#michael Jackson x reader

[urdeftonesgrrrl]

GUYSS!!!! HELLO??!!?

[tokischaaaaa]

something i found circa 1984 victory tour , i miss him sm omgggb

[a-major-love]

btw, I am working on that thriller!mike x camp counselor!reader fic.

[mjswhispers]

[swagxwat]

So… this is my first post here (kinda nervous lol).

I noticed that the MJ nation is a bit quiet on Tumblr these days, so I thought — why not share my fanfic?

💋 Here’s the link: [ Glove & Lipstick ]

Feel free to check it out!

[starlightz4mj]

It’s Our Anniversary

Summary: Michael, once again, fails to show up for an important event you had plans for–this time, your anniversary. Tangled in a web of uncertainty, disappointment, and intoxication, how will his untimely arrival unravel the suppressed feelings and unspoken words you’ve both kept hidden?

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Era: Bad

Setting: Encino, California. Spring of 1987.

Category: angst, fluff, smut, oral (f! receiving), sexual intercourse (p in v) 

Word Count: 10,472

Note: For plot's sake, you'll have to pretend that the Havenhurst house wasn’t inhabited by the whole Jackson clan. Sorry if there’s any grammatical errors, btw. Also, I was listening to Anniversary by Tony! Toni! Toné! when the idea for this popped up, hence the title. I think using songs for my imagines might be a recurring feature. Anyway, enjoy! R.I.P. to D’Wayne Wiggins <3

Do you know what today is?

It's our anniversary

Made for you and me

Appareled in a Prussian Blue Valentino gown, you sit in the lavish dining room of the Havenhurst home designed with warm, Victorian elements. The intricately paneled walls display expensive oil canvases from the Romanticism and Renaissance periods. It was your boyfriend’s taste, not yours in particular, but still a stunning sight to take in. A pair of French antique chandeliers, adorned with crystals and bronze candlesticks, dimly light the space—accompanied by the silky notes of Jazz Noir drifting from a record player—blending together to set a mood of intimacy and relaxation.

Yet, as your dolled-up reflection looks back at you in discontent through the polished wood of the mahogany table, you are anything but relaxed. The loud dong of the grandfather clock adjacent to your right tolls aggravatingly for a third time, marking the three hours ago that Michael was supposed to be here. Unsurprisingly to you by now, he is not. That doesn't make the ache of disappointment any less painful.

For nearly the last year of the two you have been a couple, Michael’s packed schedule has been a constant interference to the increasingly rare occasions you spend with each other. Around when you had met him, he had concluded his activities for the Victory Tour, taking on less strenuous pursuits in his career after the success of Thriller. There were the infrequent appearances or interviews here and there, but overall, it was the least busy he had been for most of his life. And in that time, he and you had plenty of it to build a connection.

Being an attorney and starting out on a semi-business basis, you assisted in some of the proceedings he and your colleague took in purchasing the ATV Music Catalogue. There were a few times they came to you for advice on matters of intellectual property, that aspect of law being your area of expertise. Yet, unusually, despite Michael hiring nothing but the best for his legal selection, he hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to have a fiduciary relationship with you, even though you were the top IP lawyer at your firm. Your initial reaction was to be offended. After all the guidance he seeked, what could he possibly have against hiring you? 

“Well, Mr. Jackson, I don’t quite understand why you’d request my help, but decide to not appoint me to a position on your team. Is there some reason you think I’m unqualified for the job?” Voicing your potentially out-of-line assumption, you still maintain a courteous tone, even though your pride was slightly wounded. However, he simply lets out a giggle at the question.

“It’s the opposite, actually. I’d love for you to be a part of my team, but… it would conflict with another interest I have.” His aviator-shielded eyes cast downward toward the ground as he smiled coyly.

“And what might that be?” Your arms folded across your chest as your intrigue was piqued by the ambiguous statement, waiting for him to provide clarity.

“Taking you out to dinner on Saturday night. If you're up for it, of course.”

Your face donned with pleasant surprise as his words registered—a bold approach to make with such a shy demeanour. Though you wouldn’t say it aloud due to professional conduct, you had been an admirer of him since you were a girl in pigtails, starstruck by his strong voice and cherubic charm during that monumental premiere of The Jackson 5 on American Bandstand. 

Having a celebrity crush as a youth was nothing uncommon, but actually being presented with the opportunity to pursue a romantic gesture from them as an adult was inconceivable. The part of you that subdued the adolescent fancy you held for him felt as if it had been sparked again.

And with indignation replaced by delight, previous aggrievance long forgotten, you happily accepted his offer. From that point on, you and Michael went on numerous dates. You remember the more intimate ones—taking walks at night on the beach in Malibu or going to high-end establishments, such as opera houses and fine dining restaurants. The fun ones like going to the movie theater or to arcades in whatever crazy disguise he threw together. Most of them made you erupt into fits of laughter. 

You always voiced the theory that the zany costumes were more of an attention grabber than if people actually saw him in his normal attire, to which he proved otherwise. Long story short, on one of your many visits to Disneyland, you both, along with the Mickey Mouse mascot you were being photographed with, were swarmed by a herd of hysterical fans in the blink of an eye. You’re still not even sure how the limousine managed to get through the crowd as his security guards threw all three of you into the backseat. 

“Holy fucking shit! What the hell is going on?!” The heavily muffled shout of the man beneath the cartoonish mouse head would have been comical, if not for the overly excited group enveloping the vehicle, packed in close and trying to get a glimpse at the King of Pop. You yourself were staggered at the mob and attempting to calm your jittery disposition. All the while, you looked over to find Michael simply smiling and greeting the rowdy bunch, as if this were an average day for him.

Realizing that it was just that, you acknowledged the grace and composer he held himself with as an extremely admirable trait. You couldn’t fathom handling this lack of privacy and fanaticism since childhood. It was moments like this that made it click for you that being Michael Jackson, the popstar, came at a great price. To the world, he was this magical entity to marvel at—a wizard of entertainment. Before, due to the lack of familiar proximity, you used to hold that same image of him to some extent. But now, he was just Michael to you.

Michael, who had an affinity for Peter Pan and old Hollywood and Tchiakovsky. He always approached learning opportunities with eager curiosity, whether it was the sudden interest he’d taken in anatomy in recent months, or his humility in seeking mentorship from those he collaborated with in the industry, despite being a master himself. Michael, who was susceptible to internal struggles like anyone else and oftentimes wore himself down with his own expectations, but only because he believed in himself so fiercely. Michael, who was a beautiful fusion of contrasting energies—childlike spirit and wise, old soul, both wrapped in one. And the more of him you got to experience personally, the more profound and loving your relationship blossomed.

It carried on like this for a while, leisure time filled with frequent rendezvous, until his life started to pick up pace again. With the many filming projects he starred in, paired with countless hours of recording for his upcoming album, the days where you hardly saw him were steadily growing. You were able to distract yourself from his absence by getting lost in your own taxing work of large files riddled with dense jargon. Still, that only served as a temporary solution. 

“I miss you, Michael. We never see eachother anymore.” You utter into the phone while absentmindedly twirling the coil cord around your finger. You were bundled up in Michael’s bed, relaxing on your day off. But for him, he was busy in the studio, perfecting his sound for this new era of artistry. 

An exhaustion-filled sigh is let out into the receiver. “I know. I miss you too. I keep running into all these problems with the tracks. And Quincy-–he wants to go in a completely different direction with the sound than I do. It’s like, I can’t get anything worked out right today… Maybe I should just drop all of this and come home to you.” 

“Well, as much as I’d love that, I wouldn’t let you do it. I know how much this album means to you, to your fans… I want you to give it your all. You’ll get where you need to be. I know it. Just keep trying.”

He’s deeply appreciative of your encouraging words, grateful to have someone so supportive in his corner, even though he’s aware his hectic schedule no doubt takes a toll on you as well. “Yeah… I guess you're right. But still, I wish we had as much time together like we used to.” 

You think for a moment. “Well, how about we try our best to set some time aside out of the holidays for ourselves?” The suggestion was favorable enough, given the circumstances. And although there was some lingering resistance to practices outside of his past religion, such as festivities, he had opened himself generously to trying new things with you—some, more willingly than others…

So, that was the arrangement you both agreed upon. For a brief period, while still new, it was upheld fairly well-–until it wasn’t. The more activities Michael started to be bombarded with, the less he was able to keep his end of the agreement, and many of the days you had reserved for yourselves were cut into or entirely canceled by his heightened workload. But each time, you were understanding.

Like when he missed Valentine’s Day due to a conference he had for a potential brand deal with a fragrance line, which, by the way, ended up falling through, leaving the meeting pointless. Or when he got held back to reshoot some scenes for the Captain EO short film on your birthday, even though he was supposed to wrap up earlier to celebrate with you.

He would always return home with a peace offering, profusely apologizing for not being able to make it. And taking into account the extent of relentless demands in his career, it felt juvenile to be upset. So, you never truly expressed how much it bothered you, keeping it inside in favor of savouring the few moments you did have with each other. 

However, tonight is a different case. It’s your anniversary. And with each of the many reminders you gave over the last few weeks, he promised that no matter what, he would make it here by eight this evening. Instead, you found yourself alone, staring into the porcelain plate of chicken piccata you prepared, which has gone cold by now, with the hands of the clock moving farther and farther away from that designated time. As the minutes dragged on into hours, there wasn’t a single call sent as a courtesy to explain his nonappearance.

For him to not only be a complete no-show but also fail to at least leave you with prior warning—you were nothing less than seething at this point. The fretful bounce of your stilettoed foot carries on as you take a large swig of Chardonnay to ease the perturbance, waiting for the telltale sound of loafers padding down the marbled floors of the corridor. 

Meanwhile, the fluorescent lights of Los Angeles pass by in a blur as Michael heavily steps down on the accelerator of his Mercedes-Benz. Rush hour has long since been over, leaving the roads relatively uncrowded, thankfully making his race home quicker than usual. As the traffic light turns red, wheels halting in place, his right hand rummages around in his pocket to pull out a velvet box. How could I have forgotten? He inspects the small item, twirling it around with his fingers. 

What happened today was nothing short of chaos. Yet again, he and Quincy spent what felt like forever clashing over creative differences. Quincy, favoring the music production, wanted Al Capone to be on the album. Michael, on the other hand, preferred Smooth Criminal. Although both had the same thematic origins, with this song, he had a clearer, conceptualized idea of how it would look and feel in a movie short—the 1920s speakeasy scene, gangster suits and some influences of jazz in the dance style. After much discussion and weighing the pros and cons, Michael's decision ultimately prevailed.

The real trouble began when they actually started recording. From too much echo and reverberation polluting the sound of the tracks to Michael’s vocals not landing where they needed to, he found himself stuck in a continuous loop of scrapping various sections of his work just to start all over again. The constant mishaps couldn’t easily be pinpointed to one thing.

The stress of the ever-nearing approach of deadlines for this album, from music videos to preparations for the upcoming tour. Fatigue from rehearsal-filled days and sudden bursts of inspiration at night—lyrics, harmonies, choreography—that left him sleep-deprived. Or the nervousness from the much more immediate cause that, somehow, amidst all the madness, had completely slipped his mind.

As he returned to the sound booth from a restroom break, fully intending to keep recording until he felt the song he’d been working on was perfected, his eyes caught the red numbers on the digital clock hanging above the entrance—10:39 PM. Panic set in as the realization dawned on him: he was supposed to be home three hours ago for his anniversary. And though being so late to this very important event that you both had greatly anticipated did nothing to ease his anxiety, it was not the primary reason for it.

Michael had planned to turn this celebration of two years together into something even grander—a marriage proposal, but the potentially disastrous outcomes he had conjured up loomed over him like a dark cloud for weeks. As result, this entire studio session ended up in no meaningful progress, and astonishingly, he’d forgotten the one thing he promised he wouldn’t. Quickly pivoting on his foot, he scrambled towards the rack where his leather jacket hung, clumsily throwing it on.

“Smelly, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” The quizzical tone of Quincy’s voice doesn’t falter his rushed escape out of the room.

“I’m sorry, but I really gotta go! I’ll explain it tomorrow!” He hastily offers to wrap up their session before rushing towards the elevator. After impatiently waiting for the platform to ascend and dashing in upon its arrival, he soon reaches the first floor of the main lobby, booking it towards the exit of revolving doors. 

His attention is snapped from the burgundy colored cube in his hand as out of his peripheral, the stoplight turns green, putting the vehicle back in motion. As he carries on with his journey of about ten minutes left until he reaches home, his mind wanders back to the day you first met.

“There’s some parts of this document that are vague. You think you could come over and take a look?” John, Michael’s entertainment lawyer, had just had a brief exchange over the phone with someone moments ago before three loud knocks were heard at the closed door of his workspace. When it opened, in pranced a stunning woman, clad in a form-fitting red skirt suit, instantly drawing in Michael’s intrigue.

“Good afternoon. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” you chime in a genial tone, approaching with a beaming smile and extended hand, which he enveloped gently to shake—a fluttering giddiness erupts at the touch. As the two attorneys began to delve into the content of the forms, their words hardly registered to Michael. He was too focused on the concentrated gaze with which you scanned the documents, the shape of your rouged lips curving over vowels.

His eyes wandered to your accentuated curves as you leaned over the desk to examine the papers—voluptuous and alluring. And as you closed your revision of the material with an ‘I’m here if you need anything else,’ he couldn’t stop himself from watching the sway of your hips as you made a swift exit from the room.

You frequented over the next week, offering advice and providing context when needed. Sometimes, he would feign confusion with some parts of the text just so you could stay a little longer. Realizing that this was not the most practical way to prolong your being, nor considerate of your actual work duties, Michael finally decided to voice an inquiry.

“Hey, John, what’s your policy on dating clients?” The brunette man sipping on a latte pauses mid-drink with a puzzled look before lowering the mug.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t go that way.” 

“Not you, silly. I’m talking about her.” Michael waves in the direction of your office, lightly chuckling at John’s humorous remark. “Lawyers and clients aren’t allowed to be romantically involved, right?” He had done some research of his own about the situation, but wanted further confirmation just to be sure.

“Correct. But technically, you aren't an official client of hers, so you could still go for it.” And with that answer, he was asking you out later that very same day. 

Michael had been relatively green to the world of dating by the time you two had met. The seldom flings he had with women, kept under the radar, never developed into anything serious. With the way most of them soured, he wasn’t exactly sure that he would ever find what he was looking for. He often encountered people who were more enamored with his status and what luxuries it could offer than with him.

And though he was more than happy to shower his lady companions with anything they desired, he mostly did so out of the fear of being alone rather than the rapture of being in love, yearning to experience the joys of having a significant other. But little did he know, a certain lively attorney would be the end to his string of unfulfilling situationships.

Of course, he hadn’t initially come in with much expectation that the dynamic between you would deviate from the usual—gifts and opulence in exchange for company. Yet, surprisingly, when he did make such gestures, there was often protest and reluctance from you to accept them. You let it be known that while you were appreciative, he should never feel as if your affection needed to be bought, emphasising that just being together was enough.

And in the time he’s got to share with you, you’d become both his best friend and the light of his life. Mirroring his childlike tendencies, you enjoyed the likes of practical jokes, whimsical films, amusement parks. You both gave each other an equal dose of mischief and excitement—a temporary escape from the pressures of adult life.

On the other hand, the womanly side of you was self-assured and sophisticated. Despite the stipulations that came with his public persona, you weren’t one to crease under the weight. With poise and level-headedness, you managed to navigate both the harsh anatomization and glitzy display of his idol life. And though the expectations and prying scrutiny were unrelenting, your devotion to him never faltered.

As the demands of the day faded and it was just the two of you, your tenderness was given space to flourish in the sacred confines of one another. In the sentimental conversations you found yourselves getting lost in late into the night—confidences, dreams, worries—you had become a part of him he didn’t know he needed.

You possessed the ability to truly see and understand him, even when he tried to mask the parts of himself he feared would make you grow tired and flee. The solitude of his stardom, the sadness from past traumas, which he had believed for so long was impossible to escape, were eased away by the comfort of your unwavering presence and acceptance.

While these gloomy moods burdened Michael at times, he still held a great love and optimism about life. When it came to his craft, he was fiercely passionate and hopeful about all the possibilities he envisioned for himself, even when others thought he may have been overachieving or setting his expectations too high.

But you never doubted or dissuaded him from his aspirations. You were his biggest supporter. Always uplifting, always giving your undivided attention to his enthusiastic ideas about the next big thing he was going to do, eager to get a glimpse into the innovative makings of his mind. And when the work was tiring, your love and support motivated him to keep going.

As your endearments were reified through these saccharine partakings, he was certain that he wanted forever with you. He found refuge in your affections, your embrace—your peace sheltered him from the harsher aspects of his success and internal pains that, at times, would well up so much he thought he could drown. When he felt as if he would lose himself to those turbulent waters, you were the gentle wave beckoning him back to shore.

And in all these things, his resolution to ask for your hand in marriage was absolute. However, there was an additional reason why he decided an engagement was fitting—to convey that his adoration had not been swayed or dulled for you. He was aware that the requirements of his work agendas held great potential to cause a rift in your relationship. 

Consequently, he flipped between confidence that your feelings for him were so strong that you couldn't possibly reject him, to doubts clawing from the darkest corners of his mind, trying to convince him that his fame, his tireless routine, and himself, were still too much for you. As the in-house security guard granted him access through the ornamental gates of his estate, he began to feel that unease bubbling to the surface again.

Easing down the herringbone pavement leading to the main entrance of the house, he sees your car in its usual parking spot and places his directly behind it. With a sturdy twist of the metal key in the ignition, the rumble of the engine dies down, leaving him to collect himself in the still silence.

He gets out of the car, taking calculated steps as he approaches the double doors of the entry, apprehension swirling around him as he suspects that his untimely arrival will not go over well with you. His ears catch the faint rise and fall of music as he steps inside, quietly sealing the door shut. Slowly carrying on down the hallway, timidly walking past the threshold of the dining room, he is greeted by the upward flick of your gaze over the rim of a glass of wine—cold and distant. Without breaking eye contact, you chug the last remnants of the intoxicating potion before firmly setting the glass down.

“Happy anniversary. Glad you could join me.” Between your sarcastic remark and the displeased expression, he’s wary that he might not be able to recover easily from this one tonight.

“Baby, please don’t be like that. I’m really sorry. I ran into some trouble at the studio and lost track of time.” He offers his regret as he takes in the elegant layout you put effort into, left abandoned by his lack of show for the event. A twinge of guilt twists inside him.

“Save it. I’m really not in the mood to hear any excuses. You swore you’d make it, and you didn’t. Again. Simple as that,” you mutter with contempt as you move to grab the plates of untouched food, your heels clicking briskly as you make your way towards the kitchen.

From the wine you had been downing these past hours, to finally hitting a breaking point from the repeated absences from Michael, you let your frustrations flow freely for the first time. He’s taken aback by the bluntness of it, and although his contrition is strong, he feels a growing urge to defend himself as he trails behind you.

"Yes, I know I promised, and I wanted to be here with you today more than anything. But with everything I’ve had to do to get this album ready, I have a lot on my plate. I don’t think you’re being fair to me. It's not like I did this on purpose.”

His response only irks you more as you scrape the wasted meal into the trash bin. From his attempt to justify his actions to the fruits of your labor being overlooked, your tip-toe around full on confrontation has come to an end. With a heavy toss of the plates into the sink, not caring if they broke from the force, you sharply turned around, vitriol, tinted with liquid courage, pouring from your lips.

“No, what’s not fair is for you to leave me sitting here like a damn fool for three hours, and on top of that, not even call me to let me know where the hell you are!” 

Michael has never heard you yell like this before. In fact, during this whole two-year relationship, you’ve never once had a serious argument. Small disagreements that were resolved so fast you both hardly remembered what you were upset over? Yes. But full-blown, furious disputes had never found their way between you. However, there’s a first time for everything. 

"Look, honestly, it just slipped my mind, okay?! You have no idea how bad my day has been. Can’t you just hear me out? I don’t know why you’re giving me such a hard time all of a sudden.”

He finds himself gradually raising his volume as well. Despite his plea, his fortified reflex drives his actions, clouding the more rational approach of trying to wind down this heated energy between you instead of fanning its flames. And you’re ready to throw back just as much fire.

“Because I’m fed up with you not being here! I have been for a while now. And I’m busy too, Michael. My job is high maintenance, but I still show up for us. It feels like you're not even trying to do that!” 

Deep down, you knew that wasn't a fair or honest stance to take. Yes, you put in many more hours than most, plus the mental muscle necessary for your job was hefty. But Michael’s career required even more of him to succeed. Truthfully, you just wanted him to feel the same hurt you were feeling. And as the anger in his gaze momentarily wavers into something dejected, you were certain it worked.

“I am trying! If I wasn’t, I’d still be working instead of standing here right now.” There’s a slight quiver in his exasperation as he feels his worst suspicions coming true—he had let you in, and finally, it had become too much for you to bear.

“Well, what do you expect me to make of it, huh?! I’ve been very lenient all the times you’ve failed to show up—a full year, Michael. And now, this one time I desperately ask you to be here, you can't even do it!” You exclaim as you feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. Somehow, you are able to uphold an unshaken demeanor of hostility.

You don’t know exactly where this shouting match is taking you, but you weren’t betting on the cruel grin that takes over Michael’s face as he lets out a bitter cackle. Though, it’s quickly replaced by a scowl that shoots daggers through you. 

“Right. So, I’m just a terrible boyfriend who always forgets about you? When we got together, you knew how demanding my life was. I can’t change that. And you said you understood, but it doesn’t seem like that anymore. If it’s not something you can handle, what are you still here for?!”

