Honey Addict

Lou ~ 19 ~ they/he ~ (*3*)

[5centsanhour]

Hallo, I don’t have a nickname on here so call me whatever you please. I’m honestly just here to look at content and not create it but remember:

- I’m 20 years old

-if I touch something I probably didn’t mean to

- and if I did I apologize

- they/he

Thank you, have a wonderful day

[king-mila]

♡ — home movies

@ invincible era husband!michael x wife!reader

summary: you and michael record a tv special going through your home movies, revisiting some of your most favorite memories together throughout your relationship. themes: established marriage, deeply in love, fluff, home movies, one mention of a miscarriage, sweet home movies, more fluff, michael constantly bragging about how beautiful his wife is author's note: reposted from my wattpad & ao3

2003neverland ranch

You couldn't believe you were doing this.

You sat there with your body angled toward Michael in the familiar comfort of your home theater while everything around you felt just slightly unfamiliar. The dim lighting hasn't changed, the seats haven't changed, the quiet intimacy of the room is still there, but now it's filled with cameras, crew members, quiet movement, and the awareness that something so private is about to be shared in a way it never has before. It's strange, letting people into something you've spent years protecting, years keeping close, especially when so many have already tried to define it for you without ever knowing the truth.

You and Michael have lived under that for so long. The stories, the assumptions, the way people take fragments and stretch them into something unrecognizable. You stopped correcting it a long time ago because it never felt worth it, because what mattered was always what existed between the two of you, not what the world thought it saw.

Sitting here now, knowing that for once you get to decide what is shown and what isn't, there's a quiet sense of control in it that you don't usually have. Not enough to take away the nerves completely, but enough to steady them.

"Baby, are you okay?" Michael's voice cuts gently through your thoughts, warm and immediate in a way that pulls you back without effort.

You blink, turning your head toward him, and the concern in his eyes is already there, settled in like it belongs, like it never left. He's watching you closely, reading you the way he always does, like he can feel when your mind starts to drift somewhere heavier than you meant it to.

"Yeah, sorry... just thinking, are we starting?" You ask.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he keeps looking at you, his gaze soft but searching, like he's deciding whether you mean that or if you're brushing something aside for the sake of everything happening around you. It's familiar, the way he pauses like that, like he refuses to move forward unless he knows you're truly okay.

Before he can say anything else, you shake your head slightly and lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, letting the contact speak for you just as much as your words do.

"I'm okay, Michael... I promise," you whisper. He exhales softly, still watching you for a second longer before he nods, though the concern doesn't fully leave his expression.

"If it's too much, we don't have to do this," he says.

There's no hesitation behind it, no pressure to continue just because the cameras are there or because everything has already been set up. It's a simple truth, offered without condition, and it lands deeper than anything else could. After everything the two of you have gone through recently, he means it completely.

The miscarriage is still fresh in ways neither of you has fully put into words, something that sits quietly beneath everything else, shaping how you move through moments like this. You had recently gone through it, and it had been difficult on both of you, but Michael was by your side the entire time, never once stepping away, never once making you feel like you had to carry it alone.

So you shake your head again, this time more certain, letting yourself settle back into the present. "No, it's okay... I was just thinking, I don't know which videos you picked, you wouldn't tell me," you say.

The shift in him is immediate, the heaviness easing just enough as a smile spreads across his face, followed by a soft laugh that pulls one out of you just as easily. It's always been like that with him, how quickly he can pull you out of something heavier without forcing it, just by being himself.

"I want to surprise you," he says, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to your temple, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

"I love you," he adds, the words coming out as naturally as anything else he says, like they've lived in him for so long they don't require thought anymore.

"I love you more," you respond, turning your head slightly to look at him more fully.

And when you do, you take him in properly, your eyes tracing over the open white shirt, the way it falls loosely against his chest, the black jacket layered over it in that effortless way he always carries himself. Even here, even in a moment like this, there's something undeniably him about it, something that hasn't changed.

"Sitting here with your chest out like this," you say, laughter slipping into your voice.

He looks at you with that familiar smirk, the one that always comes just before he leans in closer, his voice lowering as he brings his lips near your ear, making sure the moment stays between the two of you.

"Easier for you to take off when we finish this," he whispers.

You turn toward him with a matching smirk, the look that passes between you both unspoken but understood completely, something that belongs only to the two of you, no matter how many cameras are in the room. It lingers just long enough to settle before the presence of the crew pulls you back again.

Someone steps forward, letting you know they're ready, and Michael nods, shifting slightly in his seat as everything around you falls into place. You reach for his hand without thinking, your fingers slipping into his as easily as they always have, and you give a small squeeze. He returns it immediately, steady and grounding, the silent reassurance running both ways.

The cameras begin rolling, the quiet hum of the room shifting into something more focused.

"Many people are wondering why we would put our private home movies on television?" Michael starts.

His voice is calm, measured, familiar in a way the world recognizes, but sitting beside him, you can feel the intention behind it, the quiet decision to let people see something real instead of something constructed.

You take a slow breath before continuing, letting your voice come naturally, without forcing it into something performative.

"And so, we thought it was time to do so because many people have opinions about Michael, about me, and our relationship, and they haven't even met us; they don't even know us," you say.

His hand tightens slightly around yours as you speak, not enough to draw attention, just enough for you to feel it, the subtle reminder that you're not doing this alone.

"So, we thought it was time to open up and show them who we really are, who I really am... I'm simply Michael Jackson, and this is my beautiful wife of 15 years," Michael says, turning his head to look at you as he speaks.

The smile he gives you isn't for the cameras, and you know that instantly. It's the same one you've seen for years, the one that softens everything around it, the one that reminds you that no matter how much of your lives are about to be shared, what matters most has always existed outside of anyone else's view.

Your smile comes just as easily in response, not forced, not measured, just real.

