𝓶𝓲𝓪

mature! era

context: the beautiful background of how you and michael fell in love.

—MASTERLIST

Michael Jackson was depressed.

He was a single parent to three children, including a newborn baby boy whose fragile, tiny life felt like a profound, terrifying weight on his chest, and he was quite literally fighting for his survival.

Every single day was a grueling, uphill battle against the crushing gravity of his own name. Despite being the undisputed King of Pop, despite the flashing lights, the gold records, and the roaring stadiums that echoed inside his memory, his world had shrunk down to the echoing, hollow hallways of Neverland and the heavy, suffocating silence of an isolated life. He was drowning, completely exhausted, and navigating a deep, dark winter of the soul.

Then came the 2002 World Music Awards in Monaco.

The backstage holding area was a chaotic labyrinth of security guards, frantic publicists, and artificial smiles. Michael sat in the dim corner of his dressing room, his fedora tilted low, his long fingers trembling slightly as he adjusted the silver armbands of his jacket. He felt entirely detached from the spectacle outside.

But then, the green-room monitor flickered to life, broadcasting the live stage.

You walked out to present the evening's highest honor. You were semi-famous—a critically acclaimed actress and humanitarian who had managed to maintain a pristine, grounded reputation just on the periphery of Hollywood's superficial glare. The moment you stepped up to the microphone Michael’s breath hitched.

"There is a difference between entertainment and magic. Entertainment keeps us occupied. Magic changes the way we see the world. Tonight, we are here to celebrate—."

Your voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a rich, velvet resonance that completely cut through the ambient static of the auditorium. There was an effortless grace to your posture, a gentle, intuitive warmth in the way you smiled at the audience, and an undeniable glint of sharp, grounded wit in your eyes.

Michael stood up from his chair, his dark eyes entirely glued to the screen. For the first time in years, a sudden, electric spark cut right through his numbness. He felt a magnetic, irrational pull toward you—a desperate, consuming need to be near whatever light you were radiating.

"Wow.." Michael whispered, his voice a breathless rasp as he turned to his manager. "Find out where she’s sitting. Now."

Twenty minutes later, you returned to your seat in the VIP front row, smoothing the silk of your dress as the house lights dimmed for a performance. The seat to your left had been empty all evening, marked by a reserved placard. But as the music swelled, a sudden flurry of tall security guards created a wall of black suits beside your aisle.

A slender figure slipped into the empty chair.

You turned your head slightly, your eyes widening in genuine surprise as Michael Jackson adjusted his pants and settled into the seat right next to you. He was a vision of old-school showmanship— the aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes, the military-style jacket gleaming under the stage lights.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You simply offered him a polite, gentle nod, respecting his space. But Michael was a complete, frantic internal wreck. He could feel the soft scent of your perfume, and his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

"Um... hello," Michael suddenly blurted out, his voice cracking slightly in the quiet of the row. He quickly cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers nervously drumming against his knee. "That was... you did a beautiful job up there. With the speech. It was very... very poetic."

You turned fully toward him, a warm, genuine smile breaking across your face. "Thank you, Mr. Jackson. I appreciate that, especially coming from the king himself."

Michael froze, his jaw loosening slightly beneath his mask. He slowly reached up, his long, slender fingers trembling as he pulled his aviator sunglasses down to the bridge of his nose, exposing his large, liquid-dark eyes to you. They were wide, vulnerable, and completely starstruck by you.

"You... you know who I am?" he stammered, an incredibly endearing, awkward shyness taking over his entire demeanor. It was a ridiculous question—he was the most famous man on the planet—but in that moment, he felt like a nervous teenager.

You let out a soft, melodic laugh that made his chest tighten with affection. "I think the entire world knows who you are, Michael. But I’m honored to officially meet you. I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeated, testing the syllables on his tongue like a sacred lyric, his voice dropping into that sweet, breathless melody. "That’s a beautiful name. Really beautiful. I... I think I read your interview in Vogue last month. About your charity work in South Africa. I thought it was amazing. Most people in this industry, they just... they just care about the clothes and the parties, you know? But you have a heart. I could see it."

He was completely talking your ear off now, the words spilling out of him in a nervous, rapid-fire rush. He was fidgeting with his silver cuffs, shifting his weight, and leaning in so close you could see the fine texture of his skin. He was incredibly awkward, entirely lacking the smooth, untouchable confidence of his stage persona, but it was the most genuine, raw thing you had ever witnessed.

"Michael," you whispered gently, leaning in slightly with a playful, witty grin to calm his frantic energy. "Are you always this chatty or am I just special?"

Michael’s cheeks flushed a deep, beautiful crimson. He let out a high-pitched, delighted giggle, hiding his face behind his black-gloved hand for a second before looking back at you, his eyes crinkling with absolute adoration.

"You're special," he murmured softly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made the rest of the crowded auditorium completely fade into white noise. "Very, very special."

Michael didn't just ask for your number; he pursued you with a fierce, unrelenting intensity that bordered on absolute obsession. The shy, bumbling man from the awards seat had transformed into a determined romantic hunter, though his methods remained entirely endearing.

The morning after the awards, you woke up in your hotel suite to find the entire living space completely transformed. There were no less than five hundred long-stemmed, rare white roses filling every available vase, corner, and tabletop. Tucked into the center arrangement was a small, heavy cream-colored card written in his distinct, elegant looping handwriting.

To Y/N,

I haven't been able to sleep because my head is filled with the sound of your laugh. All I do is think of you. Please let me take you to dinner. I promise I'll let you do most of the talking this time.

With all my love,

Michael.

When you finally called the private number left on the card, his voice picked up on the very first ring, raspy and breathless.

"Y/N? Oh my god, thank you for calling," Michael breathed, his relief palpable over the line. "I was so worried you'd think the flowers were too much. Was it too much? I can have them taken away if—"

"Michael, it looks like a greenhouse in here," you laughed softly, your voice instantly soothing his rising panic. "It’s lovely. And yes, I would love to go to dinner with you. But under one condition."

"Anything," he said instantly. "Whatever you want."

"No security walls, no flashing lights. Just you and me. Somewhere quiet."

But because Michael couldn't simply walk into a restaurant in Paris or Los Angeles without causing a riot, his version of a "quiet date" was spectacularly private. At exactly midnight, a tinted vehicle brought you to the gates of a historic, centuries-old botanical conservatory on the outskirts of the city. Michael had closed it out entirely for the night.

When you walked inside the massive glass dome, the air was warm and humid, thick with the scent of blooming orchids and damp earth. A single, small iron table was set up beneath a canopy of ancient ferns, illuminated entirely by thousands of tiny, warm fairy lights woven through the greenery.

Michael was standing by the table, dressed down in a simple black silk shirt, his hair loose and curling softly around his shoulders. He didn't have his glasses or his mask on. He looked entirely exposed, pale and fragile, but the moment his eyes landed on you, his face lit up like the sun.

"Welcome to my garden, Y/N," he said softly, stepping forward to gently take your hand, his touch warm and remarkably tender as he pressed a soft, old-school kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"I wanted you to see me where there are no cameras. Just the trees. They don't judge anyone."

That dinner blew your mind. As the hours drifted by, you deliberately maintained a gentle, protective perimeter around his heart, listening to him with a deep, intuitive empathy that he had clearly been starved of for decades. He spoke about his childhood, the bitter isolation of fame, and the absolute terror of raising his three babies in a world that wanted to tear him apart. He was still awkward at times—knocking his fork against his plate when he got too excited, stuttering over his words when he looked at you for too long—but you balanced his nervousness with a sharp, grounding wit that kept him anchored.

"You're staring, Mike," you teased softly, taking a sip of your wine.

"I can't help it," he whispered back, his dark eyes shining under the fairy lights as he reached across the small table, his long fingers gently brushing against yours. "You're just... you're so real, Y/N. You look at me like I’m a man. Just a man. I don't think anyone has looked at me like that since I was a little boy."

The true test of your connection didn't happen in a closed-out conservatory or a luxury suite. It happened inside the private living quarters of Neverland Ranch three months later.

Michael had finally invited you to meet his children, and he was a visible, pacing basket of nerves when your car pulled up to the main house. He met you at the door, his hands shaking as he took your coat.

"They’re a little wild today, Y/N, I'm so sorry," he apologized frantically, his eyes wide as he led you down the hallway. "Prince has a lot of energy, and Paris is being very quiet, and Blanket... Blanket has been crying all morning because of his colic. The nannies are trying, but he just wants me, and I—"

Before he could finish, you walked into the large, sunlit family room, and the reality of his daily struggle hit you like a physical wave.

Prince was running in circles around the sofa, making loud airplane noises, while Paris sat in the corner, holding a doll tightly to her chest, looking overwhelmed. In the center of the room, a frantic nanny was gently rocking a tiny, tiny infant wrapped in a yellow blanket. Little Blanket was only a few months old, his face flushed red as he wailed with a high-pitched, painful colic cry that echoed off the high ceilings.

Michael looked completely defeated. He looked like an exhausted single father who was drowning despite his millions, his shoulders slumped as he reached for the crying baby.

Your maternal instincts instantly kicked into gear. You didn't hesitate. You stepped right past Michael, offering the exhausted nanny a reassuring smile.

"May I?" you asked softly.

The nanny immediately handed the bundle over. You cradled the tiny, fragile baby against your chest, tucking his small head securely beneath your chin. You began to sway in a slow, rhythmic, grounding circle, pressing your palm firmly but gently against his tiny lower back to relieve the gas pain, while humming a low, soothing melody directly against his temple.

Within two minutes, Blanket’s frantic wails began to soften into quiet hiccups. Within five, his tiny, dark-haired head relaxed completely against your collarbone, his heavy eyelids fluttering shut as he fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

The entire room went dead silent.

Prince stopped running, his eyes staring up at you in absolute awe. Paris slowly stood up from her corner, taking a few hesitant steps toward you, her little fingers reaching out to gently touch the fabric of your jeans.

You dropped to your knees on the plush carpet, keeping Blanket perfectly balanced against your chest, and looked up at the two toddlers with a warm, radiant smile.

"Hi, Prince. Hi, Paris," you whispered gently, keeping your voice a calm, protective anchor. "My name is Y/N. I hear you guys are the best helpers in the whole world. Do you think you can help me keep your little brother asleep?"

Paris nodded solemnly, a tiny, beautiful smile breaking across her face as she sat down right next to your knee, leaning her little shoulder against yours. Prince proudly sat on the floor in front of you, his airplane completely forgotten.

Michael stood in the archway, completely rooted to the spot. Tears were openly flowing down his cheeks, glistening under the warm California sunlight. He covered his mouth with his hand, his chest heaving with a silent, overwhelming sob of pure gratitude. He had spent his whole life looking for someone to protect him, but watching you effortlessly protect and heal his children with a fierce, quiet grace made him realize he had finally found his home.

You and Michael were inseparable. But the transition from the private sanctuary of the ranch to the brutal arena of the public eye was a terrifying hurdle for him. He was deeply traumatized by the media, and he was terrified that binding your name to his would destroy your career.

The moment of truth came at a high-profile, star-studded humanitarian gala in New York. The limousine was parked in the subterranean tunnels of the venue, the muffled roar of hundreds of flashing cameras and shouting paparazzi echoing from the red carpet above.

Michael sat in the dark interior of the car, his entire body visibly trembling. His breath was shallow, his long fingers gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Michael," you said softly, your voice a firm, unyielding anchor cutting through his panic.

You reached across the leather seat, slipping your hand into his. His palm was ice-cold and sweating, but the moment your fingers intertwined with his, he looked up at you, his dark eyes wide with a desperate, childlike fear.

"I'm scared, Y/N," he whispered, his voice cracking raw.

"They're going to scream at us. They're going to say horrible things. I don't want them to hurt you. I don't want my name to taint you."

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead gently against his, looking straight into his soul with a fierce, protective clarity. "Michael, look at me. Let them look. Let them scream. I know exactly who you are, and I am incredibly proud to be by your side. I am not going anywhere. Move your feet, pop star. We're doing this together."

Michael let out a long, shaky breath, your strength transferring directly into his veins. The fear in his eyes slowly solidified into a deep, regal resolve. He squeezed your hand back with incredible strength.

"Together," he murmured.

When the limo door opened, the wall of light from the flashbulbs was absolutely blinding. The noise was a deafening roar of shouting reporters. But Michael didn't drop his head. He stepped out of the car, pulled his shoulders back, and reached back to pull you out beside him. He locked his long fingers securely through yours, holding your hand high and tight against his chest as you walked down the red carpet hand-in-hand. It was a definitive, magnificent statement to the universe: he was no longer alone.

Facing the media was one thing; facing the legendary Jackson family estate at Hayvenhurst was an entirely different kind of theater. Michael was an anxious wreck during the drive to Encino, hovering over your outfit, checking your hair, and nervously repeating his siblings' names like a mantra.

"They have very... very big personalities, Y/N," Michael warned, his voice tight as you walked up the steps. "They can be a lot. If anyone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me immediately, okay? I'll take you right home."

"Michael, relax," you laughed gently, squeezing his arm. "I can handle a few Jacksons."

The front door opened, and the living room was a vibrant, chaotic symphony of noise. Marlon, Jackie, Tito, and Jermaine were gathered around the piano, talking loudly over each other, while Janet and La Toya were sitting on the sofa, trading sharp jokes. The entire room went instantly, suffocatingly quiet the moment you and Michael stepped through the threshold.

Michael immediately stepped a half-inch in front of you, his inner protective guard coming up as his siblings converged on you.

But you didn't flinch. You stepped out from behind his shoulder, your face split into a warm, deeply respectful smile. "Hi, everyone! Thank you so much for having me."

Jermaine was the first to step forward, his eyes scanning you critically as he adjusted his jacket. "So... you're the latest woman who managed to sweep him off his feet We've been hearing a lot about you, Y/N."

"Hopefully good things," you replied smoothly. "if he’s told you any secrets, he's a terrible liar, so don't believe him."

Marlon burst into a booming laugh, clapping Michael hard on the shoulder. "Oh, she’s funny!"

The rigid tension in Michael's shoulders instantly evaporated, a bright, delighted giggle escaping his lips.

The turning point of the evening happened closer to dinner. You had ducked into the large kitchen to offer your help, and found Mother Katherine standing over a massive pot of smothered greens, her face lined with the beautiful, heavy wisdom of a matriarch.

You walked up to the counter, rolling up your sleeves without being asked. "Mrs. Jackson, can I help you chop those onions?"

Katherine turned around, her quiet, searching eyes locking onto yours for a long, heavy beat. She looked into your eyes, reading the genuine depth and tenderness within your soul. Slowly, a beautiful, motherly smile softened her face. She stepped forward, ignoring the onions entirely, and reached out to take both of your hands in her warm, lined palms.

"Thank you, child," Katherine whispered, her voice thick with an emotional weight that made your throat tighten.

"I haven't seen my son's eyes look this bright since he was a teenager. He has carried a very heavy cross. Thank you for loving my boy."

You squeezed her hands back firmly, your voice soft but fiercely certain. "He’s safe with me, Mrs.Katherine. I promise you."

By winter, Michael knew he was going to ask you to be his wife. But the sheer gravity of the proposal had turned the global icon into a bumbling, frantic internal disaster. The brutal scrutiny surrounding his name had deeply fractured his self-esteem; deep down, he was genuinely terrified that asking you to legally bind your life to his was asking too much of you.

Desperate for a flawless execution, Michael called a highly confidential, top-secret family meeting in the back library of the Encino estate, gathering his siblings while you were out at a production fitting.

"It has to be the most magical thing ever," Michael paced frantically across the Persian rug, chewing furiously on his thumb, his hair a wild, curling mess. "I was thinking... maybe I can hire a private charter to fly us out somewhere at sunrise, and I'll have an orchestra playing on the plane? Or... or a hot air balloon that drops a million red rose petals over Neverland? What do you guys think?"

Marlon looked up from his plate, entirely unfazed by the theatrical display. "Mike, you are completely losing your mind. Just hand the girl the box and ask her. If she loves you, she’s not going to care about a hot air balloon. Plus, you know you’re terrible with heights. You’ll get up in that balloon, panic, and pass out before you even get the ring out."

"I’ve already done that before! " Michael hissed, his voice cracking in frustration as he turned to Jermaine. " 'Maine, please tell me you have a better idea." Jermaine shrugged. "I mean... you could write a symphony? Sing it to her by some pretty water? That always works for me."

"Too generic!" Michael whined, his hands flying into the air as he turned to his youngest sister with wide, desperate eyes. "Dunk, please. Help me. They’re completely useless." Janet sat back on the plush sofa, letting out a long, hearty laugh before shaking her head affectionately. "Mike, you are overthinking this because you're terrified she’s going to say no. Y/N isn't into the big, flashy stuff. She loves you. Just take her somewhere quiet, look her in the eye, and be the man she fell in love with."

