
It wasn't fair, he was making you flustered! He knew damn well what he was doing to you—the effect he still had on you after all these years.
"Pale...yellow..." You spoke up a little louder than a mouse.
"I can't hear you, baby." He leaned in closer, grinning handsomely.
You huffed, what a tease! "Michael..."
He bit the inside of his cheek, putting a hand to the small of your back, encouraging you. "You can do it, beautiful."
You just closed your eyes shut, not bearing to look at Michael's expression in that moment. You can already see the teasing smirk on his annoyingly hot face.
"Pale yellow! I'd like...pale yellow." You spoke up. Michael smiled proudly.
The workers all hummed, enthusiastic about your choice. "Perfect! Great idea, Mrs. Jackson." They all the dispersed to get back to working on the new playroom.
You then gently smacked Michael's arm, your lips pressed together. He dramatically held his arm. "Owww...."
"Don't you oww me...you knew they heard me..." You breathed out, embarrassed.
"I did." He admitted easily.
Your eyes went wide, you covered your face and sank into the couch. "You embarrassed me..."
Michael laughed. "I helped you, baby."
"Helped? Michael you—you—"
"I did what?" He leaned in closer to you, his face mere inches from yours. His gaze flickering down to your lips as he smiled slowly. Your mouth was slightly agape, you could practically explode right then and there. "Hm?" He hummed with that shit-eating, handsome grin.
This really wasn't fair!
You tucked your face into his shoulder, making him laugh brightly.
"I hate you..." You said, muffled.
He kissed the top of your head. "I love you too, honey."
You groaned at that, making him laugh even more.
———————
One evening, the house was unusually quiet.
Prince had finally fallen asleep after playing and operating through out the day in a different time frame. Paris was tucked beneath her favorite blanket, hugging her favorite stuffed toy. Only the sound of warm water drifted from upstairs.
Michael sat by the piano, trying again and again. Another melody, another unfinished song that he wasn't satisfied in. Nothing sounded right for his new album Invincible. Until...
"Da de-de-da
Da de-de-da, da de-de-da
Da de-de-da, da-da..."
His fingers froze on the ivory keys, he peeked his head up at the stairs and headed towards the sound quietly.
"Da de -de -da, da de -de-da
Da de-de-da de-de-da..."
You were humming. Like you always did.
You had always insisted to him that you weren't good at singing or that your voice wasn't good whenever he would ask you to sing for him throughout the years—but you were never really a good liar.
Whenever you were happy, at peace, and calm—you'd hum something that was composed with your heart. He noticed that the day you first met.
You hummed when he held hands with you, shyly looking away from each other on your first date.
You hummed when Michael laid his head on your lap, helping him doze off.
You hummed when you first cradled your babies: Prince & Paris in your arms, with the most radiant smile on your face.
His heart warmed. You were just so cute, so endearing.
He quietly reached inside of his pocket, producing his tiny handheld recorder he'd keep on his person always—you'll never know when inspiration channels back to you!
He then pressed record.
"Da de-de de-da, lda de-da-dum
Da de -de -de -da, da-dum, da-dum, da-dum..."
His smile was so wide, it hurt his cheeks. He could already imagine your face when you realize you were gonna be in his next song.
He can always apologize later.
———————
Over the next few weeks, he collected that familiar melody you always hummed.
Every take was perfect, but really at this point—he just collected your humming because he was kinda obsessed with hearing it all the time. He was obsessed with you in general, really.
Sometimes, he didn't even record. He'd just watch you.
You stood barefoot in the kitchen one morning whilst he washed the dishes. You yawned. You wore one of his shirts, hanging off your shoulder. You balanced Prince easily on your hip, bouncing him in one arm as you fed Paris in her high chair with your other hand.
You had baby food on your cheek. Some kind of marker or paint staining the sleeve of his shirt. You thought you looked awful, but so be it.
But Michael...lord, he could barely breathe. He bit his lip, his scrubbing slowing down.
God...you are so beautiful. No.
Beautiful didn't cut it.
You were...everything.
He watched the way you kissed Prince's forehead gently, brushing his blonde hair.
He watched the way you laughed when Paris accidentally spilled her milk, cleaning it up with a smile.