"Cut."

The director's voice breaks through the moment, and the shift in the room is immediate, tension easing as people begin to move again. Before anything else can interrupt, Michael leans over, closing the small space between you to press a soft kiss to your lips, instinctive and unthinking in a way that feels far more real than anything the cameras could ever capture.

You smile against him when he pulls back, because even with everything happening around you, even with everything you're about to share, that part of your life has never needed an audience to exist.

Michael starts with his background, showing home movies from when he and his family still lived in Gary, Indiana, and you feel something soften in you as the footage flickers across the screen. The grainy clips carry a kind of warmth that only comes from time, from moments that were never meant to be preserved for anything other than memory. You watch him there: young, carefree in ways he rarely got to stay, surrounded by his brothers, laughter easier, movements lighter, untouched by everything that would come later. It's almost surreal, seeing him like that, knowing the version of him sitting beside you now, knowing everything in between.

You smile as you watch, because those moments matter. They always have. They're some of the last pieces of normalcy he was allowed to have, and even now, years later, you can feel how much they still mean to him without him having to say it out loud.

dangerous tour

Then the footage shifts, the tone following it, moving from childhood into performance, into the beginning of something much bigger. You already know what comes with it. You've heard the stories, seen the effects, lived through your own version of it alongside him. You knew how hard Joe pushed them, how early the pressure started, how little space there was for anything else.

Michael starts talking about touring as the clips play, and you lean into him without thinking, your head settling gently against his shoulder as you watch both the screen and him at the same time. There's something about seeing those moments while sitting next to him now that makes everything feel closer, more real, like the distance between then and now disappears for just a second.

You remember how grueling touring was for him. It was always the most exhausted you've ever seen him, the kind of tired that didn't just go away with sleep, because it wasn't only physical.

"It's a difficult thing to tour... You go from one continent to another, you're sleepy, the time zones are different, and you can't sleep after the show. The adrenaline is up here," Michael explains.

One of the camera crew looks at him, and even before he speaks, you can already tell where it's going. "Can we just do it again without the negative saying that you don't like to tour?" he asks.

Michael turns his head toward him immediately, shaking it without hesitation. "I don't like it though... I go through hell touring," he says.

You gently squeeze his hand where your fingers are still intertwined, grounding him in a way that doesn't interrupt, just supports. The back and forth between him and the cameraman continues, light but persistent, and you can feel that familiar mix of honesty and compromise settling in.

Eventually, Michael nods, giving in just enough. "Okay, okay, I'll make it positive, but you know the truth," he says.

You laugh softly at that, because of course he does, of course he can't just let it go without making that clear. "Okay, action, Michael," the cameraman says.

Michael turns back toward the front camera, straightening just slightly as he resets himself, and then he nods. "I love to tour," he says.

You don't even get a chance to stop yourself. The laugh comes out immediately, breaking through before you can hold it back, and the second it does, Michael turns to you, already laughing too, the moment dissolving into something real and unpolished as the camera crew joins in.

"See? Baby, why'd you start laughing? I was about to get into it," Michael says through his laughter.

You shake your head, still smiling, the warmth of the moment spreading easily between you. "I'm sorry... it just wasn't convincing at all," you say.

He laughs again, shaking his head as he settles back, the honesty of it lingering even as the moment passes.

Michael goes on to explain that his favorite part of going on tour is his fans, and you feel that shift in him as he talks about them. It's something you've always admired, the way he loves them without hesitation, without distance, the way he sees them as more than just a crowd. Your home has always been filled with fan mail, letters stacked carefully, read and reread, never treated like something disposable.

He talks about how they know every song, every move, how they can recognize what's coming from just a single chord, and there's a kind of light in him when he says it, something genuine and untouched.

The footage switches to one of the Dangerous shows, and you recognize it immediately, the memory rising up before he even says anything. You smile without realizing it, because you remember exactly how that night felt.

Michael is talking about how much love his fans give him when he comes on stage, and then his voice shifts slightly, something softer threading through it.

"One of the best moments is right here," Michael says as he smiles at the screen.

You follow his gaze, your eyes lifting as the footage continues, and then you see it, you see yourself stepping onto the stage with the marching band, and the memory hits fully this time, vivid and immediate.

"It's right in the middle of the show, it's my birthday, and I'm thousands of miles away from my family, and my wife surprised me with a full marching band, and then she brought out this huge, beautiful birthday cake," Michael explains.

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face as you watch it play out. On the screen, he's flustered, overwhelmed in that soft, genuine way he gets when something catches him off guard like that. He's covering his face, smiling through it, and you're there, focused and excited, gesturing for the stagehands to bring the cake out at the right moment, your attention split between the timing and him.

"Okay, everyone, you ready?" your voice on the video says into the microphone.

The crowd erupts, loud and immediate, and you watch yourself lead them into singing happy birthday, thousands of voices joining in, filling the space in a way that feels almost unreal even now.

"I realized two things that night... I don't deserve my wife at all, and I've got family all over the world, everywhere I go, because my fans really show me the love, and I love them just as much," Michael says with a smile.

Your chest tightens just slightly at that, not in a painful way, but in a way that reminds you how deeply he feels everything, how much he carries, how much he gives.

On the screen, the song finishes, the crowd still roaring, and before you can even fully register it, Michael reaches for you, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you into a kiss right there on stage.

The crowd explodes into cheers and applause, the sound echoing through the theater as you watch it happen again, years later, the moment just as real now as it was then.

"His fans have always been so supportive of us... of course, you have some that can be a bit mean and nasty, but I don't take it personally, I know they love him so much and feel like he's theirs, and in a way, he is. I love the way that he is loved by them, and I love the way he loves them back," you explain with a smile.