There's an uncomfortable silence that settles in the air before the unmistakable sound of a sniffle breaks it. He immediately wishes he could take his words back as he watches the tears brimming your eyes begin to trickle down your face.

“You know what?! Fine! Maybe I’ll leave then!” Your voice cracks as you exit the kitchen with a hurried stride, heading toward your shared bedroom—more accurately, your shared suite—to retrieve what you’ll need for your departure.

Hot on your tail, he’s following you up the path winding stairs, shame and dread brewing in his conscience as he takes your declaration as an act of permanence. Contrarily, you were just heading back to your apartment in the city for a while to cool off. He feels foolish for ruining the evening and the proposal he had planned, sullied by his own vexations and rash need to have the last word. And the thought of this possibly being the end of your relationship has sent him spiraling.

“Wait, that’s—that’s not what I meant.” A desperate attempt at an explanation to backtrack your decision comes tumbling from his mouth, but you are done listening as you barge through the door, determined to get away from him.

“Well you certainly said it, so you must have meant it.” Your vacant tone pulls at his heart, knowing that you’re shutting him out now. Still, with an earnest plea as he watches you shuffle around inside the dresser trying to locate something, he attempts to get through to you.

“No, I just—can you stop and listen to me for a second?!” He soon finds out what you were looking for—the silver glare of your car keys dangles from your manicured fingers. No, no, no. This is not how the night was supposed to go. 

“I’ve already heard enough from you.” Your assertion leaves no space for bargaining as you turn to exit the bedroom, but Michael is towering over you with brooding eyes before you can take another step. Swiftly, he yanks the keys right out of your hand.

“You’re not leaving me.” He can’t lose you. Not like this. With firm conviction, he is hell-bent on not letting you set foot outside of this room. Aggravated by his antics, you try to grab the keys, but he just moves them farther from your reach. Like a childish game, he extends his arm higher and higher away from you as you stand on your tiptoes, pressed flush against him and struggling to retrieve the metal object.

“Michael, give me my keys back! Now!” You exclaim with heightened annoyance, slightly stumbling over your feet as he roughly pulls away from you, walking towards the glass doors of the balcony. He wouldn’t dare…

“I said you’re not leaving, dammit!” You watch, mortified, as he twists the golden handle to open the door before tossing the keys two stories down to get lost in the flower bed beneath, not even bothering to close it before he turns back around. Both breathing heavily from the exertion of your previous scuffle, you exchange a hard stare down from a distance.

“What…THE FUCK is your problem?!” You shriek incredulously as he just stands there, glowering and not saying a word. Shaking your head in disbelief, you once again move to exit the suite—this time, to search for your keys—but startlingly, Michael makes fast strides in your direction. Before you can register what’s happening, he seizes your wrists tightly, pushing you until your back is pressed to the mural-painted surface of the wall.

Both puzzled and shaken by the impact of it, you’re ready to protest this strange action, but are quickly interrupted as the sudden crash of his lips to yours cuts you off. Wide-eyed with surprise and unable to break free from his vice-like grip, the vigorous motions of his mouth forces yours to do the same.

As your eyelids reluctantly start to flutter shut, getting lost in the sensation, Michael abruptly tears from the kiss before you fully cave in. Curiously, you watch as he walks over to the bedroom door and shuts it—the snap of the lock setting in place rings through the hushed space.

His eyes are darkened with a new aura as he prowls back toward you—something fervent and burning. Suspense looms over you once he fully approaches, simply standing with his intense gaze sauntering over your flustered form. Clearly consumed by his thoughts, his close inspection leaves you wondering what’s about to happen. That uncertainty is shattered by a low command that has heat stirring inside of you.

“Take your panties off.”

“Are you seriously trying to-” stunned at the vulgar statement, you start to question him, but are silenced by the sharp slap of his hand on your behind.

“Do it right now. Don’t make me repeat myself.” The gruff command leaves no room for debate as he moves back, giving you just enough space to maneuver out of them. Though it takes you a moment to adjust from the initial shock of his harsh touch, you timidly do as he says.

The lacey undergarment slides down your legs with ease, briefly snagging on the rhinestone accents of your blue heels before laying crumpled on the floor. Slightly kicking them out of the way, you watch with anticipation as Michael hastily unzips his leather jacket, casting it aside without concern for where it landed.

He pounces back on you, meshing your lips together with fluid, eager movements that make your heart race. With just as much longing, your fingers tangle into the loose locks of his hair as your tongues become entwined through desperate pants into each other’s mouths. His usual note of cinnamon, warm and sweet, dances on your taste buds, drawing you in more. With excitement heightened by this carnal entanglement, you can feel the slickness of it starting to build in your nether regions.

His kisses trace downward to the unblemished expanse of your neck where he begins to etch dark bruises, causing soft whimpers to fall from your lips. At the same time, his hands deftly shift the sparkly fabric of your dress up higher until the skirt crumples around your waist.

“Hold this up for me.” He whispers softly, pulling away from the marks he’s painted into your skin—a canvas stained with burning desire. Obediently, your hands clumsily bunch up the coarse, lurex material as your core aches with need and expectation.

Once he’s sure your grip is secure, he impatiently falls to his knees, draping your right leg over his shoulder and grabbing hold of your hip to keep you steady. You gasp as his mouth now sears welts into your thigh, sucking and biting at the flesh with urgency as he inches closer and closer to where you crave him most.

His breath fans hotly over you wet folds before you feel him take a broad, firm lick over the surface. He prods farther, parting your lips to swipe directly at your slit, languidly moving his tongue up and down to collect your honeyed nectar. Carrying on like this for a while, muscle deliberately stroking along the strip of your womanhood, the erotic mixture of his saliva and your arousal making the movements smoother, he soon hones his attention onto your throbbing pearl.

Your breath deepens as he flicks and circles it at a steady pace, only using the tip of his tongue for the assault. And while the feeling is wonderful, it doesn’t do enough to soothe the pain deep within you. With hips canting upward, you try to get more of him, but he pulls back to deliver another hard smack to your backside. With a yelp, you jolt at the sting, looking down at him with longing and frustration.

“You’re only getting what I decide to give you. Understand?” He questions with blown out eyes. You’re both intimidated and thrilled by the wild intensity in them. You nod your head stiffly, swallowing to alleviate the dryness in your throat, but you take that’s not the response he was looking for as he slaps your behind again, much more powerful than the last. With eyes clenched, you grit your teeth from the lingering bite of it.

“I wanna hear you say it.” His stern declaration sizzles in the space between you, thick with tension, waiting for you to give a proper answer. Slightly quivering at the weighted feel of the atmosphere, you utter with avid compliance;

“Yes, I understand.” Although quiet, it is satisfactory enough for Michael as he delves back into your warmth, resuming his manipulations. The pressure continues to leave you just teetering on the precipice of what you seek. You have to concentrate to restrain yourself from moving your hips again. Sensing your struggle to hold back, the rigidity in your limbs is obvious as you now release more constrained breaths, he fully envelops your bud into his mouth in an act of mercy.

As he builds the intensity of his motions with harder laps of his tongue and the harsher suction of his lips, he is practically making out with the drenched bundle of nerves. Finally getting what you yearned for, wanton moans climb from your throat freely as your body begins to slacken against the wall, swept away in this pleasant feeling.

Your soft, pleasured utterances fall upon Michael’s ears like a sweet symphony—high and melodious. His length is straining in the tight confinement of his pants, begging to be freed as the sugared and earthy scent and taste of your sex fills his senses.

With eyes peering up, he hungrily takes in the state of your form: the rapid rise and fall of your chest with each inhale you take, eyes shut, furrowed brows and mouth agape in blissed-out desire. The elegant bun your hair was neatly pulled back into has somehow come undone in the midst of this interaction, now flowing over your shoulders. God, you’re so beautiful like this. The salacious sight sets him ablaze, making him more zealous in having you fall apart for him.

The plush skin of your thighs curve over his fingers, grip squeezing firmer and opening you more as the fluctuations of his mouth become more vigorous, devouring you until he’s drooling on your sopped and weeping petals. In embarrassment and sweltering lust, heat rises to your cheeks at the slick and tacky sounds of his mouth passionately unwinding you.

The ravenous motions of his tongue against your clit causes your walls to deeply throb, sending a new wave of your essence to mix with the messy concoction between your legs. As Michael can feel the dribble of it streaming down his chin, he moves his thumb to continue the work on your button while shifting his head to take greedy laps at the dripping source, reveling in the taste of you.

As his tongue swirls and plunges deeper inside of you, he comes to the delightful realization that he would die happily here—face basking in the warm paradise of your love, drinking down the sweet waters of your orchid. Getting lost in these elysian pleasures through tender ministrations and fervid caresses.

“Michael, I’m so close!” You wail through needy cries as you feel the muscles in your pelvis beginning to be pulled taut. There’s hot pressure growing in your lower belly with the wish for release. The fibrous cloth of your dress itches your skin as your clammy hands struggle to hold it up, trembling as you can feel the force in you, building unbearably.

Michael groans enthusiastically into your core at the gratifying revelation, gripping your hips even tighter, intent on making you come undone on his tongue. The rumble of it vibrates deliciously against your lady bits, bringing you even closer to your peak when instantly, his mouth is surrounding your whole mound with loud, eager slurps, loosening his jaw to take more of you in.

And as he hotly consumes your sensitive parts, you’re finally granted that explosive release you’ve been waiting for. Uncontrollably, ardent moans tumble over your lips as the tension in your walls spasms without reserve, sending bright tingles of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body.

Michael drinks your pleasured sounds and the sap of your orgasm with elation as he can feel his own organ twitching with excitement behind the barrier of his briefs. Slowly, as you come down from the rush of it, gasping for air, he pulls away to examine the results of his work—you’re enticingly engorged and soaking. With a more delicate touch, he brushes featherlight kisses to the inflamed hues on your thigh before gingerly removing it from its place on his shoulder.

Rising eagerly, he brings you into another searing kiss. Although, the movements are slow and relaxed as he takes his time letting you taste yourself on his mouth. As his lips flow languidly against yours, sinking into the warmth of your embrace as you let go of your gown to wrap your arms around him, you both have a quiet understanding that you’re attempting to make amends for the hurtful things said and expressed during your earlier clash.

When you both slowly part from the kiss, the amorous, yet reverent stare he fixates on you with those deep, soulful eyes sets your heart aglow with a tender longing. Delicately, you lift your hand to cradle the side of his face, stroking the smooth skin with affection. His eyelids close in comfort, nuzzling into it as his lips gently peck at your palm.

Softly grabbing your wrist to break the contact, he sets your arm down, quietly stepping back while maintaining his gaze. His hands move downward to unbutton his shirt, fingers tactfully untangling the brass knobs from the red article of clothing. His expectant stare calls for you to follow his lead.

The plunge back making of your dress causes the sleeves to glide down your shoulders with little to no resistance, unveiling your bare chest to the cool, night air the open window lets in, causing your nipples to stiffen up. The textile plummets to your feet where you shuffle it aside, kicking your heels along after. With added effort, Michael eventually disrobes himself entirely of his leather and buckled garments, leaving him nude and just as exposed as you are.

Your pupils dilate as you take in the gorgeous sight of your boyfriend. The olive contours of his lean physique are illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. Your vision moves along the faintly defined muscles of his chest and torso, down to the neat trimming of his pubes, until they land on his impressive member, hanging proudly between his toned thighs and scattered with a constellation of vitiligo markings.

With hands trembling in inclination, you reach out to pull him back to you. This time, you’re the one to initiate the passionate dance of your lips. You feel him shudder, whimpering into your mouth as you firmly grasp his thick appendage, stroking it with purposeful motions. Pushing the skin back to circle your finger around his slit, a dribble of precum glides down, smoothly aiding the up and down caress of your hand to the velvety surface of his length.

Once stiffened to full capacity, he moves your hand to take hold of himself, placing the tip between your drenched lower lips, dragging it through the slick blendings of your previous foreplay. Leisurely, he rubs through your folds at a steady pace to liberally lubricate his girth before you feel the head gently breaching your entrance.

With breath fluttering into your neck as his head rests on your shoulder, he’s slowly inching into your awaiting canal. You feel slight discomfort at the burn of his width stretching you tremendously, but you do your best to relax the muscles, inviting him deeper into you. Finally, you’re stuffed full of him with his pelvis pressed flush to yours.

He peppers light kisses onto your throat, lifting your left leg up with a secure hold to cozily lay on his hip. And then, he begins to move with a slow, steady rhythm, pulling out all the way to the tip before delving back into you. By the slight grimace on your face, he can tell that you need more time to adjust to his size. But the slick, warm grip of your tight walls has him biting his lip in resistance, struggling to hold back the need to thoroughly ravage you.

Finally, he hears it. You let out small, pleasured sounds as he’s succeeded in fully loosening you up for him. The pain has been ebbed away into dazzling sparks of pleasure as you angle yourself upward to take him in deeper. With that queue, Michael gradually breaks from the slow tempo until he is rapidly driving into you, no longer able to contain himself.

Losing yourself in the feeling, desperate moans begin to fall from your lips in staccato with each powerful thrust he delivers to your watering core. Panting and groaning just as loudly, his nails dig crescent-shaped imprints where he grips your thigh, stroking into you relentlessly. Your own carve long, red scratches into his back, being overwhelmed by the sensations taking over your body as he hits your walls in just the right way.

“Damn, you feel amazing.” He speaks lowly through shallow breaths against your collarbone, hips continuing at a dizzying rate as he gets sucked farther into your wet and fleshy opening.

“S-So do you.” You barely are able to get the words out. The dizzying way he pummels your walls has heat stirring beneath your bladder. Blood rushes to all of your erogenous zones, heightening their sensitivity, begging to be touched. One hand rises to the aching buds of your breast while the other heads down to rub at the one between your legs, but Michael pulls back to quickly swat them away.

“Baby, please! It’s not enough.” You let out in agony, desperate to have those extra flares of stimulation. Discontented at being prohibited from it, you feel tears of frustration stinging your eyes. She’s so needy. Michael thinks to himself with amusement as he takes in your expression.

“Yeah? You want more?” The teasing tone of his question, paired with the lazy smile his lips are curved into screams of devious intentions. You’re unsure of what he has up his sleeve, but you hope it’s something that puts an end to your suffering.

“Yes!” You gasp out as he has now decreased his speed to deliver slow, long thrusts, stimulating you in a new and electrifying way as you can more distinctly feel him brushing against every ridge inside of you.

“Okay, I’ll give you more.” He stops his movements entirely to hoist your other leg around his hip, suspending you in the air. Quickly, you scramble to wrap your arms around his neck and lock your ankles to keep from falling. Just as soon as you are situated, once he’s certain his hold on you won’t slip, his hips begin to snap upward rapidly, hitting deeper and pressing right to that spot that has you keening with ecstasy. 

“Oh, fuck!” The hammering force of his strokes are so powerful that it has you roughly sliding up and down the wall. Your brace your legs tighter around his waist, unintentionally pulling him deeper into you. The lewd slaps of skin on skin, paired with the untamed moans and groans of rapture that rise from within your chests, echo pornographically off the walls of this ample suite.

His lips travel from your neck, down the swell of your breast where he takes your nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling it with fervor. While not fully sure if he means to or not, his pelvis rubs delightfully against your clit from the way he grinds you, giving you the relief you were after. He drifts his oral manipulations to the other breast, making sure it receives the same treatment.

With a wet pop, your tit falls from his mouth as he lifts up to press his forehead to yours. And then, he does something that has you nearly floundering out of his hold, not knowing how to handle this heightened pleasure that has jolts of electricity shooting up your spine.

Lightly undoing the lock you have around his waist, his arms allow the back of your kneecaps to rest on either side of him, causing you feet to dangle freely. In tandem, his arms mount you up to the tip of his erection, before dropping you back down all the way to the hilt with smooth thrusts meeting the falling motion. He does this over and over again until the stimulation of it buzzes in your nerves like static.

As wanton cries spill from your lips, back arching to take in more of his wild loving, he offers a smug question; “You like that?” 

“Oh God, yes!” It breathily rushes out as his hips are angled just perfectly to abuse the sensitive, spongy bump that lies on the upper part of your walls. 

“I know you do. No one else can do your body like this, baby. Only I can.” He seduces huskily, breath fanning warmly against your mouth as he pulls you into a brief, yet searing kiss before moving to lick and bite at your neck.

Everything is steamy, slick and wet between you. A thin sheen of sweat coats your bodies, causing a light glisten to waver off of your gyrating forms. The mixture of your heady arousals strings off of him like gooey webs when he pulls out, acting as a glue that sticks you together as he slides all the way back in. It pools around where you two are joined, dripping onto the ground as more from each of you overflows.

And as he melts back into you, over and over again, you let out sounds that gradually expand in octave as the friction of him rubs you in a blissfully disorienting way. That hot and familiar coil in your gut is starting to wind tight, waiting to be snapped free. He lets out his own pleasured noises against the shell of your ear as he feels his own release building, eager to spill out. And from the way you clench around him, he can tell that you’re nearing your climax as well.

But somewhere beneath these carnal sensations, lies an inkling of distress in Michael that once this is over, it may also be the end of you two. The worry has vulnerability pouring through his words as he says;

“Tell me you won’t go anywhere.” The tone pulls at your heartstrings as you feel him press a delicate kiss just below your jaw—a silent request for compromise. You lean into the mild touch as your arms squeeze tighter around his neck. You feel his heart beating sporadically as his chest lies atop of yours.

“I won’t go anywhere, Michael. Ever.” Full of devotion, the words pass your lips, holding him closer to you as he litters more affectionate kisses to your skin. 

“Tell me you love me.” He whispers against your cheek, hopefully awaiting your response. Much like the storm of passionate emotions raging within him, he rolls into you with frenzy as he can feel an orgasm steadily approaching, setting his loins aflame.

“I do… I love you so much.” The declaration comes out in a desperate sigh, spoken against his lips resting on the corner of yours. He delivers a delicate kiss to it—a stark contrast to the wild way he works your body.

“You gonna cum?” Michael’s question rings in the air with eager expectation, wanting to feel you come apart on him. And from the way you’re constricting around him, he knows you're getting ready to.

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chant in a daze as you feel the simmer of your release starting to bloom with heat deep within your walls. 

“Go on, girl. Give it to me.” The raspy command has you gripping him tighter, crying out as your canal overflows, showering Michael’s groin with the rains of your earth-shattering crest. The waves ride out within you, currents of electricity shooting up from your pelvis, to your chest and spreading outward to every extremity of your body. You lean back limply against the wall, basking in the feeling.

As you descend from euphoria, Michael’s thrusts continue, rubbing you into overstimulation. However, you make no complaints as his hips start to stutter their movements, signifying that he is on the cusp of his own climax.

And as he struggles to maintain his composure, the warm and gummy grip of your cunt tempting him to let go inside of you, he musters a moment of strength to pull all the way out, carefully letting you down to your feet as his hand takes over to replace your walls. 

Your ears are doused in the shlick sounds he creates with fast and smooth tugs along his length. With eyes closed and face furled up in concentrated bliss, his mouth hangs ajar, emitting high, breathy moans as sweat beads down his brow. You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed something so beautiful, yet so erotic in all of your life. 

Finally, with back bowed and fist clenched beside your head, his load shoots out of him in heavy spurts, coating his fingers and landing on your lower abdomen. He continues to stroke himself until every last drop has been squeezed out and his erection has died down before collapsing into your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

As you both use this moment to catch your breaths, your hands lift to gently stroke his head, curling the locks around your fingers, as he places a faint, yet lingering kiss over your heart, shifting the atmosphere into something soft and affectionate. You remain this way for a while, silently marinating in the calm of each other’s presence, before Michael rises from your chest to lay a light peck on your cheek.

“Wait right here.” He whispers it into your skin, pulling away to disappear into the bathroom, switching the lights on. It sends rays of yellow beaming across the floor, bringing some brightness to your dim surroundings. Your ears pick up the distant downpour of water from the shower running as Michael emerges back into view, walking over to carefully scoop you into his arms, taking you both to get cleaned up.

The calming scent of lavender permeates through the humid space, refreshing waters cascading down your bodies as your hands tactfully assist each other in washing away the remnants of your love making. Though you don’t speak as you go through the motions of bathing, the quiet between you is peaceful. The care with which you attend to each other conveys the love you are feeling.

Soon, you both find yourselves half dressed, Michael in his standard pair of briefs and you clad in a pale night slip, laying in the plush and spacious comfort of his king size bed. Your fingers idly twiddle with each other as you lie face to face, not having said a word yet, though there is a growing urge for someone to do so. Coincidentally, you both break the silence with an uttered ‘I’m sorry,’ at the same time. Staring at each other, you wait for one of you to carry on with what you want to say.

“Let me start.” You take the initiative to speak first, the satin sheets sliding off of you as you sit up to gather your thoughts.

“I’m sorry for how I acted tonight. I’ve always admired how dedicated you are to your career. It’s just that, I’ve been so lonely without you this past year… I guess I just lost my cool from not saying anything about it for so long.” You say in a small voice, now feeling embarrassed for your earlier outburst. Michael holds a solemn expression as you reveal to him what you’ve been holding back on, his thumb ghosting over the back of your hand in a soothing manner.

“No, I should have been here to celebrate with you. I know it’s been a lot to deal with, me being gone all the time, but I never knew you were struggling with it this much. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” He questions with a tone full of concern. Weighing on him like a great failure, he feels upset with himself for not truly knowing the extent of the suffering you’d been dealing with.

