💗

Michael sported a childish grin — the corners of his lips tugging each side as he fought to suppress it.

“A camera.”

“I can see that, honey, but what’s it doing out while we’re kissin’?” Your tone had Michael pulling his bottom lip between his lips.

“Wanted to try somethin’.” He revealed, his voice soft and sweet despite the sensual undertone.

You’d barely been situated in Michael’s lap five minutes, lips moving feverishly against his own, anticipating some intimacy with your man, before the clicking of the Sony Handycam CCD-M8U you bought him for his birthday started a recording.

“Come on, baby, keep goin’.” He whispered — behaving like a producer backstage of a performance, using hushed tones to support you with your next act.

You shook your head in protest — lips parting to tell him to turn that damn thing off. But, it was Michael’s way or no way. He perched up from slightly beneath you, capturing your lips again on his own. You could sense the camera on you as Michael slid his eager tongue into your mouth — the wet muscle exploring yours as his right hand levitated in the air, capturing every second of your private moment. His spare hand slid up the centre of your spine, fingers tips tracing the dip, pushing you closer to his chest.

“Michael, turn it of—“ “Shh, just let it happen, doll.”

His muffled dismissal against your lips had you huffing into his — giving up fighting him. Luckily for Michael, you soon forgot about his little friend in the air — your enclosed lip-locking becoming increasingly more heated as time pursed. Your hips ground against his own involuntarily, muscle memory kicking in from your many previous sensual encounters, eliciting a sharp gasp from your throat. Michael hummed into your mouth at the sound of your first pretty noise of the night — the excitement of his future self watching the tape back and watching your neediness increase in real time had him buzzing.

Michael bucked his hips up to meet yours halfway — a genuine whine of desperation leaving your mouth against his own, still locked in a ferocious kiss. Your hands encased his flushed cheeks, holding him dearly close to you, your whines blossoming into authentic moans of pleasure as your throbbingly touch-starved clit nudged against the painfully obvious bulge in his slacks.

Your lips left Michael’s in a frantic, needy frenzy — planting hot, open-mouthed kisses to his jawline, lips dragging along the spectacularly chiseled bone, smothering the skin in your mauve lipstick. Before following his anatomy and furthering your pout down his neck, licking a tentative stripe down the slope.

Michael shuddered under your brutal teasing, hands twitching around the camera ever so slightly. He peered up at it, ensuring he was capturing you in the perfect way.

“Gosh, baby, y’look so pretty like that.” Michael breathed, titling his head back to allow you to expand your surface area of tentative licks, “Kissin’ all on me like that.”

At this point, all the sense you had to smack that camera out of Michael’s hand had long left your head. Now, all you were interested in was pressing hot kisses down Michael’s chest, shoving the loose shirt off his torso to give yourself more room to worship his body with your mouth.

Above you, Michael had managed to shift the camera angle down, now holding the painfully obvious equipment with two hands, resting on his heaving chest — angling it just right to show your arched frame moving down his body, lipstick marks forming on his glossed skin. Your manicured hands reached the waistband of his slacks before peering your head up from his crotch, eyeing him seriously, as if to say put that thing away now.

“Please?” His pleading, slightly whiny voice had any form of judgment you’d once obtained now ten feet out the window as his eyes sparkled above you — lip threatening to fall into a pout as the camera taped you rolling your eyes before unbuckling his trousers, shoving them down his thighs. Michael grinned excitedly as you pressed your chest close to the aching bulge in his boxers.

“Wow, you really do like that camera, huh?” You teased, tracing a calculated finger down the ridge of his hard cock.

Michael hissed at the sudden, feather-light touch, knuckles going white around said tech, lip being gnawed by his pearly whites at the sight of you between legs.

“Quit teasin’.” He spoke shyly, his eyes flicking between the screen and your in-person frame, an anticipatory smile on his face.

Usually, Michael would dislike it when you suck his dick — believing his lady should be pleasured and looked after, not made to strain herself for only his gain. But, he knew how you secretly enjoyed having your throat stuffed full, rendering completely at your mercy, so every once in a while, he’d allow it.

That and you looked so pretty with his cock in your mouth.

Especially on camera.

So, when your lips wrapped around the flushed head of his proud cock, Michael didn’t know whether to focus on making sure every second of this was caught on video, or the feeling of intense delight you were succumbing him to. You suckled the tip just how he liked, his salty, yet equally delicious, pre-cum flooding your taste buds, relishing in the way the perfect dip in his eyebrows adorned his face — he was crumbling.