The words come easily, because they're true, because you've lived inside that dynamic for years now and learned how to understand it instead of fighting it. Sitting there beside him, watching the footage play out on the screen, you can feel that same warmth settle in your chest again, that same appreciation for the connection he has with people all over the world, the way it's never felt distant to him, no matter how large it's grown.

You and Michael turn toward each other for a brief moment as the scene continues, both of you smiling in that quiet, shared way that doesn't need to be explained. There's something about seeing it again, about being back in that moment together, that pulls the same joy right back to the surface. It lingers between you just long enough to be felt fully before your attention shifts back to the screen.

On the footage, Michael pulls away from the kiss slowly, still smiling, still slightly overwhelmed in that soft, genuine way that always shows when something touches him deeply. He looks at you first, like he always does, like you're the anchor in the middle of everything, and then when he speaks, his voice carries out to both you and the crowd.

"Thank you to my wife... Thank you all so much. This is incredible," Michael says on the video.

You can't help the smile that settles deeper across your face as you watch it, remembering exactly how that moment felt, how real it was in the middle of all that noise and excitement. It was never about the spectacle for you: it was about him, about making sure he felt something that he had gone so long without.

"I always love doing something special for Michael on his birthday, no matter where we are, because he didn't celebrate them growing up because of the family's faith, and you know he gives so much to everyone, and especially to me... I just try to always show him he's loved and appreciated in return," you say.

As the words leave you, you feel his attention shift again, not toward the screen this time, but fully toward you. There's something softer in his expression, something deeper that settles there as he takes in what you've said, like it reaches him in a way that goes beyond the moment.

"Every day with you has shown me that," Michael says.

It's quiet, but it lands with weight, with sincerity that you've never had to question. You bite down gently on your lip, feeling the emotion rise just slightly in your chest, not overwhelming, but present enough to remind you of everything that sits behind a simple statement like that.

christmas at neverland

"I've met a lot of people in my life, and very few are real, real, real friends, you can probably count them on one hand... Elizabeth Taylor and my wife are two of the most loyal, loving, and caring people that I know," Michael says as the video switches, and the second the image changes, you feel the recognition settle in, a soft smile already forming as you realize exactly which memory he chose.

Christmas.

The screen fills with the warmth of it before anything else fully registers, lights woven through the trees, garlands wrapped carefully along the railings, the entire space transformed into something that feels almost unreal even now. Sitting there beside him, you feel yourself slipping back into that moment without effort, remembering the quiet excitement you carried that morning, the anticipation of finally sharing something with him that he had never experienced before.

"The two of them decided to transform Neverland into its first Christmas because I don't celebrate Christmas," Michael explained as the video continued, and the camera moves slowly through the house, capturing every detail the two of you had spent hours putting into place. The decorations feel alive in the footage, every light and ornament carrying the intention behind it, and then Elizabeth's voice comes through, clear and full of warmth.

"It is 1993, and this will be Michael Jackson's very first Christmas," Elizabeth says, and the video shifts again, settling on you and Elizabeth sitting together on the couch.

"It has taken me... I think five years of talking him into celebrating Christmas at Neverland... I understood that as a Jehovah's Witness, they don't celebrate Christmas, but when he stepped away from being a Jehovah's Witness, I said to him, I think Christmas is a wonderful way of celebrating love. It's a celebration of love... and we got married in 1988, right after he left the faith, so we never got the chance to have our first Christmas together," you say on the video, and sitting there in the present, you feel Michael's hand tighten gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin in a quiet, grounding motion that pulls you fully into the now while the past continues to play out in front of you.

"And I can't see Christmas without Michael, or Michael without Christmas," Elizabeth says on the video.

The footage continues, following you and Elizabeth as you move through the house, the camera capturing every corner of Neverland that had been transformed overnight. You remember how carefully the two of you planned it, how intentional every detail was, wanting him to feel it fully, not just see it. There had been something almost childlike in the way you approached it, not because it was a holiday, but because it was his first time experiencing it.

"I had no idea they were planning this... This was a... a real surprise," Michael says, his voice soft as the video continues, now showing you and Elizabeth making your way upstairs toward the bedroom.

You remember that part clearly, the quiet of the house before he woke up, the way you had slipped out of bed earlier than usual, careful not to wake him, letting Elizabeth in so the two of you could set everything up before he even realized what was happening.

"Michael... baby," your voice calls out on the video.

"And that's our bedroom, they're coming to. I was surprised to hear her voice because I didn't even feel her get out of bed, so hearing her voice outside of the door woke me up and made me realize she was no longer next to me," Michael says, turning his head toward you with a smile that carries both amusement and something softer beneath it, and you laugh quietly, the memory settling warmly between you.

"I couldn't leave Elizabeth to decorate alone," you say, the explanation simple, but the meaning behind it still there, still understood.

On the screen, the bedroom door opens, and Michael steps out in his pajamas, his expression shifting almost instantly as he sees you standing there. There's that brief moment of confusion, of realizing you hadn't been beside him when he woke, and then it melts into something else entirely as he takes in the scene in front of him. He leans in to kiss Elizabeth on the cheek, familiar and affectionate, and then he turns to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, soft and natural in a way that feels just as intimate now as it did then.

Sitting beside him, you lean into him slightly, your shoulder brushing his as you watch, the memory pulling you closer without you even thinking about it.

In the video, you and Elizabeth guide him back downstairs, and the moment he steps into the main space, everything shifts again. The look on his face: surprise, disbelief, and something almost overwhelmed, fills the screen as he takes in the decorations, the lights, the presents waiting beneath the tree.

"Oh my god... It's incredible. I can't believe this," Michael says on the video.

Next to you, he smiles, squeezing your hand again as if the feeling from that day is still sitting just beneath the surface.

"They decorated the entire house," Michael says, and you can hear it in his voice, even now, how much that moment stayed with him. On the screen, he moves slowly through the space, taking everything in like he doesn't want to miss a single detail, like he's trying to understand something entirely new all at once.