Despite the chaotic intervention, Michael ended up following Janet's advice, though his nerves nearly got the better of him. He had driven you out to a quiet, secluded bluff overlooking the ocean in Malibu late on a Friday night. The air was crisp and chilly, the dark waves crashing violently against the rocks far below.

You were sitting on the hood of his vintage truck, wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, completely oblivious. "Michael, it’s cold as hell out here. Why are we staring at the dark ocean at one in the morning?"

Michael didn't answer. He was standing in front of you, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. Suddenly, he let out a sharp, ragged breath that sounded dangerously close to a sob. He stepped forward, his long arms reaching out to gently catch your wrists, pulling you off the hood until your feet hit the ground, flush against his chest.

"Michael?" you murmured, your brow furrowing in instant concern as you felt the violent, frantic thudding of his heart against your ribs. He was shaking from head to toe. "Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

"No, everything’s…everything’s fine," Michael whispered, his voice incredibly raw, cracking with a deep, suffocating emotion that made your breath hitch.

Slowly, the he dropped to one knee right there in the damp grass at your feet. He pulled his hands from his pockets, holding a small, black velvet box. When he snapped it open, a flawless, emerald-cut diamond ring caught the pale moonlight, gleaming with a blinding brilliance.

But his face was completely covered in tears. He looked up at you, his dark eyes wide, entirely stripped of his legendary armor, exposing a raw, bleeding vulnerability that broke your heart.

"Y/N... I am a very broken man," Michael whispered, his breath hitching as the tears spilled over his eyelashes.

"The world has torn me apart, and my name carries a very heavy storm.

But the day you walked into my life, you brought the sun back.

You saved my babies. You held my hand when I was shaking.

I am so scared to ask you this because I don't want to drag you into my darkness...

but I don't want to live another day without you. Will you marry me, beautiful?

Will you be my queen?"

You stood completely frozen, your breath caught in your throat as your own tears instantly spilled over your lashes. The sheer, devastating beauty of his honesty completely stripped the world away.

You didn't answer with words. You dropped to your knees right into the dirt in front of him, throwing your arms fiercely around his neck. You buried your face into the crook of his shoulder, holding him so tightly you could feel his soul shifting against yours.

"Yes," you sobbed into his skin, your voice a fierce, unyielding promise that cut through the sound of the ocean waves. "Yes, Michael. A million times, yes. I am not afraid of your storm. I love you."

Michael let out a loud, shuddering cry of pure relief, wrapping his long arms around your waist and lifting you right off the ground as you both knelt there in the grass, holding you against his heart like you were the single most precious treasure in the universe.

The wedding, held on a crisp, golden afternoon in the early spring of '03, was the ultimate, seamless fortress of the life you had fought so hard to build. It wasn't a media circus; there were no cameras, no reporters, and no uninvited guests. The entire valley estate had been heavily fortified by security, creating a private, sacred sanctuary of pure love.

As the strings of a live seventy-piece orchestra swelled, playing a breathtaking, sweeping arrangement, the heavy oak doors of the private chapel swung open.

You stood in the entryway, a magnificent, jaw-dropping vision in a structured, high-fashion white silk gown. The bodice was perfectly tailored, the long, dramatic veil cascading down your back like a waterfall of lace. In your hands, you held a simple bunch of white roses.

At the end of the candlelit aisle stood Michael.

He looked absolutely striking in a crisp, custom black tuxedo, his hair neatly tied back into a sleek ponytail, his dark eyes fixed entirely onto yours. The exhausted, depressed single father was completely gone; in his place stood a man radiating a profound, majestic, and completely unbroken peace.

Standing right beside him as his proud little best man was Prince, looking incredibly sharp in his matching mini-tuxedo. Paris stood on your side as the flower girl, her hair decorated with flowers that matched yours perfectly, her small hands holding the basket with immense pride. Sitting in the front row in Mother Katherine's lap was Blanket, his wide, dark eyes watching the ceremony in quiet wonder.

When your father placed your hand into Michael's at the altar, the physical connection was instantaneous. His palm was no longer cold, sweating, or trembling. It was warm, perfectly steady, and completely certain.

The minister spoke the ancient, sacred vows, but you and Michael didn't hear the words; you were simply looking into each other's eyes, a silent, profound conversation passing between you. We made it.

"I do," Michael whispered, his voice echoing through the chapel with a ringing, powerful clarity that left no room for doubt.

"I do," you replied, your voice fierce and unyielding.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the minister smiled. "Michael, you may now kiss your bride."

Michael didn't wait a single second. He stepped forward, his long, warm hands sliding up to securely frame your face, his fingers tangling into your veil as he leaned down and pressed a deep, passionate, and incredibly sweet kiss to your lips.

The chapel erupted into a beautiful, deafening roar of cheers and applause. The Jackson brothers were shouting, Janet was crying, and your own family was on their feet, the two worlds seamlessly blending into one massive, roaring tapestry of joy.

The moment Michael pulled back, his eyes shining with absolute victory, Prince and Paris didn't care about protocol. They broke away from their positions and ran forward, throwing their small arms around both of your legs, tackling the two of you into a messy, laughing family embrace right at the altar.

Michael immediately dropped to his knees, pulling the children into the space between you, before reaching up to wrap his long arm around your waist, pulling you down into the center of his world.

Later that night, he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your cheek as he whispered into the sweet chaos.

"Thank you for keeping me grounded, my love."

You looked down at the beautiful, laughing faces of the children and the radiant, healed face of the man who held your hand so securely. The road behind you had been a battlefield of depression, isolation, and fear—but as you squeezed his hand back, you knew the slow burn had been entirely worth it. The King had found his queen.

He was happy.

synopsis — 𓍼ོ.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆ : michael and you break up after you find out he was seeing lisa marie on the low. months later, he sees you with prince and realizes that you had moved on.

themes — 𓍼ོ.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆ : fem reader, breakup, betrayal, jealousy, insecurity, miscommunication, fame, loss, regret, moving on

wc — 𓍼ོ.☘︎ ݁˖༘⋆ : 1,047

wanna see more? here’s my masterlist! ݁ ˖Ი𐑼ֶָ֢

request = open 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯

you and michael had been together for a year. your love wasn’t perfect, not publicly in any way that made sense, but it was real in the way it counted. late night calls, shared silence, the habit of finding each other in rooms without trying. you didn’t think about the end of it. not until you heard his brother’s voice. marlon didn’t mean for it to land the way it did. it was casual, almost careless, like it wasn’t something that could split your entire world open.

“you didn’t hear it from me.” marlon added, a bit too late because now there was a name you couldn’t unhear.

lisa marie.

you didn’t ask questions after that. you didn’t need to. your mind filled in the gaps on its own, and none of the versions were gentle. you didn’t fight. you didn’t call michael. you just went home and started packing in the quietest way possible. no crying that night. not yet at least, just the slow, mechanical kind of movement where you fold things because your hands need something to do.

you didn’t even turn on the lights.

just the glow from the hallway slipping into the room every time you moved past the door.

michael was at the studio that night. he always ran late sessions like that, disappearing into music until the world felt manageable again, so you had time. too much of it, maybe.

you left the things that felt too intense to take with you. the things that would’ve made you stop halfway through and change your mind. when you were done, the apartment didn’t feel like yours anymore. it felt like something you had already exited emotionally, even if your body was still standing in it.

you didn’t leave a note.

there wasn’t anything you could’ve written that didn’t sound like begging or breaking.

so you just left.

michael didn’t come home until hours later. the studio had run long, the way it always did. music stretching time until nothing else mattered. he walked in tired, still half in another world.

“you still up mama?” he called out automatically. no answer.

he frowned slightly, dropping his keys on the counter.

“mamas?”

still nothing, and that’s when he noticed it.

first the silence, then the space, then the way your jacket wasn’t on the chair like it usually was.

he walked further in.

your bag was gone, then the closet was half empty in a way that didn’t make sense immediately, like his brain refused to label what it was seeing. he stood there for a moment, not moving. like if he stared long enough, the room would reset itself. he checked the bedroom next. then the bathroom. then back again, slower this time.

“this isn’t funny.” he said out loud, but there was no one there to hear it.

that’s when it started to land, not all at once though, but piece by piece.

he picked up his phone and called you, but it went straight to voicemail. the sound of it started to feel wrong after a while.

he sat on the edge of the bed, still holding it like it might change if he didn’t put it down. then it hit him fully. you hadn’t left during an argument, you hadn’t left while he was there, you left while he wasn’t.

you were already gone when he understood what had happened. completely gone.

not just from the house, but from the moment and from his life.

you didn’t see him that night. you were halfway across the city when your small phone lit up with missed calls you didn’t answer. you didn’t turn back, not once.

something in you already knew that if you saw him, you would stop, and you couldn’t afford to stop anymore.

he told himself he’d fix it the next day, then the next, but by the time he realized you weren’t coming back on your own. you had already become something he only saw in fragments. a name that stopped showing up where it used to, a silence he couldn’t reach anymore.

months later, he saw you on television. it was late, the house you once shared was dim except for the blue white wash of the screen, and michael almost missed you at first because his mind refused to place what his eyes were seeing. he had been half listening to the broadcast, not really paying attention until something in the frame snagged inside him and pulled hard.

then the camera found you again.

there you were, under a storm of flashes, dressed in black that caught the light every time you moved, your face lifted toward the cameras with a calm he had never seen on you before. you were standing beside prince, michael’s rival (which you knew), and the two of you looked like you had stepped out of a different world entirely. he leaned in to say something in your ear, and you laughed, a real laughed, head tipping back, one hand brushing his sleeve like it belonged there. the crowd behind you shouted your name. the lights made everything around you look unreal, but you looked more real than michael had ever seen you look with him.

you looked expensive, untouchable, and alive in a way that had nothing to do with surviving him. michael didn’t move. the remote slipped from his hand and hit the floor without him noticing.

he just stared at the screen, his chest going tight, because it wasn’t only that you were beautiful. it was that you were radiant in a life he had no part in. there was no hesitation in your face, no trace of the woman who used to stand barefoot in his kitchen while he wrote songs at three in the morning. this version of you belonged to bright rooms and velvet ropes and people who knew how to smile for cameras. this version of you stood beside prince like you had always belonged there. michael understood, all at once, how completely he had lost you.

he watched until the segment ended, until your face disappeared, until the screen cut to commercial and the room felt colder than before. and this time, there was no knocking on a door that wasn’t there anymore.

ꕤ synospis: wife!reader has been unhappy for about a year now, feeling unloved, unseen and quite lonely in her and michaels marriage. after marrying on new years 1989..she feel's as though she's done being left alone, and so she moves out to an apartment in west hollywood. hoping it would once and for all, wake her husband up. michael decides after a month of being apart, to perform with the Cleveland choir : will you be there -- at the MTV music awards. reciting his vows at the very end. will you be there, for him? ꕤ year: 1995. ꕤ lets pretend the awards are in los angeles and not nyc lol. ꕤ warnings: none..? ꕤ word count: 4k. masterlist. michael's masterlist.

September 7th, 1995.

michael woke up to an empty bed, for the 32nd day in a row. yes. he had been counting the days, since his wife left him and their shared home in the hills -- for a place in west hollywood. a mere 12 minutes away, on a good day. but still, too, too far.

you would give him credit, though, partially, your husband was quite the stubborn man, trying to prove a point.

this had not been an overnight, spur of the moment or 'gotcha' decision.

no.

it was one that had been building for about a year at this point.

michael had slowly been getting pulled more and more out of your orbit. no longer, was he home for sunday brunch. no more was he home for the events you had as a art curator for a los feliz based gallery. no longer, was he home for the random spur of the moment dance parties on Thursday evenings, after you got home from work. no longer was he home for the small but incredibly loud moments, when you felt the world falling apart in your hands. when you felt life was getting pulled out from beneath you -- as you battled your own mind.

he was no longer present. he was no longer present in a marriage of 6 years. no longer present in a relationship of 8 years

michael ceased to be, it seemed.

so you left.

𑣲⋆ summary : after a long night of sleepover frenzies, horror movies, and a sudden power outage, michael’s seeking comfort after a restless night in his own room and paranoid thoughts.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ off the wall era ‘bsf’!michael jackson x reader

⋆.˚ — kind of feeds into @boomboompan’s request just with my own twist

the television cast a fuzzy, flickering glow across the spacious living room of hayvenhurst, washing everything in pale blues and greys as the scenes progressed. shadows stretched along the walls whenever the screen brightened, then retreated back into the corners as the scene darkened again, enveloping the room in lightlessness.

rain tapped steadily against the surrounding windows. first it had been little more than a drizzle when the movie started, but over the last hour the weather had turned. wind rattled the loose branches of a nearby oak tree outside, scraping them against the side of the house with an occasional screech that made michael cringe.

you sat curled comfortably on one end of the sofa, entirely invested in the film—michael, on the other hand, looked as if he was enduring a punishment.

michael’s arms folded tightly across his chest while every few minutes his gaze darted away from the television toward the hallway, the front window, anywhere but the screen—especially whenever the music started building toward another scare.

“y’know,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off the dark hallway leading deeper into the house, “normal people watch comedies on movie night.”

you turned your head to look at him, giving him a small grin as you stared in amusement of his obvious anxiety from the film playing infront of you. “well, normal people aren’t nearly as fun.”

a flash of lightning illuminated the room through the curtains, allowing for the briefest moment for the entire house to be frozen in a blinding white light, followed by the familiar darkness swallowing everything once again except for the glow of the television.

a second later, the booming crackle of thunder rolled overhead. michael jolted at the sudden loud noise, absentmindedly leaning into your side in his attempt of grasping any kind of form of safety.

you snorted, shoving him off you on a playful manner. “oh, come on. you’re such a scaredy-cat, mikey.”

“don’t call me that— a-and i’m serious!” he protested, shifting closer without seeming to realise he’d done it again. “this is exactly how every horror movie starts.”

“michael, it’s just a storm,” you exasperated, leaning in to reach for another handful of popcorn from the bowl sat on the coffee table infront of you, completely unfazed by michael’s testaments.

“that!” he defended with a finger point into the side of your face, which you stared back at, unamused. “that’s what they always say.”

another unforgivable gust of wind battered the house, high-pitched whistles echoing through the halls from the fast-moving air squeezing through tiny gaps in the windows of the house.

almost in unison, the lights overhead began to flicker for an abrupt moment— only for a second—so quick you almost thought you’d imagined it, or you could’ve blinked and it could’ve went completely unnoticed.

alongside the electrical commotion of the lights above, the television crackled softly, flashing into a millisecond-long black screen before continuing the movie as normal.

the neither of you spoke, michael snapping his head in all sorts of directions as he watched the scenes unfold before him.

outside, the rain now came down harder, drumming against the roof with rough patters that filled the entire house.

michael glanced toward the ceiling, his eyes creased together in intense worry. “you saw that, right? please tell me you saw that.”

“what— the flicker?”

“yeah,” he nodded, his face scared shitless.

“it’s fine,” you reassured, brushing the comment aside with a dismissive flick of your hand.

“you— but you don’t know that,” michael’s words rushed, laced with doubt.

you rolled your eyes before returning you attention to the movie continuing to play on the fuzzy screen ahead of you.

onscreen, a horror-cliche ditzy girl was being chased through a dark forest, constantly looking glancing behind her as she swerved through the dizzying crowd of trees.

out of the comfort of the warm house, the thunder groaned somewhere in the distance. however, it was significantly closer this time—the deafening clap of thunder following carefully near to the initial blinding flash.

the living room suddenly felt significantly smaller than before, now cocooned by the storm gathering around the house.

neither of you noticed how the lights dimmed for half a heartbeat, or how the wind outside seemed to be getting stronger—well, you didn’t. michael definitely did.

his widened dark eyes shot across the room, staring paranoid at the dark shadows in the corner of the room. “y/n, please. turn it off,” he begged, shifting closer to you as he nibbled anxiously at his bottom lip.

glancing at him, you try to suppress a delighted smile, growing more and more entertained by his almost childish behaviour at the movie.

you lean into him just an inch, raising your eyebrows teasingly. “why? are you scared, michael?”

michael stared at you for a second, his initially terrified expression morphing into performative bravery. “scared?” he repeated, voice cracking slightly. “what i— i’m not scared.”

the television let out a low, eerie crackle, the screen glitching for a brief moment to which michael flinched so hard he nearly launched himself straight off the sofa.

you immediately burst out laughing at his reaction, hunching over slightly as you mercilessly laughed at the unamused expression michael gave back at you. “right. definitely not scared,” you continued to cackle, a tear starting to brew in the corner of your eye as you tried catching your breath again.

“that was a normal reaction. it’s a…” he paused briefly to think. “—a reflex,” he defended, his shoulders evidently still tense which tickled you further.

“you almost left orbit,” you cackled, your words almost indistinguishable as you continued to try catching your breath from your previous laughing fit.