“S-Shit, sweetheart, doin’ so good.” He panted, thighs tensing against your hands as you steadied yourself on the meaty muscle.

You slid him deeper, tongue dancing over the throbbing vein on the underside of his shaft, while your pretty fingers wrapped around the base, pumping him slowly in beat with your eager mouth. Michael watched you like a hawk — heart thumping in his chest so hard he was certain the tachycardia was going to send him into cardiac arrest at the way your seductive, doe eyes fluttered up at him through your lashes.

“Oh, Lord.” He heaved, head falling back against the pillow as the head of his swollen manhood punched the back of your throat — a loud gag of rejection sounding out into the room.

Michael secretly adored when you did that.

In his trance of lust, the camera slipped from his grasp, sliding down his side, leaving his hands free to slither down and cradle your face. You noticed.

“Ah, ah, ah!” You teased, pulling off his cock with a pop, saliva connecting you even in disengagement, “Thought you wanted it filmin’, angelface?”

Michael whined, trembling hands leaving your face to pull the camera back into his possession — focusing the lense to put you back into shot. Michael’s breath hitched at the sight — even on the choppy, blurry screen, your blown out pupils, tear-streaked, flushed red cheeks and swollen lips glossed with spit and his pre-cum had him twitching in your hand as you pumped him slowly.

“Look so fuckin’ good, girl.” He admitted, furrowed eyebrows hidden between the large hunk of plastic as he watched through it, “Can’t wait to watch this later.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to the head, collecting the pre-cum that dribbled down him with the tip of your tongue, smiling at the way Michael whined, “Oh, you dirty dog, Michael Jackson.”

Michael chuckled cheekily, “Come up here, wanna feel you.”

Obeying his orders, you let his hardened cock fall against his tensed abdomen, climbing up him once more. Your hips settled either side of him against, clothed pussy lips now hugging the thickness of his cock through your soaked panties.

“Well, would you look at that?” He started, a teasing finger coming down to toy with your damp underwear, a whine leaving your lips at the tentative touches, “Looks like you’re enjoying this after all, hm?”

You failed to reply — words catching in your throat as his finger traced the outline of your aching clit through the thin material, your lips parting at the sheer sensuality of his touch.

“Where’s that teasin’ girl gone, hm? Cat got your tongue, mama?”

“Michael.” Your voice a whiny, needy plea of despair.

“What, baby? Talk to me. Tell me whatcha’ need.” He coaxed, his tone a gentle dominant force that your mouth rambling to answer, to please.

You whined, hips rolling against the hard of his cock, rubbing alongside the pad of his finger that remained flat against your nub, “Plea—please, need it—need to feel you.”

Michael’s hand, steadily holding the camera, angled it perfectly to show your needy pussy humping his cock, as well as the eyebrows knitted in lust on your pretty little face — his cock twitching at the thought of fucking his hand to the recording later.

Michael tapped your hip, demanding you lift your hips to have access to your drooling cunt. He peeled the drenched cotton panties from your puffy pussy lips, tucking them to the side of your vulva. With practiced ease, Michael slid an expert finger between the slickness of your cunt — collecting the sweet essence of your arousal on his digits. With methodical swiftness, a long finger of Michael’s slipped into the clenching hole which needed him most.

“Mmh, such a pretty pussy, doll. Got all wet just for me?”

Michael knew the answer, he just loved to hear you say it. Loved to hear you admit in your drunken state of ecstasy that he was the one to make you slick with arousal. Michael’s fingers moved with excellence you were stunned by each and every time — the relentless abuse against the sweet, spongy spot inside you that had you crying out, tears jerking from your ears at the sheer force of the sensation.

“Ooh, there she go,” He whispered, the ball of his hand coming up to roll against the excluded nub that was screaming for touch, a move that had you sobbing, “That’s the spot, huh, ma? So good it got you cryin’ f’me, hm?”

His name left your swollen, cum-stained lips in a wretched sob, nails digging into the flex of his bicep, gripping on for dear life as you fucked yourself onto his hand.

“Y-Yes! Yes—o-ah! Yes, God, Mike—gonna cum!”