He watched the way you weren't hesitant at all when it came to your family.
His stomach fluttered. Like he was in his twenties again, seeing you for the first time.
Butterflies.
He stopped scrubbing the plate, biting his lower lip even more as he eyed you wipe the back of your neck with a tissue, sweat dripping down your neck.
His thoughts wandered somewhere very dangerous at that moment...dear God, was he ovulating??
He let out a quiet whistle when he saw you fan yourself by flapping the hem of his shirt, showing the slightest bit of your stomach.
He swear he could've just fell to his knees at that moment.
Thank you Lord. He prayed for times like this.
You just had no idea...absolutely no idea what you did to him.
Even looking like this. Especially, looking like this.
He wished that everyone else in the house could just go for a moment so that he could kiss you, touch you...taste you—
Suddenly, the plate slipped out of his hands, almost breaking and making a loud sound in the sink. You jumped as Prince and Paris continued playing, not caring about the loud sound at all since they were also making loud sounds.
"Michael? Are you okay?" You immediately asked, turning around with concern etched on your beautiful face.
Michael couldn't answer you, he just kept staring at you with a flush appearing on his high cheekbones. You figured out that he was also feeling hot from the heat.
"It's so hot today, let's just sit down and rest for a bit." You said softly with a small smile on your beautiful face.
He just kept staring at you—naturally making you nervous. "Is there...something on my face...??"
He smiled. "Yeah."
You hurriedly wiped your cheek, "Did I get it?"
"No." He muttered. You rubbed harder. "Did I get it now?"
He shook his head, you frowned. He then reached to your face, brushing his thumb against the upper part of your cheek. "There, baby..."
Your breath caught, you gulped, sweat dripping down your neck. "Thank you..."
"'so pretty.." He mumbled, pupils dilated as he then placed lingering kisses to your forehead, to your temples, to your cheek, down to your neck...
"Michael, the kids—" You said, your breath caught in your chest as your face was incredibly warm.
As if on cue, Prince suddenly spilled his cereal on the floor, making Michael dip his head dramatically and exhale. He then started cleaning up after Prince.
You watched him clean, the flush still warm at the back of your neck.
———————
After that very hot afternoon, he found himself writing on random papers that evening. Words spilled out of him effortlessly.
All you got to do is walk away and pass me by
Don't acknowledge my smile...
He smiled to himself, thinking about you.
When I try to say hello to you, yeah
And all you gotta do is not answer my call...
It was all about you. Every lyric somehow circled back to you.
When I'm tryna get through
Keep me wonderin' why when all I can do is sigh...
Every thought.
I just wanna touch you.
Every desire. Everything. All about you. He was crazy about you.
The woman who still gets awkward and adorable when he complimented her even after almost 2 decades together.
The woman who still hid behind him, tucking her face into his shoulder.
The woman who unknowingly riles him up, driving him absolutely insane.
He dropped his pen, burying his face into his hands, feeling flustered himself. God...this was too much. He smiled, laughing to himself. He could just die from happiness.
———————
Months later, he had finally finished making the song. He made sure to hide it from you as a surprise, but he just couldn't wait any longer. He wanted to see your reaction to it ASAP.
One late afternoon, the sunlight painted the Neverland gardens gold and orange.
Prince let out a laugh as he chased a squirrel around the lawn, Paris was sat next to the gardens, curiously watching the workers as they carefully planted the new flowers for the next season, and carefully trimming the hedges.
The fountains sparkled beneath the California sun, the wind growing colder. Michael watched his children for awhile, a smile on his face.
He then walked up next to you, taking your hand in his. You visibly became shy at that—making him grin.
"Come with me." He urged.
"What? Where?"
"It's a surprise, baby."
You thought for a moment, "I should stay with—"
He chuckled. "The workers are watching them. Just five minutes, please?"
He tugged you gently, you smiled, your heart warming at his request and went along with him. You had that cute curious look on your face, making his heart warm as well.
———————
He closed the door behind you, you both then sat in his personal studio in Neverland. He dimmed the lights, turned up the volume of the speakers, and pressed play. Soft strings floated all around your ears pleasantly.
Then...
Butterflies Michael whispered out in the start.