“something made a noise!” he continued to press on, still passionate to defend himself.

“it was the tv, michael.”

“exactly,” he shot back, pointing accusingly at the screen. “and that thing’s like— it’s like possessed… ish.”

another flash of lightning illuminated the room through the windows, casting strange shadows across the walls—michael’s eyes followed every single one of them.

you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself laughing again. “you know,” you said casually, “if you’re this terrified, you can always hide behind me,” you wink, pulling an arm playfully around his shoulders.

michael rolled his eyes at the action, growing more annoyed at your pitiless teasing. “i am not terri—”

his protest was interrupted by sudden flicker of the lights in the living room—lamps and overhead momentarily wrapping the room in their warmth before the glares disappeared as quick as they came.

both of you froze tense beside eachother, unconsciously grabbing onto eachother as your eyes flittered to each bulb as it switched on before diverting back into the previous darkness it was before.

it happens a couple more times before everything went black.

everything.

the television which originally played michael’s worst nightmare now lagged into a endless black screen. michael should’ve been relieved the movie was now ‘over’, but instead he was completely the opposite, nearly shitting himself as he stared back at the motionless screen before him.

then the lamps died, even the faint glow from the hallway vanishing. now, the entire house was engulfed in an unending darkness, save for the occasional flickers of lightning and the ghostly pale moonlight glowing in through the large glass windows.

for a split second, complete silence filled the room as you both began to process what just happened in the middle of the dark room.

whilst you tried to blink, adjusting to the change of lighting you felt a large body shove itself into your side, its large hands wrapping possessively on your left arm, catching you intensely off guard.

the sheer force of michael practically slamming into your side almost left you falling completely off the side of the couch if it wasn’t for the plush leather armrest blocking you. “OH MY GOD, MICHAEL!”

“WHAT?” he yelled back at you, basically screaming into your ear.

“GET OFF ME!” you used all your force to shove him off of you, but that only caused michael to push himself further into the warmth of your body almost automatically, leaning his head into your shoulder as his grip tightened.

“NO!” he protested in a childlike whine which erupted a noisy laugh from you. “i need to make sure you’re still here,” he defended as he manoeuvred himself in a certain way that every part of him—legs, torso, hands, arms—could feel you in his attempt to make himself more at ease.

you could barely make out his silhouette in the darkness, clinging onto your arm like his life depended on it.

“you almost gave me a heart attack,” you breathed out, throwing your head back on the pillows behind you.

“the power just died!”

“really? i didn’t even notice,” you said sarcastically.

although the room was only a few tones away from being pitch black, and you could hardly see any features of his face, you could feel the current glare he was giving you which cracked a small smile out of you despite yourself.

“well, what if there’s someone in here?” michael whispered as if the said ‘someone’ could hear him, basically only scaring himself more.

“michael,” you replied in a stern manner, beginning to grow fed up by his constant criticisms and excuses.

“what?”

“we’re home alone, no one’s here,” you smile, grabbing onto his hand.

although you were teasing him through the whole ordeal, you did understand michael always had a habit of being anxious—especially in the dark—and you wanted to ease his nerves.

automatically, as soon as michael felt the gentle sensations of your fingers, wrapping themselves with his, his own locked with yourself with an involuntary strength, his shoulders evidently slackening slightly with the comfort of your touch.

“okaay— but that sounds exactly like something someone says right before they discover they’re not alone.”

a loud gust of wind rattled the windows, subsequently producing a high-pitched noise that no human should’ve been capable of producing causing you to completely lose it.

you folding over your lap with laughter, barely able breathe as your stomach tensed so hard you were nearly convinced you could produce a six-pack from it alone.

“quit laughin’!” michael insisted, pulling away from you in a huff from your dismissive attitude at his fear and worry, as well as being slightly embarrassed.

“m sorry, i—“ you paused to let out another pathetically loud laugh, “i can’t!”

“this isn’t funny!” he whined, throwing his head back in annoyance.

“you nearly shit yourself at the wind,” you cackled, warm tears now beginning to drag down your cheeks.

“i didn’t, it jus’… caught me off-guard,” michael tried to explain himself, but from the way he said it, it almost sounded like he was trying to convince himself instead.

another crash of thunder echoed outside in which michael immediately grabbed your sleeve again, his grip so vicelike his knuckles began turning as pale as the surrounding moonbeams seeping through onto the dark carpet.

“okay,” you wheezed, wiping tears from your eyes. “that one got me a little.”

“there y’go,” he gestured at you, his face perfectly embracing an ‘i told you so’ expression—eyes widened, and lips formed in a tight line.

“still not as much as it got you, though,” you tease smugly, jamming your finger into his ribcage.

michael let out a couple giggles and ‘stop’s as he tried his best to scurry away to the other side of the sofa to escape your ticklish touch. “you’re seriously the worst best friend ever.”

“and yet here you are using me as a human shield.”

“i’m not using you as a shield,” he folded his arms over his chest, appearing entirely like a 4 year old who’s mum didn’t let him get the toy he wanted.

“michael, you were hiding behind me not even a minute ago.”

there was a brief pause, michael clearly deep in thought for another defensive remark to clap back with as he usually did. “though technically—“

you interrupted with a snort, completely amused at the fact michael always managed to find a way to say something no matter what you said.

however, before michael could argue further, another flash of lightning briefly lit the room through the windows.

for half a second, you caught sight of michael’s face—wide eyes, tense shoulders—absolutely horrified.

the darkness swallowed him again and you immediately burst out laughing as you thought back to his previous expression. “oh my god—“ you squeal, kicking your feet infront of you in laughter.

“what?” michael asked, the genuine confusion laced in his voice only made you laugh even harder at the idea that he really had no idea how stupid he just looked before you.

“you looked terrified.” you could barely get the words out as unforgiving laughter continued to spill from your lips.

“i was not terrified,” he bemoaned, shoving your shoulders back with a playfully rough shove.

you let yourself fall completely back on the sofa as you caught your breath. “you looked like you were about to meet jehovah himself,” you wheezed, clutching your stomach in a tight squeeze.

“y/n,” he replied, completely unimpressed in the humour you were in finding his terror.

“or—“ another laugh left you. “or a caveman discovering fire for the first time,” you continued to pant, fully convince you were the funniest person on earth.

despite himself, michael found himself biting down on the inside of his cheeks as he tried not to laugh, slowly starting to find this all amusing himself. “i hate you,” he shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip.

“no. no you don’t,” you turned your head the look at him—at least try to in the little light you were provided.

another violent gust of wind whistled into the house, carrying itself through the empty, isolated hallways of the night.

“i don’t like this, y/n,” michael complained, crawling back over to you on the sofa and allowing himself to pull himself close into your side, providing no room for any personal space you may have wanted—not that you did.

you wrapped your arm around his neck, pulling him further into you to try ease him slightly. you could physically feel how tense he was beside you, and that made you feel somewhat guilty for all the teasing and remarks you made towards him previously—although you still did find it kind of hilarious.

“michael, i promise you, you’re fine. no monsters are getting you,” you spoke to him in a gentle tone of voice, allowing yourself to fiddle with the hairs at the nape of his neck in the way you know he liked.

“yeah, well— well what if there’s a murderer,” he pressed on, earning an exasperated sigh from you. “what?! it’s a real possibility!” he defended, unconsciously leaning more and more into your side as time passed on.

michael always found comfort in you. after being friends for such a long time it basically came naturally. after long nights at rehearsals, or arguments with joseph, he always never failed to find solace when with you—especially in your touch, always gentle and kind with him which he’d appreciate, tried and true.

“how ‘bout we go to bed, hm?” you proposed. “m sure it’s probably late by now.”

almost on cue, michael audibly yawned—i’d say visibly but none of you could see shit—which you took as a ‘yes’.

as you allowed yourself to get up from the comfortability of the soft couch pillows beneath you, you felt that all-familiar large hand grip onto your wrist.

“michael.”

“uh, yeah?”

“let me go,” you laugh, jolting your wrist away only to make him grab onto your shirt next. “michael!”

“m sorry, i’m just scared! i need to feel you so i know i’m not alone,” he spluttered, feeling the sensation of his cheeks burning up in embarrassment of his cowardly admission.

for a second, you simply stared at him blankly, blinking a couple of times. then, to michael’s horror, a smile gradually tugged at the corners of your mouth.

“what?” he asked defensively, his eyes trying to scan your face in the darkness.

you shrugged. “nothin’.”

“no, you’re laughing at me.”

“i’m not laughing at you,” you objected, failing miserably to hide your grin. “i just think it’s kinda cute.”

michael groaned dramatically and covered his face in bashfulness. “oh my goodness...” he groaned into his hands.

“it is!” you giggled, nudging his shoulder lightheartedly. “you’re scared of thunder.”

“it’s not the thunder!” he protested, now moving his hands to the back of his neck, glancing around the inky room. “it’s… everythin’,” he swallowed, meeting his gaze again at one of the dark corners of the room, like something could jump out any moment.

another flash of lightning illuminated the darkened living room, casting gloomy shadows across the walls before disappearing just as quickly before you could register it.

you glanced toward the rain-streaked windows to see that outside the storm had only grown worse.

wind howled through the trees surrounding hayvenhurst, bending branches until they scraped against the sides of the house with long, screeching sounds. along side it, rain battered the windows relentlessly, each droplet striking the glass hard enough to almost echo the sounds of handfuls of pebbles being thrown from the sky.

the previous power outage left the mansion wrapped in darkness. a candle you lit earlier flickered weakly on a nearby table, its flame trembling whenever a draft swept through the room.

you gently squeezed michael’s hand, sensing his worry. “nothing’s gonna happen.”

“but what if—” he began to complain before you cut him off again.

“nothing’s gonna happen, michael. i promise,” you couldn’t help but let out a quiet laugh at his anxious demeanour as he continued to push out even more potential horror stories.

“what if someone breaks in?”

“during a thunderstorm?” you reply, eyebrows raised in disbelief and confusion how his mind would even trail over to that idea.

“uh-huh, that’s when they’d do it! i’ve read about it.”

you laughed again as he continued, always finding humour in anything michael says, even if he didn’t intend for it to be any way humorous—i mean. of course he’s ‘read about it.’

michael narrowed his eyes at the high-pitched sound. “you’re not takin’ this seriously.”

“i am! im trying— but i seriously think you’re being paranoid,” you argue.

his shoulders slumped in defeat. “probably…” he sighed, letting go of your hand momentarily to rub his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“c’mon,” you whisper softly as he grabbed onto your hand again with a small huff.

you tried to suppress your laugh again as you looked down at the way his hand basically engulfs yours—the concept of such a large man being the one who was scared of the lightning had you finding the whole situation more amusing.

you stood and tugged him toward the staircase. “let’s get ready for bed. before y’know it, it’ll be light outside again when you wake up and all this’ll be over, mkay?”

michael let out a low hum in reply as yous wander over to the foyer together.

the journey upstairs proved more difficult than usual. without electricity, the familiar hallways felt entirely different—the darkness swallowed corners and stretched shadows into strange shapes. every piece of furniture became an obstacle waiting to ambush unsuspecting shins.

michael nearly walked into a decorative table. twice.

the second time, you physically grabbed the back of his shirt and redirected him.

“thanks,” he grumbled.

“you’re welcome, brave warrior,” you tease, patting his shoulder roughly with a couple hard slaps.

“i seriously hate you.”

“yeeaah, no you don’t.”

the upper floor was even darker than downstairs, only occasional flashes of lightning providing brief glimpses of the hallway. for fractions of a second, everything would appear in brilliant white—the framed family photographs, the polished floors, the closed bedroom doors.

then darkness would crash back over everything soon again, leaving you both in utter darkness.

the storm outside raged on, thunder cracking through the late night air, wind howling and occasionally whistling through gaps around the old windows, and rain hammered relentlessly against the roof.

eventually you reached the guest bedroom—at this point, it practically belonged to you anyway.

you’d spent enough nights at hayvenhurst over the years that everyone simply referred to it as your room whenever you visited.

after exchanging goodnights, you disappeared inside while michael headed further down the ominous hall toward his own bedroom at the end of the hallway.

getting ready for bed in complete darkness was a challenge. you changed mostly by memory, bumping your knee against a chair in the process.

and somewhere down the hallway, you heard michael curse quietly after walking into something to which you pathetically attempted to stifle a snort in reply.

a few minutes later, you climbed beneath the covers of the enormous king-sized bed you could basically call your own.

the mattress practically swallowed you whole. the blankets were warm. the pillows were soft beneath your head—you could get used to this for sure.

and unlike a certain someone, you weren’t remotely afraid of storms.

within minutes, your eyes drifted shut effortlessly, mercilessly enveloping yourself into comfortable slumber.

the distant rumble of thunder soon enough became background noise along with the steady rhythm of the rain basically morphing into a lullaby.

meanwhile, michael was having a much different experience—his bedroom now felt enormous, every corner seeming darker than usual, every shadow appearing suspicious, every creak of the old house settling sounded like something moving.

he lay stiffly beneath his blankets, staring toward the ceiling, trying to get his mind off his inner-commotion in his head.

‘you’re just being paranoid.’

yet another flash of lightning illuminated the room—for a split second, the coat hanging on a chair looked like a person which caused michael nearly launched himself into another dimension.

“nope”, he internally said to himself.

the room returned to its usual darkness, now his imagination immediately getting worse.

what was that noise?

did something move?

was somebody outside?

was somebody inside?

his brain supplied approximately twelve thousand terrible possibilities—absolutely none of them were helpful.

he yanked the blanket higher, pulling it over his chin as another bang of thunder exploded overhead—the windows rattled, wind screamed around the house, and a brilliant flash of light lit up his room.

michael sat himself upright instantly, back nearly as straight as a ruler before shaking his head. “i can’t do this.”

not even five whole minutes later, he found himself quietly creeping through the dark hallway—old floorboards groaned beneath his feet, causing him to freeze after every sound, then continued forward.

eventually he found his feet planted infront of the guest bedroom, the door sitting slightly open.

moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft silver light across the room, lighting up the surrounding area of where you were asleep, curled beneath the blankets—unaware of the battle michael had just fought with his own imagination.

something about the sight before him immediately calmed him.

he stood there for several more seconds, debating whether to wake you or let you sleep—you looked so comfortable. peaceful.

he should probably leave, right?

his thoughts were interrupted by a violent gust of wind slamming against the side of the house.

with that, michael’s decision was made instantly.

he approached the bed with careful tip-toes footsteps before he made contact with the edge of the bed.

“y/n?” he whispered, basically barely audible because he was honestly terrified to wake you up, unsure if you’d be angry and scream at him for disrupting your peaceful slumber.

obviously, no response came.

he lightly nudged your shoulder now before repeating himself, slightly louder this time. “y/n?”

this time you stirred, rolling over onto your back as a small sleepy noise escaped you.

your hair was slightly messy from sleep, frizzed from contact with the cotton pillow beneath your head. your eyes struggled to focus in the darkness, and for a moment, you simply blinked up at him in confusion.

“…michael?” you croaked, your voice slightly hoarse.

“hi,” he giggled shyly, now fiddling with his hands as he silently cursed himself for actually waking you now that he’s went through with it.

“wha… why are you standing over me like a ghost?” you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the skinny figure leaning over you.

he winced, a small smile creeping through. “that’s fair.”

another rumble of thunder echoed outside, though further away now. immediately any previous confidence michael upheld disappeared.

your sleepy expression softened as it all started clicking into place. “storm bothering you?”

he nodded slightly once, his head almost barely moving. “maybe a little.” a pause briefly following before he followed up, “okay, a lot.”

michael rubbed the back of his neck, looking down the floor in embarrassment, scared to meet your eyes—that you’d think he’s childish and a man shouldn’t be scared of a storm. “i can’t sleep,” he murmured.

“you need company?” you ask, already knowing his answer.

“please,” he sighed, his large puppy eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the moonlight creeping through the sheer curtains.

without any hesitation, you lifted part of the blanket—michael instantly looking relieved.

“you’re the best,” he smiled, happily allowing himself to climb in beside you.

“and here you were calling me worst only half an hour ago,” to which you both laughed at the recollection.

michael chuckled quietly before settling onto the edge of the mattress, practically half off the bed from how far away he put himself.

“you can move over more than that,” you mumbled sleepily.

“m fine.”

“michael.”

“i’m being respectful,” he argued.

“you’ll fall off the bed any second knowing you.”

a laugh escaped him despite himself as your remark.

eventually he shifted slightly closer, the mattress beneath the two of you dipping beneath his weight.

thunder rolled once more across the sky outside. this time, though, it didn’t seem quite as frightening.

the storm still raged, rain still pounding the windows, wind still howling through the trees—but now there was another steady sound in the room—your breathing, slow and even. peaceful.

“feeling better?” you whisper, eyes involuntarily shutting as sleep crept up on you yet again.