Michael could’ve laughed at the way your face dropped in sheer disbelief as he pulled his hand away from your sopping cunt after your confession of near climax. Your chest heaved, clit throbbing as your eyes welled up, pulling on Michael’s heartstrings.

“Oh, sweet girl.” He laughed, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your pouting lips, “Need you to cum around my cock, babygirl, yeah? Can you do that for me, pretty lady?”

You nodded meekly, bottom lip still jutted out in protest as Michael guided his cock between your shaking legs. Just as his burning hot tip slid into the familiar, wet comforts of your hole — your disappointed pout fell into a gasp of relief.

Michael laughed, his free hand coming to pull on your bottom lip, cock slipping further inside you, “Don’t want this out again, you hear me? No poutin’ girls around here.”

You nodded feverishly — not ever wanting to disobey him, in fear he’d take away the one thing that’s fulfilling the desire that burned fiercely inside you, as he stretched you open, inch by inch. The camera, still rolling, captured all of this — the way each inch of his cock disappeared slowly, your pretty pussy lips wrapped around his shaft, your slick drooling around him.

You whined, feeling impossibly full as he bottomed out, seating you fully down onto his pelvis. His own bottom lip was sucked in between his teeth, admiring the sight of your perfect frame on top of him.

“Oh, I bet you’re so full, huh, baby? Usually don’t let y’ride me first — can feel that pussy throbbing.” He confessed, laughing softly as you whimpered, his free hand slithering up your bared body — making sure to record his hand palming your tits through your lacy bra.

Michael wasted no time pulling the material off your body, reaching behind you to flick the fastener apart one-handed — watching as the bra fell from your chest, your perky tits on full display to him, and the camera, of course. His teasing fingers crawled up you, grabbing a gentle handful of your right breast, humming at the feeling of the soft skin and the sound of your desperate moan. You shuffled around him — wincing at the feeling of his perfectly curved cock nudging your quivering walls, awaiting the approval to start moving.

No matter what you were doing — Michael was always in control.

Michael moved his hand to roll your erect nipple in between his nimble fingers, “Go’head, girl, show me how much you need it.”

You didn’t wait for him to change his mind, not that he would with the way you were clenching eagerly around him, lifting your hips off him, about half-way, before slamming back down. Your head fell back instinctively, a cry of sheer joy slipping from your lips, only encouraging Michael to throb inside you.

“Come on, sweetheart, falling apart after one bounce? Can do better than that.” He teased, smirking at the way you bit your lip shyly, suddenly embarrassed at how much effect he had over you.

Your hips rose again — now bouncing with the help of Michael’s tight grip on your hip, pulling you up and down on him. You whined, cheeks flushed in timidity as he hummed behind the screen.

“Oh, that’s the fuckin’ money shot, girl. My baby’s a natural. Look at that pussy—fuck, yeah, doll, keep goin’.”

Michael’s words of encouragement had you crying out — moaning in pure lust as his cock continued to relentlessly nudge against the best spot inside you, one he never failed to hit each time. Michael’s hand cradled your hips dominantly, grinding you down with each movement, rubbing your clit onto his neatly groomed pubic bone, failing to hide the smirk that crept onto his face at the sound of your needy noises.

“That’s it — let me hear you, darling.”

“Mike.” You whined, hand coming up to grabs handful of your tits and the other holding yourself up on his chest, slick with sweat. Michael’s eyes could’ve popped out of his head at the sight of you — seductively playing with your perky breasts, nipples rolling between your fingers like he once did, head thrown back, mouth agape letting your slutty moans fall upon his perked up ears.

Now, this was the shot.

Michael couldn’t wait another moment. Throwing the camera down on the bed, he lifted you up with both strong hands, pulling you off his slicked cock, and laying you down gently on the bed with ease.

“Mikey.” You whinged, “Please.”

“I know, sweet thing, ‘m coming back, don’t worry that pretty little head.” He reassured, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Michael slid you onto your side with ease, one shaking leg laying over the other, revealing your swollen cunt. He slid a soft hand over your skin, squeezing the plush of your ass, humming at the sight of you beneath him. He picked up the discarded camera once more, pointing it down at you once more.