You watch yourself point out the presents, your voice explaining which ones are his, your excitement clear even through the grain of the footage, and it brings another smile to your face as you remember how much you wanted him to enjoy it, to feel it the way you did.

"At the same time, it was exciting, and I felt so guilty too. I remember going to the bathroom and crying later because I felt I had done something wrong, because I was raised not to ever celebrate it," Michael says, his voice quieter now, more reflective, and you feel your hand tighten gently around his in response, instinctive and immediate.

He glances at you for just a moment, that familiar look passing between you, before he turns back toward the camera.

"And she was so good to me that day... she reminded me that I wasn't doing anything wrong, and reminded me that Christmas is a celebration of love. I still felt a little guilty, but she helped ease that for me, and let me know that it was okay," Michael says.

You turn your head slightly toward him, your smile softening as you take in the way he says it, the sincerity that never fades, no matter how many years have passed since that moment.

The video continues on, Michael opening his gifts, and the energy in the room shifts into something lighter, something playful that feels almost effortless after the emotional weight of everything that came before. You watch as he unwraps them on the screen, his reactions just as genuine as you remember, the quiet surprise turning into something brighter when he realizes what he's holding.

Two super-soakers.

Even now, sitting beside him, you can feel the memory before it fully plays out, the way that moment turned into something much bigger than just a gift, the way it carried forward into the rest of the day like it always did with him, turning something small into something unforgettable.

On the screen, he makes the joke, already leaning into it.

"If you're wondering why I love Super Soakers so much, it's because if you come to Neverland, it's a rule that you are bound to get wet," Michael says.

You turn your head toward him immediately, your eyebrow lifting without you even thinking about it, because you know exactly where that sentence could go, and sure enough, he turns to you at the same moment. The second his eyes meet your expression, recognition flashes across his face, followed by that familiar laugh that always comes when the two of you land in the same unspoken place at the same time.

You shake your head, already trying to hide the reaction you know is coming.

"By being thrown in the pool," he continues.

Your face burns instantly, the heat rising before you can stop it, and you turn away from him, refusing to give him the full reaction you know he's looking for, even though the memory behind it plays just as clearly in your mind as it does for him. The way he laughs again beside you only makes it worse, because you can feel the shared understanding sitting between you, a private joke that no one else in the room fully gets, no matter how much they laugh along with him.

You can still hear it in his laugh, the way it lingers just a second longer when it's something that belongs only to the two of you.

The cameras cut for a moment, then shift back to production, subtly but noticeably as someone steps forward, asking Michael if there's a direction he wants to go in next. The room settles again, quieter now, waiting.

He doesn't hesitate. He says he wants to go back to the beginning, to talk more about how the two of you met.

And just like that, everything pulls backward, the warmth of the present blending into something older, something that reaches all the way back to the early 80s, where all of this really started.

thriller

The videos of the rehearsals for Thriller start to play, and the moment the familiar footage fills the screen, something soft and warm settles in your chest. You recognize it instantly: not just the choreography or the setting, but the feeling of it, the beginning of something that neither of you fully understood at the time. You smile without even thinking about it, your body leaning slightly into Michael's as the memory pulls you back.

"We met when I was hired to star in the Thriller video with Michael, as the love interest," you say. Michael chuckles beside you, the sound low and familiar, already colored with the memory of it.

"We probably rehearsed for hours and hours every day... because I wanted to get it right, of course, but also because I wanted to spend more time with her. First day that I saw her, she was beautiful... she still is, obviously, but she made me so nervous," Michael says.

You feel the smile deepen at that, the memory of how it actually felt settling in alongside what he's saying now.

"That's why he wanted to rehearse all the time, he knew that was his best way of communicating with me, by letting me fully see him in his element," you say.

Michael lifts his hand slightly, pointing toward the screen as the footage shifts, and you follow it as it cuts to the dance studio, the two of you there with John Landis. The energy of it comes through even now, focused but playful, structured but alive in a way that felt different from anything else you had done before. The scene of you both practicing the moment where you leave the movie theater plays out, the choreography still familiar, still easy to follow.

"John told me I was going too fast, but I was just so nervous... I mean, look at her, she's beautiful, who wouldn't make a few missteps?" Michael says.

Heat rises in your cheeks before you can stop it, and you shake your head lightly, smiling as you watch the footage continue. You can see it so clearly now, the way John keeps correcting him, telling him not to move too far ahead of you, the way the two of you move through the choreography, and underneath it, something quieter, something that hadn't been obvious in the moment but feels undeniable now.

The camera catches the way Michael is looking at you as you stand just in front of him.

His expression is softened, his focus entirely on you in a way that stands out even against everything else happening in the room. It's a look you've come to know over the years, one that has never really changed, but seeing it there, that early, something about it shifts your understanding of when this all really started.

You feel it more than you react to it, but beside you, Michael notices it too. You can tell by the way he smiles. "From that day... I knew she was the one for me," he says.

You turn your head toward him, the words catching you just slightly off guard, even now. "Really?" you ask.

He nods without hesitation.

"Doing Thriller rehearsals with you was some of the most fun I've had in my life, and you didn't treat me like Michael Jackson... you treated me normally, like I was just some regular costar on a regular job," he says.

You both laugh at that, because it's true, because that was exactly how you approached it without ever thinking twice about it.

"But that's what I've always admired about her, that I can just be myself with her, not a popstar, not a performer, or an entertainer... just hers," Michael says.

The way he says it settles deeper than the words themselves, and you lean over without thinking, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, your hand brushing lightly against his arm as you do.

the grammys

The video shifts again, moving forward, and this time you recognize it immediately.

The night of the 1984 Grammys.