“yeah...”

“good.”

within minutes, your eyes drifted closed again.

michael listened to the storm for a while longer. the sounds hadn’t changed, neither had the darkness swallowing the rooms, but now somehow everything felt different.

soon enough his muscles relaxed and his previously racing thoughts quieted.

he glanced beside him, staring at the manner you lay sleeping beside him—how your chest slowly rose and fell, and the way some of the hairs around your face danced as you breathed form your nose.

michael found himself moving closer beside you as much as his mind told him not to.

the storm still continued outside, but now it all seemed quieter here somehow—quieter with you.

even half-asleep, your hand found its way into his curls as you sensed him close. your fingers threaded gently through his hair, absent-mindedly twisting a curl around one finger before letting it spring free.

then came the familiar scratching at his scalp, light and rhythmic, the kind you knew he loved.

a hushed sigh of content escaped him before he could stop it. the tension he’d been carrying all evening slowly melted away beneath your touch—his shoulders noticeably loosened, and his quiet breathing now steadied.

“you spoil me,” he mumbled sleepily, his voice now deeper in fatigue.

you only hummed in response, too tired to form words.

michael let his eyes drift shut for a moment until another moment passed, then another…

before long, he’d surrendered entirely, carefully settling against you. his head found its usual place tucked against your chest, listening to the steady beat of your heartbeat beneath the fabric of your shirt.

your hand never stopped moving, continuing its small movements on the back of his head, twirling one of his curls on your finger.

all of the outdoor commotion felt impossibly far away now. for the first time that night, michael felt safe—not because the storm had passed, because you were there beside him.

his last conscious thought was the feeling of your fingers scratching gently through his curls.

then sleep finally claimed him, and the two of you remained curled together on the bed, completely unaware that the storm had since stopped.

invincible!michael x single mother!reader

PART TWO! - read part one here

summary: michael and the cute little mother and son duo finally talk again, and heartbreak only seems to make their hearts grow fonder

i’ve been trying to write this but they deserve a happy ending as a cute little family𑣲⋆

a few days after the event in downtown new york, the high had finally left both you and zain, leading to the normal life you both lived.

the tuesday afternoon wore on you, a rough day at work but a short shift meaning you could pick zain up from kindergarten and make a lovely meal for the both of you.

zain was sat in the living room, thoroughly invested in the star wars movie playing on one of the channels whilst you collected the dirty laundry scattered around the house.

you reached under the couch, pulling out one of zain’s socks he had probably kicked under there along with a piece of paper.

“zain, honey.. please stop abandoning your socks under the couch”

“mhm, sorry mama” he replied, focused more on the tv than you, his hands dipping into the small popcorn bag beside him.

walking back into the kitchen to put the machine on, you unfolded the note, seeing the familiar words that had kept you up at night. the note the security guard had slipped into your half closed palm with michael’s number on it.

folding it quickly and putting it on the counter, only one thought crossed your mind. you most definitely were not calling him.

later that night, after you had washed up, given zain a bath and read him a story to get him to sleep, you had ventured back into the kitchen.

you turned towards the glass cabinet, gripping the handle tight and opening it to grab a glass of water. when you turned, your attention quickly drifted to the note you had left on the counter.

placing the glass down, both hands picked the paper up like it was a precious or fragile item but instead it was the key to your future, even though you didn’t know that yet.

you glanced between the note and the landline phone that was sat in the corner of the room, the green light blinking to show you it was plugged in. biting your lip, you walked over to the phone, your slippers sticking slightly to the floor as you moved until your hand took the phone out of its holster and pressed the numbers in.

the phone rang, your fingernail tapping against the countertop as you waited. it felt like it had rang forever, but just as you had finally made up your mind to hang up, the ringing stopped and breathing echoed down the speaker.

“hello, who is this”

you paused, eyes widening as you realised this was for real. michael jackson had actually given you his number and this wasn’t some sick joke somebody had played on you.

“hello? is anyone there?” he questioned, sounding more confused then he did when he answered it.

“oh-erm… hi michael, the security guard gave me your number the other day.. you know, zain’s mother”

“oh, hi!” he suddenly sounded much more awake, “how are you? how’s zain?”

you twisted around with the phone still in your hand, moving to sit atop the counter.

“yeah im great, thank you for asking. zain’s doing good as well, he’s just asleep at the moment.. how are you?”

“oh i’m so pleased to hear that! i’m okay now that i’ve heard that” he said, shocking you as you had only met him once before this phone call.

“may i ask why you gave me your number? i mean i could be like a psycho fan that you’ve just given it to… i’m not! but like i’ve just been wondering”

he chuckled, letting the question linger before replying,

“i don’t really know.. i think maybe it’s just ‘cause zain really warmed my heart that day, and you may have also left a lasting impression too, mama”, sounding more shy as he continued.

you giggled lightly, a warm flush spreading across your face

“well i really appreciate that, michael, thank you… zain hasn’t been able to stop talking about meeting you, he keeps asking when he can see you again”

“zain is a lovely little boy and i would be delighted to meet him again if it would make his day.”

“careful” you laughed, “if he hears that, he’ll be asking every day”

michael’s laugh crackled down the phone,

“i don’t think i’d mind”

the words settled between you both, and you found yourself smiling at the kitchen tiles.

“well, i’m sure he would be happy to hear that”

“maybe we could meet again, maybe at a zoo.. or neverland!”

“neverland?” you repeated.

“yeah,” he said, “i’m pretty sure i can survive a park”

you couldn’t help but laugh, the conversation continuing as if you were catching up with someone you had known forever.

two days after the original phone call, both you and zain were in the kitchen eating ice cream, his little legs swinging below him”

as you were nodding, asking little questions about his day, the phone rang beside you, zain suddenly quieting down in curiosity.

“who is it, mama?” he asked, his voice getting slightly higher as he lent forward.

you shrugged, picking up the phone and pressing answer before lifting it to your ear, “hello?”

“hi! it’s michael, how are you doing?”

you turned to zain, still speaking to michael, “i’m doing good, someone’s here wondering who i’m talking to”

you giggled, watching zain’s eyebrows furrow in confusion

“oh, past the phone to him, i would love to say hi”

you pulled the phone away from your ear, holding it out to zain, “it’s michael”

“MICHAEL!?” he grabbed the phone quickly, pulling it to his ear

“michael? is that really you?”

“hi zain! yes it is me, how have you been?”

zain looked as though he had a little mini heart attack, his eyes widening and smile growing across his face.

“i’m good! i didn’t think i would be able to talk to you for, like.. EVER”

michael laughed, your ears picking it up from across the kitchen,

“well i’m glad to hear you soundin’ so happy! your mama told me that you’ve been non stop talking about our meeting the other day”

“mama! why did you tell himmm” he whined, “i guess so… i just missed you”

“hey, me and your mama have been talking, and how about we have a fun day together, and maybe you can even come to neverland!”

“neverland.. what’s that?”

“that’s my home! it’s got a cinema, a zoo, lots of candy, slushies, slides, everything.”

“a zoo?!? what animals have you got in your zoo?”

“well how about when you come, we can go and look at all of the animals together. i’ll give you a little hint, i have a giraffe”

“a giraffe! oh my goodness..”

you laughed, his little mispronunciation of giraffe sounding more like a ‘gifaffe’.

“only if you stay on your best behaviour, okay?” you bargained, eyebrows slightly raised to show you were completely serious.

zain gave you a big cheeky grin, his teeth showing and his head tilting to the side, “i’m always a good boy, mama!”

the next day, you had picked zain up from kindergarten. his eyes were glued to the window as he stayed unusually quiet.

“zain, are you okay, baby?” you asked, looking at him through the rear view mirror.

“yeah, mama…” he let out a loud sigh, his lip beginning to pout.

“hey, hey.. what’s the matter?”

his head dropped, tears beginning to fall and his shoulders shaking,

“a boy in my class said i was lying”, he said quietly, “he said i didn’t talk to mikey”

your hands tightened on the steering wheel, watching him quietly sob in the backseat.

“baby, we both know you spoke to him. so if he doesn’t believe you, then that’s on him, not on you because you aren’t a liar”

that night, after you had given zain a shower, you tucked him in, sitting beside him on the bed, the phone in your hand.

“zain, i have a little surprise for you for being such an amazing boy” you said, smiling slightly at him.

his hands rested on top of the covers, head tilted towards you as the moons from his nightlight scattered across his face.

you pressed a button on the phone, a voicemail being read out.

“hi zain, your mama told me about the boy in your class. listen, you are so amazing, and so kind, and so thoughtful, and me and your mama both know that you aren’t a liar, okay? soon we will have the funnest day ever, sleep tight, i love you”

zain’s eyes brightened, flicking between the phone and you. once michael’s voice had finished coming from the phone, zain let out a quiet squeal.

“i can’t believe it, mama! i can’t wait to go and see him again!”

your hands smoothed over his hair before brushing down the side of his face, trying to soothe him and relax him to go to sleep.

“i know, baby. very soon we will see him again, okay. now it’s bedtime, i love you so much, baby”

he let out a yawn, your finger working its way down his nose and back up.

“love you too, mama. night night”

his eyes drooped before shutting completely, his breathing evening out.

you stood, walking towards the door and closing it slightly, still leaving it cracked open.

very soon you both would be seeing michael, and you could not wait to see zain’s reaction.

i have things that i want to say but i can't say them

𑣲⋆ summary : as the first week of camp settles in, you begin to find your footing among the chaos and unlikely friendships. but one honest conversation changes the way michael sees you, leaving him silently promising himself to pay closer attention to you.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ late 70s camp counsellor!michael x camp counsellor!reader

warnings : mention of readers dad passing, mentions of drunk driving

a/n : sorry this lowkey took a minute. slow burn is cooking lads be prepared next chapter will be litty lesgoooo *everyone cheers* also this was been proof read but it’s also 1am so i feel like it probably didn’t do shit

at first, things did become slightly overwhelming for you—the amount of names you had to learn, schedules and times to memorise, making sure no kids were hurting themselves or others.

it definitely was a lot. yet somehow, it gradually became easier, everything not feelin so unfamiliar anymore.

you got used to the sharp whistle every morning at six o’clock sharp, dragging yourself out of bed and throwing on the familiar ‘staff’ shirt you shared with the others, groans and complaints erupting from the cabin mates—mary especially, the breakfast you all shared in the dining hall with atleast one of yous always finding something to complain about.

the four of you were starting to get closer and closer with the blur of the passing days. however, michael still kept himself reserved. he definitely wasn’t as quiet as the beginning as the week, but he wasn’t as outspoken as the others either.

at breakfast if someone made a funny joke he’d just laugh along with the rest of yous, or if someone asked him something, he’d answer—but that was the most of it.

nevertheless, when you and michael went to your shared group three, he was like a whole new individual—laughing and teasing the kids, him being the one cracking jokes. it was almost was like he was in his essence, being able to be himself when he was with the kids.

unfortunately for you, that meant the kids favoured michael over you—constant reminders from them bickering with each other about who’s team michael would be in, and still you didn’t mind. it was nice to see michael so cheerful, giggling shyly as they’d argue.

as the days rolled past, you both progressively grew closer—yous weren’t best friends, but you slowly began to learn more about each other. such as how michael hums under his breath when he’s focused, which he later confessed were demos for an album he was working on in his free time which you were incredibly supportive of. or your struggle with friends and how you came to camp to try find new ones, to which he promised to keep in contact after the camp ended as he found relatability in your struggle.

and best believe the kids still hadn’t left you two alone, continuing to press how you two were ‘so in love’ with each other no matter how much you’d denied it—it was inevitable at this point.

its just kids being kids, right?

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the squeaky whistle echoed through the fatigued summer air, earning low groans from the four of you—maybe you were getting as used to it as you hoped.

“i’ve regretted a lot of things in life, but this is slowly rising up the list,” eric remarked lethargically, throwing an arm over his eyes in a lazy attempt to block out the sunlight that seemed through the windows.

“yeah, with you on that one,” mary agreed, burying herself deeper into the mattress below.

“really? i’m havin’ a decent time,” michael added, sitting upright on his bunk, leaning slightly on the wall behind him.

“of course you are,” you chimed in, squinting slightly from sleep.

michael smiled, eyes furrowed slightly in playfully confusion. “what’s that supposed to mean?” he chuckles lightly, looking at you directly across the room.

mary asked you a few days ago to swap top bunk with her because she ‘couldn’t trust herself not to fall off’ and she was always ‘too tired to climb up the ladder’ which meant you and michael now both shared top bunks across the room from eachother.

as weird as it may sound, you sometimes would watch as he’d sleep—not in the way a disturbed person would, you’d just watch the way his chest would rise slowly and come back down. it comforted you somehow. how? you don’t know, it just did. maybe it was just the way it helped you acknowledge it’s late and it’s time to get some rest. maybe it was something deeper—but you didn’t have the energy to explore that at the moment, your main priority not to be driven insane by the swarm of eleven year olds screaming at you on the daily.

“we should probably get up, if we’re late to breakfast again they’ll probably tie us to a tree or something,” eric concludes, throwing his legs over the bed and standing up slowly.

“that’s slightly excessive, eric,” michael countered as he descended down the ladder that looked like it could possibly collapse in the next passing second.

“is it though? mrs. johnston scares the shit out of me.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you and michael were soon given the schedule of the day, the main activity consisting of a canoeing race between the kids.

“right, do you all have your life jackets on?” michael orders, scanning over the kids with precision—he took his role very seriously, especially now that he’d become their favourite.

the kids erupt in unison with a range of nods and ‘yeah’s before rushing over to the dock of the lake.

some fellow counsellors had helped with bring the canoes over the side of the dock and helping the campers settle into the seat comfortably and safely.

you nibbled at your bottom lip before turning to michael beside you. “i really don’t have a good feeling about this…”

he laughs in return. “they’ll be fine, i’m sure they’ve done this before,” he assured with a smile which earned him a skeptic look from you, causing his smile to falter slightly.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the races quickly dissolved into exactly the kind of chaos you should’ve expected from a group of eleven year olds.

the original plan had been simple enough—pair them up, send them across the lake, have them paddle around the floating marker, then race back to shore. in theory, it sounded organized, simple enough. but in practice, half the campers were treating it like an olympic sport whilst the other half seemed more interested in splashing their competitors than actually winning.

the lake stretched wide, glittering beneath the late morning sun, small ripples catching the light every time a paddle sliced through the water. shouts echoed across the shoreline as canoes zigzagged in every possible direction. one group was arguing over whose turn it was to steer, another somehow managing to rotate completely sideways.

you stood near the edge of the dock with your arms folded, watching the disaster unfold with growing concern.

“are they supposed to be going that way?” you asked.

beside you, michael squinted toward the middle of the lake. “…no.”

a brief pause was held between you two before you spoke again. “should we stop them?”

another pause soon followed.

“…nah.”

you glanced at him, eyebrows slightly raised. “no?”

“they’ll figure it out.”

“they’re headed towards canada.”

“they’ll figure it out before then.”

the campers continued shouting at one another across the water, convinced they were engaged in a fierce competition despite the fact that nobody seemed entirely sure where the finish line was anymore.

for a few peaceful minutes, everything seemed relatively under control before a scream erupted from somewhere in the lake.

your entire body immediately tensed, stomach tightening in worry.

a canoe near the middle of the lake tipped sharply to one side. for a split second it teetered there, balancing precariously as two boys flailed around trying to correct themselves until the canoe flipped completely over—a huge splash erupting across the surface of the water.

“oh shit—”

you were already taking a step forward before michael’s voice cut through your panic, placing his arm infront of your chest to prevent you from moving any further.

“relax.”

the complete lack of concern in his tone was almost alarming. you turned toward him, staring at the side of his face in complete disbelief at the absence of worry he withheld.

“r— relax?”

“yeah.”

“someone just fell into the lake.”

“i know. it was elliott.”

“and what does that mean? you don’t wanna save elliott?” concern laced your tone as you push his arm away to move further down the dock whilst michael didn’t even flinch from where he was standing.

“it means he’s fine.”

“and you know that how?”

“‘cause he falls in every day.”

you stared at him blankly. “…every day?”

“every day.” he nodded. the certainty in his voice somehow made it even more ridiculous.

“you’re kidding.”

”m’not.”

“you can’t possibly know that.”

michael shrugged. “i watched him fall in yesterday… and the day before that.”

“okay? that doesn’t mean—”

a wet head suddenly burst through the surface of the water—elliott emerging, grinning from ear to ear whilst surrounding canoes immediately erupted into laughter—one kid almost dropping his paddle with another chanting elliott’s name, elliot himself looking delighted by the entire experience.

michael pointed, his lips tightening into a sharp line. “y’see?”

you looked from the lake to him, then back to the lake. “…every day?”

