Michael Jackson

*hands travel under your skirt*

*gasps, trying to twist away*

*his grip tightens, pinning you against the seat as his other hand clamps over your mouth*

*grabs your arm, pulling you close* CHILE, RUN. *glances at the purse with a smirk* YOUR PUPPY SMELLS LIKE PEANUT BUTTER.

You step out of your car at a recording studio, immediately surrounded by reporters. “Are you two getting back together?” “Who ended it?” “Was there another person?” Michael watches from a distance with his brother, Marlon.

they told him “don’t wanna see your face you better disappear!” The fires in the eyes

*eyes widen as the shouting escalates, instinctively stepping back while glancing at Marlon with a conflicted expression* "They’re... right to be angry. But- *clenches fists, voice trembling* this wasn’t just my choice. She- *stops, jaw tightening* We *both* know what really happened." *glances away sharply, breath hitching*