By then, everything had already changed between the two of you. You were officially together, months into something that had already started to root itself in ways neither of you was questioning anymore. It was also the first time the world would see you together like that, stepping into something public that had, until then, been yours.

"Oh, and this is on the way to the Grammys... I had gotten a record 13... I think 13 nominations for Thriller, and uh... so I didn't know what was going to happen," Michael says.

On the screen, the car door opens, and he steps out first, the blue and gold of his outfit catching the light immediately, the sunglasses adding that extra layer of composure he always carried in public. Then he turns back toward the car, reaching inside, and your attention shifts fully to the moment you remember just as clearly.

He's reaching for you.

You watch as he helps you out, his hand steady, familiar even then, and as you step into frame, your gold dress catches the light in a way that almost mirrors his, the two of you visually connected before anything is even said.

You glance at him beside you, and he's already smiling, the same smile that's on his face in the footage, like the moment exists in both places at once.

"Michael insisted we match that night," you say with a smile. He laughs softly, shaking his head.

"We were going public for the first time as a couple... I just wanted to look good next to her... I mean, look at her. She's outshining me in that dress," Michael says.

You roll your eyes, but the smile stays, lingering as you watch the two of you on the screen, moving through that moment like it was just another step forward, even though it meant so much more than that.

You were both so young then.

And sitting here now, watching it all play back, it's impossible not to feel the weight of everything that came after, everything that built from moments just like that, when the world was just starting to catch up to something the two of you had already begun to understand.

The video shows Bill coming up next to you, holding Emmanuel Lewis, and the moment he appears on the screen, both you and Michael react at the same time, smiling as you greet him in the footage. It's easy, natural, the kind of interaction that didn't feel significant in the moment but now feels like part of something much bigger when you see it again. The scene continues, shifting fluidly into the two of you being guided through the back entrance of the Grammys, the energy changing as you step into a room filled with other stars and celebrities, conversations overlapping, people moving, attention constantly shifting.

On the screen, people come up to Michael one after another, greeting him, congratulating him, drawn to him in a way that feels almost constant, and you're there beside him, being greeted too, included in the moment but still new to the scale of it. Watching it now, you realize how much of that night blurred together at the time, how much you were just trying to take in without fully understanding what you were stepping into.

But then you notice something you hadn't noticed that night.

Even with all of that attention, all of those people coming up to him, Michael never fully lets you out of his awareness. The camera catches it over and over again in a way that feels impossible to miss now. He'll be mid-conversation, smiling, responding to someone, and then his eyes shift just slightly, searching across the room until they land on you. He watches for a moment, just long enough to make sure you're okay, that you're comfortable, that you're not overwhelmed, before he turns back to whoever is speaking to him.

And then he does it again, and again. The pattern is so consistent that once you see it, you can't unsee it, and something about it settles deep in your chest.

"I never noticed how much you were checking on me that night," you say to him. Michael turns to you, that soft smile already there, like he doesn't need to think about the answer.

"I knew you weren't used to that level of fame yet... and it was our first public appearance together. I had to make sure you were okay, or if you felt uncomfortable, I needed to make sure I was nearby so I could intervene if I needed to," Michael says.

You smile at that, because it fits him so completely, because it's exactly who he is, even when no one else is paying attention.

The video shifts again, moving into a lighter moment, and the change in tone is immediate. Chuck Berry appears, and before you can even fully process it, the footage shows him lifting you up in his arms, your laughter spilling out freely, Michael's blending with yours in a way that fills the space around it. Sitting there now, you shake your head, laughing along with it, the memory just as vivid as the image on the screen.

Then the scene cuts again, moving forward as you and Michael are escorted further into the building, the movement more focused now as everything leads toward the main event.

"Now we're on our way to go inside the building. Emmanuel tried to go up under her dress," Michael says. The footage switches again, showing you and Michael standing together as you wait to be led into the audience area, Emmanuel beside you, small and curious, his attention clearly fixed on your dress as he plays with the fabric.

"He's a flirt... see, I liked her, well, she was my girl officially at this point, and because of that Emmanuel liked her too, but he knew she was mine," Michael says with a smile.

The video shifts once more, the two of you walking hand-in-hand toward your seats, the movement steady, connected, natural in a way that feels grounding even in that environment.

"Oh, here's us walking in," Michael says.

You watch it carefully this time, noticing things you hadn't allowed yourself to fully process back then, the scale of it all coming into sharper focus as the moment plays out again.

"I remember being slightly overwhelmed because when we walked in, there was a tumultuous applause for Michael. People were really excited... I think it was then that I realized just how big Michael was. I mean, I knew Thriller's sales had done amazing, especially once his short films got in heavy rotation on MTV, but this night... this was when it really hit me," you say.

As the words leave you, you feel his attention shift again, the same quiet concern returning to his expression as he looks at you. He knows what that felt like for you, knows that even though you were already established in your own right, this was something different entirely. His world existed at a scale that few people ever truly understood, and bringing you into it, even gently, even carefully, was still a lot.

Over the years, you've learned how to move within it, how to hold your own without losing yourself, but he's never stopped being aware of it, never stopped watching for the moments where it might feel like too much.

The video changes again, moving into the aftermath of the Grammys, showing Michael with his eight awards, standing with Quincy Jones, the significance of the night captured in every frame. The camera then shifts to you both on the carpet, flashes going off, paparazzi calling out questions, asking if the two of you are together, trying to define something that, at that point, was already real long before they saw it.

And then it ends.

The screen settles, the moment fading out, and beside you, Michael turns his head, looking at you with that same softness that has never really changed.

"I don't think I would've gotten through that night without you. Everything was so big and overwhelming, and you kept me calm through it," Michael says. Then he turns toward the camera, his voice steady, but the meaning behind it deeper than what's being shown.

"And that's what she's always done... in the moments where things felt too big, too loud: award shows, tours, anytime we've gone out in public, she's always been my peace through it all," Michael says as he kisses your temple.