“every day.”

the fact that he had apparently been keeping track made you laugh, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he heard it—almost amused as he found the situation as ridiculous as you did.

the kids were completely useless now, sense of competition having vanished with some of them trying to help elliott back into the canoe and the remaining few cheering proudly.

“alright. elliott, back in the boat. everybody else stop celebrating,” you announced, wagging an affirmative finger that suddenly reminded you of your mother, immediately making you put it down.

unsurprisingly, no one listened—dozens of voices immediately starting to talk over one another.

you opened your mouth to try again yet before you could, michael stepped forward and cupped his hands around his mouth.

“elliott.”

the entire lake went silent, slowly diverting their gaze to the man on the dock. elliott briefly freezing as he met his hard gaze.

“back in the canoe,” michael ordered, his soft voice somehow growing deep and strict.

“y— yeah, okay!” he nodded eagerly, using all his might to get himself back in, his friends actively helping pull him in.

the response came instantly from the kid, causing you to look at michael in disbelief, confusion and shock evident in your expression to which he shrugged with a frown. “learned volume helps.”

within minutes everybody was moving again, the race soon resuming—sort of…, at least they were all heading in approximately the same direction now. as the canoes drifted farther from shore, you found yourself automatically scanning the water for potential problems—one kid dropped his paddle, another canoe was drifting off course, the pair of boys inhabiting said canoe starting to arguing again.

you spotted the argument first—hard not to when their voices echoed all across the lake. before you could say nor do anything, michael was already grabbing one of the spare paddles from the dock.

“oh.”

“uh-huh.” he agreed under his breath as he started walking toward the shoreline.

“they’re about thirty seconds away from trying to hit each other with those.”

“exactly what i was thinking,” you giggle slightly as you tracked his move, him slowly moving further away from the dock.

“i know,” he nods casually, squinting to get a better view of the lake.

a week ago, neither of you would have known what the other was thinking, and now you could almost predict each other’s reactions before either of you spoke.

you liked growing closer with michael. he was easy to talk to, easygoing. don’t get me wrong, you loved eric and mary, but michael was different. like a breath of fresh air away from all the chaos.

the races shortly ended after that. they were supposed to go on until lunch time but you and michael both telepathically agreed that neither of you had the mental capacity nor the energy to do that. instead, you sat the campers down on an area of grass that sat near the dock, allowing them to talk amongst themselves until the bell for lunch rang

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

“and then— and then she told me my hair was a mess. honestly, where do they find the audacity?” mary continues to rant, chewing roughly at the ham sandwich in her hand.

“well… it isn’t neat,” michael contributed, absentmindedly staring at the frizzy ‘ponytail’ atop her head.

eric chokes on the water he was drinking, causing it to spray all over you who was unfortunately sitting opposite him.

you gasp, holding your arms out in shock before blinking a couple times. michael stifled a laugh, quickly covering his mouth with his hand and squeezing his eyes painfully shut. you snap you head towards him with a glare, him meeting your gaze, eyes slightly crinkled from smiling beneath his hand. you shortly turn back infront of you.

“thank you, eric. you know, i really think i’ve had enough of the water today,” you announce before abruptly standing up and storming away to the bathroom, beginning to feel overwhelmed after all the prior chaos of the morning catching up to you.

you let out an exasperated sigh as soon as you stepped into the bathroom, walking over to the towel dispensers and pulling a few sheets out to pat yourself dry from the mixture of what was probably water and eric’s saliva.

a quiet knock sounds through the small room. turning around quickly you’re met with a door lightly opened with michael’s head peering out, offering a small smile on his face.

“hey…” he begins cautiously, eyebrows slightly knitted together concern. “you okay?” his voice sounded sincere, his soft tone echoing in your ears.

“why wouldn’t i be?” you question, slightly chuckling as you continue to wipe the spray of droplets off your arms.

“i just— i thought you might’ve been a little overwhelmed. you didn’t talk much at lunch and i know the canoe situation didn’t exactly leave you relaxed afterward.”

the fact that michael went out of his way to excuse himself from the table and make his way over to the bathroom, where he’d know you’d be, and checking in on you as well as had kept an eye on you beforehand left a warm feeling in yourself that you couldn’t quite point out. he was just being a good friend, checking up on his counsellor buddy before they had to go back out to the chaotic swarm of squeals and bickers.

“no, no. i’m— i’m good… but thank you, i appreciate the concern.”

he gives you a light nod, flashing a quick smile before turning around and heading back to the table where everyone was beginning to put their trays away.

as you stepped back out, slightly damp sprinkles of water still evident on your shirt, you find yourself immediately looking at michael.

from where you stood, michael moved around the dining hall with the same quiet efficiency he seemed to have for everything. after checking on you before, he didn’t lingered or made a big fuss out of it—he simply went back to what he was doing, collecting trays and stacking them neatly where they belonged.

the sunlight streaming through the tall windows caught him every now and then as he crossed the room. his dark curls appearing softer in the light, the loose strands shifting slightly whenever he moved. the sun also seemed to warm the colour of his skin, giving it a richer, golden-brown tone compared to when he’d been sitting in the shade at lunch.

as you walked outside, internally hyping yourself up for go another 4 hours with the deranged campers you feel his presence beside yours as yous walked out together.

“hey, uh— thanks for putting my tray away.”

he looks down with a friendly smile, the apples of his cheeks rounding perfectly. “don’ worry about it.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

once you both approached your designated group in a small activity cabin, youre both immediately bombarded with the large volume of ‘oooh’s coming out of the small people’s mouths.

“the lovebirds have arrived,” one kid coos while another mimicked smooching noises.

michael’s face was quick to start burning up, the iconic crimson colour his cheeks always adorned now highlighted in the awkward current situation. you, on the other hand, rolling your eyes in annoyance.

“yous just don’t get bored, do yous?”

“nope.”

“it’s funny.”

“it’s not funny, it’s awkward.”

“it’s not awkward, yous just make it awkward because neither of you wanna admit you love each other,” a little boy joshed, earning a symphony of squeaky laughs erupting from the crowd.

with a shake of your head, you quickly dismiss it. “right, sit at the table. we’re doing friendship bracelets.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the friendship bracelet activity was met with exactly the reaction you expected—girls immediately crowding around the supply table, already discussing colour combinations with the seriousness of professional designers. within minutes they were sorting embroidery thread into neat little piles, comparing patterns, and debating whether blue and green clashed.

the boys, meanwhile, looked personally offended—complaining this was a ‘girls activity’.

“we’re making bracelets?” one boys asks sceptically, eyeing the colourful string.

“yes.”

“why?”

“‘cause it’s the activity.”

“but… why?”

“‘cause somebody planned it and now we’re all gonna participate.” the answer seeming to satisfy absolutely none of them as they sat looking at the threads with crossed arms and pronounced frowns.

the recreation cabin buzzed with conversation as campers claimed seats around the long wooden tables. afternoon sunlight streamed through the open windows, filling the room with warm golden light and carrying in the distant sounds of the lake, the scent of sunscreen, grass, and old wood lingering in the air whilst dozens of children attempted to follow the instructions laid out in front of them.

attempted.

for the first twenty minutes, you and michael barely sat down, every few seconds somebody new needing help—a knot had come undone, someone else’s bracelet was tangled beyond recognition, one kid somehow managing to tie his shoelace into the bracelet despite repeated warnings not to.

you spent most of the time moving from table to table, crouching beside campers and carefully demonstrating the same knot over and over again.

“okay, now loop it through.”

“like this?”

“no, that’s your finger.”

“oh.”

at the next table, michael was having a remarkably similar experience. you glanced over just in time to watch him untangle what appeared to be an impossible knot while three boys watched with complete confidence that he could fix it—the knot somehow became worse, all four of them expressionlessly staring at it.

you watched him slowly rotate the bracelet in his hands as if changing the angle might somehow reveal a solution—it didn’t.

one of the boys sighed dramatically, resting his chin in his hand. “think it’s dead.”

michael looked up, letting out a short, scoffing laugh, his mind desperately trying to make sense of the boys conclusion. “it’s a bracelet…”

“yeah.” the camper nodded solemnly, his voice dripping with seriousness. “n’ it’s… dead.”

you had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing as you overheard the stupidity of the conversation.

eventually though, the campers started figuring things out for themselves—questions became less frequent, the knots becoming gradually less disastrous, and conversations replaced the constant cries for help.

for the first time all afternoon, the room settled into something peaceful. you finally dropped into one of the empty tables with a relieved sigh. across from you, michael did the same—his longs leg awkwardly man-spreaded to try find a comfortable way to sit without feeling squeezed into a ball.

a basket filled with colourful thread sat abandoned between you, and a few glorious seconds neither of you moved. that was until a small voice appeared beside the table.

“you have to make one too.”

you glanced up, meeting the gaze of the voice beside you. a little girl stood there with her hands on her hips.

michael immediately pointed at the campers. “we’re supervising.”

“no.” she pointed at the bracelet on her wrist. “you need friendship bracelets.”

the determination in her expression suggested this wasn’t a request. you exchanged a glance with michael, who looked just as confused as you did.

“we do?”

“yup.”

“we’re… kind of busy.”

“you aren’t doing anything.”

unfortunately for you both, she had a point. without another moment, the girl shoved a handful of thread toward both of you.

“don’t fight it,” she ordered before walking away back to her own table, both of you staring speechlessly after her.

a brief silence followed before michael hesitantly picked up the thread infront of you both.

“i’ve just been bossed around by an eleven year old.”

“actually, that one was ten.”

“that’s worse,” he cringed.

and so you two made bracelets, the process going significantly worse than either of you expected. you spent nearly five minutes trying to remember which strand was supposed to cross over which. michael somehow tied three knots in the wrong direction before giving up entirely and starting over. at one point your bracelet accidentally attached itself to the leg table.

“didn’t know it was possible to fail at bracelets,” you spoke eventually, staring down at the large knot of yarn that was supposed to be a ‘bracelet’ infront of you.

michael looked down at his own tangled disaster in his hands. “you’d think we’d be experts after the half hour we spent helpin’ them.”

you snickered slightly as you glance down at his which, somehow, made you feel better about your own.

his bracelet looked objectively terrible—the colours didn’t match, the pattern disappeared halfway through, and one side was somehow noticeably longer than the other however he managed that.

one little girl wandered past and stopped directly infront of your table as they stared down at your bracelet, then michaels, then back to yours.

“mines better than both of yours.”

awkwardly, she was right. her bracelet was perfect—neat, make out-able patterns with colours that actually matched.

the child walked away looking deeply disappointed in your abilities, both of yours gazes staring at the back of her head before turning to meet each others.

“did we just got judged by a fifth grader?”

“certainly did.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

by the time the activity was winding down, most of the campers were proudly showing off their finished bracelets. yours wasn’t exactly impressive, but it was recognisably a bracelet which felt like an achievement.

you began tying off the final knot when movement across the table caught your attention. michael was staring down at his wrist—more specifically, staring at the two loose ends of his bracelet. he tried tying them together one-handed until bracelet immediately slipped free and landed on the floor beside him.

he tried again, the knot immediately loosening and the bracelet nearly falling apart.

the third attempt ended with the string somehow tangled around two fingers.

you watched amused at the struggle for another few seconds before setting your own bracelet down.

“y’need help?”

michael glanced up at you, his expression suggested he had been hoping nobody noticed. “uh— no. nope,” he replied with an awkward shake of his head.

a beat of silence followed, you about to go back to your own before his timid voice interrupted abruptly.

“okay, maybe.”

with a knowing smile, you held out your hand, summoning a beckoning motion. “give your wrist.”

he rolled his eyes but shifted his chair closer, handing his wrist out to you. ribbons of the warm afternoon sunlight spilled across the table between you, illuminating scattered strands of thread and half-finished bracelets left behind by campers.

around the room, children were still chatting excitedly while a few stray counsellors began collecting supplies, but the noise seemed distant compared to the quiet concentration at your corner of the table.

you delicately took hold of his wrist. it was meant to be a casual gesture, helping your friend tie a bracelet onto his wrist, yet michael seemed to freeze for half a second before relaxing again under your light touch.

the bracelet threads brushed against your fingers as you gathered the loose ends together.

“hold still.”

“i am still?...”

“you moved.”

“yeah, breathed.”

“very inconsiderate.”

a smile tugged briefly at the corner of his mouth as you focused on the knot, carefully looping the threads together before tightening them enough to stay secure. once satisfied, you adjusted the bracelet slightly and checked the fit, the colourful strands resting neatly against his wrist—far better than they had any right to after the tragedy you’d both created.

you glimpse up him, still slightly holding his wrist. “is it too tight?”

michael glanced down, the bracelet shifting slightly as he turned his arm to analyse the grip. “no, it’s fine.”

with a nod of approval you gently released his wrist, your touch slightly fingering more than it meant to, resulting in a ticklish sensation that nearly sent goosebumps over michaels arms.

“there y’go.”

he examined it for a moment before giving a polite smile. for a second neither of you said anything, just sitting there looking at the ridiculous bracelets you’d spent the last hour making before the same little girl from earlier reappeared who inspected both bracelets carefully.

the room seemed to hold its breath—the room being you two, before she gave a nod of endorsement.

“i guess they’re okay.”

you immediately laughed at the reluctant praise, shocked at how seriously she was taking the grading. across the table, michael dropped his head into his hands as he let out a breathless laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly before lifting his head back up to look at you.

“welp. guess we passed.”

“barely.”

“but hey, we passed.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

dinner ended with its usual wave of noise—chair scraping against the floor, trays clattering onto collection carts. kids spilled out of the dining hall in loud, chaotic groups, their conversations overlapping until it became impossible to tell who was talking about what. somebody was still arguing about the canoe races from earlier whilst a six year old was on a tangent insisting that marshmallows counted as a vegetable if you thought about them hard enough because they ‘came from a plant.’ ???

the evening air felt cooler when you stepped outside. after spending most of the day beneath the summer sun, the drop in temperature was almost refreshing. a gentle breeze drifted through the trees surrounding camp, stirring the leaves overhead and carrying the scent of pine and lake water through the grounds.

the sun was beginning its slow descent beyond the lakes horizon—everything appearing dipped in gold. even the campers looked softer somehow beneath the warm evening light, their endless energy finally beginning to slowly fade after a full day of activities.

you followed your your cabin mates down the gravel path leading toward the campfire clearing that was located in a dedicated area between the beginning of the forest and the end of the lake, occasionally reminding campers not to run and immediately being ignored.

ahead, fellow counsellors guided their groups toward the large circle of wooden benches surrounding the fire pit. the campfire itself hadn’t been started yet, so for now it was just a bundle of wood in a lonely pile.

a hushed voice called from behind you, the feeling of slightly warm breath on your neck, contrasting with the evenings breeze.

“hey.”

you glanced over your shoulder to see michael walking closely behind you, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket he must’ve quickly thrown on before heading out to the, still to be started, fire.

you immediately noticed the friendship bracelet still looped around his wrist. the one you’d tied earlier—colours still objectively terrible and the bracelet itself slightly crooked but for some reason he still chose wearing it.

you looked away before he could catch you staring, replicating his greeting with a whispered “hey” back.

he nodded toward the campers walking ahead. “they seem less dangerous after dinner.”

“’cause they’re full. people fade a little after eating.”

“soo, it’s temporary.”

“unfortunately.” you purse your lips together.

“that’s disappointing,” he sighed, a small laugh soon following.

the two of you fell into step beside each other as the path curved around the lake. the sky reflected across the water in streaks of orange, pink and gold, turning the entire surface into something that looked out of a painting. the distant sounds of laughter echoed from the clearing ahead while counselors finished setting up for the evening.

for a spell, neither of you spoke—the silence not awkward, that was the strange thing. only a week ago, you would have felt obligated to fill it, and now it felt like something you could almost survive off of. something that comfortingly lingered.

a group of campers rushed past, one of them nearly colliding with michael who sidestepped automatically.

with looking up, he let out an unappreciative comment. “elliott, i swear. watch yourself.”

the boy stopped, turning around where you were met with a facial expression that had the perfect mixture of both shock and confusion. “how’d y’know it was me?”

“you’ve fallen into a lake twice today. trust me, i’ve got to know you.”

elliott considered this, giving a nod of agreement. “that’s fair,” he shrugged before shortly continuing running and proceeding to nearly crash into another counsellors up ahead.

“you’re almost becoming psychic,” you tease, lightly bumping yourself into the side of his arm with a sway.

“i’m becoming fed up,” michael groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

the campfire clearing came into view as the path opened up. large wooden benches surrounded the empty fire pit in a wide circle, lanterns hung from nearby posts, their warm light flickering softly as the evening grew darker. beyond the clearing, the lake stretched into the distance, reflecting the last pieces of sunlight still clinging to the horizon.

a handful of counsellors and kids were already there, sat in groups along on the bench or the ground below—most of them appearing sceptically relaxed.

neither of you had even reached the clearing before mary spotted yous, her freckle adorned face immediately brightening.