“Your work means so much to you, Michael… I didn’t want to get in the way of that.” You mumble the last part so small that he almost didn’t hear it, but when it registers, his fingers delicately grip your chin, turning you head upwards to be eye to eye with him.

“You could never do that, angel. You’re important to me too, and I want you to let me know when things are difficult for you. Don’t ever feel like your worries are a burden to me.” He proclaims in a soft, yet vehement manner, lighting your heart aglow with adoration.

Internally, Michael feels a deep settling nervousness as he decides whether or not to state his next words. But in keeping his troubles from you, that would be hypocritical to his previous declaration. With that reasoning, albeit a murmur, he’s saying them before he loses the strength to.

“When you told me you were leaving, I couldn’t handle it. I never wanted you to know, but I think it’s best you do… I get scared sometime. Scared that you won’t stay with me. That what I do, who I am—it’ll be too much for you and one of these days, I’ll come home and you won’t be here.” 

As a lone tear rolls down his cheek from the forlorn statement, you swiftly pull him into a tight embrace. Rubbing gentle circles on his back while he quietly weeps into your neck, regret fills you as you realize that you failed to even consider that he was being tormented by such doubtful beliefs.

“Oh, Michael… After all this time, don’t you understand that I’m not going anywhere?” You say as you move him to face you once again, wiping away the wet streaks that stain his face.

“You should know by now that you can’t get rid of me that easily.” It’s spoken with a light lilt of mirth to lift the mood, to which Michael offers a weak smile that fades just as quickly.

“Well, what about what you said tonight?” Raking through your brain, you scan to recall what he is talking about. It finally hits you that he mistook your ‘I’m leaving’ as an ‘I’m leaving for good.’

“Wait, did you think I was talking about forever?” It shouldn’t be funny, but the fact that he had such a big reaction over a minor misinterpretation of words has you stifling a laugh.

 “...Weren’t you?” He asks with genuine confusion, looking at you with a pouty expression that you find so adorable, you can’t help but crack, giggling at the hilarity of it.

“Hahaha! No, baby. I just needed to clear my head for a bit… I’ll always come back to you.” Your laughter gradually fades into a tender utterance as you lovingly gaze into his gentle eyes while caressing his face. A bashful grin stretches across his lips, also finding humor in what transpired due to the misunderstanding. Still, there is a crucial, unresolved aspect of the night that keeps him on edge.

“I can’t believe the night turned out so bad.” He mutters, thinking about how the sole thing he wanted to accomplish this evening was squandered by the fight.

“Well, I’d say we definitely made up for it with something else...” You lightly muse, but it’s hardly noticed as Michael seems to be intensely absorbed in his thoughts.

“No, it wasn’t just the anniversary…” Contemplation pulls at his mind like a match of tug-of-war. Should he seize the moment and go forth with his plan right now, before he loses the courage to, or wait for another day to prepare more and make the event better thought out and more special?

“I’m…not catching on. What are you talking about?” There’s something unreadable in his stare that has you growing puzzled. It only increases as Michael gets up from the bed, going to where his clothes are strewn on the floor, fishing out his leather jacket before removing something from one of the unzipped pockets. What’s he up to? 

Michael takes one last look at the velvet box, mind set on going through with the proposal, taking a deep breath to steady himself as he treks back to you, each step seeming to span for an eternity with all the overwhelming emotions swirling inside of him. He comes around to your side of the bed, gently shifting your legs over the edge so you can see him better.

Much to your confusion, you’re about to ask him what’s going on, but the words quickly get trapped in your throat with astonishment as he drops down to one knee. Is he getting ready to do what I think he is? Your wonder is confirmed by what he nervously verbalizes next;

“In the two years you’ve been in my life, you’ve become my everything. I never knew it was possible to be so in tune, so connected with another person, until I met you. Now, I can’t imagine spending a single day without you by my side. My love for you is infinite, and I want to share that infinity with you. So… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He pops open the box, revealing a beautiful, gold Art Deco-style ring adorned with white and emerald diamonds. Heart pounding in your chest with joy, you’re so excited and in disbelief that you almost can’t speak. Somehow, you manage to rush out a small whispered ‘yes,’ as your answer.

“You will?” Michael’s eyes lighten up as you start to nod exuberantly with a radiant smile on your face, dropping down to join him on the floor.

“Yes, Michael! Of course I will!” You warble out, being overcome by exhilaration as his own hand shakily slides the shimmering jewelry onto your finger, wrapping his arms securely around you for a hug full of relief. And now, you're crying again, but for an entirely different reason this time.

“I just got you that Mickey Mouse watch you’ve been raving about. I guess it kind of pales in comparison to your gift,” you let out a watery laugh as joyful tears flow freely. Giggling at your remark and just as elated, he eases his firm hold on you to pull you into a swooning kiss.

Giddily, Michael starts to plant smooches all over your face, which you giggle at and try to bat away the ticklish feeling. Though, he abruptly pauses his affections to give voice to something you had almost forgotten.

“Oh! And, uh… sorry about your keys, by the way.” He offers sheepishly, feeling that the earlier action was a bit theatrical.

“That’s okay, sweetie. You’re definitely looking for them by yourself tomorrow, though,” you lightly jest, not even really concerned about it. And as you nuzzle back into Michael, squeezing him tightly, those terms are more than fine with him.

Note: Credits to @cafekitsune for the divider. Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, likes and reblogs would be appreciated :)

mentions: @mjfavgirlie2006 @h4rtz-f0r-lm @thatoneliberiangirl

@tsunderesheepme @st4rwild @local-she-wolf @kenzie2cool4u @kpopfan-03 @joyboxx88 @marionnas-world @dollika2w8 @margeoww @xgrisleyx @callingallbaddies @moonwalkerdiana

© All Rights Reserved

[chrisrashizushi]

Baby? Don’t Be Gentle This Time, K?

Just a cute idea I had just now 😝

Might continue and write a smut version for this.

🧟‍♀️🧟🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♂️🧟‍♀️🧟

“Why do you keep risking your life for me…?”

You clench your jaw, eyes burning. For a second, you almost say nothing. Then, through gritted teeth:

“Because I can’t lose you too.”

Michael’s lips part. He’s trembling, looking at you like your salvation itself.

You snap, “Stop looking at me like that.”

Michael whispers, “I… can’t help it.”

And that’s it. You grab him—rough, desperate, fingers curled tight in the collar of his torn jacket.

Both of your mouths crash together, teeth grazing. It’s messy, borderline savage. You’re kissing him like you’re starving.

Michael melts against you, a soft whimper in his throat. His hands hover uncertainly before settling on your arms, trembling as he clings to you. He doesn’t push back—he just lets you take.

You breaks away just long enough to growl, “Tell me to stop.”

Michael’s eyes are glassy, lashes wet. He shakes his head fast, breathless, “Don’t stop… please don’t stop.”

You kiss him again, fiercer this time. Michael whimpers into your mouth, fingers tightening on your biceps. He tastes like salt and rain and fear.

Finally, you pull back, panting, your forehead pressed to his. Michael’s chest heaves as he stares at you, lips swollen. “You don’t have to be gentle,” he whispers. “I’m not gonna break.”

You huff a humorless laugh, voice ragged, “Yeah, you are. And I’m gonna keep you in one piece if it kills me.”

Michael’s lips are still parted, eyes glassy as he stares at you like you’re the only light left in this dying world.

And then—

He fumbles at his belt, shaky fingers trying to undo the buckle. His breath hitches as he mumbles, “Is… is this the part where we… y’know…?”

You blink at him. There’s blood drying on your jaw, dirt streaked across your cheeks. The room stinks of gunpowder and rot.

Michael, sweet Michael, is halfway to yanking down those Thriller pants, his curls a wild halo around his flushed face.

You slap your palm over his hands, stopping him, “Whoa. Hey. No.”

He looks at you, blinking rapidly, pupils blown wide, “But… but I thought… I mean… the kissing—”

You huff out a breathless laugh, voice rough as gravel, “We are both covered in blood and dirt, Michael.”

He freezes, glancing down at himself. There’s a dark smear across his stomach, flecks of gore on the waistband of his pants.

“…Oh.”

You can’t help the grin tugging at your lips. You lean closer, pressing your forehead to his.

“I’m not fucking you in a pool of zombie guts. We’re gonna find some soap first.”

Michael makes this tiny whimper of disappointment that’s half adorable, half obscene. His voice goes all soft:

“…I’ll wait.”

You smirk, brushing your thumb across the blood on his cheek:

“Yeah, you will.”

Michael exhales shakily, still trembling, but he finally lets go of his belt.

“Okay… but for the record, I’d still do it.”

You snort, “Yeah, well, I’m not letting your pretty ass get infected because you wanted a quickie.”

Michael smiles, shy and dopey, “…You think my ass is pretty?”

You shove his shoulder playfully:

“Shut up.”

But there’s a softness in your eyes you can’t hide. Michael sees it, and for a second, the apocalypse outside doesn’t exist.

[2222bad]

YUMMY

[michael surprises you with his new haircut] | 900+ words

WARNINGS: fem!reader , the man is a TEASE! & this look should’ve been illegal

[1995]

he wanted the haircut to be a surprise. he didn’t tell you anything. no clues, no input from you, nothing. the only thing he let slip was the day and time karen was supposed to arrive in santa barbra. he wouldn’t even let you near the guest house when she got there, clippers and suitcase in toe. he made you swear to stay put until he came to get you, which you reluctantly sealed with a contractually binding kiss of trust. still, you speared at the thought of squeezing some hint out of karen. maybe faking that you’d like a touch up and just so happened to be free the same day, what time would you be done with michael? could i just come wait for him? but, eventually, you thought better than to pry against his wishes and simply tried to ignore the antsy feeling that grew larger in you with each passing minute. fine, you relented, the man can have secrets. just this once!

up in your bedroom, you gather a few contents from your purse in your palm, receipts and loose change from the day before namely, before being suddenly swept into darkness by michael’s sneaking hands.

“guess who,” he sings, an obvious grin laced on his mouth, pulled from ear to ear.

you hadn’t even noticed how tight your hand was on your blouse as you recovered from the sudden thrill. you release your vice grip, breaking into an excited smile. the delicious sweetness of after-spray, evidence of a fresh cut, wafted easefully into your nose. “hmmm…my handsome husband i’ve waited oh so patiently for, i hope?”

“could be…”

“well, may i please see him already? my ride will be here soon.”

“yes,” he grants with a delighted hum, “but when i let go, you have to keep your eyes closed.”

“fine.” you tilt your head back with a playful groan. you weren’t confident in how much longer you could hold up this dam of anticipation.

you fix your body to stand completely still as his hands leave your face. your lip flies between your teeth as your excitement brews quicker.

“okay,�� michael says carefully, “turn around—don’t peek!”

“i’m not, baby!” you insist with a frustrated shake of your arms. you turn around, eyes closed to him, squinting with exaggeration. “see?”

you hear him chuckle in front of you and you twinkle your fingers at your sides, a wishful expression. “okay. you can look now.”

gently your eyes flutter open to the blurry figure stood in front of you, quickly adjusting to the view of his body. comfy in his white shirt and jeans, clean shaven, face aglow and beautiful as always. then his hair; subtle curls tipped over from his head and paused their reach at his brow, framing his statuesque features like an open curtain. he’d cut and shaved all along the back and over the sides, leaving layers of black curls frayed prettily around his head. he looked…older. confident, matured, but princely. your knees betray you and buckle under the sight of him. your face shifts from excitement to pure, primal thirst, pupils blown incredibly. like you want to scale him on all fours. like you want to eat him. you want to eat his whole day. you make a note to give karen a personal tip.

“do you like it?” he bites into his bashful smile, his hair dangling to the floor. how could he not know how torturously beautiful he was?

you’re speechless, your mouth agape. your whole body feels like putty, your heart at primal speed. before long, the dam breaks.

“why do you do this to me?” you whine helplessly, swiping your eager palms out at him and dragging them down his chest.

“do what?” he laughs, catching you in his arms.

“you knew i had my meeting today!” you pout up at him, fighting, with great power, the urge to just trap him under you right then and there and gnaw at him like a toothless cub.

he lets out another laugh, which, to you, felt full of pity, wrapping your body in his embrace. “well,” he toys with a devious smile, “now you know how it feels!”

“know how what feels?” you slip your hands beneath his t-shirt with a possessive grip on his waist earning a ticklish smile to match his scrunching nose.

“how it feels when…you know…like in the morning when you walk out of the shower smelling so good with all your lotions on and i have to go work.”

you stare at him, bemused. “i don’t see how that’s remotely fair.”

he smirks at that, leaning down to kiss you. a drooping strand brushes against your eyelash and forehead, nearly binding you within your lover’s trance. “i’ll make it up to you later…”

“oh, you’re gonna do much more than that,” you bid, returning his kiss with mock weakness at the same time your pager buzzes in your bag. your car was at the gate. “and you—“ he plants another unreturned kiss on your lips, “—better not let anybody see you—“ he kisses your cheek, the crux of your jaw, “—you stay right here in this room until i get back—“ you whine impatiently as he lands another one on your neck, “—bye. i love you.”

he lets you slip out of his grip, but not before he presses a firm, promising kiss to your lips that leaves you, almost, utterly dazed. you swipe your stuff into your arms, turning to look back at him, your hand curling up as if to strangle him.

“i mean it, michael! you’re not leaving this room!”

“i look that good, huh?” he teases, arms folded in triumph as he watches you tromp away. you only scoff, the sound of your heels moving like a rolling thunder through the neverland palace.

-

for you, lovely one :) thank you!!! @cinnamoncunt

[mjlover678]

ˏˋ°•*Electric Eyes Everywhere

HIStory Era | One-shot Fanfic

Michael Jackson x Reader

Description: Michael is constantly being watched by the paparazzi and has no privacy whatsoever because of them. Tabloids and magazines keep talking about him and his personal life. Feeling like he has no one else, he talks to you about how misunderstood and lonely he feels inside.

Word count: 1,384

Author's note: Hello, my name is Soliana. This is my first ever fanfic. I don't really have much to say other than to enjoy this one-shot that I've made. Please give any tips and recommendations on my writing so I can improve more. Thank you!!

The world knew his name, but not his truth.

It was raining again. Not the soft kind of rain that feels like a kiss against your skin, but the harsh type that pounded the mansion's windows like a warning. Thunder growled low above Neverland, echoing Michael’s mood. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one inside his heart.

You sat on the plush velvet couch in his private den, legs tucked under you, flipping through a tabloid you’d picked up from the front gate. Your stomach turned with every headline. “Wacko Jacko strikes again.” “Another Allegation Surfaces.” “Is the King of Pop Losing His Mind?” Lies. All lies. You tossed it aside with a heavy sigh, your chest aching for him.

The door creaked open slowly. Michael stepped inside, wearing black pants and a loose white shirt, the buttons halfway undone. His curls were damp, clinging to his temples like they, too, were weighed down by the pressure of being him. You can tell he had just taken a shower.

He looked exhausted.

“Hey,” you said softly, standing up. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer at first. Just looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he should cry, scream, or collapse. Finally, he said, “They're out there again. At the gates. With cameras. Like they’re hunting me.”

You walked over to him and gently touched his arm. He flinched, but only for a moment. Then he leaned into your touch like it was the only real thing in the world. You led him to the couch and sat beside him.

“They’re saying things that aren’t true,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “They're trying to destroy me. They don't see me. Not the real me. Just... this image. This... character they created. 'Wacko.' 'Freak.'���

You shook your head. “You’re not that. You're Michael. You're brilliant, kind, misunderstood—”

“They don’t care,” he cut you off, eyes dark with hurt. “They don't want the truth. They want a story. I try to make people smile, and all they do is twist it. The children… I just wanted to help them. And now…” His voice cracked. “They think I'm something evil.”

He buried his face in his hands.

You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around him. He trembled under your touch like he’d been holding back tears for days, months, years. The pressure of being Michael Jackson was unbearable, and no one ever seemed to care about how heavy his crown was.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you whispered into his hair. “I see you, Michael. Not the legend. Not the headlines. You.”

He looked up at you slowly, eyes glassy but soft. “Why do you stay?”

Your breath caught. “Because I care. Because I love you.”

The room fell silent. Only the sound of the rain filled the space between your heartbeats. His eyes widened slightly. “You love me?”

You nodded. “I know it sounds crazy—”

“No,” he interrupted gently. “It’s not crazy. It’s just... I never thought someone like you could love someone like me.”

You reached up, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Someone like you? Michael, you have more heart than anyone I’ve ever known.”

He searched your eyes for any sign of dishonesty, but found none. Then, quietly, like a secret he’d been dying to tell, he said, “I’m in love with you too.”

Time seemed to pause.

His hand found yours, fingers interlacing like they’d always belonged that way. You leaned in, and he met you halfway. The kiss was slow, uncertain at first, but then full of quiet desperation—the kiss of someone who’d waited too long to be seen, to be loved without fear.

When it broke, his forehead rested against yours.

“Promise me you won’t leave,” he whispered. “Even when things get worse.”

You cupped his face. “Never. Let them say what they want. I know the truth. And I’ll stand beside you until the world finally does too.”

He smiled—a real, tired, grateful smile. The kind he rarely showed anymore.

Outside, the rain began to slow.

Inside, for the first time in a long time, Michael felt warm. Safe. Loved. Behind the mask, behind the cameras, behind the chaos—he was just a man. And in your arms, that was finally enough.

The next morning, the sun spilled lazily through the long windows of the mansion, casting golden light across the hardwood floors. Michael was still asleep, his head resting in your lap, long lashes fluttering every so often like he was battling nightmares. His hand loosely held yours, even in sleep, as if he were afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

You brushed your fingers through his curls, gently so as not to wake him. Last night had felt like something sacred. Raw. Real. For once, Michael had let down the walls he always held so tightly around himself—and he had let you in.

Your phone buzzed.

You slowly slid it out of your pocket and unlocked it.

Trending: “Michael Jackson Seen With Mystery Person at Neverland” “New Photos Spark Relationship Rumors Amid Legal Turmoil” “Jackson Romance: Real or hoax?”

Your stomach dropped. A blurry, long-lens photo of you and Michael through the window. Your hand on his face. His head against your shoulder.

They had caught you. The vultures never missed a chance.

Michael stirred.

You quickly turned off the screen and slid the phone away, but he noticed your change in energy. “What is it?” he asked groggily.

You hesitated. “They saw us. Paparazzi. The photo’s already online.”

His body tensed in your arms. That peace he’d found last night shattered instantly. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face. “Of course they did,” he muttered bitterly. “They won’t even let me love someone in peace.”

You reached for him, but he stood up, pacing now. “They're going to twist it. Say you're just another someone looking for attention. That I planted the story. Or worse—”

“They can say what they want,” you interrupted, standing too. “Let them talk. I know what this is. You know what this is.”

His eyes searched yours, frantic. “But they’ll come after you now. They’ll dig up everything they can. They'll try to break you just to get to me.”

“Then let them,” you said firmly. “I’d rather face the fire with you than be safe without you.”

Michael stopped pacing.

“You mean that?” he whispered.

You walked over to him and placed your hand over his heart. “Always.”

His arms wrapped around you tightly, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he blinked. You could feel the beat of his heart against your chest—fast, but steady. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured into your shoulder.

“You deserve love, Michael. Real love. Not the kind that needs cameras or headlines. The kind that sees you. Feels you. Stays.”

A moment passed in silence, and then he whispered, “Would you stay… forever?”

You looked up into those beautiful, wounded eyes. “If you’ll let me.”

His lips brushed yours, tender and uncertain. “Then I’m not hiding anymore.”

Your heart stopped. “What?”

“I’ve spent so much of my life hiding behind sunglasses, gates, and bodyguards. But if loving you means showing the world who I truly am—then maybe it’s time.”

Your breath hitched. “Are you sure? That’s a big decision.”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Just then, his phone buzzed from across the room. The screen lit up with his manager's name. You both glanced at it.

“They’re going to want a statement,” he said. “Some kind of denial. Or a distraction.”

You met his gaze. “And what are you going to tell them?”

He smiled softly. “That I’m not hiding anymore.”

Later That Week

A statement was released. Brief. Honest. “Michael Jackson kindly asks for privacy as he begins a personal relationship with someone dear to his heart. He thanks his fans for their love and support.”

No more hiding. No more masks.

The media spun it, of course. Speculation ran wild. But the difference was… he didn’t flinch anymore. You stood beside him, hand in his, chin high, heart full. And when the headlines eventually faded—as they always did—what remained was the truth.

You.

Him.

And a kind of love that didn’t need permission to exist.

[plumppies]

Midnight at Club 30

 Michael Jackson

Synopsis: Your loving husband is not as honest as he claims to be. Tonight, you find out exactly what he's been hiding.

Pairing: Mafia boss!Michael Jackson x fem!Reader

Word Count: 9.1K

Warnings: Some sweating. Michael is nonchalant here ewww

Rea's note: I had so much fun writing this! Constructive criticism and suggestion are welcome in my inbox. Thank you for the request, babe. <3

March 1st, 1932

22:00

You take a deep breath in as you examine your surroundings. You can’t believe you’re going on a date with a man your friend, Aubrey, set you up with.

It had been a long time since your separation from your long-time boyfriend. The split was painful. You remember it every so often; sometimes the emotions of the split build up at random times of your day, leaving you teary and shaking with sadness. He promised you the world. Maybe that was the first sign of his infidelity. No man promises a woman the world three months into a relationship. It was all bull from the beginning, but could you have known? You were in your late teens, naive and lovestruck. You couldn��t have known.