The gesture is gentle, instinctive, something he's done countless times before, but sitting there now, with everything you've just watched, it carries the weight of every moment that led up to it.

bad rehearsals

The next segment you guys do is when Michael was making his Bad short film, and the second, the footage begins to shift, you feel the change in yourself before you even fully process what you're looking at. Your smile comes first, instinctive, but underneath it, there's something deeper, something layered, because the Bad sessions weren't just another era for you. They were complicated. They were beautiful, yes, but they were also one of the few times where you genuinely didn't know if the two of you were going to make it to the altar and the life you had planned together.

You sit there, watching it unfold on the screen, and the memories don't come back in pieces; they come all at once. Michael had been completely consumed during that time. The studio, the sessions, the short films, the pressure of following Thriller, all of it pulling him deeper and deeper into himself until there were moments where you could feel the distance even when you were standing right in front of him. It wasn't intentional, you knew that even then, but that didn't make it easier to live through.

You had your own work happening at the same time, filming two movies back to back, your schedule just as demanding in its own way, but there were moments where it felt like you were the only one trying to bridge the gap. Missed phone calls that you waited on longer than you should have, promises to visit your set that never quite happened, nights where you told yourself you understood, and others where you didn't.

The anniversary dinner you had flown home for plays through your mind just as clearly as anything on the screen now, the quiet disappointment of sitting there without him because he had lost track of time in the studio again.

There had been arguments. Real ones. Not the kind that fade away easily, but the kind that force you to question whether love is enough when life starts pulling you in opposite directions.

And yet, sitting here now, you know how that story ends. You know what you fought through, what you chose, and what you built anyway. You love the record. You're proud of him in a way that runs deeper than just admiration, because you saw what it took out of him to create it.

The video switches from the finished Bad short film into rehearsal footage, and everything in you shifts again, the heaviness giving way to something lighter, something familiar that pulls a completely different reaction out of you. Your eyes light up instantly, and Michael notices it before you even say anything.

He turns toward you, already laughing. "God, she loves these rehearsals," Michael says. You laugh with him, because it's true, because it always has been. "This is at rehearsal at the Helmsey Palace, choreographing it," he says, his voice carrying that same ease as he watches himself on the screen.

You both turn your attention back to the footage, but this time it's different. This isn't just something you remember emotionally; it's something you remember physically, vividly, down to the smallest detail. You bite your lip slightly as you watch him move across the screen, your memory filling in everything the footage doesn't show.

You had gotten a break from set that day and came to see him, something you didn't do as often as you wanted during that time because of how busy both of you were. But that day, you made it happen. And now you're watching him exactly as he was then—the black slacks, the orange shirt half tucked in like he had been moving too much to care about fixing it, the tie hanging loose in a way that felt more like an afterthought than part of the outfit.

But it was never just the clothes, it was his hair.

Even now, sitting beside him years later, you feel the same reaction rise up in you as you watch those curls, messy from sweat, falling in every direction from how hard he had been working. There had always been something about his curls that undid you completely, but that day, seeing him like that, fully in his element, lost in the music and the movement, it had been almost impossible to look at him without feeling it.

And you remember that night just as clearly.

"You're just so handsome, I can't take it," you say as you shake your head.

Michael laughs immediately, the sound full and warm, because he remembers it too. He remembers exactly when you said it, exactly how you looked at him when you did.

"We had two days to choreograph, and I love that pressure," Michael said.

You let out a quiet breath as you continue watching, your eyes still fixed on the screen, but your thoughts slipping between then and now so easily it almost feels like you're in both places at once.

"You should grow your hair out like that again, or bring the curls back," you say.

He turns to you, smiling in that way that already tells you he's about to play into it. "Curls for my girl?" he says.

You both laugh, the moment soft and easy, and he squeezes your hand before lifting it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles that feels just as natural as everything else between you. You nod, already smiling, and he laughs again before giving in.

"Just for you," he says.

You laugh at that, the promise light but meaningful in the way he always makes even small things feel intentional.

"The fans want it too, a few letters addressed to me said, 'Could you ask Michael if he'd wear his hair curly again? We miss the curls. That's a loose paraphrase," you say.

That pulls another laugh out of him, louder this time, and you can see the shift in him as he processes it, the realization settling in as his cheeks begin to warm just slightly. He hadn't realized how much people noticed it, how much they held onto something as simple as that.

And sitting there beside him, you can't help but smile a little more, because you knew. You always knew.

your birthday

The video changes again, and the second the image shifts, recognition settles in before anything else, a quiet warmth rising in your chest as you realize exactly which day this is. You smile without thinking, the memory already beginning to take shape, but before you can fully sink into it, the camera crew shifts slightly, adjusting to capture Michael as he begins to narrate.

"We had a day for my wife... we don't celebrate birthdays really, so we created these days, originally for our father and mother, but I wanted to do it for my wife too... and I got everyone together at Neverland, and we gave speeches on how we feel about her, gave her presents," Michael says.

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks almost immediately, the memory of that day carrying the same overwhelming feeling it had back then, because it had never been something you expected, never something you were prepared for in the way he had done it.

"Yeah, I was only used to having these days for Joseph and Katherine, but this was in '91, my 30th birthday, and that's why he wanted to do it, since 30 is a milestone age technically," you say.

Michael smiles beside you, and on the screen, the footage continues, pulling both of you back into that day completely. You see Joe with Bubbles, the image almost surreal even now, and then it shifts to you and Janet walking together, your arms wrapped around each other as you head toward one of the rides. The ease between you and her is obvious, something that had formed quickly and never really left.

Michael smiles as he watches it.

"If there's one person who thinks they love my wife more than me, it's Janet. Janet was 17 when I brought her to meet the family, and she was immediately joined to her hip," Michael says.