“there yous are!” she grinned, eagerly beckoning the two of you over, eric looks unamused beside her.

you look briefly over at michael, a discontent look written over your features. “why do i feel like we’re about to be given jobs?” you asked.

“uhhh…” he pretends to ponder, slowly stroking the bottom of his chin before concluding, “‘cause we’re boutta be given jobs.”

mary’s grin remarkably widened as you stood infront of her, enthusiastically clapping her hands.

“good news!”

“there’s rarely good news,” michael argues, his eyes heavy-lidded and slightly drooped with unamusement.

“we need help setting everything up.”

from somewhere behind her, eric suddenly found the grass fascinating as he sat and started pulling chunks out of the ground and creating a pile beside him, an estranged kid plopping beside him to add to the pile.

you lightly pointed a finger into mary’s chest. “no.”

mary gasped dramatically, almost offended at the quick reaction you gave. “‘scuse me?”

“we’ve gone through enough struggle for a day.”

“it’s character building, this is what camp’s for!”

“it’s borderline emotional warfare.”

beside you, michael nodding in agreement. “y/n’s got a point.”

mary almost looked delighted by the fact that both of you were complaining which probably should have worried you more. unfortunately, before either of you could escape, a stack of folded benches was deposited beside the fire pit and a large box consisting of wooden skewers and marshmallows.

somehow, despite the fact there were at least six other counsellors standing around doing absolutely nothing, you already knew exactly who was about to set it up.

you look around, beginning to acknowledge the others trying to appear occupied and unnoticeable—walking up to a random group of kids to start conversations or awkwardly adjusting the logs on the fire that doesn’t need adjusting.

the second you looked away from the benches and back toward the clearing, you caught eric, very obviously, turning around and walking in the opposite direction.

“don’t you dare,” you directed, staring daggers in the back of his head—does he really thinks he’s off the hook that easy?

eric almost immediately froze in place at your disciplinary tone, slowly looking over his shoulder. “what?”

“you were leaving.”

“i was not.”

“you immediately turned around.”

“i— i remembered something.”

michael folded his arms, one eyes slightly squinted in skepticism whilst his eyebrows shot up momentarily at the pathetic excuse. “oh yeah? what did you remember?”

eric opened his mouth, nothing coming out for a moment as his mind raced for something to answer with them pointed vaguely toward the direction of the cabins.“a… thing.”

“i’m sure the thing has a name.”

“it’s… yeah.” and with that, eric continued walking, his pace quickening before anyone could begin to argue.

traitor.

mary lasted around a good thirty seconds longer prior to one of the younger campers called her name from across the clearing.

“oh shucks,” she uttered, sounding not remotely upset. “i’m being summoned.”

“oh no you’re not not.”

“huh? can’t hear you.”

“you’re stood right there?”

“good luck!” she waved before sprinting over to the direction where her voice was beckoned from.

both you and michael stared after her almost dumbfounded at the sheer betrayal you two had just endured from the people who were meant to ‘stick together’ with you. the campfire clearing seemed suddenly much larger as yous stood there alone and isolated from everyone else who had no means of coming to your rescue.

a gentle breeze drifted through the trees, rustling the branches overhead whilst the faint echo of a birds calling from the lakeshore.

the woeful stack of benches remained exactly where it was plopped by previous counsellors, waiting and silently mocking you.

you groan in defeat, rubbing your hands over your face. “they definitely planned this.”

michael immediately nodded in solemn agreement, glaring down at the stack in shared defeat. “absolutely planned this.”

“we should leave…”

“yeah...”

and yet neither of you moved, continuing to stare at the bundle of seating with eyes of exhaustion. a couple still moments passed until michael stepped forward and grabbed one end of the nearest bench.

you let out a quiet whine, hanging your head back with a disgruntled grunt “michael, you’re ruining the rebellion. at least pretend to resist, wait ‘til eric or someone comes back and let them deal with it.”

he considered it before following with a sharp “no.”

“terrible teammate,” shaking your head in disapproval.

“jus’ help me, would’y?”

grumbling in annoyance, you reluctantly grabbed the opposite end of the bench he picked up and together you lifted the bench and started carrying it toward the fire pit.

it was heavier than it looked, not enough to give you pain but enough to be an annoyance. the ground beneath your feet shifted from gravel to packed dirt as you crossed the clearing, the evening air cooling further as the sun slipped lower behind the trees. the sky above the lake had deepened into shades of purple and blue now, the colours reflecting perfectly across the water’s surface.

it should have been peaceful, an atmosphere of where you should relax and take in the day behind you—instead, you were hauling furniture.

you lowered the bench into place carefully to not let it crash, michael stepping back to examine it, squinting slightly before nudged one side slightly with his foot.

“a lil’ more.”

“it’s a bench.”

“a crooked one, yeah.”

“no one will notice, and the kids will have it knocked over and diagonal by the first five minutes of sitting on it.”

“but i’ll notice.”

“you concern me.”

“mhm. get that a lot.”

you let out a stifled laugh, the sound escaping before you could stop it nor register it happened. michael looked mildly pleased with himself which immediately made you regret laughing.

the next few benches passed in much the same way—carrying, complaining, then latching onto the next with a grunt.

by the fourth bench, both of you had developed a rhythm without even discussing it—michael grabbed one side, you grabbed the other. neither of you needed instructions anymore, no ‘left’, ‘right’, ‘lil’ more right’.

a silence floated through the air bar the faint squeals and bickers from children a few metres away.

“so,” michael begins, quietly searching for something to follow with after having started with no clue where to take the conversation.

you glanced up at him, faintly smiling at his own confusion on his face. “soo?”

“you have siblings?”

the question surprised you enough that you almost missed a step. “nah, just me.” you lightly chuckle.

“ah,” he nods. “so jus’ you, mum and dad?”

you pause for second, unsure where to start or if you even should. “uh… yeah, somethin’ like that,” you nervously giggle, voice coming out quieter than you’d meant whilst trying your best to not meet his eyes and working harder on moving the bench than anything else.

the words hit harder than you would’ve expected. it was just just a normal question someone would ask when getting to know another. but to you, it left a heavy, tightening feeling in your chest. the air around you suddenly felt thicker. heavier.

michael looks at you with light concern, his eyebrows, almost unnoticeably, furrowing slightly. you hestitantly look up to meet his stare, the expression he projected almost taking you aback, like he was silently analysing your face.

you immediately look away under his gaze which felt so intense under the silent panic and sorrow that filled your thoughts—god, you hated this part. that awkward pause that follows whenever someone asks about your family, the split second where you have to decide whether to tell them and make things weird and awkward. to drop something heavy into an otherwise normal conversation.

you’ve only known michael for a few days—a week, maybe. you barely know each other, usually only talking about the kids to activities rather than yourselves.

why would he need to know? why would you tell him? why should you?

the silence stretches as you practically feel him looking at you. he wasn’t pushing for answers, rather quietly waiting as you gathered yourself.

when you finally glance back, you’re met with a pair of deep brown eyes that are searching your face carefully. his expression softens almost instantly, concern flashing across his features as you could physically see his eyes scanning you in an attempt to gather whatever information he could from the way you were stood, the way your face slightly contorted as your thoughts kept rushing. and for some reason, that almost breaks you because he’s looking at you like he genuinely cares.

you throat tightens, deeply swallowing to try compose yourself. you could almost feel your heart rapidly recoiling in your chest, it’s sound echoing through your ears. your jaw began to absentmindedly tighten in an effort to not let it tremble as you grow slightly emotional as the thoughts and memories flood your brain—looking away again before he can see it.

“hey,” his voice is gentler now, more cautious. “you okay?”

the care in his tone catches you completely off guard, and you couldn’t explain to yourself why. maybe because most people wouldn’t notice—you’ve learnt over the years of teasing and bullying in school as well as your terrible habit of masking and hiding your emotions how to hide how you were really feeling. most people move on, or dont look at you long enough to realise something’s wrong.

but michael did.

suddenly you feel exposed, like he can see straight through you. you stare down at your hands wrapped around the bench which began to grow clammy. your skin around your nails red and irritated from picking at them—a nervous habit you gained over the years, one your dad used to scold you for.

the thought alone sends another sharp ache through your chest before you swallow hard yet again.

“my dad…” you pause. the words feel strange even after all these months. you tried not to speak about him, for your own good. you knew you couldn’t speak of it—you’ve barely processed it since it happened, still in denial although you knew damn well it was true.

“he— he passed away last october.”

immediately, the world seems to go completely still. the kids screams fading into non-existence along with the soft birds singing and gentle crash of the lake on the shore. michael freezes, like fully freezes—his walking immediately stopping which caught you off guard and nearly caused you both to topple over which earned a sharp gasp from you before he quickly gathered himself and started to walking again, but this time more slowly.

the concern on his face immediately melts into shock, his eyes widen slightly. “oh.”

you let out a humourless laugh—a small one, barely there. “yeah.” you began slightly nibbling on your lower lip.

the silence that follows wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy and upset—the kind of silence that settles over bad news, no one knowing what to say next.

michael momentarily opens his mouth before quickly closing it again like he can’t find the right thing to say—and to that you were almost grateful, there probably isn’t a right thing to say.

“he was…” you stop, blinking rapidly. “he was basically my best friend,’ you whisper. you didn’t even mean to, you seemingly just couldn’t get it out. your voice cracked slightly before clearing your throat and trying again.

“i never really had loads of friends growing up.” the brutal confession slips out before you can stop it—embarrassing and pathetic.

“i was always awkward. quiet, kinda weird—atleast to the other kids. my dad used to drag me out of the house all the time because of it.”

you could nearly envision right infront of you—the camping trips, just you hand him. afternoon beach trip when you’d both jump or dive the waves with loud laughter. the fishing trips he’d take you on, neither of you would catch anything, but it still gave you an excuse to hang out together. no-destination road trips, windows down, muaic blasting from the radio while you both pathetically belted out to elton john, his voice singing completely off-key.

“he never wanted me sitting around feeling sorry for myself. so we’d go somewhere. like, literally anywhere.” your chest tightens painfully as stare at the ground, smiling small into yourself an you reminisce on the nostalgic moments. “jus’ me and him.”

you could speak, the memories too vivid—too close. you can practically hear his laugh, that’s somehow the worst part. the way you could remember it perfectly yet know you’ll never hear it again.

michael hasn’t interrupted once, listening intently as you go on. you finally risk looking up, which you immediately regret when expression makes your chest ache—physically ache.

his head was slightly tiled to the right, his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them—wide and sad, his eyebrows knitted as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. he showed genuine sadness, not the pathetic pity party people typically show you when you talk about it, which isn’t often.

“i’m… i’m really sorry,” he speaks quietly, the words coming out immediately without hesitation, like he means every syllable.

you quickly dart your gaze away before he can see how much that affects you.

“it’s fine.”

but it wasn’t fine—it never will be, but it’s easier than explaining that.

you soon force yourself to continue, letting out a long, shaky breath. “he was driving home from work.” the words had felt rehearsed now, you’d explained them enough times—to enough relatives, enough teachers and therapists. “drunk driver hit him,” you murmur, nearly not wanting him to hear.

a flash of disbelief crosses his features, soon distorting into anger then heartbreak all in the space of a few seconds.

“oh gosh...”

you nod, pursing your lips awkwardly together, unsure of how to approach this. you never took people sympathies and pity well, never knowing what to do with it.

“yeah.”

the next words are the hardest, your eyes gradually begin to fog over, rapidly blinking to try gain back your vision. “there wasn’t really…” your throat tightens,making it almost impossible to get the following words out. “there wasn’t really any goodbye.” you stare at the dirt beneath your shoes, a shaky breath leaving your lips. “no last conversation or final words,” you shrug weakly. “as horrible as it sounds, he went to work one morning and then…”

you physically couldn’t finish the sentence, but you didn’t need to—michael understood. the silence said enough.

your eyes began to sting, causing you to blink furiously.

‘not now. god, please not now.’

“this summer’s been the worst,” you voice comes out barely above a whisper. “usually he’d have taken me somewhere nearly every other day,” you chuckle lightly, broken around the edges as you’d remember the amount of times he’d shake you awake in bed and order you to be in the car in the next ten minutes.

“honestly, he probably would’ve forced me to go camping at least five times by now.”

michael lets out the smallest breath of laughter, not necessarily because it was funny but as he knows you’re trying—trying not to cry and fall apart infront of him.

“so when summer started…” you shrug. “i… didn’t really know what to do with myself. every passing just felt empty. repetitive. so i signed up for camp.”

you glance toward the trees, the cabins, the lake, the faint silhouette of the kids afar. “this place seemed better than sitting at home missing him, jus’ sitting in my own sorrow.”

when you look back at michael, he’s already looking at you—his expression unreadable for a moment because he cared so much he doesn’t know what to do with it.

his eyes were fixated on yours, heartbreakingly sincere which made you almost immediately break as you took it all in.

“i’m really glad you told me,” his comforting words quiet, like he didn’t want to startle you.

you stare at him blankly, caught off guard at his reply. he wasn’t treating you differently, or looking at you like you’re fragile. no ‘i’m so sorry’, no pity parties. no scrambling to change the subject.

he just stood… there, listening and allowing himself to understand and take in the vulnerable news your were delivering—somehow that was worse, suddenly allowing you to realise how long it’d been since someone simply listened.

“y’wanna tell me more about him?” he asks reluctantly, probably worried the question would make you burst into tears.

you shake your head, blink strongly to try cure the burning feel erupting from them, nibbling at the skin on your bottom lip to the point you could taste the faint linger of metal in your mouth. to that he nods understandably, not wanting to push any further.

yous continue to carry the benches one by one into a large circle surrounding the pit, a thick emotional silence staying between you two. your mind continued to keep thinking and cursing at yourself for telling him—that you’d probably made him uncomfortable, borderline trauma dumping on him, indulging in self-pity.

michael could tell the shift in your mood as soon as the conversation ended—i mean it was hard not to. the way you stared blankly in front of you, moving on autopilot as yous continued to go back and forth with more upon more benches, still no other counsellors bothering to help.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the campfire was already roaring by the time you made your way back across the clearing—some counsellors finally deciding to be useful.

orange waves of light flickered across the rows of logs and folding chairs arranged around it, kids running around with far too much energy for the time of night whilst counsellors desperately attempted to herd them into roughly organised groups. one kid carelessly tripped over his own foot which made michael and another counsellors and kids burst out into laughter.

“connor seriously, how are you still alive?” a counsellor snorted, the kid probably one of his own, still finding the fact he tripped over himself utterly hilarious.

the boy grinned, his two front teeth missing—probably from falling. “uh, natural talent?”

“yuh-huh, clearly.”

the kid sprinted away before he could respond which let a few other counsellors chuckle before going back to either own conversations, catching up with friends from other groups.

you laughed too. it sounded normal—at least you hoped it did. normality was easy and safe. it meant nobody asked questions.

and silently across the fire, michael watched you intently, watching your mannerisms with careful precision. earlier that afternoon he would’ve thought nothing of it—just you being you, the girl who somehow managed to make every conversation entertaining, who could make homesick eight year olds laugh after crying for an hour, the girl who always had a joke ready that made others clutch their stomach from laughing too hard.

but now he knew better. every smile looked different—not fake, rarely fake, but harder to earn. the somber realization sitting heavily in his chest.

you stood across from the fire, recently having just came back from helping a little girl change from her previous clothes after falling into a messy pile of dirt, carefully scanning across the bench when you finally spotted an empty space beside him—well, not exactly empty. michael was sprawled across part of it, legs spread carelessly into that man-spread i’m sure all women have grown to loath from the men around her.

the second he noticed you looking, he sat up, almost immediately bringing his legs closer together.

“occupied?” you raised an eyebrow, glancing at the space beside him.

a corner of his mouth twitched before answering with the shake of his head, his curls swaying in the calm evening breeze. “not if you’re sittin’ there.”

something warm fluttered unexpectedly in your chest, your heart rate for some reason growing slightly quicker though you were quick to push it down and ignore it.

“wow, how generous.”

“i know.” he shifted further over, scooching closer to eric who sat beside him so you wouldn’t have to be squished between the two of them uncomfortably. “y’can thank me later,” he kidded with a playfully wink, patting the empty spot now remaining beside him.

you rolled your eyes before sitting beside him, your shoulders bumping briefly and yet neither of you moved away, allowing the faint touch to linger. for the first couple of minutes neither of you spoke, just listening to the white noise of the crackling fire, the children playing a game of tag behind yous.

michael found himself glancing sideways—just checking. making sure you were okay. i mean, there you were smiling, talking, laughing at a silly comment a kid made to you about the kid she was with, talking about how he lost his tooth by his dad yanking it out with a piece of string and a foam ball shooter. acting the same way you always did, but now he knew what lived underneath it and somehow that made him admire you even more.

the way you composed yourself and could easily mask how you were probably feeling. he respected you for it, and he made a silent promise to himself to keep a watchful eye on you from now on.