“Now, this,” He started, “is the perfect position for when my baby’s gettin’ recorded. Y’know why, sweet girl?” He spoke, sliding the flushed head of his cock between your drooling folds, ignoring the way you whined loudly, peering up at him as if to beg him to shut up and just fuck you, “Because I can see this perfect ass, cute lil’ waist, beautiful titties, and most importantly,” He complimented cheekily, free hand sliding over each body part as he listed them, before gripping your chin between his index finger and thumb, “This pretty little face makin’ the cutest faces while I fuck her needy little pussy.”

Michael entered you in one swift motion — the cutest faces he was referring to filling your expression, a loud cry leaving your lips. His name fell from your mouth like a prayer, a chant, as he rocked into you deeply — his cock-end nudging your cervix each time, sending you clawing at the bedsheets. Pleased with himself, Michael smiled behind the camera once more, angling it down perfectly to capture every aspect of you he listed — tits bouncing, ass recoiling against his abdomen, face contorted into pleasure and his cock sliding in and out of your raw cunt, a white, milky ring forming around the base of him.

Michael was in heaven — knowing this video wouldn’t be your last as he watched you through the small screen, hand now clawing at his flexed arm, nails digging into the skin as he filled you.

“Michael, Michael!—fuck, Mike, please, God, fuc—“

“Hmm, that’s right, dollface, tell me all about it. Feelin’ good?”

You whined desperately, clit throbbing against his free hand that had slithered between your sweating bodies to rub tight, practiced circled onto the aching nub, “Gonna fuckin’ cum, Mikey, please, don’t sto—ah!”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it, sweet girl,” He admitted, leaning down, not caring about the camera angle, as he pressed soft kisses to your face, some landing on your parted lips, now only bothered about your pleasure, “Cum around me, baby, wanna feel it.”

The nearing peak of your orgasm crawled down your body, nestling in your abdomen, body slowly igniting in fierce heat. The sheer explicitness of the intimate moment had adrenaline and lust pumping through your veins. Your trembling hand reached across the bed, taking a hold of the camera once more, holding it out for him.

“Want it to see you fill me up wit—ah!—with your cum, Mikey, please.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Your provocative declaration had him frantic — doubling over, one hand on the bed, the other steadying the camera, fucking you twice as fast. Your cries only getting louder as he pounded the sweet spot inside you over and over again, his name being screamed so loud you were certain the whole house could hear.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—there! ‘M there!”

You orgasmed with a cry so loud it had Michael cursing under his breath at the eroticism — revelling in the way your cunt squeezed him, sucking him in further as you came around him, nails dragging down his tensed back.

Michael wasn’t far behind you, fighting every urge in him to throw the camera away and fuck his seed so far into you that you’d be swollen with him for days, but holding it firmly in his grasp, recording just how sweetly your cunt milked him for everything he had to offer, your slickness pooling beneath you. He, though, forced himself as deep into you as he could go — making sure the camera picked up on his your cunt accommodated the sheer size of him, his milky white cum now frothing around the base of his softening cock.

He slowly pulled himself out of you with a wince, “Hold still for me, babygirl.” He ordered, forcing your legs to stay open as he leant down between your thighs, groaning at the way his cum drooled out of your swollen cunt, sliding down your shaking thighs.

Feeling a sense of post-orgasm confidence, you slid two tentative fingers between your legs, dipping into your sopping cunt, collecting both your juices onto your digits. Michael could sense where this was going, softened cock twitching, threatening to harden as you slipped your slick fingers into your mouth — sucking the mix of your salty and tangy essences clean from your burning skin.

“Holy shit, baby,” Michael breathed, feeling as though he was capturing pure talent through the screen as you released your fingers with a pop, similar to how you did with his cock prior, eyeing the camera with a knowing smirk,

“Got myself my own filthy lil’ pornstar, huh?”

The song came in. The piano sharp. The rhythm unnatural, with the drums leading through. The atmosphere settled in instantly and it was like you were transported into a movie. 

Michael stood there, looking at the camera, in character like he never was before. Once his time hit, his co-star turned around and, afraid of what he had become, he transformed into the monster that the song was about. 

He wasn't that shy kid who lived next door to you. The one who called every night just so he could hear your voice. The one who liked animals and cared about the environment like nobody else. 

He wasn't your cute little Mikey anymore. 

He was him. 

The Michael Jackson. 

He stepped forward, mouth dropping open, his dancers following behind him like parasites. They did the big dance break that everyone on set stopped and watched like they were witnessing the first moon landing. 

Everyone couldn't look away— Or rather, they didn't want to look away. 