Now, here you are, in front of Club 30, in a shimmery black dress, draped with a white fur shawl and sleek golden heels. Your hair is beautifully done in a top bun with a few loose curls draped behind your ears. You fiddle with one of the multiple rings you have on, contemplating whether you should go in. You take in one final breath before pushing open the heavy oak doors, ready for whatever the late night has in store for you.

The bass of the jazz band rumbles through the smokey air as you walk in. You notice a large crowd on the dance floor. Their bodies rock from side to side to the rhythm of the 4-count music. To the left are several tables designed for an assembly of friends. The booths are decorated in a simple brown leather with each table covered with wine-red cloths designed to give you an intimate feel as friends conversation.

There are 4 young men there right now. Their head all turned to you. You give them a small smile which excites them butyou ignore it and look to your right. That way is the bar. That’s where you’re expected. You clear your throat and slowly walk to the bar before taking a seat on one of the many high barstools. The array of alcohol beautifully decorates the large wall before you. From wine to whiskey, it’s all gracefully shelved, disguising the liquid poison as something beautiful.

“Can I get you something to drink?” The bartender interrupts your thoughts. His smile was genuine and calm, indicating his expertise in customer service.

You return the smile, your red lipstick morphing into a gracious grin as you speak. “I’m not too sure what to order. Any suggestions?”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a taste for a sweet or bitter drink?” He leans on the counter, clearly taken aback by your allure.

“Sweet, please.”

“I would suggest a lemonade or strawberry daiquiri.” He looks you up and down with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Strawberry, please.” You giggle, rolling your eyes as he nods before turning around to prepare your drink.

While the bartender works on your beverage, you fix your gaze on the large clock. 22:10. Aubrey had said your date would be by the bar by 22:00 but he’s not here yet. You decide to shrug it off and wait a little longer.

“Here you are, ma’am. A strawberry daiquiri.” He carefully slides the drink your way with a wink.

You take a long sip through the paper straw. The sweetness of the strawberry fizz compliments the thick rum. You’re quiteimpressed by the taste. Having never drank this before, your tongue enjoys every drop of it, and soon enough, you’re asking for another one.

22:30.

You huff.

“Are you expecting someone?” The bartender inquires, sliding you your second daiquiri.

“Yes, I am, but I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.” You take a sip of your drink with a frown.

“That happens here quite a lot, unfortunately,” he starts, “Just a few hours ago, an older lady sat here with me and waited for her date to arrive. Alas, he never did.”

You sigh and nod. Maybe the same fate had met you.

“Don’t fret. I’m sure he would have been a waste of time anyway.” He grins, tapping his fingers on the marble counter.

You nod again, accepting your circumstances. Instead of moping about your current fate, you turn to face the band across the bar. They play a more upbeat tune now. Something that has the dance floor cheering and whistling. The sight lifts your mood. Your head begins to rock to the rhythm.

“You should join the crowd, let loose!” The bartender encourages you.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” you lean back to turn the suggestion down.

“Oh come on, ma’am. I’m sure you’re great at it. Plus, why come to Club 30 if not to dance? This is the place to dance, and I know*-”*

The bartender’s words are cut off as he notices the large oak doors open again. The thick, smokey air in the club shifts, as if it’s being controlled by something greater than it; something that makes the jazz band mess up rhythmic jam.

“Oh no. Tonight of all nights?” He whispers behind you and you fix your gaze towards the two large men who you assume are bodyguards.

Before you can respond, another man walks in. He’s dressed differently from the black-suited large men behind him. You glance at his white tailored suit. The expensive fabric hugs his slim figure perfectly, accentuating his toned arms and legs. Beneath his white suit jacket is a soft pastel blue shirt sleekly complimented by a white tie. His hair, curly, thick, and longis topped off with a white fedora. His presence has undoubtedly changed the club’s mood. What you cannot decipher is if this shift is a good or bad one. What you do know, however, is that his arrival has garnered the attention of everyone in the club.

As swiftly as he arrived, his bodyguards escorted him to the far corner of the club. He sits between them as if he is royalty of some sort. He examines the room, seated in the perfect place to see every corner of the club; to see you.

You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him the entire time he had sat there until he finally fixed his gaze on you. With a nervous smile, you wave at him. He tilts his head, but before he can do anything else, his table is surrounded by a cluster of girls ready to throw themselves at him.

“I wouldn't if I were you. That man is trouble.”

You turn to face the bartender whose face is painted with concern.

“Why’s that?” You smile inquisitively.

“He’s known for doing shady business around these parts of Chicago. Rumour has it that he’s taken a life just outside the club, in the back ally”

You scoff.

“I doubt that's true. If it was, we’d see news of a death on the papers, no?”

Before the bartender could answer, one of the large men from the corner table tapped you on your shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am. My boss would like to speak with you.” The large man speaks with an even tone.

You look at the bartender who shakes his head in disagreement with the request, but you; not having anything better to do here; smile and stand up to follow the black-suited man.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You reassure the bartender before you walk to the designated table.

A dozen eyes watch you as you make it to the alluring man. The girls that once squealed with excitement at his arrival now fix their eyes on you with bitter jealousy. That doesn't stop the white-suited man from motioning you to sit beside him. You slowly scoot your way onto the leather seat, sitting just a few inches away from him.

“Leave us.” He commands, and as if they’re filled with fear, the two bodyguards make their way to the dance floor. The girls, on the other hand, linger.

“All of you. Now.” His voice is stern now, his piercing gaze scaring the girls away with those simple words.

Now, you’re left alone with him. With nobody around, his scent floods your nostrils. A deep sage with a mix of vanilla surrounds him. What an intoxicating scent, one you could inhale for aeons.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing here all alone at this hour?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly softer than the tough visual that he is. He shifts closer to you, closing the gap you had left before looking you dead in the eyes. His deep brown eyes glisten in the mellow lighting of the club. Something is confusing about those eyes. They appear so innocent, but something in them hints at a darker reality.

“I- I had a date tonight,” you fidget with your rings, “regrettably, he never showed.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, which you’ll come to learn is whiskey. His gaze never leaves yours as he drinks.

“What a foolish man he is to leave a woman hanging like that, especially a woman of your…stature.”

You giggle. He loves that. The sound of your giggle eggs him on.

“My stature?” You probe and he nods.

“An enchanting woman like you shouldn’t be treated so poorly.”

You’re taken aback by his words. Looking away from him you fiddle with your rings. He notices this and gently places his hand on yours. You look at. It’s much larger than yours with veins travelling to and fro. You look up surprised and are greeted by a soft grin.

“The name’s Michael. Michael Jackson. Yours?”

Without a second to waste you tell him yours. His smile brightens at your response, a few crinkles surround his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s very nice to meet you, darlin'.” Michael whispers into your ear in a sultry tone, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Now, tell me. What nonsense was our little bartender telling you about me, hmm?” He leans back into the leather seat.

“That you’re trouble.” You shrug bluntly, tapping your slim fingers on the table before you.

“Oh really?” He motions for his bodyguard, “What kind of trouble did he say I am?

Before you answer, he whispers something to his bodyguard before shooing him away. You watch the large man walk to the bar.

“That you’ve done some shady business here and even…”

“Even what, darling?” He coos.

The bodyguard returns to you and places a strawberry daiquiri in on the tabl before turning and leaving for the dance floor once again.

“Thank you.” “You smile and take a sip. “He said you’d killed someone in behind this very building.

Your words provoke a loud chuckle from him. His head tilts backwards as he laughs, exposing his Adam's apple.

“As you can see, Louis over there has quite the imagination.” He clears his throat and drops his expression into something more serious. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me around these parts. People love to gossip about my occupation. They know nothing of what they speak of.”

You sigh a sigh of relief and drink the last of your beverage, continuing the conversation. He remains calm and collected, only sharing enough to keep you intrigued, but not sufficient to satisfy your curiosity.

September 14th 1935

Three years into your relationship you’ve come to learn that Michael would always be that way. Not even the fact that you’re his wife could change that. Anytime you ask about his work, he’ll give you a short answer. Nothing too specific, just enough to reassure you that he’ll be safe on the next business trip he’d be heading to. Lately, things have changed. Your husband had no longer told you where he was headed. He’d simply leave a note alluding to where he’d be and what he’d be dealing with.

To say you were annoyed by his behaviour is an understatement. You spent the past 3 months with your housemaids. They knew the ins and outs of your new grand home, the home you moved into with Michael when he married you two and half years ago. You grew friendly to them in the early stages of your marriage which you thank yourself for doing because you can ask them what exactly your husband gets up to while you’re asleep or away with friends and family.

“Two weeks ago, he had three men here. They were all dressed in expensive-looking suits, and we were all ordered to serve them with whatever they pleased,” said Diane with an admitting tone.

“And a month before that, he had a woman here,” Claire adds, “but worry not. He did not lead her to your bedroom or anything of that sort.”

You listen to them intently, your fists clenching and relaxing as they tell you just how much Michael has been hiding from you.

“Do you know where he’ll be later tonight? You two are the eyes and ears of this house. I’m sure you heard word of his night excursion.” You look at them both.

“Yes. Of course!” Diane speaks. “I overheard him talk to his chauffeur, Bill, about being at Club 30 tonight at 11 pm for some business.”

“Perfect. Once he leaves for that, be sure to have a car for me to follow him there.”

Diane and Claire nod and disburse as your so-called honest husband makes his way to the kitchen where you’re situated.

“Good day, darling.” Michael coos, placing a soft and long kiss on your lips. “What were you all discussing just now?”

You kiss him back and hum, knowing not to tell him the truth. “We were planning for our housewarming party tomorrow.

“Ah, I see,” he sits beside you, placing his large hand on the small of your back, “I’ll make sure to get all the alcohol needed tonight, okay?”

You nod and cup his face with your warm hands, “Thank you, my love. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiles, rubbing your back slowly before turning his attention to the newspaper. You notice his jaw clench as he reads the front cover, so you turn to the newspaper.

“Two Bodies Found at The Docking Pier Near Club 30”

“Oh my,” you gasp, catching Michael’s attention, “Poor souls.”

“It’s shocking indeed, darling,” he says not because he means it but because he has to in order not to alarm you. You can tell he knows more about these deaths than he’s saying so you probe.

“When did they find them?”

“The morning of September 9th.” He answers as he continues to read.

“Were you not there the night before?” you lean closer to him.

“What Are you sayin’?” He slowly turns towards you.

You huff and look him dead in his eyes. ”Surely you would have seen something.”

Michael’s Gaze hardens and his hand clutches the newspaper tightly. It’s not the first time you’ve angered him this way. There have been times when you asked him about his whereabouts, noticing how they always seemed to correlate with the discovery of a dead body. This time, however, you prob further. Gone are the days when you simply say “Okay fine” and let it go. Today, You want to know as much as he’ll tell you, even if it means he’ll be infuriated by your unwavering questioning.

“Darlin’…” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Why would I know a thing about this.” He asks irritated, shaking the paper firmly.

“Because you were they the night before, no?” He nods. “And the paper says there was a quarrel around the same you when there for a drink.”

You observe his increasing anger, his breath getting deeper as he attempts to keep himself from raising his voice at you. One thing is for sure; he has something to hide, but he won’t dare yell at you. He knows better than to treat his woman with such fury. He would rather die than create room in your heart for you to fear him. If he did that, he would have failed as a husband, as a man, but God, were you pissing him off right now.

“Darlin’, I do not witness the fights that break out at the club. I’m gone by then.” He speaks bluntly.

“So why’d you come home so late that night?”

“Listen,” He snaps but quickly lowers his voice, “what I do in my spare time is not your concern. All you need to worry about is the goings-on of our home and yourself. Is that clear, Darlin’?”

His tone is stern as if to discipline you like a child. He’s never used such a tone while addressing you. You knew now that he was not telling you the complete story.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get ready for work.” That's the last thing he said to you that day before he disappeared out of the large wooden doors of your home to do God knows what.

19:00

Michael had arrived back from work an hour prior. He did not spend much time with you that evening, and soon, he was out the door. The only thing he said was that he’d be back with the alcohol for tomorrow’s housewarming. Why were you having a housewarming two years into moving here? You didn’t know, but that's not important. What's important is to figure out exactly what he has planned for the night.

23:17

“Mrs Jackson, the car is ready for you,” Diane whispers and you nod.

“Thank you, Diane. You and Claire be sure to take the day off tomorrow. We’ll have other servers here in your place.” Diane nods hastily at your words before she and Claire disappear into the servants’ quarters.

23:45

You thank the driver before stepping out of the car. Here you are, in front of Club 30 once again. It had been months since you were here, having feared that you’d meet the same fate as those two young men who were found dead this morning. That fear is now replaced with pent-up rage from your husband's lies. You were done with the secrets. Tonight, you’ll find out the truth, and nothing will stop you from completing that mission.

You walk into the ally and sneak your way into the club through the back door.

“Thank you, Louis. You’re a gem.” You give the bartender a soft kiss on the cheek as he helps you through the club’s kitchen.

“He’s here already. Two men came in shortly after him,” he blushed at the kiss, “Then two other men followed. They’re all seated together in his booth.”

You nod with a frown. “Do you know what they’re up to?”

“No, ma’am. They’ve had the jazz band playing to cover up their conversations, but the band will retire for the night soon.”

You follow him to the club’s end of the kitchen. To your surprise, the band has already left, leaving the five men, including Michael, to their own devices. Their conversation is clear as day. Both you and Louis lean on the door to listen in.

23:50

“How did they find the bodies?” Michael asks, his tone cold.

“We don’t know, boss. Don said he’d take care of it but-” One of the men tries to defend themself but is cut by the other.

“I never said I’d take care of anything!” You assume that is Don talking.

“Boss told you too! You always mess up the simplest jobs.”

“Enough!” You hear Michael shout as he delivers a loud bang to the table. “I will not tolerate such childish behaviour from anyone tonight. You all need to shut up and listen.”

A shiver runs down your back at his commanding voice. His soft-spoken nature seems to have shifted into something darker, something you didn’t recognise. Was this your husband? Of course, it was, but this was a side of him you were not acquainted with.

“But first. I must deal with something,” Michael begins, “Louis, bring her here.”

You dart your eyes to Louis, whose hand has already grasped yours, pulling you out of the kitchen and into the club's main room. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Michael stands before you, his curls messy and suit well-kept. He clicks his tongue and circles you slowly, shooing Louis away with a knowing nod.

“Now, what do we have here?” Michael speaks with a disappointed tone.

You’re frozen in place. The shock of Louis having sold you out fogged your mind. All you can do is dart your eyes as he continues the torturous dance around you. At that moment, you feel small. Like a rabbit waiting for the cheetah before it to pounce. 

“I- I can explain-”

Michael chuckles. “What happened to all that spunk you had interrogating me this morning, Darlin’? Was it all a front?”

You have no choice but to look down abashedly. You’ve been caught, your plans ruined by someone you thought you could trust. Oh, once you get out of here, you’ll be ripping Louis a new one.

“Come. Sit.” Michael grabs your arm and leads you to the booth. You fall onto the leather seat and face the four men who sit across from you and Michael on hard wooden stools.

“Explain yourself, darlin’.” He commands.

The anger you’ve bottled up finally spills over as you begin: “Explain myself? You have a lot of nerve to say such a thing! How dare you lie to me about your life to this degree? Shame on you! Shame on all of you in this room right now!”

You’re seething with anger, your hands clench tight around nothing, your jaw tight, and your brows furrowed. Your eyes roam your surroundings. The four men facing you don’t react to your words. One, however, smiles contently.

“I never knew your wife could yell like that, Boss.” Don smiles.

“Neither did I,” Michael admits, “You’re full of surprises, young lady.”

“And you’re full of shit!” You spit at Michael, provoking a twitch of disapproval across his face.

“Watch yourself.” He lifts a finger, reprimanding your outburst. “I know you want answers, but I will not accept such foul language, darlin’. Understand?”

You shake your head, cross your arms and look anywhere but him or his lackeys. “Speak.”

Michael chuckles at your attempt to be tough. “Oh, you’re too cute, my love,” he says as he sits beside you, “As you wish. What would you like to know?”

“Who are these men?” You start with a simple question.

“These are Tony, Don, Trevor, and Allen. They’re my cleaners, my boys.” He sips his whiskey.

“Cleaners? Meaning what?” You raise a brow at them and they all bow their heads in acknowledgement.

“What an innocent mind you have” He coos. “They clean up after me. You know, after I deal with someone.”

“What?” You raise your voice.

“We get rid of anyone he kills, Mrs Jackson. That’s our job, but someone didn’t do it right on Friday.” Tony hits Don on the heads

Michael shifts in the seat and shakes his head. “You are all so childish.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Your husband, the man you love is a killer. A cold-blooded killer. How did he never show any sign of this sick side to him?

“Michael, you’re a killer?” You look at him with your cheeks red.

“Darlin’, it’s much more complicated than that-”

“Then explain yourself” You snap.

Michael sighs before nodding. He stands up, holding his hand out for you to take it, but you don't. Instead, you stand and follow him to the balcony on the second floor.

00:00

The hustle and bustle of Chicago has slowed down significantly at this hour. As you and Michael stand outside, you hear a dog bark from afar and a car rumble through the empty road. This calm view of the city lights does little to nothing to ease your stress. It seems as though nothing he has to say with change how you feel in the moment.

“Listen, I know what you’ve heard is concerning to you, but I must assure you, my love, that You have nothing to worry about.”

“Is that so?” You huff. “How am I supposed to do that when you’re running the streets killing people?”

Michael lifts his finger to hush you. The last thing he needs is to have the patrolling police listening to your heated conversation.

“It’s not that simple, my love.”

“Simplify it for me,” You cross your arms.

“You won’t believe me, but alas, I’ll explain.” He leans onto the rails, lighting a cigar before taking a long breath of the smoky substance.

“Remember when I told you about my upbringing? My family always had to move from state to state.” you nod. “Well, that was because my father was involved in criminal activity. But you know that part.”

You remember Michael telling you about how his father was killed in prison by a gang he worked in opposition with.

“Go on,” you command.

“When my father died, my older brothers wanted nothing to do with the life my father led, so I took over as boss.” Michael wraps his lips around the cigar, sucking on it as it fills his lungs with the smoky air. He puffs rings of smoke out as he watches for your reaction.

“You're some kind of mafia boss? here, in Chicago?” You cough as the aftersmoke hits your throat.

All Michael can do is nod. His eyes stay fixed on you as you take in everything you’ve heard. 

How long was he going to hide this? What would he have done if you were in trouble? What did he expect you to do if he got arrested or hurt?

“I would never let myself get hurt, let alone put you in any form of danger, darlin’. I swear.” He reassures you with one hand on your face and the other holding the burning cigar

“You’ve already endangered me by not telling me this from the beginning.” Your voice cracks.

“How could I tell a stranger that I’m a criminal?” He runs his fingers through his curls.

“You’re calling your wife a stranger? Jee, Michael. I never knew you were this cruel.” Your head shakes as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Darlin’…I meant no harm. believe me.” Michael wipes a tear from your eye which does nothing to soothe your sorrow.

“I cannot do this right now.” You turn away from him.

“My love…” his voice falls small.

“You’ve lied to me for three years, Michael. Three years.” You sigh and take a step away from him. “I cannot bear to look at you without feeling betrayed. I cannot be around you right now.”

You walk away, leaving him on the balcony with a cigar in his hand and a tear threatening to fall from his beautiful brown eyes.

00:38

As you hastily pack an overnight bag, you look at your shared bed with teary eyes. The thought of you sharing a be with a killer haunts your mind and breaks your heart. You had to get away from here, from him.

Right now, nothing could stop you from seeing him as a monster, and that hurt to admit.

You married a criminal. You married a killer.

March 1st, 1932

22:00

You take a deep breath in as you examine your surroundings. You can’t believe you’re going to do this, going on a date with a man your friend, Aubrey, set you up with.

It had been a long time since your separation from your long-time boyfriend. The split was painful. You remember it every so often; the emotions of that day build up at random times of your day, leaving you teary and shaking with sadness. He promised you the world. Maybe that was the first sign of his infidelity. No man promises a woman the world three months into a relationship. It was all bull from the beginning, but could you have known? You were in your late teens, naive and lovestruck. You couldn’t have known.

Now, here you are, in front of Club 30, in a silky red dress and sleek golden heels. Your hair is done beautifully in a top bun with a few loose curls draped behind your ears. You fiddle with one of the multiple rings you have on, contemplating whether or not you should go in. You take in one final breath before pushing open the heavy oak doors, ready for whatever the late night has in store for you.

The bass of the jazz band rumbles through the smoky air as you walk in. You notice a large crowd on the dance floor. Their bodies rock from side to side to the rhythm of the 4-count music. To the left are tables designed for an assembly of friends. The booths are decorated in a simple brown leather, with each table covered with wine-red cloths designed to give you an intimate feel as friends converse.

There are five young men there right now. Their heads all turned to you. You give them a small smile, which excites them, but you ignore it and look to your right. That way is the bar. That’s where you’re expected. You clear your throat and slowly walk to the bar before taking a seat on one of the many high barstools. The array of alcohol beautifully decorates the large wall before you. From wine to whisky, it’s all gracefully shelved in a way that makes you forget that all those liquids are poison.

“Can I get you something to drink?” The bartender interrupts your thoughts. His smile is genuine and calm, indicating his expertise in customer service.

You return the smile. Your red lipstick morphs into a beautiful grin as you speak. “I’m not too sure what to order. Any suggestions?”

“Of course, ma’am. Do you have a taste for a sweet or bitter drink?” He leans on the counter, clearly taken aback by your allure.

“Sweet, please.”