𑣲⋆ summary : all you wanted was a break from the madness of studio 54. you didn’t expect to find michael jackson hiding from it too, and most importantly expect one conversation to turn into the best night of your life.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ otw michael jackson x reader

a/n : sorry this got posted later than i said, i didn’t expect it to take me so long to write… also if anyone asks for part 2 i’ll throw a fit bc some people need to realise the beauty of one-shots is that there’s no part 2 and you make it up with your imagination and make up and interpret your own ending boiiii

stepping into studio 54 felt like another word—music thundering through the walls and floorboards, the steady pulse of disco vibrating through your chest like a second heartbeat. above the crowded dance floor, neon coloured lights swept across the room in waves, painting everyone beneath them in constantly shifting shades. the mirrored surfaces scattered reflections in every direction, making the club seem endless.

it was only around eleven, early by studio 54 standards, but the night was already alive—groups of people crowded around tables and the bar, laughing loudly over the music. others wildly filled the dance floor shoulder to shoulder, moving beneath the spinning lights without a care in the world of who was watching. sequins flashed every time someone turned, metallic jewellery catching in the light. clouds of expensive perfume and cologne mixed with cigarette smoke lingered in the warm, heated air.

the music carried you effortlessly through the crowd, your body moving instinctively to the infectious rhythm pouring from the speakers. one moment you were dancing with a woman in a glittering silver dress, both of you laughing as you spun beneath the lights. the next, a stranger was pointing excitedly toward the dj booth before pulling you into another song. faces gradually blurred together throughout the night following many brief conversations, shared smiles and familiar lyrics shouted in unison over the music.

it didn’t matter to you that you knew almost none of them, as right now everyone belonged to the same rhythm of the music. every bassline sent a wave of energy through the room. every song seeming longer and louder than the last. people clapped, danced, and sang along as if the night would never end—no one wanting it to.

it was practically humanly impossible not to get swept up in the contagious energy, not a soul standing still. you danced energetically beneath the kaleidoscope of lights, surrounded by strangers who felt like friends for three minute songs at a time, letting the music drown out every thought in your head as the club sparkled and pulsated around you like the centre of the universe itself.

before long as the night progressed, more and more people arrived in waves. as the hours slipped by, studio 54 only grew louder. people continued pouring through the doors in a steady stream, each new arrival bringing another burst of energy into the club. the spaces between bodies began to disappear, the lines at the bar stretched longer, laughter progressively becoming louder and less restrained.

drink after drink circulated through the room, the effects impossible to miss—conversations became slurred. movements became bolder, strangers who had barely acknowledged one another earlier in the evening now danced together like lifelong friends. some stumbled through the crowd with flushed cheeks and crooked smiles whilst others threw their heads back in laughter at jokes that likely weren’t as funny as they were making it out to be.

the atmosphere was intoxicating. though somehow, it was beginning to exhaust you.

you’d had a few drinks yourself throughout the evening, enough to feel pleasantly warm, relaxed and able to let go, but nowhere near enough to match the energy surrounding you now. everywhere you turned, someone seemed determined to pull you back into the chaos—a hand grabbing your wrist, another settling briefly on your shoulder. at some point a random guy wrapped an arm around you and spun you into the middle of a dancing circle before disappearing into the crowd again, leaving you dazed and confused.

earlier, you would’ve laughed and joined in with everyone. now it only made your stomach tighten. the dance floor felt increasingly different than it had an hour ago. everything feeling hotter, stuffier and almost claustrophobic.

people bumped into one another constantly. drinks sloshed onto expensive clothes. voices competed against the music until everything blended into one overwhelming wall of noise.

you quickly found yourself glancing toward the exits more than once, desperate for room to breathe. when another heavily intoxicated stranger stumbled into your space and attempted to pull you into a dance, you finally decided enough was enough. with a polite smile and a quick excuse that was immediately swallowed by the music, you slipped away from the crowd.

the further you moved from the centre of the dance floor, the easier it became to breathe. you navigated the familiar hallways and dimly lit corners before reaching a narrow staircase tucked away near the back of the club.

you knew this route well. after countless nights spent at studio 54 you’d discovered more than a few places to disappear to when the club became too much.

the metal staircase clanked softly beneath your heels as you climbed, the music growing slightly more distant with each step, though the bass still vibrated through the walls. directly at the top waited a heavy red velvet curtain, swiftly slipping behind it.

nearly instantaneously the noise softened to manageable degree. the secluded balcony stretched quietly above the club, hidden from most guests below. a simple iron railing separated you from the open view overlooking the dance floor.

you crossed the small space and lowered yourself onto the floor, resting your back against the wall behind you with a long exhale—the first one all night.

beneath you, the nightclub appeared almost unreal. from above, the crowd merged into a constantly shifting sea of colour and movement. hundreds of people swayed beneath the lights as if they were part of one living thing, rising and falling with every beat of the music. the mirrored disco ball suspended overhead scattered fragments of light across the room like falling stars, chromatic alternations of the lights sweeping across the dance floor, each colour transforming the crowd for only a moment before the next replaced it.

the music continued to echo upward, but now softened by distance, turning the thunderous bass into something almost comforting.

from the distance, the chaos looked beautiful—shared drunken laughter, joyous erratic dancing and its endless motion. all of it blended together into something strangely euphoric as though watching a dream unfold from afar.

you folded your arms on your knees and simply watched—silently people watching from the distance. it kept you relaxed knowing you didn’t need to be a part of it, just watching it was enough.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

gradually as time passed you began to lose track of how long you’d been sat up there, just peacefully watching the drunkenly dancing figures converse and squeal.

deep down you did love it there at studio 54. sure, it did get overwhelming at time to have a parade of mindlessly under the influence people swarm you, giving you uncalled for touches and grinds, but it still felt nearly like home. you just needed a break at times when all grew a little too much.

you’re soon enough snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the rip echoing of the curtains beside you as they opened, a figure stepping out to the small balcony, almost tripping over you before letting out a startled gasp.

“oh gosh, i’m— i’m so sorry, i didn’t see you there,” a slightly alarmed voice speaks.

you snap you head in the direction of the open doorway, momentarily startled by the sudden interruption.

the figure standing before you froze beneath the coloured glow spilling up from the dance floor below, one hand still clutching the edge of the curtain. a second passed where neither of you said anything.

then the recognition hit, your eyes widening in almost disbelief as you took in his appearance—his slightly messy afro, his warm dark skin, the dazzling purple blazer he had, his deep brown eyes that gazed down at you on the floor with slight worry and concern.

michael jackson.

not just somebody who happened to visit studio 54 and nearly kicked you in the leg.

michael. jackson.

you’d heard his songs countless times—i mean, who hadn’t in this day and age? they played on radios, blasted from car speakers, echoed from record stores. his name seemed to follow wherever music was discussed. even inside studio 54 itself people talked about him constantly whenever he made an appearance.

and somehow, despite seeing him around from a distance on multiple occasions, your paths had never actually crossed.

until now.

you hoped desperately that your shock wasn’t visible on your face. “oh, no, it’s okay,” you said quickly, letting out a nervous laugh. “i don’t blame you not seeing me down here—“

michael looked visibly relieved at your forgiveness, his shoulders slightly dropping. “still,” he replied, pressing a hand on top of his hair. “you scared me.”

the comment caught you off guard enough to laugh again, a grin immediately appearing on his face, seemingly pleased he’d managed to get one out of you.

“sorry,” he added, again. his voice was soften than you’d ever imagined. everyone knew of that softly charming voice he obtained, but it know sounded different hearing it in real life in the contrast of the chaos below you two.

you shook your head with a faint smile, waving off his apology. “no need.”

the conversation fell quiet for a moment, michael glancing awkwardly toward the curtain again, back to the empty hallway behind him, then back to you with a scratch of the back of his neck.

“well… i’ll leave you alone,” he faltered slightly, taking a small step backwards off the balcony.

something about the idea of him now leaving felt disappointing.

“it seems it’s big enough for both of us,” you offer, the words leaving your mouth before you could reconsider them.

michael paused slightly, looking at you with slightly skepticism of you wanting to share your private space you seemingly had now claimed. “you sure?”

you offer him a small nod in return. “i mean, unless you know another secret balcony.”

a light chuckle escaped him, his eyes squinting slightly with a crinkle. “no, this was my backup plan.”

“then you’re welcome to stay.”

michael appeared almost surprised by the invitation. most people either wanted something from him or became too nervous to speak normally around him. the fact that you were simply offering a place to sit seemed to catch him off guard before eventually he smiled. “okay then.”

carefully, he lowered himself onto the floor beside you. the balcony wasn’t particularly large—there was enough room for both of you to sit comfortably, though your knees occasionally brushed whenever one of you shifted position though neither of you seemed particularly bothered by it.

for a while, the two of you simply watched the club below, the crowd somehow having grown even larger. from above, the dance floor resembled a constantly moving mosaic of glittering clothes, colourful lights, and raised hands. waves of laughter drifted upward whenever the music briefly softened between songs. the enormous disco ball scattered fragments of silver light across the room, transforming hundreds of strangers into flickering silhouettes.

michael rested his arms across his knees, soon diverting his attention onto you. “so what brought you up here?”

you glanced toward the crowd, eyes flicking from person to person—all each in their own little world. “just… needed a break.”

his face immediately brightened, almost unnoticeably to most people, but it was

there. “really?”

you giggle slightly in confusion at his question. “yeah?”

“thats— that’s exactly why i’m here,” michael somewhat stumbling in his words at the surprise of someone maybe understanding him.

you look over to him, your head lightly cocked to the side with a furrow of your eyebrows. “it is?..”

he nods momentarily, motioning with his head toward the dance floor below. “people think i can stay down there all night.”

“and can you?”

michael immediately shook his head, pursing his lips together. “no.”

the speed of his response raises a quiet chortle from you. “no?”

“no,” he repeats, staring, almost zoned-out, towards the dance floor now packed with dozens and dozens of people, tightly together.

he grinned as he watched the shared sharp energetic twists sways of the mass. “i like people. i really do. most especially the ones here,” he begins, admiring the flowing patterns beneath him. “but sometimes…” he slowly continued, gesturing vaguely toward the crowd. “it’s a lot.”

you nodded in agreement, listening intently as he explained. “yeah, definitely a lot.”

“exactly.”

the shared understanding settled naturally between you, something oddly comforting about it.

for the hour that followed, conversation flowed with surprising ease. what started as observations about the club gradually drifted into completely unrelated topics—favourite songs, terrible fashion trends, movies, specifically horror, stories about strange encounters with people at the club who definitely got involved with a specific powder, and embarrassing moments which left you both holding your stomach in silent laughter, holding onto each other to try catch a breath.

the more you talked, the easier it became to forget who exactly was sitting beside you. michael wasn’t acting like a celebrity, he wasn’t performing or to impress anybody.

he also wasn’t what you’d typically expect from such a well-known star—he was funny, far funnier than you’d expected. more than once you found yourself laughing hard enough that your stomach hurt. and he didn’t seem to be one to brag either, not trying to rub in your face all of his achievements—and that you admired.

likewise, michael seemed increasingly entertained by you. every time you made an offhand joke or observation, his laughter echoed across the small balcony.

by the time another half-hour had passed, the noise from the club below almost felt distant, the conversation becoming far more interesting.

eventually michael glanced toward his watch on his wrist, then back towards you before turning back into the empty hallway behind the heavy curtain—an idea seemed to form.

“you wanna dip?”

you blink at the sudden proposal, eyebrows wrinkled together. “…leave?”

he nodded. “jus’ for a while.”

you raised an eyebrow, tilting your head quizzically. “and go where exactly?”

a mischievous smirk appeared on michael’s face, a glint appearing in the deep, grounding presence of his dark eyes. “well, there’s this diner.”

“a diner.”

“yeah.”

“you want to leave studio 54 for a diner?” you replicate his point, eyes widened in disbelief of his idea.

michael stared back, looking completely serious. “it’s a really good diner.”

“still doesn’t explain why,” you softly chuckle with a shake of your head.

“uh, well— ‘cause i’m hungry.” he clarified, his answer coming so quickly that you nearly laughed again.

“an’ ‘cause i don’t think either of us wants to go back down there,” he pointed toward the crowd below.

momentarily you considered it, the idea sounded surprisingly appealing—to get away from the tipsy commotion surrounding you.

michael’s smile gradually widened the moment he saw your expression of thought. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

sneaking out proved to be easier than expected. apparently michael had perfected the art of avoiding attention.

through back hallways, service entrances, and doors you hadn’t even known existed, the two of you managed to slip away from studio 54 almost completely unnoticed.

the cool night air felt refreshing after hours spent inside the crowded club. the lively city glowed around you—neon signs reflecting across rain-dark pavement, taxi headlights drifted through the streets with the distant sounds of music and conversation followed from nearby buildings. for the first time all evening, everything felt calm.

the diner itself was sat tucked between several larger buildings, easy to miss unless you already knew where it was.

the moment you stepped inside, the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different from nightclub—warm, dim lighting, a soft hum of conversation compared to the racket of 54, the smell of coffee and freshly cooked food and a jukebox quietly playing marvin gaye in the corner.

the man sat behind the counter immediately recognised michael as he stepped in. following a brief exchange, the two of you were guided toward a secluded booth near the back where you could sit undisturbed where the conversation resumed almost immediately.

hours seemed to disappear, every topic leading to another yet again—music became movies, movies became childhood stories before the nostalgic stories became dreams for the future.

there was never an awkward silence. never a moment where either of you struggled to find something to say.

michael found himself increasingly fascinated by how easy everything felt. you weren’t treating him differently or asking for anything which he was unused to. you were simply being yourself, not making an attempt of putting on a dramatic show for him which he found others girls do—he enjoyed it.

long after the food had arrived and disappeared just as fast, the two of you remained seated in the booth talking as if you’d known each other far longer than a single evening.

by the time you finally glanced at the clock, the night had slipped away entirely, neither of you having even noticed how late it had become until the diner had nearly emptied.

the remanence of customers had long since disappeared. conversations that had once drifted throughout the restaurant had gradually faded away, leaving behind only the occasional clink of cutlery and the soft hum of the neon sign glowing outside the window. even the jukebox seemed quieter now, its music blending into the comfortable atmosphere that had settled around your booth.

at some point, the city beyond the glass had changed too—the streets were calmer than before, the streams of people that had filled the sidewalks earlier in the night had thinned considerably, replaced by only a handful of wandering figures and the occasional taxi rolling past beneath pools of streetlight.

and somehow, despite the hours that had passed, neither of you seemed eager to leave.

michael sat across from you with a half-finished strawberry milkshake he’d completely forgotten about nearly an hour ago. every so often he’d absentmindedly stir it with his straw while listening to whatever story you happened to be telling, and every time he laughed, you found yourself smiling too.

just some hours ago, michael jackson had just been a little more than a name attached to songs on the radio and conversations overheard around studio 54 whilst now he felt like a friend.

“y’know,” michael suddenly announced, breaking a comfortable silence, “i’m real glad i almost tripped over you.”

you laughed in disbelief at the humorous confession. “that’s probably the weirdest compliment i’ve ever received.”

“maybe… but i’m serious,” he admitted, his smile softening. “if i hadn’t gone up there, i would’ve spent the whole night downstairs pretendin’ i wasn’t overwhelmed ‘n waiting to go home.”

“yeah, you nearly kicked me over the edge so you must’ve been real overwhelmed.”

“i did say i was sorry.”

“uh-huh, i forgave you,” you retaliate, a soft laugh escaping your lips.

“good,” he teased, his grin widening as he reached a sip of his, now melted, milkshake. “then we’re even.”

outside, a taxi passed beneath the window, its headlights briefly illuminating the booth before disappearing down the street. michael glanced toward it before looking back at you.

“i think this was better than 54. i’d take this over it any second.

your eyebrows lifted in amusement. “that’s a bold statement.”

“i mean it though. don’t get me wrong, i love the music. i love dancing, i love all of it.” he briefly paused. “but nights like this don’t happen very often.”

something about the honesty and vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten slightly—because he was right. studio 54 was unforgettable, the lights, music, the crowds and its energy… yet the part of the evening you knew you’d remember years from now wasn’t the dancing, the disco ball or the celebrities or the endless stream of music.

it was this—a hidden balcony, your quiet conversations, the shared diner booth and the unexpected friendship that came with it.

the owner eventually approached your table with an apologetic smile and informed you that they were about to close having already kept the place open an hour longer than they should’ve just because it was michael and he knew he usually came alone, so the new companion encouraged him to give them more time.

neither of you could really argue with that, the two of you gathering your things and stepped back outside into the cool early-morning air.

the city felt completely different now, peaceful in the early morning. the sky had begun to lighten ever so slightly along the horizon, hinting at the sunrise still waiting somewhere beyond the buildings.

briefly, you stood together on the sidewalk, neither entirely sure what to say—if you’d should leave it here or continue.

eventually, michael shoved his hands into his pockets. “well...”