"'Cause this is Thriller!" He shouted, snapping his body to the side for emphasis. "Thriller night!" 

Michael was doing things that had never been done before. 

He put his all into it, swiftly hitting his moves and mouthing the lyrics to the song perfectly.

You almost couldn't recognize who he was. 

"Anndddddd cut!"

The cast screamed and jumped, clapping and sending compliments to everyone at how incredible that was. Some of them patted and tugged Michael around, expressing their admiration, all while he did the same. That big goofy smile on his face. Others pumped their fists and hollered like their favorite football team won the Superbowl. 

And finally, Michael was only focused on you. 

Once everyone settled down, going into their well deserved break, he came over to you, sweat beading down his face. He was breathing hard but his smile never wavered. 

"W-What did you think?"

You blinked, looking at him like you'd seen a ghost. 

He'd never seen this type of expression before, and he worried that it meant you didn't like it— or worse, you hated it. 

"You…" you paused, not adding anything after. Frozen in shock. 

"…you?" He repeated, snapping his hands in your face to grab your attention. "Hello? Anybody up there?" 

"You…" you said again, in that same unsettling tone. 

Maybe the video was so bad you couldn't fathom it. 

"Was it that bad? Please tell me that wasn't bad? We can redo it if you think so? I think I missed a few steps—"

"N-No!" You jumped forward, getting off of the chair. You cleared your throat , raising a hand. "N-No— Michael, that was— that was incredible!" You couldn't catch your breath. "The costumes, the theme, the music— a-and the dance? The way you moved your body and slipped into the scene was absolutely amazing!" 

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Sore but easily ignored. "You really think so?"

"I know so!" 

He laughed softly, grateful for your positive words. "I'm glad. Didn't really care about everyone else's opinions, yours was the only one that mattered." 

"Flattery gets you nowhere," you teased. "Once again, I'm terrible at criticizing things—" 

"Yeah, but I want it." 

You both looked at each other, a blanket of warmth covering you both. 

You were surprised when he asked if you could come, another project he was planning and needed a second opinion on. Like always, you didn't think your words mattered, the field of music not your expertise. But he promised donuts— as much as you wanted to eat on set, and you couldn't pass that up. 

Getting on the plane was another thing. The ride was bumpy, the sky in full view, the clouds right there, and it felt incredibly odd to see it so close. It was your first time flying, but to Michael it was another day. Although you were terrified, assuming the worst, Michael told you that as long as he was by your side you could breathe. 

"Take deep breaths," he said in that calming tone. "Follow me. In and out."

And you did.

In the middle of the ride, you were relaxed with your head resting on his shoulder. The fear melting away. 

You weren't sure what to name what you two had. If it was a mutual understanding or two people who happened to fall in place at the right time— but something was there, and you both couldn't hide it. You found something in him that you couldn't quite grasp, like he was meant to be in your life. Finding him felt like destiny, and somewhere along the way, your hands found each other too. 

Late night calls, letters, twister time— it all felt like you both were growing into each other and there was no way to pull you both apart. 

You become familiar with his home and him. All of his hobbies and love for life. All of the things that could make or break him. Although you got a hint of what life was like behind closed doors, you never once talked about it unless he wanted to. 

He liked that about you. 

While others would have dug for the facts and showed the world that he wasn't as perfect as he hoped he would be, you took what you knew and let it simmer into tales that didn't need to be remembered because who were you to tell him how to handle his feelings and life? He was human, just like everybody else. 

Nothing else mattered. 

"Wanna see something?" He asked, a smirk playing along his face. Even while he was breathing hard, he still had energy to get into mischief. You've known him for so long, whenever he asked that, that never meant anything good. 

You looked behind him and around the set, nobody paying attention to you both. "Aren't you supposed to be taking a break? Gathering your strength and waiting for the next scene—"

"This is me taking a break." He gestured with his hands, showing off how he wasn't doing anything but standing really. "Come on, I wanna show you something."

Remembering the script; movie theater, street location, large scary house. You were pretty sure he was going to take you to part of the film you told him explicitly you didn't want to see. 

"Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," He said, ending it with a wink that looked more like he was blinking with both eyes. 

"Is it the big scary house?"

"What?!" He gasped, holding his chest. "No— why would I take you there? You think because I goof around all the time I would take a young woman to a scary place and put her life on the line? Are you insane—"

The look you gave him made him drop the act instantly. 