“I would suggest a lemonade or strawberry daiquiri.” He looks you up and down with his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Strawberry, please.” You giggle and roll your eyes, and he nods before turning around to prepare your drink.

While the bartender works on your beverage, you fix your gaze on the large clock. 22:10. Aubrey had said your date would be by the bar by 22:00, but he’s not here yet. You decide to shrug it off and wait a little longer.

“Here you are, ma’am. A strawberry daiquiri.” He carefully slides the drink your way with a wink.

You take a long sip through the paper straw. The sweetness of the strawberry fizz is complemented by the thick rum.You’re impressed by the taste. Having never drunk this before, your tongue enjoys every drop of it, and soon enough, you’re asking for another one.

22:30.

You huff.

“Are you expecting someone?” The bartender enquires, sliding you your second daiquiri.

“Yes. I am, but I’m afraid I’ve been stood up.” You take a sip of your drink with a frown.

“That happens here quite a lot, unfortunately,” he starts, “Just a few hours ago, an older lady sat here with me and waited for her date to arrive. Alas, he never did.”

You sigh and nod. Maybe the same fate had met you.

“Don’t fret. I’m sure he would have been a waste of time anyway.” He grins, tapping his fingers on the marble counter.

You nod again, accepting your circumstances. Instead of moping about your current fate, you turn to face the band across the bar. They play a more upbeat tune now. Something that has the dance floor cheering and whistling with joy. The sight lifts your mood. Your head begins to rock to the rhythm.

“You should join the crowd, let loose,” The bartender encourages you.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” you lean back to turn the suggestion down.

“Oh, come on, ma’am. I’m sure you’re great at it. Plus, why come to Club 30 if not to dance? This is the place to dance, and I know—”

The bartender’s words are cut off as he notices the large oak doors open. The thick, smoky air in the club shifts, as if it’s being controlled by something—something that makes the jazz band mess up rhythmic jam.

“Oh no. Tonight of all nights?” He whispers behind you, and you fix your gaze on the two large men who you assume are bodyguards.

Before you can respond, another man walks in. He’s dressed differently from the large, black-suited men behind him. You glance at his white tailored suit. The expensive fabric hugs his slim figure perfectly, accentuating his toned arms and legs. Beneath his white suit jacket is a soft pastel blue shirt sleekly complemented by a white tie. His black curls upon his head are topped off with a simple white fedora. His presence has undoubtedly changed the mood of the club. What you cannot decipher is if the shift is a good or bad one. What you do know, however, is that his arrival has garnered the attention of everyone in the club.

As swiftly as he arrived, his bodyguards escorted him to the far corner of the club. He sits between them as if he’s royalty of some sort. He examines the room; he’s seated in the perfect place to see every corner of the club, to see you.

You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him the entire time he had sat there until he finally fixed his gaze on you. With a nervous smile, you wave at him. He tilts his head, but before he can do anything else, his table is surrounded by a cluster of girls ready to throw themselves at him.

“I wouldn't if I were you. That man is trouble.”

You turn to face the bartender, whose face shows concern.

“Why’s that?” You smile inquisitively.

“He’s known for doing shady business around these parts. Rumour has it that he’s taken a life just outside the club, in the back alley.”

You scoff.

“I doubt that's true. If it were, we’d see news of a death in the papers, no?”

Before the bartender could answer, one of the large men at the corner table tapped you on the shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am. My boss would like to speak with you.” The large man speaks with an even tone.

You look at the bartender, who shakes his head in disagreement with the request, but you, not having anything better to do here, smile and stand up to follow the black-suited man.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You reassure the bartender before you walk to the designated table.

A dozen eyes watch you as you make it to the alluring man. The girls that once squealed with excitement at his arrival now fix their eyes on you with bitter jealousy. That doesn't stop the white-suited man from motioning you to sit beside him. You slowly scoot your way onto the leather seat, sitting just a few inches away from him.

“Leave us.” He commands, and as if they’re filled with fear, the two bodyguards make their way to the dance floor. The girls, on the other hand, linger.

“All of you. Now.” His voice is stern now, his piercing gaze scaring the girls away with those simple words.

Now, you’re left alone with him. Without others around, his scent floods your nostrils. A deep sage with a mix of vanilla scent surrounds him. What an intoxicating scent, one you could inhale for aeons.

“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing here all alone at this hour?” He asks.

His voice is surprisingly softer than the tough visual that he is. He shifts closer to you, closing the gap you had left before looking you dead in the eyes. His deep brown eyes glisten in the mellow lighting of the club. Something is confusing about those eyes. They appear so innocent, but something in them hints at a darker reality.

“I had a date tonight,” you fidget with your rings, “regrettably, he never showed.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, which you’ll come to learn is whisky. His gaze never leaves yours as he drinks.

“What a foolish man he is to leave a woman hanging like that, especially a woman of your…stature.”

You giggle. The sound of your giggle eggs him on. “My stature?” You probe, and he nods.

“An enchanting woman like you shouldn’t be treated so poorly.”

You’re taken aback by his words. Looking away from him, you fiddle with your rings. He notices this and gently places his hand on yours. You look at. It’s larger than yours, with veins travelling to and fro. You look up surprised and he shoots you a soft grin.

“The name’s Michael. Michael Jackson. Yours?”

Without a second to waste, you tell him yours. His smile brightens at your response; a few crinkles surround his eyes as he smiles.

“It’s very nice to meet you, darlin',” Michael whispers into your ear in a sultry tone that causes a shiver to run down your spine.

“Now, tell me. What nonsense was our little bartender telling you about me, hmm?” He leans back into the leather seat.

“That you’re trouble.” You shrug bluntly, tapping your slim fingers on the table before you.

“Oh really?” He motions for his bodyguard, “What kind of trouble did he say I am?

Before you answer, he whispers something to his bodyguard before shooing him away. You watch the large man stand at the bar, and the bartender fixes up a drink.

“That you’ve done some shady business here and even…”

“Even what, darling?” He coos.

The bodyguard makes his way back to you and places a strawberry daiquiri in front of you before turning and leaving for the dance floor once again.

“Thank you.” “You smile and take a sip. “He said you’d killed someone behind this very building.

Your words provoke a loud chuckle from him. His head tilts back as he laughs, exposing his Adam's apple.

“As you can see, Louis over there has quite the imagination.” He clears his throat and drops his expression into something more serious. “Don’t believe everything you hear about me around these parts. People love to gossip about my occupation. They know nothing of what they speak of.”

You sigh a sigh of relief and drink the last of your beverage, continuing, the conversation with Michael. He remains calm and collected, only sharing enough to keep you wondering.

14 September 1935

Three years into your relationship, you’ve come to learn that Michael would always be that way. Not even the fact that you’re his now could change. Anytime you ask about his work, he’ll give you a short answer. Nothing too specific, just enough to reassure you that he’ll be safe on the next business trip he’ll be heading to. Lately, things have changed. Your husband had no longer told you where he was headed. He’d simply leave a note alluding to where he’d be and what he’d be dealing with.

To say you were annoyed by his behaviour is an understatement. You spent the past 3 months with your housemaids. They knew the ins and outs of your new grand home, the home you moved into with Michael when he married you two and a half years ago. You grew friendly with them in the early stages of your marriage, which you now thank yourself for doing because you can now ask them what exactly your husband gets up to while you’re asleep or away with friends and family.

“Two weeks ago, he had three men here. They were all dressed in expensive-looking suits, and we were all ordered to serve them with whatever they pleased,” said Diane with an admitting tone.

“And a month before that, he had a woman here,” Claire adds, “but worry not. He did not lead her to your bedroom or anything of that sort.”

You listen to them intently, your fists clenching and relaxing as they tell you just how much Michael has been hiding from you.

“Do you know where he’ll be later tonight? You two are the eyes and ears of this house. I’m sure you heard word of his night excursion.” You look at them both.

“Yes. Of course!” Diane speaks. “I overheard him talk to his chauffeur, Bill, about being at Club 30 tonight at 11 pm for some business.”

“Perfect. Once he leaves for that, be sure to have a car for me to follow him there, please.”

Diane and Claire nod at your plan and disperse as your so-called honest husband makes his way to the kitchen where you’re situated.

“Good day, darling.” Michael coos, placing a soft and long kiss on your lips. “What were you all discussing just now?”

You kiss him back and hum, knowing not to tell him the truth. “We were planning for the housewarming party you and I are hosting tomorrow.

“Ah, I see,” he sits beside you, placing his large hand on the small of your back, “I’ll make sure to get all the alcohol needed tonight, okay?”

You nod and cup his face with your warm hands, “Thank you, my love. You’re a lifesaver.”

He smiles, rubbing your back slowly before turning your attention to the daily newspaper. You notice his jaw clench as he reads the front cover, so you turn to the newspaper too.

“2 Bodies Found at the Docking Pier Near Club 30”

“Oh my,” you gasp, catching Michael’s attention, “Poor souls.”

“It’s shocking indeed, darling,” he says not because he means it but because he has to in order not to alarm you.

You can tell he knows more about these deaths than he’s saying, so you probe.

“When did they find them?”

“The morning of September 9th.” He answers as he continues to read.

“Were you not there the night before?” You lean closer to him.

“What are you sayin’?” He slowly turns towards you.

You huff and look him dead in his eyes. ”Surely you would have seen something.”

Michael’s gaze hardens, and his hand clutches the newspaper tightly. It’s not the first time you’ve angered him this way. There have been times when you asked him about his whereabouts, noticing how they always seemed to correlate with the discovery of a dead body. This time, however, you probably went further. Gone are the days when you simply say, “Okay, fine,” and let it go. Today, you want to know as much as he’ll tell you, even if it means he’ll be infuriated by your unwavering questioning.

“Darlin’…” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “Why would I know a thing about this?” He asks, irritated, shaking the paper firmly.

“Because you were there the night before, no?” He nods. “And the paper says there was a quarrel around the same time you were there for a drink.”

You observe his increasing anger, his breath getting deeper as he attempts to keep himself from raising his voice at you. One thing is for sure; he has something to hide, but he won’t dare yell at you. He knows better than to treat his woman with such fury. He would rather die than create room in your heart for you to fear him. If he did that, he would have failed as a husband, as a man, but God, were you pissing him off right now?

“Darlin’, I do not witness the fights that break out at that club. I’m gone by then.” He speaks bluntly.

“So why’d you come home so late that night?”

“Listen,” He snaps but quickly lowers his voice, “What I do in my spare time is not your concern. All you need to worry about is the going-ons of our home and yourself. Is that clear, Darlin’?”

His tone is stern as if to discipline you like a child. He’s never used such a tone while addressing you. You knew now that he was not telling you the complete story.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to get ready for work.” That's the last thing he said to you that day before he disappeared out of the large wooden doors of your home to do God knows what.

19:00

Michael had arrived back from work an hour prior. He did not spend much time with you that evening, and soon, he was out the door. The only thing he said was that he’d be back with the alcohol for tomorrow’s housewarming. Why were you having a housewarming two years into moving here? You didn’t know, but that's not important. What's important is to figure out exactly what he has planned for the night.

23:17

“Mrs. Jackson, the car is ready for you,” Diane whispers, and you nod.

“Thank you, Diane. You and Claire be sure to take the day off tomorrow. We’ll have other servers here in your place.” Diane nods hastily at your words before she and Claire disappear into the servants’ quarters.

23:45

You thank the driver before stepping out of the car. Here you are, in front of Club 30 once again. It had been months since you were here, having feared that you’d meet the same fate as those two young men who were found dead this morning. That fear is now replaced with pent-up rage from your husband's lies. You were done with the secrets. Tonight, you’ll find out the truth, and nothing will stop you from completing that mission.

You walk into the alley and sneak your way into the club through the back door.

“Thank you, Louis. You’re a gem.” You give the bartender a soft kiss on the cheek as he helps you through the club’s kitchen.

“He’s here already. Two men came in shortly after him,” he blushes at the kiss, “Then two other men followed. They’re all seated together in this booth.”

You nod with a frown. “Do you know what they are up to?”

“No, ma’am. They’ve had the jazz band playing to cover up their conversations, but the band will retire for the night soon.”

You follow him to the club’s end of the kitchen. To your surprise, the band has already left, leaving the five men, including Michael, to their own devices. Their conversation is clear as day. Both you and Louis lean on the door to listen in.

23:50

“How did they find the bodies?” Michael asks, his tone cold.

“We don’t know, boss. Don said he’d take care of it, but—” One of the men tries to defend himself but is interrupted by the other.

“I never said I’d take care of anything!” You assume it is Don talking.

“Boss told you too! You always mess up the simplest jobs.”

“Enough!” You hear Michael shout as he delivers a loud bang to the table. “I will not tolerate such childish behaviour from anyone tonight. You all need to shut up and listen.”

A shiver runs down your back at his commanding voice. His soft-spoken nature seems to have shifted into something darker, something you didn’t recognise. Was this your husband? Of course, it was, but this was a side of him you were not acquainted with.

“But first. I must deal with something,” Michael begins. “Louis, bring her here.”

You dart your eyes to Louis, whose hand has already grasped yours, pulling you out of the kitchen and into the main room of the club. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment and fear as Michael stands before you, his curls messy and his suit well-kept. He clicks his tongue and circles you slowly, shooing Louis away with a knowing nod.

“Now, now. What do we have here?” Michael speaks with a disappointed tone.

You’re frozen in place. The shock of Louis having sold you out is still fogging your mind. All you can do is dart your eyes from left to right as he continues the torturous dance around you. At that moment, you feel small. Like a rabbit waiting for the cheetah before it pounces. Its heart thumps uncontrollably as it awaits its demise.

“I—I can explain—”

Michael chuckles. “What happened to all that spunk you had interrogating me this morning, Darlin’? Was it all a front?”

You have no choice but to look down abashedly. You’ve been caught, your plans ruined by someone you thought you could trust. Oh, once you get out of here, you’ll be ripping Louis a new one.

“Come. Sit.” Michael grabs your arm and leads you to the booth. You fall onto the leather seat and face the four men who sit across from you and Michael on hard wooden stools.

“Explain yourself, darlin’.” He commands.

The anger you’ve bottled up finally spills over as you begin, “No! You have a lot of nerve to do such a thing! How dare you lie to me about your life to this degree? Shame on you! Shame on all of you in this room right now!”

You’re seething with anger, your hands clench tight around nothing, your jaw tight, and your brows furrowed. Your eyes roam your surroundings. The four men facing you don’t react to your words. One, however, smiles contently.

“I never knew your wife could yell like that, Boss.” Don smiles.

“Neither did I,” Michael admits, “You’re full of surprises, young lady.”

“And you’re full of shit!” You spit at Michael, provoking a twitch of disapproval across his face.

“Watch yourself.” He lifts a finger, reprimanding your outburst. “I know you want answers, but I will not accept such foul language, darlin’. Got it?”

You shake your head, cross your arms, and look anywhere but at him or his lackeys. “Speak.”

Michael chuckles at your attempt to be tough. “Oh, you’re too cute, my love,” he says as he sits beside you, “As you wish. What would you like to know?”

“Who are these men?” You start with a simple question.

“These are Tony, Don, Trevor, and Allen. They’re my cleaners, my boys.” He sips his whisky.

“Cleaners? Meaning what?” You raise a brow at them, and they all bow their heads in acknowledgement.

“What an innocent mind you have, darlin’.” He coos. “They clean up after me. You know, after I deal with someone.”

“What?” You raise your voice.

“We get rid of anyone he kills, Mrs. Jackson. That’s our job, but someone didn’t do it right on Friday.” Tony hits Don on the head.

Michael shifts in the seat and shakes his head. “You are all so childish.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Your husband, the man you love, is a killer. A cold-blooded killer. How couldn’t you have known? How did he never show any sign of this sick side?

“Michael, you’re a killer?” You look at him with your cheeks red.

“Darlin’, it’s much more complicated than that—”

“Then explain yourself!” You snap.

Michael sighs. He stands up, holding out his hand for you to take it, but you don't. Instead, you stand and follow him to the balcony on the second floor.

00:00

The hustle and bustle of Chicago has slowed down significantly at this hour. As you and Michael stand outside, you hear a dog bark from afar and a car rumble through the empty road. This calm view of the city lights does little to nothing to ease your stress. It seems as though nothing he has to say will change how you feel in the moment.

“Listen, I know what you’ve heard is concerning to you, but I must assure you, my love, that you have nothing to worry about.”

“Is that so?” You huff. “How am I not to worry when you’re running the streets killing people?”

Michael lifts his finger to hush you. The last thing he needs is to have the patrolling police listening in on your heated conversation.

“It’s not that simple, my love.”

“Simplify it for me.” You cross your arms.

“You won’t believe me, but alas, I’ll explain.” He leans onto the rails, lighting up a cigar before taking a long breath of the smoky substance.

“Remember when I told you about my upbringing? My family always had to move from state to state,” you nod. “Well, that was because my father was involved in criminal activity. But you know that part.”

Your memory is sparked, and you remember Michael telling you about how his father was killed in prison by a gang member he worked in opposition with.

“Go on,” you command.

“When my father died, my older brothers wanted nothing to do with the life he led, so I took over as boss.” Michael wraps his lips around the cigar, sucking on it as it fills his lungs with the smoky air. He puffs rings of smoke out as he watches for your reaction.

“You're some kind of mafia boss? here, in Chicago?” You cough as the aftersmoke hits your throat.

All Michael can do is nod. His eyes stay fixed on you as you take in everything you’ve heard. How long was he going to hide this? What would he have done if you were in trouble? What did he expect you to do if he got arrested or hurt?

“I would never let myself get hurt, let alone put you in any form of danger, darlin’. I swear.” He reassures you with one hand on your face and the other holding the burning cigar.

“You’ve already endangered me by not telling me this from the beginning.” Your voice cracks.

“How could I tell a stranger that I’m a criminal?” He runs his fingers through his curls.

“You’re calling your wife a stranger? Jeez, Michael. I never knew you were this cruel.” Your head shakes as tears roll down your cheeks.

“Darlin’…I meant no harm. believe me.” Michael wipes a tear from your eye, which does nothing to soothe your sorrow.

“I cannot do this right now.” You turn away from him.

“My love…” His voice falls small.

“You’ve lied to me for three years, Michael.” You take a step away from him. “I cannot bear to look at you without feeling betrayed. I cannot be around you right now. I don't even recognise you anymore”

You walk away, leaving him on the balcony with a cigar in his hand and a tear threatening to fall from his beautiful brown eyes.

00:38

As you pack an overnight bag, you look at your shared bed with teary eyes. The thought of you sharing a bed with a killer haunts your mind and breaks your heart. You had to get away from here, from him. Nothing could stop you from seeing him as a monster.

You married a killer. You married a criminal.

[anonymouspyt]

The Studio Session 💌

Word Count: 4.9k

Warning(s): none

May 18th, 1987. Los Angeles, CA.

"All my Children will be back in a moment." the smooth tone of the voiceover boomed from the sound waves of the 1981 19-inch Hitachi-CT color tv. The commercials swiftly interrupted, flooding the screen with bright, attention grabbing advertisements.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your legs were crossed and the base of your foot tapped lightly against the edge of the coffee table in your cousin's apartment. You were sitting on the couch, reading a magazine. You could hear your cousin laughing and your eyebrow lifted as you lifted your head up from the magazine. The current commercial faded into mere background noise as you focused in on your cousin, who was talking on the phone.

You'd just arrived in town last night, visiting from Georgia. Your cousin had always told you that anytime you wanted to come to L.A., you were more than welcome to stay with her, so you decided to take her up on that offer.

"Alright, I'll see you soon. Bye Michael." Your cousin, Siedah said with a light giggle and hung up the phone. She looks over at you with a grin.

You look over with anticipating eyes. "Soooo.." You grin at her before continuing, teasingly. "Was that Michael, Michael?"

Your cousin chuckles before answering you. "Yes Y/N, that was Michael Jackson on the phone. He wanted to touch base with me and make sure we were still on for our studio session today."

Suddenly, your interest piqued when you questioned her again, "Oh yeah.. it's that new song you're working on with him, for his upcoming album right?"

Now having your undivided attention, you recalled the moment she told you about the collaboration over the phone last week. It was just the other day when she was heading into session with Michael and Quincy Jones. Michael was still looking for someone to appear on the track, I Just Can't Stop Loving You, and what Siedah didn't know at the time was that both Michael and Quincy had decided to let her to be featured on it. They let her know once she got settled in the studio. She was so surprised when they gave her the news, you couldn't have been any prouder.

"Yup, the very one!" she replied, standing up and walking over to the coat rack to grab her black leather jacket. Siedah looked at you as she slid her arms in the jacket before she added, "We're meeting in West Hollywood within the hour. I gotta get going before traffic hits."

"How long does a studio session normally take?" You ask her curiously with a hint of nervousness.

Siedah shrugged as she adjusted her jacket on her body. "You never know how long a session is going to take. Hell, I never know. It could be a hour.. It could be 3 to 5 hours. Maybe even overnight.."

Still holding the magazine in your hands, you dropped it in your lap, reacting instinctively, and looked at her. "Overnight?!" You paused, taking in her neutral reaction. "What the hell am I supposed to do until you come back?" You said, frustration creeping in your voice. You weren't exactly thrilled to be cooped up in your cousin's apartment all by yourself in an unfamiliar city.

"I don't know cuzzo.. but hey, there's plenty to do out here to pass the time." Siedah said casually, trying to make light of the situation. She takes a step forward to look in the mirror and  fix the collar on her yellow blouse. "You can catch a cab and go see a movie at the TCL Chinese Theater, head down to the Pier in Santa Monica, or you could even go to Disneyland. There's so much to choose from!" she added.