You laugh, the memory of that first meeting coming back clearly, the curiosity, the warmth, the way Janet had taken to you without hesitation.

"She was so surprised Michael was bringing a girl home, she wanted to know everything about me," you say.

Michael's smile lingers, deeper now.

"My whole family loves her... adores her, really, and who wouldn't? Oh, that ride," Michael says, pointing toward the screen. "There are two names for it. The spider and the puke bucket," Michael says as he laughs.

The video switches to you and Janet standing nearby, her arm wrapped around your shoulders, her other hand pressed against her forehead in mock dread, and you can't help but laugh again at the sight of it.

"I don't think Janet got on this; she's just a little chicken," Michael says.

You laugh as the footage cuts to him on the ride, the motion chaotic and fast, and then suddenly his hat goes flying off, disappearing out of frame in a way that makes it impossible not to react.

The video shifts again, slowing down as it moves to Katherine and Joe sitting together on a bench, Joe holding a container of popcorn, the moment quieter, more grounded.

"Here's my mother and father sitting together, which is a great shot. It's fantastic. My mother had pulled me aside later and said how sweet it was for me to do this for my wife. Mother has always loved her, from the moment they met," Michael says with a smile.

You feel your face warm again at that, the weight of it settling in, because you remember that conversation too, the way Katherine had looked at you, the way it had felt to be accepted so fully, so genuinely.

The camera pans again, briefly catching two of Michael's nephews playing together before shifting back, finding you once more. You're walking just ahead of the bench where Joe and Katherine are sitting, and when you notice the camera, you turn toward it, smiling easily before doing a small spin, holding the lens in your gaze like it's second nature.

Beside you, Michael's attention sharpens, the reaction immediate and unmistakable.

"Look at her, she's so beautiful. She's like me, she loves the camera," Michael says.

On the screen, you blow a kiss toward the camera, playful and effortless, and next to you, Michael laughs, the sound filled with something softer beneath it.

"That was always my favorite part," he says.

The footage returns briefly to Joe and Katherine before finding you again, this time walking hand-in-hand with Michael, the cameraman following just behind you. The connection between you is easy, unforced, something that doesn't need to be explained to be understood.

"That's us... I think we're headed toward the movie theater to see the magic show," Michael says.

His smile widens as the footage continues, catching the moment he twirls you mid-step, the movement spontaneous, playful, something that feels entirely like him.

Inside the theater, the camera finds you again, and this time you're holding two ice cream bars, one in each hand, completely unbothered by it, completely yourself.

"Two ice creams, that's her. My baby loves to eat, and I like that too... You know the industry can be so mean to women about their image, their body, and how they look. I've always tried to encourage her, give her affirmations, and make sure she knows I love her no matter what. I love that she's never been self-conscious about eating," Michael says.

The sincerity in his voice lands immediately, and you feel it settle somewhere deeper, enough that you instinctively press your face slightly against his shoulder, turning away from the camera just a bit, the attention suddenly feeling heavier than it did a moment ago.

"Oh, she's getting shy, I can't help it. I just love bragging about her," Michael says.

His voice carries that same warmth, that same pride, and even as you try to hide from it just a little, you can feel it surrounding you completely.

hospital visit

Michael points to the screen as it changes to footage of the two of you visiting children's hospitals, and the shift in the room is immediate, quieter in a different way than before, more grounded, more intentional. The laughter from the previous moments settles into something softer as the images come into focus: hallways, small rooms, children sitting up in beds or gathered together, their attention lifting the second you and Michael step into the space.

"In between concerts and for her movies, whenever we have time off, we always visit hospitals and orphanages, and we do it from our hearts. She's amazing with children, and they all light up whenever she walks in the room," he says.

You laugh as you lift your head from where it had rested lightly against him, the reaction automatic, because you've heard him say things like that before, and you've never quite been able to take it at face value the way he means it.

"No, they light up because Michael Jackson is visiting them," you say.

Michael shakes his head immediately, the disagreement just as instinctive as your deflection.

"They light up because of you, too, look... look at how that girl is smiling at you," he says, pointing toward the screen.

You follow his hand, your attention settling on the footage, and there it is, exactly what he's talking about. A girl, a little older than some of the others, is watching you with this open, unguarded smile that feels almost too bright for the room she's in. It pulls something deep in your chest, something familiar, something that never quite gets easier, no matter how many times you do this.

You smile as you watch, because you do love these moments. You always have. Being able to walk into those rooms with him, to give those kids even a small piece of joy in the middle of something so heavy, something so unfair, it's always meant more than anything else you could do publicly.

But there's always that other part too: the part that stays with you long after you leave, the part that follows you home.

Throughout the years, you've made it a habit to check in quietly, to ask about the kids after the visits are over, wanting to know who made it, who got better, who went home. And for the ones who didn't... You never talked about it publicly, never made it something to be seen, but you made sure their families didn't have to carry that burden alone. Funeral arrangements were taken care of quietly, anonymously, the only thing that mattered being that they were given dignity and care even in the end.

The footage continues, and your voice brings you back into the moment.

"Oh, this was an older girl, early teen... she asked me if being married to Michael Jackson is as magical as it seems because of how sweet he is, and I told her it's more," you say.

Michael's attention shifts to you immediately, the softness in his expression deepening as he takes that in, like the words settle somewhere he feels them more than hears them. He leans over without hesitation, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, something brief but full, before turning his attention back to the screen.

On the footage, he's sitting with a little boy now, the two of them talking, the boy's attention shifting suddenly as he points toward you, smiling in a way that feels just as bright as the girl's did earlier. Michael laughs at something the boy says, and even without hearing it clearly, you can already tell what kind of moment it is.

"Oh, he was trying to steal my girl," Michael teases. You laugh, the sound lighter again as the moment unfolds. "He was! He had asked me if you were my girlfriend, and when I told him you were my wife, he said you're really pretty, and when he gets better, I have some competition," Michael says.