"Yes it's the big scary house," he sighed, rolling his eyes. "It'll be quick. Promise. I just want to show you something." 

"No, you're gonna take me inside, run away, and pop out from the dark to scare me." 

"You really think so lowly of me?"

"Yes, actually." 

"Few minutes, that's it. And then you can go back to being boring and eating twenty donuts per second ." 

"Hey!" You smacked his arm, earning a hard whimper to leave his mouth. "You promised me donuts! So I'm going to get donuts!"

"You'll get fat—"

You smacked his arm again, harder this time, and he backed away, holding his arm like you wounded him. "Ouch! Can you stop that!"

"I'm not going," you stated and stood on it. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think they put out fresh ones—"

He grabbed your hand swiftly, your eyes popping open and with surprise strength he ran for it— tugging you behind him without letting go. He laughed through it all, listening to you scold him, screaming and kicking for him to let you go, and that this wasn't funny at all. 

But he didn't care, and despite your protest, you still followed behind him. 

He lead you towards the next scene, a few feet away from the big dance break section. It was darker, the set meant to be spookier than everything else. It reminded you of the Michael Myers house or the Texas Chainsaw house— those types of movies where nothing good happens and it always ends in death. 

He dragged you up the stairs, nodding at a few crew mates who were putting the last finishing touches to the house. Painting some dark scratches and scraps, adding more plants, fixing anything out of place before the Final Cut. 

"Michael! Let go!"

"We're almost there, sit tight and stop complaining." 

He opened the door, pulling you inside into the heart of the house and finally let go. A little too proud of himself, even while you gave him the darkest frown possible. 

"Pretty neat right?" He showed off the set, pointing to everything. "It's an abandoned house anyways but they made it even scarier by adding these cool touches." He walked over to the couch that was covered with a sheet, not ready to be used yet. "Everything is fake but it's pretty cool right?" 

"Yeah… cool," you gulped, looking around the room. It was darker inside, the only true lighting coming from the cracks of the windows. You didn't like how quiet it was, eerily reminding you of the Exorcist, the creaks sounding from under your footsteps. 

"Don't start shaking yet, it gets better—"

"Better?" 

"Duh, there's something upstairs—"

"Michael can we go now?" You didn't want to entertain his theatrics. 

He raised a brow. "But you just got here?"

"I know, I think this is—" you couldn't find the right words that didn't fall into you being a party pooper. "— nice." You guessed that worked. "But you know I don't like any of this—"

"So?" 

He didn't see the issue. 

"So? I'm scared! What if he comes out and tries to kill me !"

"Who's going to come out and kill you?"

"Michael Myers!" 

"Michael Myers?" He snorted. "From that Halloween movie? The one with the mask and the jumpsuit?" He chuckled lowly, "Oh please, he's not real."

You hugged yourself, finding that it was getting cold. "How do you know that?"

He looked at you like you were crazy, a big dopey smile on his face that showed nothing but teeth. "Uhhh," he pointed to himself. "Cause I'm the only Michael here," He laughed, holding in his stomach, now realizing how funny it sounded coming from his mouth. "Get it? Cause we share the same name. Michael Myers, Michael Jackson— we're both Michael." He fell onto the couch, kicking his feet. 

You didn't laugh. 

In fact, you were close to strangling him. 

"You're not funny," you sucked your teeth. 

"Come on, that was a little funny." 

You squeezed yourself tighter, ignoring how childish he was being and walked off. You didn't bother checking if he followed— to be honest you didn't care. You heard him call for you, pleading for you to come back but you didn't stop, continuing around the house. 

You knew it was fake in a way, but horror wasn't your favorite genre. You hated snakes, spiders, long dark hallways that probably held ghosts or far worse. 

You walked into what looked like the kitchen, surveying the details and creative touches that must have taken months to do. 

You didn't hear Michael's excessive laughter anymore. 

You looked back, the lighting too dark to tell if he was walking around. You didn't hear anything but your own footsteps, your breathing slowly turning harsh in the kitchen. 

Quickly, you jotted back to the living room, finding nobody there. The couch still there, the outline of Michael's movements imprinted in the oversized blanket that rested over it, but he was nowhere to be seen. 

You knew this would happen. 

"Okay, you can come out now. I know you're hiding somewhere," you said, looking around the room. "I know your trying to scare me and I don't find it funny. Like, at all." 