You sat there and listened to your cousin throw out these suggestions. They weren't necessarily bad options but they weren't great options either. You thought it over briefly until another thought comes to mind. The wheels in your mind began to turn and, a mischievous grin slowly curled at the corners of your lips as you looked at her.

Siedah assessed your current disposition and looked at you crazily before questioning you. "What?"

"Let me come with you."

She furrowed her eyebrows at you and asked a follow up question. "Come where?"

You give her a duh look, your tone matching it's expression. "To the studio." To make it clearer for her, you added. "Let me come to the studio with you." Your cousin looked at you with an unconvinced grin for a couple moments.

It's as if she considered it for a moment, but then she hesitates before saying, "I don't know Y/N.."

"Oh come on, it's not everyday that your super talented cousin gets to work with THE Michael Jackson!" You try to say in a more convincing tone.

"I don't know Y/N.. Michael normally likes to keep his studio sessions private." Siedah said while grabbing her purse from the coat rack.

You got up from the couch and walked over to her, shaking her shoulders. "Come on Sid, pleaseee! It would be so much fun!" You pleaded. She looked at you, still unconvinced that she should bring you along. "I won't say a word, I promise. If he doesn't want me in the studio with you guys, I'll sit outside in the lobby.." You lifted your hands in surrender, shrugging your shoulders. "The least he can say is no, right?" You added on as a last ditch effort.

Your cousin looked at you for a few seconds more and breaks the look with a grin. She groaned playfully, "Alright, let's go.." You squealed and hugged her tightly. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" "Yeah yeah, hurry up Y/N! We gotta go!"

You let go of her, looking at her excitedly. "Let me go put on my boots and I'll be ready. Give me two seconds!" You dashed off to the spare guest room she'd allowed you to use while you're in town. Kicking off your house slippers by the door, you open the closet door and grab your black leather stiletto ankle boots. You could hear your cousin fussing at you while slipping one of them on from the other room, "Y/N, Let's go!" Her footsteps echoed towards the front door, and you could hear the jingling of her car keys as she pulled them out of her purse.

"Okay, okay! Keep your pants on!" You sassed as you reached for your black Chanel handbag with the double flap and gold-tone hardware.

"Yo ass is about to get left!" Siedah retorted while unlocking and opening the door.

"Alright, I'm coming! Damn!" You hop out the room with one heel on and the other in your hand. Using your free hand, you throw your purse strap over your shoulder and slip the other heel on your foot.

You walk over near Siedah to look in the mirror at your outfit, adjusting the gold chain embellishments on the sleeve of your blazer so it will hang properly. You can feel Siedah's eyes burning the side of your face. Turning to face her, you teased, "Whatcha waitin' on? Let's go." you chuckled on the way out. Your cousin just rolled her eyes as you passed her by, leaving her to follow in behind you and close the door on the way out, locking it behind her.

𝄞𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈⭒♬ ﾟ.𝄞𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈⭒♬ ﾟ.𝄞𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈⭒♬ ﾟ.

The tires on Siedah's car come to a halt as she pulled into a parking spot next to a meter along the sidewalk. She turned the car off and reached in her coin purse to gather up some quarters. Once she had them, she looked over at you and placed the coins in your hand. "We're here." she said before getting out the car.

Holding the quarters tightly in your hand, you got out the car and took a good look at the building. "This is it?" You questioned your cousin, closing the car door and stepping onto the sidewalk to insert the quarters in the parking meter. It wasn't anything how you'd imagined it to look.

With a beige stucco finish, the studio has an industrial appeal to it. The studio has brown metal slatted louvers covering the long windows and the address number "8447" was cemented in brass above the doorway, simple but distinctive.

"Yup! This is it— Westlake Studios." Siedah replied, walking around the car from behind to step up onto the sidewalk. She continued walking until she reached the dark double doors and pressed the red button on the intercom next to it. "Mike Jack, it's Siedah. Let me in!" she said in a joking manner, taking her finger off the button. Your heart started pounding as you walked over to meet Siedah by the door. The magnitude of the situation trickled into your nerves like a thief in the night: You're about to meet Michael Jackson.

Shit.

The sound of the buzzer caused you to jump back a little. As soon as the door clicked, Siedah took the opportunity to open it, ushering you inside.

When you walked in, there were a plethora of different records plastered on the gold wall. From Luther to Chaka, so many legendary artists have their plaques displayed, almost like it was an official badge of honor. It was inspiring to see the records so up close in real time— so surreal.

"Siedah, you made it!" A smooth, velvety voice suddenly filled the room.

You turned over your shoulder and you see Michael Jackson, walking over to us. His broad shoulders are on full display with his black patched embroidered varsity jacket. Your lips parted ever so slightly as you saw him approaching, as if your body is already falling apart at the seams because of his presence.

Siedah hugs him as soon as he makes it over to her. "It's good to see you!" she hugged him warmly. A light chuckle escaped his lips when reciprocating the hug, giving her a light two pats on the back. "It's good to see you too." You observed their hug and couldn't help but think, he looks like he gives the best hugs.

Michael lets go of the hug and looks directly at you. "Who's this?"

When your eyes met his, you could've sworn your heart stopped beating for a few seconds. You've seen plenty of men with dark brown eyes in your lifetime but none of them compare to his. Hypnotic in their wake, the look in his eyes feel like a quiet invitation to draw you closer to him, an invitation you actually don't mind accepting..

Your cousin quickly remembered you were there and replied, "Oh, where are my manners? Michael, this is my cousin, Y/N L/N. Y/N, this is Michael."

He grins slightly and holds his hand out, "Hello.."

You place your hand in his large one, returning the smile. "Hi.."

Michael shook your hand gently. "It's very nice to meet you, Y/N." he said politely.

"Likewise.." You grin a bit wider when he says your name. It rolled off his tongue a little too good. If there was anyone else observing you, they'd might call you starstruck, but you couldn't help but stare at him. You thought to yourself, 'Let me let go of this man's hand before I get caught up...'

You cleared your throat slightly as you pulled your hand away, placing it by your sides. Siedah spoke up, "She's visiting me for the month and she was wondering—"

"She was wondering if I could sit in on your studio session today?" you cut your cousin off so you could ask Michael yourself. You spoke with confidence as you looked at him.

Michael just stared at you. It's almost if he was trying to size you up. Your gaze never faltered as he continued his assessment, studying you from the top of your curls down to the points of your boots.

He chuckled, clearly surprised by your sudden attitude, though it didn't seem to bother him in the slightest. "Okay, I don't see why not."

Siedah looked at him in shock, "Forreal?" This was surprising for her because Michael hardly ever invites people in the sessions with him. If you aren't working on his project specifically, you could not come in. And yet, here he was inviting you. He shrugged casually. "Yeah, it will be great to hear feedback from someone who's outside of the team." He flashed that charming Jackson smile to seal the deal.

"I won't mind giving it either.." you stated, referring to the feedback, of course.

Michael nodded, his smile unwavering as he turned his attention back to you. "Good."

You returned the smile as you continued looking at him. Siedah cut through the obvious tension in the air, saying, "Perfect! Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

Michael looked at Siedah, grinned, and bowed sheepishly. "Yeah, of course!" he laughed, a bit embarrassed. "Follow me." he added, turning around. He veered towards the right, guiding us down the hallway. Your attention was now fixated on the occupied studios as you passed them by, more platinum plaques lining the walls with every step. It gave you goosebumps to know that you were walking down the hall where so many hit records had been made.

When we made it down to the end of the hall, you and Siedah stood on either side of Michael as he opened the door. You were met with a lacquered coated brown sign mounted on the olive green door with 'STUDIO D PRIVATE.' in gold brass lettering.

The minute he opened the door, your jaw dropped in awe. It was revealed that this particular studio spanned three stories. Though private, the atmosphere was incredibly welcoming. You took the opportunity to look around when you walked in. His own platinum plaques adorned the walls and his movie poster for Captain EO was pinned on the column right next to the studio entry way. To your right, a bathroom was tucked in the corner. If you didn't know any better, you might have mistaken this as an apartment rather than a studio.

"Watch your step, please." Michael warned quietly as he took a step up to lead you and Siedah in the control room. Upon entering, Quincy Jones was sitting infront of the sound board, chewing an apple. Bruce Swedien was sitting to his right, adjusting the knobs on the sound board.

Siedah walked over to both of them, giving them a hug. "Hey guys." Quincy patted her hand as she draped an arm around him and the other around Bruce.

"Hey Sid, you ready to rock today?" Quincy asked your cousin, tossing his apple hull in the trash. Michael stood near the doorframe next to you with his arms behind his back.

"You know it!" Siedah let go of them both and walked over to put her bag down in the single seat sofa in the corner. She took off her black leather jacket and yellow blouse, revealing a black midriff underneath. After tossing them next to her bag, she sifted through it to grab her water bottle, taking a couple sips to get her voice warmed up. Siedah decided to stay in the corner, clipping her locs with a duck pin out of her face as she continued to warm up.

Bruce turned over to see you standing next to Michael, causing him and Quincy to exchange looks before looking back over there. "Oh? Well who do we have here?" Bruce questioned, narrowing his eyes at Michael. Michael's cheeks grew hot and takes a couple steps over to the side, creating a bit of distance between you two.

Siedah walks back over to you and hugs your waist, "This is my cousin, Y/N. Y/N? This is Quincy Jones and Bruce Swedien, two of the most legendary record producers in the business!"

You wave at them both, "Hey, it's good to meet you both. I love your work. Both of you, I'm a huge fan!" You marvel at them as you walk over to shake their hands.

"Ah, thank you sweetheart." Quincy grins and looks over at Michael before looking back at you.

Bruce pats your hand and chuckles before answering, "Thank you, you're too kind. So Y/N, can you sing?"

"I can.. uh, I can carry a tune!" You grin bashfully. "But I'm only here to watch the session, if that's okay with you guys."

Quincy smirks a bit looking over at Michael. "If it's okay with Michael then it's okay with us! Are you okay with it, Smelly?" he said teasingly. The nickname caused you to look over at Michael with raised eyebrows and an amused grin.

Michael took note of your reaction to his nickname and smiled embarrassingly, shifting his gaze between you and Quincy, "Oh yeah.. I'm okay with it. Make yourself at home, Y/N."

You grin at him, walking down the two step staircase next the sound board to make your way to the white plush sofa that was sandwiched between the board and the window looking into the live room. You set your purse down as you looked over at him, "Thanks, I think I will." Though you said it politely, there was a subtle hint of flirtation beneath the appreciative comment.

As if the message was received, he sends a small grin your way. He now turns to Siedah who was coming his way. "Okay, let's get this party started!" she cheered.

Michael grins at her and says, "Alright, whenever you're ready Miss Siedah.." He gestures her to follow him in the live room and she does. He then walked over to the light switch to dim the room a bit, leaving a single spotlight over the two music stands placed in the center of the room and the tube condensers mics suspending from it's boom arm. He comes back over to Siedah, placed his hand on the small of her back as he lead her to her designated spot. They grin at each other and he pinched her elbow before making his way over to his spot.

Quincy pressed the mic button on the soundboard to cue them in, "Let's take it from the second verse." In the background, you could hear the audio from the tape machine distorting as it sped up.

"For this take, I really want you two to dig deep. I want to be able to feel the intensity of these lyrics— take me and listeners on the journey with you. Let's make it romantic, yeah?"

Both Michael and Siedah shuffled through their sheet music to pick up where they left off from the first session. Michael slipped his Ray-Bans wayfarers out of his pocket and put them on. Once adjusted, he glanced through the glass of the control room and gave a thumbs-up. Quincy acknowledged the gesture with a nod.

"Alright.. we're rolling..."

Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.

The metronome struck in with a vengeance as the beautiful melody blared out, filling the room of its romantic energy.

𝄞𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈⭒♬ ﾟ.𝄞𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈⭒♬ ﾟ.𝄞𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ 𓈈⭒♬ ﾟ.

Exactly two hours have passed and you were starting to get the impression that little moment you and Michael shared before he started to record with Siedah was nothing more than just common courtesy.

It appears what you misinterpreted as attraction between you and Michael, that interpretation should have been more directed towards him and Siedah.

The subtle glances at each other, the laughing in between takes, Michael's boyish grin when your cousin would speak to him and not to mention, he'd throw cashews at her forehead during the recording— it was a lot to sit through. It felt like you were intruding ontheir private time together even though there was a barrier of glass separating the three of you.

Michael would periodically glance through the glass in the control room as Quincy gave them feedback between takes throughout the session. His sunglasses added an extra layer of being guarded and reserved when receiving direction.

You couldn't help but sigh to yourself as you looked at him. His never shifting focus is to be expected but it almost felt as if you weren't even there at all— completely disregarded.

Soon enough, the session was over. Siedah and Michael were still in the live room but had stepped away from the music stands as they were off to the side talking about something. Michael had his hands in the pockets of his varsity jacket while focusing on her talking. She must've said something funny because you could see them both laughing from afar.

You watched them laugh and even though you felt a pang in your chest, your stoic expression remained intact. Your poker face was impeccable.

After a few more minutes, they came out of the live room to come into the control room. Siedah came over to you directly and Michael went over to Bruce and Quincy to go over a few things.

You looked at your cousin as soon as she came over by the arm of the sofa. "Sooo how was it sitting in on your first professional session?" She asked you curiously.

"It was cool. I really enjoyed it." You nodded at your cousin with a feigned smile before continuing. "The song is truly beautiful. You guys sound good together." You said that genuinely because even though you were a bit salty, you were not going to deny the obvious.

"Thanks cuz, it was really fun! Mike's pretty cool to be around.." Siedah beamed.

"Seems that way." You looked at your cousin. She grinned at you before walking up the staircase to grab her things. Returning to the couch, she placed the items in the empty space next to you. You watched her as she slipped her yellow blouse back over her black midriff and adjusted her locs in the process.

You hesitated to address the elephant in the room. It weighed on you, unsure if asking the question would change things between you and Siedah. You noticed Michael walking Quincy and Bruce out of the control room. It wasn't until you heard the door of the studio open and close that you saw an opportunity. "Can I ask you something?" you blurted out.

"Of course. Anything." Siedah reassured as she stood infront of you.

"Are you and Michael like...." you began, trailing off. "..together or something?"

Siedah busted out laughing, a little louder than she anticipated. "Girl, hell no!"

You looked at her like she had truly lost it. "You could've fooled me."

"Girl no, we're just friends. I know what it could've looked like but I promise you, it's nothing more than that."

"I don't know Sid, it really looked like you two had something going on." you said almost reluctantly.

"Y/N, we don't okay? Michael is just.. like that. I can't really explain it but when he's comfortable around people, he tends to get a little... overly friendly. He means nothing by it, I swear." Siedah explained as you continued to look at her.

You looked at her, confused. What does she mean by 'He means nothing by it.' You paused before asking, "Siedah, why are you telling me this?"

Siedah froze, looking like a deer in headlights and walked over to peep out the control room to make sure the coast was still clear. After a moment, she returned to you and grinned, "Michael likes you, Y/N."

You furrow your eyebrows at her. "Wait what?"

"Yeah. He kept asking me about you throughout the entire session. You didn't notice that man staring at you the entire time?" Your cousin asked bluntly.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. When Michael was looking through the glass window periodically, he wasn't looking at Quincy or Bruce. He was really looking at you.

"He was not." You said, looking at her in total disbelief.

"Yeah. He was. I kept trying to get him go in there where you were so he could ask you out, but he kept chickening out. I'd tease him about being a scaredy cat, and he'd just laugh it off. He may not seem like it, but he can be really shy at times."

You were truly caught off guard by this admission, hanging onto every word your cousin said as you sat on the couch. Siedah looked at you with a knowing smirk on her face.

"What?" you spat, shooting her a side-eye.

"I know why you wanted to know, Y/N." Siedah taunted you, folding her arms as she stares.

You roll your eyes at her, "You do not." you grin, amusement in your tone. Of course, she does. She's your cousin she knows you inside and out.

"I saw that look you in your eye when you meet him. You not foolin' nobody!" Siedah grinned. "You know you think that man is finee."

"Okay, whatever." You wave her off, despite her being correct.

"Uh huh, y'all would be cute together, cousinnn. I'm rooting for you." Siedah joked, throwing a playful wink your way. You couldn't help but laugh. After laughing with you, she continued, "Anyway, you ready to go?"

"Yeah, let me go to the restroom first then I'll be ready." You responded as you got up, watching her throw her purse over her shoulder.

"Mkay, imma head out. See you at the car?" Siedah questioned on her way out of the control room.

"Yeah, I'll be right on out." you responded as you walked out the control room with her.

The two of you parted ways. Siedah went straight for door to exit the studio while you continued on to use the bathroom conveniently placed next to the control room. Once inside, you sat there, processing everything you'd just heard. Michael Jackson is interested in YOU. It was something you honestly couldn't believe, but the longer you sat in there, the more you realized it might not be as far-fetched as it initially seemed.

After washing and drying your hands, you stepped out the bathroom and headed back to the control room to retrieve your purse. Just as you reached it, the studio door opened again.

You were in the middle of putting your purse strap around your shoulder when Michael walked back into the control room. The two of you silently stared at each other for a moment, the door closing breaking the silence.

"Oh h-hey.. I thought you left.." Michael spoke up, looking at you.

"I was about to. I came back in here to get my purse." you responded, resuming your motions as you adjusted the strap around your shoulder. He quietly nods in response. The room fell silent once again but the energy was different this time.

He put his hands in his pant pockets and leaned against the end corner of one of the pillars by the sound board. Behind those Ray-Bans, he was absolutely checking you out, he couldn't help himself.

Michael watched you walk away from the couch, heading towards him. He knew that you were about to leave. His mind was screaming at him to say something, to do anything, just to keep you in there with him— even if it was just for a few more minutes.

"So.. what did you think of the song?" Michael asked, breaking the silence once again. He had been waiting to hear your opinion all day.

You took the step up to be right at hip level next to the sound board, not too far from him now. "I liked it a lot, the song is really beautiful." you responded honestly.

Michael slinked off the pillar, he spoke smoothly, "And what if I think you're really beautiful?" he stepped forward closing the gap in between you, looking down at you. "What then?"

You felt your breath hitch at the sudden change in his demeanor. You were not expecting him to be so forward.

"I... I'd say you have great taste.." you responded while looking at him.

He chuckles a bit before licking his lips. "Well, I guess we both have great taste then.." he flirted with ease, tilted his head a bit while looking at you.

"I guess so." you grinned. "Where was all of this energy earlier?"

Michael returns your grin, "I guess I was just waitin' on the right moment." He takes off his glasses for you to see his beautiful dark brown eyes. "The moment feels right, wouldn't you agree?"

"I'm starting to think you might be right. So what's next, hm?" you ask him, a playful smirk etched on your lips.

"Well, that depends on you. What do you think should happen now?" Michael said with a charming smirk.

You stepped up to him, leaning forward to adjust the collar of his shirt, which was tucked into his varsity jacket. "Well, I think maybe you should do like my cousin said and ask me out." you retorted, maintained eye contact with him as you watched his cheeks turn red. He hadn't expected you to find out about that.

Michael grins wider before nodding impressively, "Okay.." He bites his lip while looking at you before continuing, "Let's make it official, how's Saturday night?"

"Saturday night it is." you grinned, smoothing your hands across his varsity jacket before stepping back, letting your hands fall.

Before you got too far from him, Michael caught a hold of your hand gently. "I'll be waiting, Miss Y/N.." he whispered as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss there.

You blushed as you watched him lower your hand. Slipping it out of his grasp, you clutched the strap of your purse and said softly, "Bye.."

Michael flashed his charming Jackson grin in your direction once more. "Bye." He watched you leave, his gaze lingering until you were out of sight.

[urdeftonesgrrrl]

anime: gu gu ganmo (episode 9)

[kingofpopmj]

Girl, I Can Thrill You More Than Any Ghoul Would Ever Dare Try

Summary: A beautiful backup dancer catches Michael’s eye during the filming of Thriller. Being friends seemed like a good idea until masking feelings becomes too difficult.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader!

Warning: FRIENDSHIP, JEALOUSY, TWO CLUELESS IDIOTS IN LOVE

Requested: yes

All the dancers were gathered outside of a tall building. They each had matching ID’s hanging around their necks. A mixture of excitement and anticipation filled the air.

“Hello, everyone! Can I get your attention please.” A tall man with brown hair and thick beard waved his hand in the air. “Thank you all for being here early, I’m John Landis, the director of this lovely project. Today, we’re technically still rehearsing, but I need you to give it your all. Dance like each run through is the finale.” Everyone cheered and applauded his announcement. “That’s what I like to hear! Let’s get in there and make history!”

Once inside, everyone changed into their dance shoes and took a few minutes to introduce themselves to one another.

When Michael arrived it was twenty minutes before the scheduled start time and to everyone’s surprise he immediately went around greeting each individual.

“Hi, what’s your name?” He asked with a grin on his face. “I’m Michael.” His hand extending.

“I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s so great to meet you. I’m Michael— wait I already said that. Didn’t I?” He chuckled nervously as his face turned a deep red. “How are you? How was the drive over? Did you travel from far away? Where are you from originally? When did you start dancing?” He shot out every single thing he was thinking by accident. And, it was only then that he realized he was still holding her hand.

“I’m good. Thank you for asking.” She laughed, giving herself a moment to remember all of his questions. “The drive over wasn’t too bad. I’m from—”

“Michael!” John jogged over, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Come on kid. We should get started.” John smiled before looking to see what had the young man’s attention. “You’ll have time to make friends later. Sorry doll, I gotta steal him from you.”