“well.”

michael breathed out a quiet laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “guess this is where we end it probably.”

you frown slightly at the thought of having to make your departure before giving a nod of agreement. “guess so.”

michael paused. “can we do this again… please?” he almost pleaded, gazing at you with those iconic puppy eyes he adorned.

“of course, i’d do this again every day of the week i could,” you admit with a shy smile.

michael immediately beamed a bright toothy smile back, quick to exchange contact details with you and with one final hug where his cologne melted all of your senses and his light touch provide a distant tickling sensation over your spine, he disappeared down the sidewalk, his figure gradually blending into the quiet city beginning its awakening around him.

you remained there for another moment, watching the streetlights glow against the fading darkness, looking toward the horizon where morning was beginning to creep into the sky.

the night hadn’t gone remotely how you’d expected—you arrived at studio 54 hoping for a few hours of music and dancing. instead, you’d left with something far more memorable.

finally, turning to head home, a smile lingering on your face when you couldn’t help but think that sometimes the best parts of a night happen when you step away from the party and simply let things unfold on their own.

thriller!michael, unestablished relationship, lurid reader, a bit suggestive

the cam recorder is slightly unsteady in your hands.

you’re recording michael from your spot in the threshold of his back door. he’s sitting on a chaise lounge chair, writing down song lyrics, even though he suggested both of you come outside for some fresh air.

the rest of his family isn’t home—you’re actually not too sure about their whereabouts. but you don’t ask too many questions if that means you’re left alone with michael, able to bother him all you want.

2am

⋆˙⟡ “This is what you call cookies?” He questions, you two stood still for a while staring at the burnt attempted sugar cookies, your hand rested on your hip—and you could only manage out a huff. “Don’t blame it all on me michael.” You cross your arms and he stifles a laugh, “Yeah baby well, you put them in there, preheated it and all.”

Instead of throwing the cookies out—you fling open the cabinet and grab a glass plate, You place a napkin over it and the cookies follow up. “We’re eating these—if you love me you’ll eat these.” You tease, and he huffs, pulling you by the waist and pressing small kisses into your neck. “Throw ‘em out sweetheart, I’ll have someone go grab us some cookies from the store.”

“What’s the love in that?” You pout. He kisses your lips. “Won’t have you eating your burnt cookies—that’s love.”

3:50am

⋆˙⟡ “A pillow fight?” He retorts, and you nod. “May the best man win!” You pick up a silky pillow from the bed, the bed bouncing beneath you as you jump. “Get up here!” You usher him, and he does, grabbing another silk pillow. Your pillow hits his arm, and your pillow ends up hitting his face. He tackles you and a perfect idea floods through your mind.

“Ow, Michael—seriously.” You murmur, feigning fake hurt. He immediately gets up. “Oh I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t know I was being so rough I—“ you take this chance quickly standing up and whacking his hip. “Cheater!” He lets out a squeal and tackles you once again, this time he’s kissing your lips. “I love pillow fighting.” He says. “I’d like to pillow fight again.”

“AGAIN?” You squeak.

5am

⋆˙⟡ “It was the worst you know,” You two were now currently deep into the real talk—talk of life. He nods, the blue pool in front of you, stars in the sky. “I hear you.” You shake the tears from your eyes. “But enough about me Mike, you know how I get.” He watches your expression and his expression is filled with—wanting to know you more than he already does.

He leans in and swifts a small piece of hair from your face, hand resting on your thigh. “I love you y/n.” He murmurs. “So much—you’re my reason, my reason of life, my every—you’re why I do the things I do now.”

“Because I love you.” He finishes off, and you stifle a laugh. “You’re such a freaking loser!” You tease him, leaning in to kiss him. “This is because I stay up with you all night, hm?” He shrugs. “Partially.”

“You ass.” You playfully nudge him.

⋆˙⟡ And you two accidentally fall asleep on the pool chairs, your head tucked underneath his chin, legs curled up on his stomach, and his hot breath fanning your scalp.

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ type : one-shot

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ genre(s) : fluff & smut

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ pairing : michael jackson x reader

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ tags : smoothcriminal!michael, reader is inspired by elvira, cheating if you squint (who cares it’s michael), michael is a gangster, scarface inspired, smut a the end (f!reciving), slow burn ?

𓏲 ࣪ ˖ a/n : my favorite person and one of my favorites films together i’m so happy

ᝰ.ᐟ꩜ what's the point of having the whole world if michael doesn't have the woman of his dreams?

pretty mama ; 𝓉𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 ‘𝟖𝟗

your husband and kids come to see you on tour ♥︎ .𖥔 ݁ ⠀

──── notes: bad era!michael jackson x childhoodbsf!popstar!reader ╱ see 𝒂𝒖 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐. girldad!michael ⋆ all fluff.

— “go-gotta be quiet mama, please”

; in which you can’t get over how good michael looks in that outfit

you knew better than this; honestly- you did. you knew you shouldn’t follow michael to his music video shoots, knowing full well what watching him work did

but you did it anyway

and christ, was this one difficult. he’d walked out of the dressing room, clad in black, belts strapped to his thighs, his waist, buckles gleaming in the harsh studio lights. and he had the audacity to smile, and give you a spin — “don’t i look cool, baby!” he exclaimed. oh. he was so so excited for this, thought he looked so cool. you felt almost sinful for the way you could only focus on how your panties were dampening from the mere sight of him

of course, you didn’t last long. you turned into exactly what you hated — the needy girlfriend. kissing just below his ear, the spot you knew just made him shiver, right after he was done with the bit of dancing they’d managed to perfect, laughing with him as he giggled, “stop that—“ but you could see the way he was blushing. perfect. kept coming to sit on his lap every time he managed to find a second to sit down, adjusting yourself just right over the bulge in his pants so he had to cough and turn away from whoever he was chatting to.

“are you—uh- you okay?” he managed to get out when you did it for the third time. you just grinned down at him and shook your head, leaning around him to press a sloppy little kiss right under his jaw. he was started to get all hot and bothered. just like you needed him.

michael had been racking his brain all afternoon trying to figure out what on earth could be the matter with you, why you were practically nuzzling against him like a cat in heat, why your eyes trailed hot blazes down his frame…

oh.

ﾒ every which way but loose

“ in which dangerous!michael has you like that one video of james brown. ”

ᝰ word count: 1.1K

.ᐟ warnings & disclaimers: basically several descriptions of what it’s like when he in it, y/n was so happy to look a mess, mentions of erotic photography, roleplaying, michael’s chain dangles in your face, he’s an eater ofc, hunching like rabbits basically, they both wear each other out, michael idolizes reader, he’s the best aftercare giver, slow and gentle >>

✐ a/n: surprise fic i just wrote, so sorry if there’s grammar problems. jsksn I never upload at this time but i felt #inspired

─ ⊹ ⊱ ⊰ ⊹ ─

michael had you looking disheveled and t-i-r-e-d. whenever you two were out in public together. some strands of his hair would be flying around. your face was flushed so much that people assumed you naturally had rosy cheeks. your hair was usually the messy version of your chosen hairstyle so often that people thought you were going for a parisian chic look. hell, even your mother jokingly asked if the fans were secretly beating your ass. but no. michael simply couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

in fact, all the two of you did was hole yourselves up in hotel rooms and any bedroom for that matter whenever he had free time—and oh, did he make time! it was the kickoff of his dangerous tour, and it’s like something sensual activates within him before, during, and after any concert. he’d been like this for the past few years ever since bad. so imagine another tour. you knew what time it was when another show ended for the night.

you almost never turned him down unless he pissed you off or if you were too fatigued. you were on the pill for now at least, so you didn’t have to worry about mother nature cockblocking. you knew when he was in the mood because of a knowing, low-stare he gave you. his eyes would be extra big and pleading, and he would start getting extra touchy and whiny. the stray curls in his face would dangle and tickle your forehead as he closed the distance. and that lip bite gets you every. damn. time. he was like a drug. everything about him was all-consuming.

and you? oh, he worshipped you. you were a goddess carved straight from the very palace aphrodite once walked. there wasn’t anything you couldn’t do that he wouldn’t find alluring. he once watched the strap of your nightgown slowly fall down to the crevice of your forearm while you both played a board game, and he was ready to pounce right then and there. you could walk out in a potato sack with clown shoes on, and his dick would be rock hard. that’s how much he devoted himself to you. he knew it may not have been healthy to idolize a human being, but he couldn’t help it. you’re you.

when you two make love, he devours you whole—practically cannibalizing you with the way he kisses you as if he were going to eat you. not that he wasn’t an eater, because he most certainly was. he never rushed. no, he took his time. in fact, you would become impatient at how slow he took his time with you. michael wanted to savor every moment he spent kissing you, eating you, drilling you, or rolling his hips into you as if he’d never get a chance to do it again. it was practically overwhelming because of how intimate and heightened everything felt. slow, gentle, and deep always had you seeing stars. his schedule kept him busy, so he always ensured to make it up when he made time.

in the earlier years of your relationship, he never lasted long and neither did you. there were more intense dry humping and makeout sessions or him giving you the best head of your life than penetrative sex, not that you minded. over time as he grew into himself and shaped his identity, though, his confidence, sex drive, and stamina increased. so that meant he was putting your ass through the ringer, and you were right where you wanted to be.

your moans were what he looked forward to the most during sex because he found them to be so precious and pleasing. the noises you made whenever you’d yawn was the closest he’d get to hearing those sorts of sounds in a non-sexual setting from you, which is why he was always so eager to make love to you. he was always studying your body language and alterations in your moans to both see and hear what you enjoyed the most. what drove your hips off the bed, what words made you tremble, how you liked to be held, or what you didn’t react to. what he always told you that if he was a trifling and shameless man, he’d have your moans in the background of his songs, but he would never actually do that.

you both were also highly imaginative people and he loved disguises so that also meant roleplay was definitely experimented with. while you two did it for fun most of the time, there were times when it was actually an enjoyable element in the overall sexual experience. one time, you were the librarian and he was the pervy janitor. he also had you twisted and turned in just about every sex position he could think of or read about. reverse cowgirl. sixty-nine. mating press. standing up. his chain would often swing back and forth on your face or you’d feel the coolness of it on your back. sometimes he kept his full face of makeup on. he wanted to do whatever was the most pleasurable for you. he aimed to please after all.

and female nudity was something sacred and beautiful to michael. the erotic magazines he used to collect weren’t always for sexual pleasure; he sometimes just liked to admire the anatomy of women’s bodies and how diverse they were. so that meant he loved taking erotic, nude photos of you. whether you were spread eagle, wearing his clothes with nothing underneath, bent over—didn’t matter. he kept the photographs locked away in his bottom drawer for “safe keeping” he claims.

you also took his ass through there too. he loved when you were in control, actually. there was something so sexy about you using his body for your pleasure and losing yourself on top of him. he came faster when you lost yourself riding his dick into the mattress. one time you accidentally had your hand pressed against his mouth and nose mistaking it for his chest as you grinded into him. he couldn’t breathe but that was the best orgasm he had that week. and whenever you’d whisper sweet nothings and demands into his ticklish ear? he was coming within those next thirty seconds. you had him milked, drained, and ready for bed.

f!reader (long-term gf reader) / thriller michael

(lowercase INTENDED!) & not proofread ! fluff fluff and more tooth-aching fluff

preview: hot summer nights and sweet slow kisses, while enjoying your time with your long term boyfriend. what happens when swimming your night away turns into skinny dipping with your lover?

A/N: i’m just geeked up thinking abt thriller michael being so gentle that all he could do is protect you while also enjoying you all to HIMSELFDDZKSHSJSN yeah im sooo done 😭 hope you guys enjoyyy !! had this idea for a short fic pop up and was instantly in a need to write it out. LMAOO n e ways love yallll mwahh <3

michael silently watches as the lights surrounding the garden carefully lit up the side of your face gently. your lips parting open as you pull your skirt down your legs and towards your ankles. the material landing softly against the stone as you place your skirt on the pool side seat.

“gon’ join me now mike?” your voice so soft almost like a whisper as you look at his frame. sitting in the pool side seat with his eyes still glimmering towards you. he smiles before nodding, soon seeing you give him a small smile back in response—now walking towards the pool.

the sight of your laced panties placed perfectly amongst the curves of your ass instantly makes michael’s eyes go hazy. your bra cupping perfectly around your breast’s. you were just absolutely hypnotizing to michael.

as your hands wrap around the bar to the pool stairs, you dip your toes in first letting the cool water touch the tips, soon after fully entering the pool slowly.

michaels eyes never leaving your body and your face.

he dry swallows as his eyes watch you create small waves in the water, trying to stay afloat before giving him a look. “you’re staring baby.” a sudden giggle surpassing your lips momentarily soon receiving a small smile to form on his lips. “m’coming pretty.” he responds finally before standing up from the seat.

the soft gust of night hot air passing by letting a tingle sensation shadow over his skin, before leaving himself only with his briefs. before michael could have a chance to enter the pool, he stops as he catches your hand slipping behind you.

“baby…” he mutters softly as you watch him. his curls sitting so well over his cheeks, hands near his hips as he watches you very attentively. you let your fingers intertwine with the clip of your bra before snapping it open. michael continues to watch without any words as you pull the straps down and take your bra off.

your nipples instantly hardening at the cool water as you place your bra over the pool side—then gripping your panties and shimmying them under the water and placing them next to your bra.

now leaving you completely nude and vulnerable in-front of him.

michael’s adam’s apple bobs up nervously as he watches his lover now nude in his pool. your hair bouncing perfectly amongst the water as your skin glows under the few lights surrounding you both. “now join me.” michael’s eyes instantly felt hazy as he didn’t speak.

not a single word.

instead, places his fingers amongst the band of his briefs with a small curve. his eyes never leaving yours as he pulls them down now leaving him completely nude as well. your lips felt dry as your mouth slowly salivates at the sight.

your boyfriend unimaginably beautiful, nude, and sensitive in-front of you made your heart beat quickly and your tummy feel warm. quickly after, michael dips in the water and swims slowly towards your body.

his hands instantly coming below the water and over your hips as his fingers now begin to trace small circles over your skin. “gosh, mama you’re so beautiful.” michael’s voice lowers as his eyes stare deeply into yours. the only sound surrounding you both being the water rippling from both your movements and the trees slightly rustling at the hot summer winds.

“and all yours.” you whisper back letting the water move around your body as michael begins to move your hips side by side gently. nothing sexual happening yet the intense feeling growing with each passing second.

“all mines.” a smile creeping upon his lips as he pulls in closer, soon placing his lips over yours softly. the sweet taste of his minty toothpaste encompassing your mouth as well with a delightful after taste makes you smile in the kiss, as michael laughs lowly under his breath at your action.

you pull away as you let your wet arms now wrap around the nape of his neck. softly draping your arms amongst his frame. you both enjoy each others presence as the silence never once felt uncomfortable.

yet felt like peace and nothing more.

michael continues murmuring soft praises and compliments as his hands now slowly graze up and under your breast and over your ribs, gently and lightly.

you continue the soft praises back as you both continue to vocalize your love between each other under the sudden moonlight.

“y’know you’re everything n’ more to me, right mama?” michael lets his thumb swipe along the curve of your breast as you sigh out under your breath at the feeling.

you only nod as he lowers his head and kisses your shoulder blade over the water. then your collarbone. and soon the side of your neck.

the water dripping down his lips at the wet kisses trailing over your glistening skin. the feeling so raw and passionate as you simply let michael enjoy you, your body, and your presence.

“i love you.” you mutter out as michael drops one more kiss, now over your temple.

now pulling back to watch his face change into a softer manner, you watch as he smiles before licking his bottom lip at the wet feeling.

“and i love you more baby”

michael jackson x f!reader ────୨ৎ──── ♡ wc: 3k

synopsis: after losing his virginity, michael is basically hard 24/7.

cw: smut, mentions of oral (m!receiving), mentions of virginity loss, dry humping, p in v, creampie (sorry this is like a baseline for all my fics atp), handjob, wet dreams, praise, dirty talk, whiny!michael (my fav), mutual obsession..? yo gang i stink at tagging stuff

requested !! (ty anon ily)

based off either otw/thriller!michael

michael’s face was buried so deeply in the crook of your neck that his desperate whines were muffled directly against your skin.

he was shoved deep inside you, his chest pressing into yours as he frantically thrusted, his hips jerking with a clumsy urgency that overrode his usual gentleness.

he couldn't stop the high whimpers escaping him every single time his hips slammed flush against yours, his hands clutching at the sheets on either side of your head because he was absolutely losing his mind. 

should you say that you didn’t expect this?

no, you definitely did.