Nothing. 

You took a step back, your feet stepping on a creaky floorboard and you felt dread wash over you. 

"Michael?"

It was silent. 

You walked to the front door, reaching to twist for the knob, but a heavy thud stopped you, the sound coming from upstairs. 

You knew better than to investigate , reminding yourself that every character who went towards the noise was never to be seen again. You focused back on the door knob, turning it , but it wouldnt budge.

A cold chill ran down your spine. 

You shook and jerked the knob, chewing your bottom lip in fear. You thought Michael was going to pop out and scare you, not lock you in the house! 

"Hello! Is there a crew member here! The door is locked!" You shouted, rattling the door.

You turned and dashed to the kitchen, the back door your next exit but it was locked too. 

You used your shoulder, the wood hurting you more than breaking through, and you quickly turned to run back to the front door. Hoping that somebody might walk back— 

There was a dark figure standing in the middle of the hallway, stock still, like it was waiting for you to come closer. 

You didn't move. 

You only stared. 

Frankly, you were close to pissing your pants. 

"Mic—….M-Michael? Is that you?"

He didn't move. 

"Hey… this isn't funny anymore," you said nervously. 

He didn't move, standing in the dark like a ghost. 

"O-Okay, you got me." You didn't like how still he was. "Michael can we go— you're scaring me…" You stepped back, the creak in the floor vibrating against your skin. And you felt a cold hand touch your shoulder, big and large— the type of size that Michael Myers would definitely have and you did the next best thing. 

"Boo—oof!"

You punched him, sending your arms around, your knuckles colliding with his jaw sideways. He stumbled backwards, tripping over his feet and fell straight on his back like a sack of bricks. 

You gasped first, covering your mouth with both hands. You noticed the red jacket, the curly hair, and you felt your heart drop, afraid that you had knocked him out. "M-Michael?!" You quickly got to your knees, helping him turn over to assess the damage. 

He was holding his jaw with one hand while rubbing his back with the other, his costume still good but his back was hurting…And maybe his jaw too. He didn't know a girl could punch that hard. 

"It's like Muhammad Ali possessed you," He groaned, "I think you broke my jaw." He shook his head, "and my back."

"A-Are you sure?" You leaned in closer, cradling his face with your hands. You turned him to face you fully, tilting his head to check the wound. You didn't see any noticeable bruising, so that meant his muscles were sore for sure. 

"Yeah, I won't be able to eat for a while— or sing! I'll probably starve, then that means my career is over—"

"Shut up." You touched his face again but he didn't flinch. "If you can run that mouth of yours, then that means your fine." 

He set his jaw, trying his best not to crack a smile. "You know I can sue you right?" 

"Sue me and I'll tell the whole world that I think Prince is a better singer than you."

The way his face contracted, you would have thought his body had shut down. His mouth dropped open, eyebrows strangled together, he was deeply offended and you know it. 

"Prince? Better singer? That's worse then the broken jaw!" 

"I told you not to scare me," you scolded, brushing your thumbs over his cheek. "Now you're threatening to sue me! I should leave you here to rot!" Before you could get up, irritated all over again, he grabbed your hand and pulled you back down with him. 

"Let go—"

"Hey, come on. I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his fingers over yours, interlocking them last. "You're not really mad at me, are you?"

You weren't, not fully, but seeing how worried he had gotten so quick wasn't something you could pass up so fast. Michael liked pranking people, and sometimes he didn't often see that some of them were truly awful to do. "Yes, I am." You looked away, turning your nose up at him. 

"Please?" he whined, squeezing your hand in his. "Would you look at me?"

A taste of his own medicine should do him good. 

"Pretty please?" 

You were still looking away. "Not until you apologize." 

"I'm sorry," he muttered, but it wasn't good enough. 

He knows it. 

You knew it. 

He didn't like when you didn't give him all of your attention, the perfect advantage you had that he thought he could hide. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated, getting closer— close enough his breath tickled your cheek. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry—"

You looked at him from the corner of your eye. "You mean it?"

"Yes. Yes I mean it. I'm sorry." 

You tilted your head, finally giving him that attention he wanted so badly. "Good. It serves you right." 

"I know… I know." He watched you intently. "I can't bear the thought of you being mad at me for a second. But…We can leave, I think it's almost time anyways." 