Da de-de-da
Da de-de-da, da de-de-da
Da de-de-da, da-da...
Your eyes widened at hearing a familiar hum. Not just any other hum. It was yours.
"Michael."
He just smiled, not answering you. Then his voice entered.
Smooth, gentle, longing, and sensual. It made your spine shiver delightfully. Then you started focusing on the lyrics at the chorus...
I just wanna touch and kiss
And I wish that I could be with you tonight (You give me)
'Cause you give me butterflies
Inside, inside and I
Your hands flew to your face in shock. As the lyrics unfolded, you slowly realized that every line, every word, every yearning confession, and every romantic desire...they were all pointed towards you.
"...Michael..." You breathed out, still covering your face.
He laughed, covering his grin with his fingers. "What?"
You refused to meet his gaze. "...It's about me."
"Mhm." He hummed lowly, tapping his foot along to the tempo. He grinned widely, biting his bottom lip. "Clever girl."
You felt yourself melt when he said that, you frantically fanned yourself with your hands.
"You—You...wrote these lyrics?"
He nodded casually, his eyes fixated on you, licking his lips.
"You...You think—wish—about kissing me this much??" You asked, an incredibly flustered expression on your face.
He shook his head with a serious look. "Nope. More."
Your eyes were impossibly big as you heard that he wanted to taste you! "Michael Joseph Jackson!" You yelped out.
"Okay, that one might be too dirty, I'll cut that one out...but y'know what I meant." He said with a breathy chuckle.
"I wish I didn't." You murmured, burying your lower face in the thick collar of your turtleneck.
"You liked it, didn't you?" He teased. You glanced at him and almost combusted.
"I did not say that!" You defended yourself weakly.
"You aren't denying it though..." He said in a sing-song manner, looking at you with that look in his face.
You stared at him. This was just so unfair!
You buried your face in your hands once more. "Oh my goodness..."
He then stood up from where he sat, leaning down at you and grabbing your chin gently, lifting your face until your eyes met. "So..." He whispered.
"Did the song work?"
"What...what do you mean?"
He patted your stomach affectionately, smiling at you with those pretty eyes of his. "You've got butterflies huh?"
You scoffed, looking away. "I do not..."
"You do." He leaned in even closer.
"I don't..." You murmured.
"You can't even look at me, mama..." He said gently in your ear, making you weak in the knees.
"Stop..." You could only protest weakly, not even trying to push or pull yourself away from him. You even had a dreamy smile on your face despite your words.
He grinned at that. "Nah." He stated simply.
"You're impossible, Mike..." You breathed out, chewing on your bottom lip as you looked at him.
"Yet you married me." He chuckled out. You rolled your eyes at that.
"I've been married to the shyest person in the universe for seven years..." He teased you, making you gasp and scoff playfully.
"Yet somehow...she still makes me shy too." He confessed, your eyes softened.
"You?"
"Yeah...everyday, baby. You drive me wild." He chuckled, a bashful smile on his face.
The confession had melted some of your embarrassment away. You then laughed, at least you weren't alone in your suffering. You reached to his face, brushing a loose dark strand away from his face.
"I love you, Michael." You said so tenderly, it made him almost weak in the knees too.
"I love you more." He breathed out, a bit desperate and so entranced by you.
He kissed you—slowly, passionately, lingering long enough for you both to smile into it. When you both pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours with a playful glint in his dark, bambi-like eyes.
“You know…” He started.
“Hm?”
“I wrote all those lyrics because every time I see you, I still end up wondering if I can steal a little more of your attention… another kiss… maybe convince you to spend the evening with me once the kids are asleep.” He said with half lidded eyes, biting his lip whilst looking at you.
Your cheeks immediately flared.
“Michael…”
“What?”
“You can’t just say things like that.”
“I just did.”
He chuckled as you lightly swatted his chest.
“You are so mean.”
“I’m teasing.”
“I know.”
“…Mostly.”
Your eyes widened again.
“Mostly?”
Before you could protest, he drew you into another kiss, and you laughed softly against his lips.
Just as his hands settled around your waist, and he started deepening a kiss, drawing a wonderful sound from you—
Outside, a loud crash and some shouts were heard.