“No problem.” She smiled, looking at Michael then down at their connected hands. “I should probably…”

“Oh, right!” He snapped out of his trance. “Sorry, you probably need your hand. I mean don’t we all. Wait— that— did that— I don’t mean I need your hand. I meant you need your hand. It’s a nice hand— very nice.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was sweet and even her laugh was comforting. Michael could tell that even though he was making a fool of himself, she wasn’t laughing at him. He couldn’t stop looking at her, his feet were planted and the only thing that got him away from her was John dragging him in the opposite direction.

“You’re really one with the ladies Jackson.” John teased.

“Shut up. That was humiliating.”

“I enjoyed it.”

“You always enjoy when I make an ass out of myself, you schmuck.”

“Hey, I didn’t tell you to go talk up the pretty lady without a game plan.”

“I wasn’t trying to talk her up.”

“Good because you did a shit job.”

“I hate you.” Michael pinched John’s arm.

“Relax kid. I’ll give you some pointers later, but for now we gotta get to work.”

Michael nodded, the embarrassment still lingered in the back of his mind. He caught himself more than once watching her movements through the mirrors. He hoped no one else could see what he was doing, but he decided that if they did he’d own it. He wouldn’t feel ashamed of admiring a beautiful woman. He studied how she used every part of her body to tell the story— he was so lost in her hips that he didn’t realize three hours came and went.

“Alright, you guys are looking great! I think we’ve reached a great ending point for our first day. However, I do have one tiny suggestion, I think Michael would agree with me on this, we need you.” John smiled, pointing at her, she stepped forward confidently. “Yes, you. You’d be perfect right here.” He guided her to stand beside Michael and sent the male dancer to her old spot. “That’s what you wanted, right Michael?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s definitely more balanced. I like that very much.” He nodded at her, chuckling when she waved back. “Nice to see you again.” He whispered.

“Very nice.” She agreed, tugging her bottom lip in between her teeth.

“Alright, see you all bright and early tomorrow. Rest up well my lovely zombies!” Everyone laughed, dispersing to collect their belongings.

John gave his young friend a very obnoxious thumbs up and made a motion with his hands, encouraging him to keep the conversation going.

“You’re a really good dancer.” Michael faced her, tilting his head as his eyes wandered her figure.

“Thank you. You aren’t bad yourself. Seriously, the choreography is no joke. It looks awesome. I can’t wait to see it once we’re on in costumes and makeup.”

“Well, honestly, I think it’s you that makes it look awesome.”

“Thank you…” She felt like the wind was knocked out of her. He was being so sweet and she didn’t know how to respond.

“I never got the chance to ask…” He reached out, his hand resting on her arm as he guided them over to a secluded corner. “Where are you from?”

She laughed at how secretive he was being over such a normal question. She offered the name of her hometown and a bit of a back story about how she ended up in Los Angeles. He hung on every word like he was going to be quizzed later.

“How about you? Do you like living here?” She asked, leaning against the wall and opening her water bottle. She was so calm. She treated him like a person and it felt good.

“I enjoy it. My entire family is here now too, so that helps. I don’t like feeling isolated.”

“Oh, you’re one of the lucky ones. I wish my family were closer, but we make it work.”

“Do you have friends here?” He perked up, hoping he could be added to that list.

“Um… yes, a few. Mostly people I’ve met along the way. I make sure to keep a busy schedule, with work and school, so I never feel too lonely.”

“Well, I can— we can be friends.” The sweetness laced in his words made her heart flutter.

“I’d like that.”

“Me too.” They shared a moment of silence, softly giggling as they looked at each other.

“Michael!” John shouted, waving him over.

“Sorry, I gotta—”

“No worries, duty calls.”

Michael approached John with the biggest smile on his face. He avoided his friend’s inquisitive gaze, unzipping his jacket before shrugging it off.

“So, you’re really not going to tell me how it went?” He stared at his young friend, squinting his eyes as if to try to comprehend how he wasn’t uncontrollably gushing over the girl.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Michael dodged the question, suddenly having all the patience in the world as he tossed his jacket on a nearby table.

“Spill. What did you two talk about?”

“Nothing really. You called me away before I could get anywhere.”

“Oh, where are you trying to go with her lover boy?” John laughed, his hand smacking against his thigh as he teased him.

“Shut up.” Michael covered his face, failing to hide his embarrassment. “Please, don’t laugh at me.” His tone was sad which made the director frown— he hated how quickly Michael’s body language changed.

“Walk with her.” John stated. His tone was steady now and he wanted nothing more than to give his friend the confidence the world was slowly stripping from him. “And, for the record, I’d never laugh at you.” He knew how sensitive Michael could be, especially when he thought he was being made fun of. He never wanted to make him feel that way, so he did his best to reassure him.

“Alright. What do you mean walk with her?”

“Lover boy, walk her to her car. You know, it’s dark out, chivalry will get you a long way.” He pointed at him clicking his tongue to further sell his point.

“Oh, I see.”

“Go on. You got this.”

“Wait! What should I say to her? I don’t think— I’m not sure how— John, what if she doesn’t like me?”

“Hey, hey, hey. Relax. Kid, you gotta stop selling yourself short. She was clearly enjoying talking to you, so you’ve got nothing to stress over. Honestly, I think she’s into you. Just keep being yourself.”

“Okay, I guess I’ll give it a try. I think—”

“No, no, don’t think. You gotta get out of your head and stop doubting yourself. She’ll love you, just be you— everything else will flow on its own. Now, go. Hurry, she’s about to leave.”

Michael shook his head vigorously, grabbing his jacket and sprinting over to the door she was about to push open.

“Y/N!” She looked back, smiling when she saw it was Michael. He stopped a few steps away from her.

“Hi, friend.” She grinned at him, adjusting the bag that hung off her shoulder.

“I’d like to walk you to your car, is that okay?” He waited patiently for her response. She was overwhelmed with his tenderness.

“It’s more than okay, but if you have other things to do, it’s okay.”

“I’d really like to accompany you. Really.”

“Such a gentleman.” She reached for the door, but he jumped in front of her.

“Allow me.” He held the door open for her and it made her entire face heat up. Their bodies brushed against one another as she walked out to the hall. “Here. I’ll take this for you.” He didn’t wait for her response this time. He just slid the strap of her bag off her shoulder and onto his.

“Thank you. You’re so sweet.” She took a small step towards him, her hand landing on his bicep and her fingers curling around it slowly. “Is this okay?” She questioned.

“Oh yes.” He answered quickly, growing more flustered by her touch than he thought he would.

John watched the interaction discreetly from afar with a proud expression on his face. “My boy.” He whispered to himself, the door shut and he couldn’t hear them anymore, but seeing it was enough. They gawked at each other a little longer before walking off and that’s when he gently fist pumped into the air.

“So, what kind of things do you like doing in your free time?” Michael spoke confidently.

“I like baking—”

“I’d love to try your baking!” He interrupted her enthusiastically. “What’s your favorite thing to bake?”

“Hm… if I have to choose it’d be cheesecake or cookies.”

“If you’re up for it maybe you could teach me a thing or two?”

“That would be really fun. You’d look good in an apron.”

“You’d look better.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to find out soon, huh?”

“I was getting there. I was just working up the courage.”

“Alright.” She stopped walking and faced him. An arch in her eyebrow as she looked back at him, a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips. “Ask me.”

“Would you like to hang out with me sometime?”

“Hang out sometime?” She repeated, trying to hide her disappointment as his phrasing.

“Yeah, that’s what friends do right?” Michael smiled, silently kicking himself at the use of friends. He definitely doesn’t want to be friends— he wants more.

“Yeah, yeah. They do.” She crossed her arms and tried to keep her voice steady. She felt like an idiot for thinking he would ask her on a date.

“Well, would you?”

“I’d love to. When are you free?”

“For you, any day.” He was turning up his flirting again and although she was loving it— it was also very confusing. Was he asking her out or not?

“Is Saturday good for you? I’ve got a busy week with school and work. Unless…” she decided to test the waters again— one last time. “We’re all going out to dinner on Friday. The cast party thing.” She crossed her fingers hoping the curly haired dancer would say the right thing.

“Oh yeah! I almost forgot about that. Well, I’d like to spend time with you. The two of us. I’d like to get to know you better.”

“You’re a real smooth talker.” She liked his answer. It wasn’t as up front as she’d like, but it was a step in the right direction.

“I try.” He shrugged. “At least I get to see you during rehearsals this week. I have you for three hours everyday.”

“Lucky you.”

“I get to see a beautiful face like yours. I’m more than lucky.”

“Mr. Jackson, you’re making me blush.” She tried to cover her face with her hand, but he stopped her.

“Wow. Just when I thought you couldn’t get any prettier.” His eyes scanned her face. He wasn’t staring at her, he was admiring her and it made her feel more self conscious than she was proud to admit.

“So, what do you like to do?” She turned on her heels and started walking again.

“I love movie nights. I have this giant projector screen and I make popcorn. It’s a nice little escape from reality.”

“I’d love to have a movie night with you.” She propositioned, feeling bold under the dark blue night sky.

“Friday it is, after the cast dinner. Movie starts at eight, sound good?”

“It sounds great.”

“I’m so excited.” He murmured honestly.

“Here.” She let his arm go briefly, leaning towards him to dig into her bag. A piece of paper and pen in hand as she began scribbling. “Um… this is my address and phone number.” She gently placed it in his palm.

“It’s a date.” He clapped his hands triumphantly before he processed his words. “Not a date— I didn’t mean we— date— or if you want— we can— the funny thing about dating—”

“Michael…” His stomach did a flip when he felt her hand move against his. “We can be friends hanging out or if we both— if we like each other this can be a date.”

“Yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“Okay.” His smile helped her let out the breath she was holding in. It didn’t occur to either of them that they’d failed to label what Friday night would be because they were to wrapped up in each other. He closed his hand around hers and tried to hold back, but he couldn’t resist. He dipped his head and kissed the top of her hand.

The rest of the week went by painfully slow. Y/N found herself begging for the clock to read the right numbers. She couldn’t wait to see Michael. They didn’t get much time together alone, but somehow she felt closer to him with each day that passed. He waited for her and made a habit of walking her to her car every night. They’d fallen into a routine which had become her favorite time of the day, his too. She put up a playful fight, but deep down she loved hearing the silly excuses he came up with. For example, he claimed to have seen rabid squirrels around and wanted to keep her safe. That one was her favorite.

“Why don’t you ride with me? I’ve got more than enough space.”

“My car is here though. I don’t want you to have to bring me back—”

“Y/N, I don’t mind. Please, I insist.” He looked so happy, so full of hope. “I haven’t got to spend much time with you this week.”

“How could I say no to that smile?” The glow of the streetlights brought a level of calmness that she appreciated. Her stomach was full of butterflies being so close to him— being alone with him.

“Gosh, you’re beautiful.” He stepped closer, his hand found her hip. His touch was sweet and comforting, giving her enough time to move away from him, but she didn’t. She stood before him with wide eyes, leaning into him, all insecurity pushed to the back of her mind.

“So are you.” She whispered, looking deep into his big brown eyes. Their chests pressing against one another as his hand traveled up to cup her face. They were so close and if it weren’t for the bright headlights startling them, they would’ve melted into one another, but instead the space between them grew— he jumped away from her. He scrambled away from her at lightning speed, leaving her to feel not only rejection, but shame.

“We should probably get going.” Michael coughed, running his fingers through his hair as the vehicle that interrupted them drove by, blasting loud music.

“Yeah, they’re probably waiting for us.” She didn’t look at him, quickly getting into the car and putting the seatbelt on. She focused her gaze out the window as they sped through the city to their destination.

Michael nervously fidgeted the entire drive, he wanted to reach out to her, say something, but he couldn’t. She wouldn’t even look at him.

When the car stopped in front of the restaurant, she jumped out of the car and basically sprinted to the entrance.

“Wait up!” Michael yelled after her, she turned to face him. “Wait!”

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” Her voice sounded so delicate it made him feel an overwhelming ache in his chest.

“What? No. Of course not.” He tried to reassure her as they stood in front of the doors.

“Are you sure? It seems—” she was cut off by Michael turning his back to her suddenly at the sound of footsteps. She felt the humiliation set in as she studied the back of his head. She didn’t need to say anything else— she had her answer.

She didn’t even blame him, he was— he’s who he is and she’s just a back up dancer.

When he turned back around she was gone. He was certain he ruined things before they could even begin. It’s exactly what he was afraid of. He’s an expert at destroying anything good in his life.

The energy shifted entirely once inside the restaurant, Y/N didn’t look back. She hugged her coworkers taking a seat at the long table.

“How did you get here? Your car was still in the lot when I left.”

“Michael gave me a ride.” She shrugged, crossing her legs as her friends closed in on her with big grins on their faces.

“Oh, getting in good with the boss man, are we?” They laughed, a few of them throwing balled up candy wrappers at her.

“Shush. You guys are ridiculous.”

“Well, he didn’t offer me a ride. Did he offer anyone else a ride in his horse drawn carriage?” A chorus of ‘no’s’ followed as the teasing continued.

“It’s because he’s not trying to wine and dine you, only our little twinkle toes here. He’s totally got it bad for her. Remember yesterday when she tripped and he all about lost it calling for medics— she didn’t even need a bandaid.”

“Stop.”

“Yeah, he’s got a soft spot for this one.”

“No he doesn’t. He’s just being nice. He’s nice to all of us.”

“Yeah, he’s nice but for you, he’s extra nice.”

“He’s nice to all of us, true, but he doesn’t give us all fuck me eyes.”

“Oh my god!” Y/N was horrified, burying her face in her hands.

“It’s true.”

“Please stop talking before someone hears you.”

“Oh, come on! He looks at you like he rather see you dancing on a pole.” One of the guys jumped up requesting high fives as he held his hand up.

“That was a good one!”

“He’s trying to get into your bloomers.”

“You guys stop.” Y/N laughed, shaking her head at the unnecessary attention.

“He doesn’t walk me to my car! Boy, wouldn’t even notice if I got run over. He’s too focused on you.”

“You’re all very mentally flawed individuals.” Y/N flipped them off and they all returned the sentiment.

“Woah, what did we miss?” John’s voice sounded from behind her and they all quickly dropped their hands.

“Oh, nothing.” One of them answered. “Just some good old team bonding.”

“That’s great to hear! So, are we ready to get this party started?” He asked, earning a loud cheer from everyone.

They had the entire place to themselves which gave them unlimited access to everything. Y/N was playing air hockey with a few people when she noticed Michael’s uneasy demeanor. He was leaned up against the wall, watching with a half smile on his face. It was like he wanted to participate, but felt like he’d be rejected, so he just observed. She watched closely when he pushed himself off the wall and sped walked down a hallway.

“Hey, play for me!” She handed over her pusher, sprinting off and ignoring the confused looks.

The dimly lit hallway caused some fear to bubble up inside of her, but she continued on anyway. At the end of the hall were the restrooms, she heard rustling in the men’s room and stopped in her tracks. She focused on the sound and knew it was him.

“Michael?” She knocked softly.

“Y— yeah. I’m— I’m— fine.”

“Do you— can I come in?”

“Please.” His voice sounded strained, a few seconds went by and she heard the door unlock.

She opened the door slowly as to not scare him. He turned away from her, burying his face in his hands.

“Michael.”

“Hm.”

“Turn around. Look at me.” She sounded sweet, but he couldn’t bring himself to face her.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. It’s me.” Her palms rested cautiously on his wrists. “Come on.” She cooed, her thumbs running small circles on his hand and finally he let her take control.

“You don’t have to— you can go back out there.”

“I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“I hurt you, didn’t I?”

“It’s not a big deal. I understand. We can still be friends.”

“I don’t want to be your friend.” He spat bluntly, she blinked slowly, her throat closing rapidly and she became very aware of the fact she’s probably overstayed her welcome.

“O— Okay.” It was clear she was thinking of leaving with the way she glanced back at the door.

“No!” His body practically transported to block the exit and stop her. “I meant I don’t want to be your friend and nothing else.”

“Nothing else?” She asked, a confused expression on her face.

“It’s just— I mean— we can be best friends.” He said in a panic.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She nodded along and felt her stomach drop at the tone of his voice.

“Um— thanks for checking on me.”

“No problem. That’s what friends are for right?” She chuckled nervously. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I think so. I don’t really know how to be around people and I don’t want to ruin anyone’s time.”

“You won’t ruin anything. What are you so worried about?”

“I’m not used to being around people my age. I don’t go out like this. It’s all new to me. I don’t want to be laughed at.”

“Michael, no one is going to laugh at you.”

“I want to feel normal for a night, you know? I thought tonight would be the perfect opportunity, but I saw everyone playing games and laughing together. I don’t know how to be part of it. I’m never included in things like this— I’m always kept separate from everything. It sucks.”

“Come on. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” She held her hand out and waited for him to give in.

“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll fit in— I never do.”

“You fit in just fine. Michael, you’re so fun to be around. You deserve to enjoy yourself and make new friends. No one is going to make fun of you or make you feel out of place. I wouldn’t let that happen. There’s a good group of people out there and the night is still young. What do you say?”

“I say…”

“Hey, don’t you trust me?”

“Yes. I trust you.” He smiled, taking her hand without a second thought.

“Well, did you or didn’t you enjoy yourself?” She asked, climbing into the car as he held the door open.

“I did. You were right. Who knew I was so good at air hockey?” He laughed, sitting beside her and shutting the door.

“You were a natural! I can’t believe you’ve never played before.”

“Yeah, about that.”

“What?”

“I have an air hockey table at home…”

“You lied!” She shouted, turning towards him with her mouth wide open in shock.

“Kind of, but I didn’t mean to! I was nervous and I don’t know it just slipped out. Then, everyone started cheering for me and I couldn’t tell the truth! It felt good— I felt like a college student, hanging out with friends.” He shrugged bashfully and she couldn’t help but emphasize.

“I guess I’ll keep your secret. I’m glad you had fun with everyone.”

“And now, movie night!” He cheered as the car pulled into the driveway of his home.

They made their way inside and Y/N did her best not to look too blown away by his home. It was huge and beautiful. She tried to act as though this wasn’t her first time in a mansion, but hell was it difficult.

“You can leave your stuff here. The movie theater is on the other side of the property. I’ll just grab a few blankets.”

“Movie theater?”

“Yeah, we can drive one of the golf carts over. It’s too far to walk.”

“Golf carts. Plural.”

“You want to drive your own? We can race.”

“I’ve never driven one before, so I’ll just ride with you.”

He beamed at her, the way she was trying not to freak out over his home was commendable. He knew she wanted him to feel normal around her and he appreciated the hell out of that. When they made their way outside Y/N sat next to him trying hard not to let her gaze wander around the yard, he chuckled, placing the blankets in her lap and driving off at a steady pace.

“Here we are.” He sang softly, guiding her over to the tall brick building.

“Woah.” She whispered as he flipped on the lights revealing the theater. “It’s so nice. No way! You have a cotton candy machine!” She squealed, running over to it and searching for the on switch.

“It’s right there.” He laughed, pressing the button and watching closely as her eyes lit up. “I’m going to go get the movie started.”

She nodded, not looking away from the machine, she poured the sugar in and clapped as it fluffed up. The movie screen lit up and he dimmed the lights before making his way over to sit next to her.

“Here!” She held out a giant cloud of cotton candy.

“You’re funny.” He commented, looking on as she did a little happy dance in her seat.

“What?”

“Nothing I just like seeing you so happy.”

“This is going to be the best movie night ever.”

“Yeah, it is.” He smiled, the darkness of the room hiding the longing look in his eyes.

“Thank you for having me over.”

“To the first of many.” He grins, holding his cotton candy in the air looking to her to match his gesture.

“Definitely.” She raised her cotton candy and bumped it into his causing them both to crack up.

About half way into the movie, and after what felt like a ton of candy and popcorn, he decided to try something. He unfolded a blanket, laying it across both of their laps. She thanked him quietly, leaning her head on his shoulder, without hesitation his arm went to wrap around her. He was surprised with himself, he’d never made a move like that before.

“Can I ask you something?” His voice low, cautious not to completely interrupt the movie.

"Sure, funky feet. What's up?" He laughed, shaking his head at her silly nickname for him.

"Oh, shush, twinkle toes." He threw some popcorn at her which she attempted to block with a pillow.

"What's your question?"

"Why are you friends with me? Do you— don't you think I'm weird?"

"I'm friends with you because you're kind and we have a lot in common. You’re a good person and I think maybe some of that goodness could rub off on me. I enjoy being around you— we have fun together, don't you think?"

"Yes." He blushed.

"Good, I'm glad you agree."

"You didn't answer—"

"Michael, you aren't weird. You're actually very normal— all the insane talent and worldwide admiration aside... you're just a guy. A great guy with a good head on your shoulders and a pure heart. You are not weird."

"You really think so?"

"You're one of my favorite people for a reason."

Michael didn't say anything. He knew if he opened his mouth he'd end up bursting into tears.

For some reason her acceptance made him emotional. He squeezed her hand and that was enough. She knew.

Y/N laughed along with her friends as they walked out onto the road at the shooting location. It was a simple setting which would make them stand out even more. She felt some nerves as she watched the crew begin setting up their equipment. The group of dancers planned to run through the routine once, fix any possible errors, make the most out of the space before getting into hair, makeup and costumes for filming. She couldn’t help but notice how eager she felt to see him.

“Hey, you think boss man had a good time last night?” One of the guys asked out loud.

“I think so. He seemed to feel more comfortable with a certain someone beside him.” Her friend spoke, nudging her with her elbow. “Isn’t that right, lovely?” She giggled, using the nickname Michael had let slip so effortlessly the night before.