"Well, alright." you held his gaze, then quickly looked away. "And I'm um… sorry. I'm sorry for punching you." 

"I deserved it," he chuckled softly. "I don't know how what I'm going to say to Rick if my face swells up later." 

"As long as my name isn't involved…" You were slightly nervous. It wasn't Michael of course, just the life outside of him. First time on set and you punched the rising star in the face— something he set up— and you were scared they'll remove you. "But…what…what would you say? I mean, are they going to kick me out?"

He could see your worriness clear as day. 

He reached for you, his fingers cupping your chin to turn your eyes back to him. "You really think I'll let them kick you out? I'll walk out right behind you."

"Michael, this is your career—"

"A career. Not my life." He held your gaze. "My life is sitting right here, in front of me." He said it like you meant everything in the world to him. "Wherever you go, I go." 

That feeling sat in your stomach, a low simmer of something you couldn't explain, but it felt good. 

Well, I have a suggestion." 

Blinking up at him, you were wildly confused on how you could heal a wound that quick. 

"What suggestion?"

"Maybe you could— well, I don't know…" That iconic smirk came back up.

He never knew when to quit. 

"…kiss it better?"

"Kiss it better?" You snorted, "Ohh, You set this up? didn't you?" You shoved him, but he didn't budge, smiling harder then he ever did. "You did all this cause you wanted to get me all alone for a kiss?" 

"Alone, yes. The kiss? No." 

"I'm not sure if it's the thriller you or the real you that's talking." You couldn't stop the grin from forming on your face. "Which one is it?"

"It's all me, baby," he chuckled. "Doesn't matter what music video or song— they're all me." 

"I guess I can arrange something," you shrugged, trying not to make it obvious that you really do want to kiss him. "As long as you use your manners." 

Something sparked in his face. 

"Please baby, just one little kiss. Rightttt here." He tapped the side of his face that you punched. "Kiss it better for me, would you, doll?"

You couldn't say no to that. 

You moved forward, lips inches away from his cheek. The last second he turned, his lips pressing against yours and it's like the whole world stopped. 

He didn't pull away, you didn't either, and he took that as an invitation to deepen the kiss. Guiding you to follow him. It felt electric, like someone lit a fire inside of him— inside of you both. It felt like you couldn't breathe, but it also felt like he was all of the oxygen in the world. You were so focused on how heated the kiss was, you didn't notice the next second after that you were lying on your back with him dangerously close to laying over you. His hand cradling your head from touching the floor. 

He pulled back , your mouths breaking apart with a loud pop, and you couldn't find the oxygen to breathe again.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," he sighed, using his free hand to brush your hair from your face. "Me, you, Bubbles, Louie, and Muscles—"

"We can leave Muscles," you grumbled. 

"Muscles is what's holding us together." He pressed another kiss to your lips. "Just us five. We can make our own memories, and maybe… start a new life together? How does that sound?" 

He was searching for your reaction, hoping you were on the same page as him. He was never good at reading people— he was never good at reading himself— But he liked knowing what people were thinking, whether it was from their face, or the taps of their foot to his song. As far as he knew, he could read a lot from you judging by your facial expressions. 

You were looking at him with the most wondrous eyes. Blinking up at him, fingers fidgeting around his shoulders, the light shining against your face like an angelic glow that he was going to write into a song to hold this memory.

"You…You really mean that?"

He nodded. "I know that." 

You didn't know what to say. 

The front door opened and you both turned towards the new presences. 

It was a crew member, with large headphones perched on their head and a clipboard in hand. He caught sight of you and looked away quickly, the position you both were in probably too suggestive for his taste. "S-Sorry Michael—" he bowed his head. "T-They said they were ready for the next scene. it'll start in five." 

"Sure," Michael responded, getting up. 

He held out his hand for you to take, pulling you up to your feet. He made sure you were steady, both feet planted securely, before patting down any loose ends of your outfit. "Duty calls," he said, frowning a bit. "Don't miss me too much, okay?" 

"You'll be two feet away," you shook your head. 

"That's too far for me, " He whined. "What if someone gets me? Who's going to punch their jaw off for me?" 

"Go," you chastised. "Hurry up before they kick me out for being a distraction." 

"Fine," he said, but he didn't move. "Walk with me then?" 

"You're so annoying." You rolled your eyes, but you took his hand and let him lead you out of the house.