You immediately pulled away from Michael and almost ripped the curtains. You and him gaped at what you saw.
“M—Mr. Jackson! Prince! Please…let go of the hose!” One of the workers pleaded as Prince just laughed mischievously and started spraying everyone in the vicinity.
Paris was in the garden beds, covered in dirt as she ripped out every new flower and replanted them back…root side up. She just smiled and cheered at her own accomplishment.
The workers were frantically and gently trying to stop the havoc of the two children, but failing miserably.
Michael sighed dramatically.
“Our children…”
“Our children!” You exclaimed out, already half way downstairs.
He blinked, he didn’t even know you were that fast as he watched you run out into the lawn, your skirt bundled up in one hand, chasing Prince around as he hosed down and waterboarded the newly planted grass.
Once you caught Prince into your arms, you went to Paris to stop her from making her own garden arrangement when suddenly—Prince broke free from your hold and ran around again.
When you looked away from Paris, she was gone in a second, following after her brother. Both of them laughing and squealing as they threw mud on the workers.
The workers just laughed light-heartedly as they let the two toddlers have their messy fun. You apologized profusely and didn’t hesitate to do so.
Michael watched you with a smile of pure adoration. You were really an amazing woman.
When it came to your family, you never hesitated to act and put aside your own nature.
He sighed dreamily, laughing a little as he watched you.
You then looked at the window upstairs.
“Michael!” You called out, the loudest he’s ever heard you call his name. He immediately sat up.
“Help me down here—Prince and Paris have somehow teamed up with the squirrel and is chasing the gardeners!”
The workers all yelled playfully as Prince, Paris, and the squirrel chased them. You couldn’t hold back your laughter either as you rushed over, trying—and failing—to hide your laughter as you scooped Paris into your arms and Prince running away.
He laughed brightly, immediately running downstairs to join in the chaos.
.
.
.
Note: That was the most suggestive thing I’ve ever written…😂😅 Hope you guys liked this one! Much love to you all ❤️
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It started casually. the house was quiet when michael stepped through the front door, the soft click of him closing the door filled the empty ambiance of your shared house in california. It was just past nine, the kind of late evening that came after long studio days. his curls were a little frizzed from the headphones, his shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, and the faint scent of tape and taste orange juice on his tongue still clung to him from the hours spent in the booth. he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, calling out into the stillness.
“baby? i’m home.”
no answer from the living room. the kitchen lights were off. he smiled to himself, already knowing where you probably were. you loved that big bathtub after a long day, the one with the claw feet and the little ledge where you kept your oils and the small radio which was spilling anita baker from it. he loosened his collar as he waltzed through halls, boots soft on the carpet.
the bathroom was clacked open, warm light and steam spilling into the hallway. the air smelled inviting, vanilla and your favorite cocoa butter soak filling his nose. he could hear the gentle lap of water whilst the low hum of your voice rang, low and soothing.
he knocked lightly, two taps. “you in there, minnie?”
your voice traveled back, a little sleep yet like velvet. “yes, mikey. come in.”
that gave michael the green light to push the door wider and step inside. the sight made something in him relax and made his chest and shoulders loosen up the way it always does when he comes home to you . you were sunk deep into the tub, brown skin glistening where the water met just right above your breast, curls pinned up and out your face, some stranded wet against your neck and forehead. you manicured nails rested against the edge of the tub, painted in a soft pink. your face was bare, shiny from the hot steam of the water.
you looked up at him and smiled, that easy, soft smile that pulled him from the beginning. “long day?”
he let out a breathy laugh and dragged the small vanity stool closer, sitting down so he was level with you but giving you your space. “long don’t even cover it. quincy had me in there till my throat felt like sandpaper.”
you tilted your head, watching him steadily, listening. “did you eat anything?”
he shrugs. “some crackers and orange juice in between takes, he kept saying ‘michael one more, give it your all’ i swear that man hears things in music no one can.” michael smiles, rubbing the back of his neck, tiredness taking over a bit and slightly dismissing the look of disapproval you gave him when he confessed he only ate juice and crackers. “we were working on that mid-tempo groove, the one with the strings. he had this idea to layer the background vocals like they were answering each other. i did the lead, then doubled it, then we tried it with a little breathy falsetto on the tag. he made me do it seven times before he was happy.”
you laugh softly, the sound of water sloshing as you moved. “seven time? that man is serious.”