“Would you cut it out?” Y/N replied. “We get along. He’s cool.”

“He’s cool.” They mocked her jokingly.

“Y/N, he is so into you.”

“We’re friends.” She reiterated, focusing on tying her shoelaces, so she could ignore the pang in her chest.

“I bet you twenty bucks you two are boinking by the end of the week.”

“End of the week? More like end of the hour. Unless… they’ve already got it on…” They stared at her waiting for confirmation.

“You guys are being so inappropriate.” She said, laughing at their bluntness.

“Y/N.” One of the guys stood next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right.” She answered, a little confused about where this was going.

“Yeah, friends. Which means, you’d never look at me the way you look at him—”

“I don’t—”

“And, you’d feel aggressively ill if I looked at you or spoke to you the way he does. You guys— the two of you are being really annoying denying what’s between you.”

“You can say that again!” Someone shouted.

“There’s— I don’t know what you guys want me to do.”

“Anything is better than doing nothing.” He smiled, hugging her tightly before pulling her along with him to join the rest of the dancers as they rehearsed.

As they moved to the music she tried to ignore everyone’s jokes, but she knew they were right. She had a crush— more than a crush, but she was sure Michael experienced that all the time— girls falling for him. She didn’t want to ruin their friendship over her feelings, especially when he’d expressed to her how difficult it was for him to make friends. He needed a friend and she was willing to be there for him. She’d do anything for him.

“Excited?” She asked enthusiastically as she approached Michael and John during their break from dancing.

“What?” He responded hastily.

“Oh, I just asked if you were excited?”

“Like you care.” He muttered, walking off and disappearing into his trailer.

She stood there dumbfounded, unable to take her eyes off where he’d been standing. John watched the exchange and felt out of place. He didn’t know what to do, the poor girl looked crushed. All the happiness vanished from her being in an instant.

“He’s just stressed.” He offered with a kind smile.

“Oh okay.”

“You should go check on him. We have some extra time.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me.”

“He does. Believe me. Go, it’ll help calm him down.” She nodded, walking over to his trailer, filled with uncertainty. Yet, here she was, knocking on his door, excited for him to answer. She just wanted to see his face.

“Come in.” His voice called from the other side.

“Hey.”

“Hi. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I guess I’m just—”

“Stressed?” She smiled, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’m here to help. What can I do? Do you want to pull a prank on John? I’ve got some good ideas.” She giggled wickedly, expecting him to be her accomplice without much persuasion.

“Do you— are you dating him?”

“What?”

“Are you dating him?” He questioned, his words coming out slowly.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“The guy. The one that was all over you.”

“No one was all over me. I’m not dating—”

“He had his arm around you. You were laughing and smiling. It looked like you enjoyed it.” He spoke, looking down at the floor as his voice became weak.

“He— what? No.”

“You two looked pretty cozy.”

“We are friends. That’s all. No coziness.” She argued, her hands held up in front of her defensively. “Where is this coming from?”

“Ok.”

“Michael?”

“Hm…” He mumbled, staring at the dirty tiled floor.

“Why did that have you so worked up… the idea of me dating him?”

“I wasn’t worked up.” He stated unconvincingly.

“Really? Then, what do you call it?”

“I call it— it’s just— you know we’re friends— I was being a good friend— worrying about you. I mean I wouldn’t want you, my friend, to date… date a guy— date a jerk. Date someone…”

“So, this is just about us being friends?” She asked, her voice becoming louder as she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s what we are.”

“The friend thing again.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t understand. Can you explain this to me? Why are you, my ‘friend’, so pissed off at the thought of me going on a date?” She asked, even using air quotes around the word friend. She was frustrated with all the mixed signals.

“Well, I’m not sure— I’m not mad about you going on a date—”

“Okay, well I’ll just go ask him on a date then, since you see something so special between us.” She threatened, spinning around and reaching for the door knob.

“No! You’re making rash decisions. Don’t do that Y/N!” He grabbed her arm, dragging her away from the door. “I don’t want you to do that!”

“Why not?”

“I— I don’t know. He’s not right for you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I— I don’t— can you just not do that please?” He begged, looking into her eyes like a lost puppy.

“Why? Tell me. Michael, just say it.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know— don’t know— I don’t know what to say— just please don’t.” He stumbled over his words and felt his hands begin to sweat.

“Do you like me?” She inquired calmly, doing her best not to let her true feelings show, but also trying to avoid being hurt by his answer.

“Yeah. Yes, of course I like you.”

“As more than a friend?” He stared at her blankly, so she tried to relieve some pressure. “When I say the word friend about other people I meant it, you know? It’s simple, but with you. It feels like it means more. You’re special— to me you’re a one of a kind… friend.”

“Oh— well I mean I— I don’t want to say the wrong— I don’t— I screw things up— I feel things— I feel— I can’t— I’m not sure how to explain.”

“I like you.” She whispered, stepping towards him, her tongue dragged against her lips quickly, but to him it happened in slow motion. “More than a friend…”

“You… me?” He asked in disbelief. “How?”

“Seriously? How could I not like you?”

“I— oh— this…”

“It’s okay. I guess I read this wrong. Listen, I want to be your friend anyway. I can put my feelings aside—”

“Aside? No, no.”

“No?”

“Don’t put them aside. Please, I’m crazy about you.”

“Crazy, huh?”

“I can’t put into words the way I feel about you.”

“Then, show me.” She closed the space between them, her chest bumping against his with each breath. He swallowed any nerves he was about to voice, how could he feel anything negative when she was looking at him like that.

“Y/N.” He hummed her name just as his lips touched hers. His heart was pounding, his fingers trembling as they dug into her hips. Her arms wrapped around him and she moaned into his mouth.

He carefully walked her backwards, pushing her up against the wall. She let out a surprised yelp at how he took control, but that only turned him on further. She tugged his shirt off and he pulled her top over her head. The sight of her lacey bra brought him to a halt— he needed a moment to catch his breath.

“Michael?”

“You’re beautiful.” He breathed out. “I can’t believe I’ve wasted all this time being so afraid when I could’ve been kissing these perfect lips.”

“I can’t believe I waited all this time for you to finally make a move. I was growing impatient.”

“I know.” He chuckled. “Thank you, for helping me make my move. You lovely woman.” He buried his face against her neck.

“You’re giving me goosebumps.”

“Sorry.” He retrieved a button down shirt from his clothing rack, draping it across her shoulders and slowly buttoning it. “As much as I’d like to get you out of all your clothes… we’ve got all the time in the world for that. I don’t want to rush this. I don’t want to mess this up. I want to do this right, you deserve to be taken on dates and maybe… possibly… if you’re interested… allowing me to call myself your boyfriend.”

“I love the sound of that… boyfriend.”

“Are you free for a mini impromptu date right now, my beautiful, incredibly talented girlfriend?” He questioned, tucking her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers drag down the soft skin of her cheek.

“Oh, and what does this impromptu date entail?”

“A little of this…” his hands moved slowly down to the curve of her ass. “A lot of this…” he tilted his head, kissing her deeply, his tongue moving so perfectly, so sensually and it drove her crazy. When his lips traveled down to her neck, leaving wet kisses, she hooked her leg around his hips. She grinded against him, fully aware of what she was doing and feeling his hard growing made her smile into the kiss. They knew that eventually they’d go all the way, but for now they felt alive teasing one another.

In her mind she wondered what else he could do with his tongue. She looked forward to finding out. She was yearning to know how’d he feel on top of her or under her— any and every position really peaked her interest.

As she moved her hips against his, he wondered how good it would feel to be inside her. He couldn’t wait to hear all the beautiful sounds she’d make and how loud he could get her to scream his name.

[chriszgetstitchz]

[sometime during off the wall era...]

A young lady finds herself in the back seat of Michael Jackson's dad's car, straddling him in the cowgirl position.

She and Michael were frenemies. A.k.a Michael likes terrorize her and she both loves and hates to see him coming. Michael was the type of kid who terrorizes all the pretty girls at school because he liked them. The young lady never thought that she was one of the pretty girls, but he still terrorized her too. He used to pull on her braids just to get her to yell at him, chase her up and down the playground, chase her up and down the playground WITH worms and bugs and other nasty things, just think of anything that a little boy would do to annoy his crush and Michael probably did it. She hated admitting it to herself, but she kind of liked the attention. She never intended for Michael to know that, but somehow he knew. That's why he never stopped (not that he would've anyway.)

The young lady had went to the Jacksons house for a celebration, but one thing led to another and suddenly she was in the back seat of Joe's car with Michael, making out like the horny teenagers they were, albeit the fact that the two of them couldn't stop laughing and giggling throughout the entire thing.

"That was my first kiss.." the girl said after pulling away.

"Your first kiss is a Jackson 5 member! Wow, 'ts not an achievement that most girls can claim, gorgeous!" Michael responded teasingly.

'Gorgeous' was Michael's favorite nickname for her, but no matter how many times he said it, she still folds for it every single time without fail.

She opened her mouth to say something smart in return, but Michael's lips connected to hers before she could get a word out. She kept trying to speak, but she kept getting cut off by a peck to the lips from Michael.

"You-!" —mwah—

"I d-!" —mwah—

"What the f-!" —mmmmwah—

"Michael!!"

He giggles, a big and toothy smile spread across his face. He kisses her again, though this time it's more passionate, more sincere. Michael's hands roam across her body and vice versa. He's the first to slide his hands under the girl's shirt, earning him a whimper of satisfaction. They continued like that for some time, eventually taking off each other's clothes entirely. Michael held her hips in his hands, then subconsciously started to rub both her waist and her hips softly.

"Y'sure you're ready to do this..?" Michael asked her, looking into her eyes to find any hint of uncertainty or discomfort.

She nods and moves to position herself above his cock, but pauses . "Are you ready?"

"'Course I am!" Michael answers enthusiastically, gently using her hips to guide her over and down onto his cock, moaning pathetically as he feels her tighten around him. The girl winced in pain, a barely audible whimper escaping her lips while Michael immediately let out a soft little "sorry, sorry, sorry gorgeous.." followed by a peck on her temple and a short embrace.

After allowing herself some few seconds to adjust, she put her arms around Michael's neck and began to move slowly. She focused on Michael's body language, sensing that she was doing relatively well by the way he was squeezing his eyes shut every so often and gripping her hips as if they were the only thing keeping him grounded in reality.

She is nervous and shy, as this is her first time having sex. Michael could sense her nervousness, but he was also incredibly turned on by the sight of her topless, her breasts bouncing in his face as she moves. She can't help but be flustered and embarrassed by the knowledge that the Michael Jackson was staring at her chest and she tries to look away, but Michael, being the bastard that he is, decides to tease her. He reaches up and grabs one of her breasts, making her even more flustered. She tries to push his hand away, but he sees right through her act and grabs her other breast instead. The girl can't stop blushing and giggling, feeling both embarrassed and incredibly turned on. She knows that Michael is just teasing her because she's shy, but she can't help but feel self-conscious about her body being on full display. Michael, on the other hand, is completely enamored with her. He loves the way she looks, the way she moves, and the way she reacts to his touch.

As they continue to move together, the girl starts to feel more confident. She leans back, arching her back and pushing her chest forward. Michael can't help but stare, and he reaches up to grab her breast again. This time, she doesn't try to push him away. Instead, she leans into his touch, reveling in the feeling of his hands on her body. As they reach the height of their passion, she can't help but let out a moan of pleasure, and Michael responds in kind. Together they lose themselves in the moment, almost completely forgetting that they could easily be caught at any moment.

After coming down from the intense high, Michael allowed his head to fall back on the seat while his girl lay on top of him, both of them panting and trying to catch their breath.

The girl was feeling a mix of emotions— happiness, excitement, but also a little bit of embarrassment. She couldn't believe she had just lost her virginity to Michael Jackson. Michael, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear. He couldn't believe how amazing it had been, and he also couldn't resist messing with her.

"So, how does it feel to be a woman now, gorgeous?" he asked, still panting.

The young woman blushed furiously, but tried to play it off like it was nothing. "What are you talking about?" she asked with painfully obviously forced nonchalance.

"Oh, come on," Michael said, laughing. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! I just took your virginity!"

She groaned loudly and hid her face. Michael laughed at her reaction, finding it quite amusing. "And it was amazing."

Even she couldn't deny the truth in that statement. It had been amazing, and she couldn't help but feel a little bit proud that she had managed to bag the Michael Joseph Jackson.

"But seriously," Michael said, his tone becoming more serious. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

She shook her head. "No, you didn't hurt me," she said softly. "It was perfect."

Michael leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. "I'm glad. I was real worried at the beginning y'know.." he said, a genuine and loving smile forming on his face. "You're amazing, you know that, right?"

The girl smirked, chuckled, and looked at Michael, a cocky expression on her face.

"I know."

@2222bad heyyyyy... 😀 this is heavily inspired by your imagine and I heard that there was a demand for more OTW era smut so I came to the rescue (kinda 💀)

this is my very first attempt at writing smut, I know it's terrible, I apologize 💀😭

[alwaysformike]

girlll, i am in LOVE w your page already, your so well spoken like i turned ur notifs on SO FAST.

i was wondering if we could get arguing/being mad at michael hcs? ty in advance! 🎀

ִֶָ𓏲࣪ 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔. 🫂༉‧

In which drugs are becoming increasingly prominent in Michael Jackson's life -- needless to say, you're tired of it.

hi, yes, it is i... tati... anywayssss enjoy this guys 💋 ! and also for my requestor, i know u asked for hcs but i've had this idea for soo long.. if u still want hcs tho i got u!!!

warnings; heavy drug mentions. heavy angst, some without comfort but ultimately ends with comfort. michael being a stubborn dick😔

Neverland was dead quiet and empty. The maids had long since left for their off-home housing, chefs retired to their chambers the minute they heard their dismissal, and all was well for Michael Jackson in his fairytale dreams.

He was standing atop a large mountain, a grassy hill with plains of flowers sprawling out before him. A beautiful sight, he turns his head to see his lover admiring it too. You're rolled out onto the grass, little weeds littering your hair, and your milky-covered eyes staring over the hills.

He turns his back, seeing what is behind them.

Down below, way down below was a tiny village.

Citizens talked and chattered, passing through the town square like it was New York. He looks to his right, seeing a cozy cottage and a swing set in the front yard.

That's his house. He knows for sure.

His lover looks up at him, your lips curling down.

"Well then, are you going to just stare and sulk or are you going to come down here?" You smile slyly.

He turns away from the townsfolk and back to the rolling plains of what could've been Italy, or maybe even some quiet spot in Spain. "I do apologize, baby. I was just admiring the life we've built for ourselves."

You chuckle and lay on his chest. "I miss it sometimes, y'know?" He hums confusedly. "The heat of L.A and the city life."

He jumps up. As much as Michael loves his little countryside lifestyle, and would hate to leave it behind, theres nothing he hates more than seeing his girl unhappy. "We can be on the first flight back by tomorrow morning." Your eyes widen as she falls off his chest.

"Oomph!" You too, rise onto your elbows. "What? No no Mike, that's not what I meant. I just miss it. But I love our little life here-- our home is here Mike. Our kids, our friends, they're all here. We can't just up and leave."

He quirks a brow. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." So, with your affirmations in mind he lays back down onto the grassy hills of Italy, watching the view from down below.

All was well, Michael was relaxed and his beautiful black curls framed his face as they entangled with grass below. Until it wasn't. The sound of sniffles hits his ears, and he looks down. You're crying.

Oh god! You're crying! His lover was crying! Your face was puffy and red, swollen with dried tears that had been silently pouring until you just couldn't hold it in. "Nonono, you're crying. Why are you crying? Look at me, pretty girl."

You don't budge, and he reaches out to cup your face into his hands. But suddenly, hes no longer touching you. You fall through his chest like hes a ghost and cradle yourself into fetal position.

Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh.

"Baby?" He asks, attempting to console you again.

But his hand goes through you, like something straight out of his 1997 music video "Ghosts".

Suddenly he's falling, down down down like Alice in Wonderland. His breath became hard and raspy as he attempted to gasp for air. Finally, he lands down with a hard jerk and shoots up, gasping for breath. Darkness fills his vision but the man doesn't notice, too caught up in his mist of confusion and delirium.

Maybe the drugs are becoming too much.

From his left, the sound of sniffing fills his ears.

Wait a second. It all clicks. Michael rushes out of his delirious frenzy and to the side of his wife.

Shaking you panickedly, his hand doesn't go through you.

"Baby. Wake up. Baby. Baby. Get up. Hello?Helloo?? Can you hear me?"

He sighs miserably. This night had turned into a nightmare.

"Baby." Finally, he shakes you so hard you roll off the bed with a loud scream. He cringed back as the sound of your body hits the ground. You're even more panicked now, open and exposed to the cool bitter air pouring in from you two's balcony.

You had once told Michael you hated sleeping in a stuffy room. So since then, he's never let you sleep without at least a window open. Even in the freezing cold winters.

The darkness wasn't helping either. "Mike?" You ask hoarsely. When he doesn't respond, too busy caught up in his own confusion, you ask again more panicked. "Michael?"

Finally, he snaps out of it, quickly realizing he has to be the strong front in this nightmare situation.

"Baby. It's okay, I'm here." You sob again at the sound of his voice.

He helps you climb into bed, over the pillows and covers that fill your space and make it the comfortable heaven is it. But something catches your eye behind Michael, and it sends you even further into a frenzy.

It's an IV drip, halfway full with a milky warm substance that has no warmth for its users. You gulp and begin to cry again. Michaels confused, his brow quirks up and the wheels in his head begin to turn.

What in the hell could possibly have you so worked up?

The room is quiet with small sniffles and sobs, and thats when he hears it.

Веер.

Веер.

Вееер.

Tossing over, be doesn't hesitate to rip the IV cord off his arm and toss it onto his nightstand. You're sniffles slow, down to just small sobs here and there.

Michael envelopes you into his arms, cradling you protectively.

"Michael." You finally croak out.

He shushes you. "Shh, baby, i'm here."

You sobs again. "Yes, but for how much longer?" His heart seems to shatter, and with how quiet it is you must've heard it. It's no secret he was on drugs, if it wasn't the very obvious pill bottles littering the room, it was his ghastly appearance.

Thinning cheeks, not yet thin enough to frame his skeleton but still thin enough to see his sharp and chiseled jawline, his bobbing apple cheeks.

It was only a matter of time before he began to look sickly.

His skinny, slender hands cradle your face, holding you as close to him as physically possible.

You two had talked about the drug usage. In fact, talked about it is an understatement. 'Argued' would be more plausible. It didn't help that both you and Michael were as stubborn as a mule and often clashed during situations like this.

"What I do with my body is absolutely NONE of your concern. This discussion is over." He sayss sharply.

"Not my concern?" You scoff. "Serious? I am your wife. And incase your nitwitted brain can't comprehend that, your business is my business."

"I will not debate this topic with you no more. / hate when women try to tell me what to do. If you don't like it, leave it. But I am who I am and clearly you cant accept that."

Your eyebrows raise at the honesty. And, in any normal circumstances, you would've found it increasingly difficult to hold back your salty tears. But not a single tear even swelled in your eye, you were so angry it was killing you.

"Y'know what? I want a divorce. I'm tired of this Michael. You think you're so high and mighty because you're the Michael Jackson and what you do doesn't affect others but truth is, some nights when you're knocked out on propofol l sneak downstairs and sleep on the couch." Your admission makes his eyes widen in shock. His eyes harden and he almost starts spitting out anything he could to get out of this situation.

You cut him off before he even starts. "You wanna know why? Because most nights, I can't sleep. The V drip runs and runs and the cords tangle into the bed, I can't sleep knowing you're not asleep, you're in a coma. And I'm tired of it."

He shrugs carelessly. In any other circumstance, Michael would be on his hands and knees begging for your forgiveness. But drugs? Drugs were the one thing he had. The one thing that could never betray him. He couldn't let that go.

"Then leave then."

You scoff, bewildered at his carelessness. "You're willing to give away your marriage for drugs?"

"You said it not me."

"No Michael, you brought this upon yourself. I love you and I will always love you but I cannot live like this. In this house where oxygen tanks litter each room. So y'know what? You wanna use, use! But the least you could do is own that shit! And, new rule, no more wasting my time!

Stop saying you'll quit when you know you'd rather take a bullet to the head than have to be off drugs."

Luckily, the argument ended in a heavy makeout session and Michael being weaned off drugs and sober for 2 years.

2 years of your life where you saw that little Jackson 5 boy back in him. 2 years where you didn't have to sleep on the couch or worry about entanglement in V drip cords.

You stand up, your legs hurting and the ghost of soberity far behind. "I'm leaving." You croak out.

His eyebrows shoot up.

"What?"

"I can't live like this anymore, Michael. Either you quit or l quit and I take the kids. I'm done. Either you stop or it's over."

He gulps. It's now or never. Luckily for him he's had a change of heart in the past two years.

Michael nods, curls bouncing. "I'll stop. I promise. I want to be better, I want to get sober."

He's serious, you can tell. And, if it wasn't obvious by the deadpan look on his face, it was by the way he turned over, pushed the V drip away from him and knocked all the pill bottles off his nightstand.

"We'll see." You toss over and bring the blankets back over your body. Your breathing slows and you're nulled into the warm embrace of sleep--only this time its full of love and warmth. Before your consciousness slips, you feel a warm arm slip over your hips and plush lips kiss your cheeks.

You two would make it through this. You always did.

masterlist

@michaelsfavgirl @mj4eva @mjj-nostalgia @stillovrit @angeline-cake