“serious ain’t the word. but it felt good, you know? when it was finally right, the whole room just… breathed. after a little while i knew it was just right.”
you reached over, fingers finding the ones that were resting on his knee. “i’m so proud of you. you give everything your all and i know how much it takes.”
michael’s eyes softened. he looked at you for a long moment, really looked at the way the steam had made your skin glow, at the peaceful set of your shoulders, at the woman who had somehow become both his biggest cheerleader and his quiet place to land. “coming home to this… to you… it makes all the takes worth it. i was sitting in the booth between songs thinking about how lucky I am that I get to come back to somebody who knows the real me. not the lights, not the stage. just michael.”
now it was your turn to smile, some how after years of marriage, michael still managed to make you nervous. “we’ve built something real, haven’t we? even with the schedules and the noise outside. it feels steady. like we actually talk to each other instead of just existing in the same house.”
he nodded, leaning forward a little, elbows on his knees. “it does. I don’t take that for granted. some nights I come in so wound up from the studio, and you’re here… just being you. asking about quincy like you care about the music too. letting me ramble about ad-libs and basslines. that matters more than you know.”
felt warmth inside you, michael always says words that came from the heart it showed in his music as well. “i do care. because it’s part of you. and I married all of you, the man who stays up till three in the morning chasing a perfect vocal, and the one who still remembers to leave me love letters before he leaves.” your voice stayed light, casual, but the truth sat warm between you. “it’s not always easy with everything that comes with your name. but we make it work because we choose it every day. I choose you every day.”
michael reached out and gently took your hand, thumb brushing over your nails. “I choose you too. every single time. even when i’m held up at the studio, I know i’ve got you here waiting. not waiting like you’re stuck… waiting because you want to hear how it went. that’s the difference.”
“i’ll always want to know how your days went, it’s my favorite part of the day.” you smiled deeply when michael pressed a kiss on the dip of your knuckle, continuing his caresses on that same spot. the gesture never failed to make you blush.
the water had cooled a little, but neither of you moved to drain it yet. He stayed on the stool, talking with his hands the way he did when he got excited—describing how quincy had pulled out an old vinyl to show him a chord progression, how the two of them had ended up laughing over some silly studio mistake. you listened, asked questions about the strings, teased him gently when he admitted he’d drunk three cups of tea just to keep his voice going.
“you better be drinking real water too, michael,” you said, mock-stern but smiling. “I’m not trying to nurse you through another sore throat.”
he chuckled, that soft, high laugh that always made your chest feel full. “yes, ma’am. I already had two bottles on the way home. see? I listen.”
you let out a little chuckle, shaking your head a bit before relaxing into the water again.
you both fell into an easy silence for a minute, the only sounds the faint drip from the faucet and the occasional shift of water. It wasn’t heavy or dramatic—just the kind of quiet that came from knowing each other deeply. marriage wasn’t always fireworks; sometimes it was this. him still in his studio clothes, you in the tub after a long soak, talking about nothing and everything at once.
after a while he stood, stretched, and grabbed the big fluffy towel from the warmer. “you ready to get out, honey? water’s probably cold by now.”
you nodded, and he held the towel up like a curtain, turning his head politely even though you’d been married long enough that modesty wasn’t the point. It was just him being him—gentle, respectful, and yours. you stood, water cascading off your deep brown skin, and he wrapped the towel around you without making it anything more than care. his hands rubbed slow circles over your shoulders through the fabric, warming you up.
“dinner?” he asked, voice low and content. “we can just order from that spot you like and eat in bed. y’want me to rub your feet? i could use that oil you like.” you hummed, letting your eyes close as his ideas sounded good in your head.
“bed sound good, rubbing my feet sounds even better.”
michael grinned, pleased at your response. he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your silk-wrapped head. “then that’s what we’ll do. I missed this today. missed you.”
you turned in his arms just enough to look up at him, water still clinging to your lashes. “I missed you too. But you’re home now. And that’s all that matters.”
He grinned, that full, bright michael jackson smile that still made your stomach flutter after everything. “yeah,” he said, voice warm and sure. “it really is.”
he helped you into your robe, carried your glass downstairs, and the two of you moved through the rest of the evening the way you always did—side by side, talking, laughing, choosing each other in the quiet spaces between the music and the world outside. just a husband and his wife, building a life one ordinary, beautiful night at a time.
Synopsis: You join your fiancee at an event and realize he isn't feeling well.
Additional tags: fluff, comfort, Michael has a migraine and you take care of him, Michael being bad at not pushing himself
Author's note: I was imaging this with Dangeous Michael but easily could be any other era.
Taglist: @angelpuppyf4ce, @a-motherfcking-fish
Sighing impatiently, you stared out the tinted windows of the car, frowning at the traffic that was slowly inching forward before looking at your watch again.
You were meant to join your fiancee, Michael Jackson, at a charity event. Originally you were going to meet up with him so you two could go into the event together but LA traffic had different plans.
Resting your chin on your hand you sighed, smoothing out your clothes.
You just hoped you wouldn’t be too late, not keen on having a late entrance.
Eventually the traffic started to clear up, your driver quickly getting you to the event. You were only 5 minutes late.
It was in a hotel and thankfully the outside wasn’t as crowded as it would have been if you got there earlier since most everyone was in the venue by this point.
You quickly entered, walking through the long hallways before you found the door to the event venue, the sound of voices muffled by the door. Gently opening the door, you walked in, your eyes searching for Michael.
There was a stage in the back, the room filled with multiple round tables with chairs around them. By this point everyone was in their chairs, chatting as the speeches hadn’t started yet.
Soon you found Michael. He was sitting at one of the tables closer to the stage but still off to the side, a little hidden. Surprisingly there was no one else at the table. You smiled, walking over.
However the moment you saw him you could tell he wasn’t feeling well.
It wouldn’t be obvious to anyone else, especially since his stylist had already worked their hand on him. He was wearing a red suit jacked with a black button up underneath and black dress pants along with his famous black loafers. His hair was styled neatly, framing his face and he was wearing his sunglasses.
But you could see the tenseness in his shoulders, the thin line of his lip and he was staring down at his lap, his hands clenched together.
Frowning, you went and sat beside him. “Hey I’m sorry I’m late, traffic was a nightmare.”
You could see his hands clench together at your voice, biting his lip. “It’s alright, hasn’t started yet.” His voice was strained and he didn’t look up at all.
Studying him, you started to have an idea of what was going on.
One of the main things Michael had to deal with ever since his commercial with Pepsi was migraines.
They varied in intensity. Some days he could just take a painkiller and chill for a couple hours then be okay but other days he wouldn’t be able to leave the bed, the room pitch black. Sometimes they got so bad he would throw up because of them.
It hurt to see him suffering so much and you always tried your best to help when one came up, getting him water and ice packs or holding back his hair if he got sick.
He was managing it with his doctors but they never seemed to fully go away.
It had been awhile since he had one, this being the first one in a few months.
Taking his hand in yours, you rubbed the back of his knuckles with your thumb gently.
“Are you okay?” You asked softly.
He opened his mouth, looking like he was gearing up to say he was fine before he sighed, biting his lip in thought.
This was one thing Michael was working on, being better at admitting when he wasn’t okay.
He was the type to insist he was okay, to push through and hide when he wasn’t feeling well.
You knew it wasn’t entirely his fault. It came from being in an industry that didn’t accept weakness, that fed on it. An industry that gave no breaks along with a man who was a workaholic and struggled to give himself a break. He was used to pushing through pain and exhaustion.
You were helping him learn it’s okay to take a break and admit when you aren’t doing well.
It also had caused a strain in your relationship a few times, when you could tell he wasn’t doing well but he wouldn’t admit it or accept help.
However he’s been getting a lot better at being honest. At least with you.
Finally he shook his head. “Migraine.” He said softly then shrugged.
It wasn’t a dismissive shrug but more of a ‘I can’t do anything about it right now’ shrug.
You made a noise of sympathy, still stroking his hand.
“Did you take your pain meds?” You asked, still keeping your tone soft.
“Yeah, this morning.” He sighed. “I woke up with the migraine so they’re wearing off by now and I can’t take another one for an hour.”
You sighed, biting your lip as you looked around the room. You knew being here wasn’t going to help his migraine at all, with the bright lights and speeches that were to come.
“We could go home. We don’t have to do this event.” You suggested though you had a feeling it would be a no. Michael had been looking forward to this event and had a speech planned. It was for one of the charities he was very passionate about.
As expected, he shook his head. “I want to at least do my speech.”
‘Stubborn man’ You thought but you didn’t fight him on it, knowing it would be a little pointless. You two could go home after this and you would help him weather the consequences of pushing through.
Soon the event started, Michael wincing and curling up on himself a bit more as the speakers were loud. He held onto your hand a bit tighter.
You felt a bit helpless, knowing there wasn’t much you could do at this time besides be supportive.
Finally his name was called to give a speech. He squeezed your hand before slowly standing up with a wince, walking up to the stage.
He managed his speech fine but you weren’t surprised. It wasn’t his first time pushing through pain.
The only sign that something was wrong was his strained voice with more pauses than usual between sentences and he didn’t look up that often, avoiding looking at the light that was directed at the stage.
He sighed heavily when he sat back down besides you, his head lowered and you could see his eyes were closed as he clenched his fists.
The moment the speeches ended and everyone was allowed to mingle, you grabbed his hand. “We’re going home.” You insisted.
He didn’t even try to fight you on it, letting you drag him out of the venue.
You led him to his car where his driver was already waiting.
Letting Michael get in first, you requested the driver to take you two to Neverland, getting in the car after Michael.
The driver nodded, starting up the car.
As the car started, you gently directed Michael to lay his head down on your lap, wanting him to be as comfortable as possible. He took off his sunglasses, setting them to the side before burying his face in your stomach so he could avoid looking at any light.
You started to massage his neck and shoulders, watching as the scenery passed by. It wouldn’t help the pain go away much but it did help him relax and not tense up as much.
The ride was quiet, the only sounds being your breathing along with the quiet hum of the car. He relaxed in your grip, his breath evening out though you could tell he was still in pain. You were just glad he would finally be able to fully take care of himself now.
You finally arrived home and you gently prodded him, telling him as much.
He sighed in protest before slowly sitting up, putting his sunglasses back on and getting out of the car with a wince.
You took his hand in yours, leading him to the bedroom and having him sit on the bed. You went to the closet, grabbing a comfortable change of clothes for him.
“Ged changed. I’ll be right back.” You said quietly, kissing his forehead. He gave you a strained grateful smile.
You went to the kitchen, grabbing a couple ice packs from the freezer along with a glass of water then you grabbed his painkillers since it was nearly time for his next dose.
Walking back to the bedroom, you gently opened the door to find Michael already laying in bed, his face buried in a pillow. He had closed all the blinds, the room dark.
You would normally find it funny but you couldn’t now when you knew he was in pain.
“I got you some things.” You whispered, closing the door behind you.
He slowly sat up, looking at you with tired eyes and you sighed softly, walking over.
You first handed him his painkiller and the glass of water which he took, drinking half of the water before setting it down on the nightstand.
Next you handed him the ice packs and he smiled gratefully.
“Thank you, you always take such good care of me.” He said, kissing your cheek.
“Of course. It’s what any fiancee should do.” You replied, giving him a kiss back.
You helped him settle under the blankets, putting one of the ice packs on the back of his neck and the other at the top of his head.
He sighed gratefully, closing his eyes.
“Do you want company?” You asked. Sometimes he liked to be left alone to sleep when he had a migraine but other times he didn’t want to be alone.
“Please stay.” He said.
“Of course.” You smiled, settling beside him on the bed.
You laid down, positioning yourself so you could run your hands through his hair, being careful not to accidentally tug.
He took your hand in his, giving it a kiss as another way to say thank you and snuggled into your side.
Smiling, you kissed his forehead before going back to running your hands through his hair.
It didn’t take long before his breath evened out and he fell asleep which you were thankful for. He didn’t always get the rest he needed.
You stayed there until you eventually fell asleep as well, cuddling him.
Thank you for reading this! If you enjoyed it my masterlist is here and my fic requests are open!