You laugh again, the image of it playing out on the screen matching perfectly with the way he's describing it, the innocence of it making the moment feel even more real.

"The kids are always so sweet, it warms my heart to see them," you say.

Michael smiles beside you, the warmth in his expression lingering as the footage continues, both of you watching quietly for a moment, the meaning of it all settling in without needing to be said out loud.

vacation

The video changes to some clips of the two of you in other countries, the colors brighter, the energy lighter, and you can feel the shift immediately. There's a looseness to these moments, something freer than the structured chaos of tours and events, and even now, watching it back, you remember how rare it was to get time like that together.

"When we get time off, it's a rarity in the first place; it's a real rarity, we always end our tours in the fun places, like Florida, we stay at the Playboy Club hotel, the bunnies walking around serving you... not that I ever looked at them," Michael says as he looks at you.

You meet his gaze with a playful look, one that carries years of shared teasing behind it, because you already know exactly what he's doing.

"I told him if he even glanced at them for a second too long, he would have to pay for it," you say.

Michael laughs, shaking his head as the two of you turn your attention back to the screen, the ease between you settling naturally into place as the footage shifts again, moving into another memory entirely.

"The footage you see now is my wife and me... at this time, we were still dating. We're on a speedboat at Disney World. I actually proposed to her on this vacation. We had so much fun there, we did everything. We did hot air balloons, and we fed turtles," Michael says.

You watch the footage carefully, the movement of the boat, the way the wind catches your hair, the sound of your laughter blending with his, and it all feels so close, like you could reach out and step back into it. That trip had felt different, even before you knew why. There had been something building beneath it, something you couldn't quite name at the time, but looking back now, it makes perfect sense.

The video shifts to the dinner, the lighting softer now, more intimate, and beside you, Michael's entire expression changes the moment he sees it.

"Oh, this is the proposal... I had asked Janet if she would record the moment, but not to be seen, so it wouldn't give away what I was doing," Michael says.

Then he turns to you, and the way he looks at you pulls you out of the footage and into the present all at once. "You looked so beautiful that night, and I was so nervous," he says.

You smile, the memory sitting just as vividly in your chest as it does on the screen. "Did you think I was going to say no?" you tease.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. "No, but I was nervous I was going to mess up what I wanted to say to you before I asked the question," he says.

You laugh with him, because you remember that too, the way his voice had wavered just slightly, the way his hands had been steady but his eyes had given him away completely. On the screen, the moment plays out again, your reaction is immediate and emotional, your yes comes without hesitation as he pulls you into his arms.

Watching it now, you feel it all over again, the disbelief, the certainty, the overwhelming feeling of knowing your life had just shifted most permanently.

"I was crying like a baby when I realized he was proposing. I couldn't believe it. The easiest yes I've ever said," you say. Michael's hand tightens around yours, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as the footage changes again, moving forward into something even more significant.

Your wedding, right there at Neverland. "Oh, the wedding," you say with a smile as the footage begins.

Michael smiles too, but there's something softer in it now, something deeper, his eyes settling on the screen as the moment unfolds.

"We had the wedding here at Neverland, just my family and hers... she looks so beautiful in her dress, look at her. This was between the first and second leg of Bad Tour," Michael says.

You watch yourself appear at the top of the aisle, your dress flowing around you, your father beside you, his arm steady and grounding in a moment that feels almost too big to hold. The camera captures everything—the emotion, the anticipation, the weight of what you're stepping into.

"There's her late father... walking her down the aisle, everyone was crying. He was, she was, I was... when I saw her at the top of the aisle with her Dad, I couldn't hold it back anymore, I just cried so hard," Michael says.

The footage zooms in, catching Michael as he stands at the altar, the tears already falling before you've even taken your first full step toward him.

"And seeing him cry made me cry," you say. The memory settles deeper as you watch it, the way everything felt amplified in that moment, every emotion sitting right at the surface with nothing to hide it.

"It was overwhelming, in a good way. As she was coming down the aisle, I just remember thinking that I couldn't believe she had said yes, and she was choosing to spend her life with me, and I couldn't believe how lucky I was to have someone like her who loves me so genuinely, who gets to see a side of me that not everyone gets to see, and she protects that," Michael says.

His words don't just sit in the air: they land, fully, and you feel it in your chest as your eyes begin to water, the emotion rising without resistance. It's not just what he's saying, it's how he says it, the truth in it, the way it reflects everything you've lived together.

"And now here we are, 15 years of marriage and 20 total years together," you say as you turn to look at him. At the same time, he turns to you. The timing is effortless, like it always has been, like you've been moving in sync for years without needing to think about it.

"I wouldn't change anything," he says to you.

You smile, leaning toward him, the space between you closing naturally. "Neither would I," you say softly.

Michael leans in, and you meet him halfway, your lips coming together in a kiss that feels quiet and grounding, something that belongs entirely to the two of you. For a moment, everything else fades: the cameras, the crew, the fact that any of this is being recorded, and when you pull away, you're both still smiling, still looking at each other, both of you caught in the weight of everything you've built over the past twenty years.

When you remember the cameras are still around, the cameraman cues the two of you to film the closing, and the shift back into that awareness happens quietly, like stepping out of something deeply personal and back into something being shared. Michael smiles, that familiar calm settling over him as he turns toward the camera, his hand still wrapped around yours like he hasn't let go of you for a second.

"You've seen a lot of footage tonight of my life, my joys, my happiness, you know, um... but what you're gonna see now is what I'm most proud of," Michael says.

You turn to him, your eyebrows lifting slightly, curiosity settling in because you don't know what he chose, and there's a small part of you that's suddenly unsure of what's about to play.

Then the music starts.

Butterflies plays over the footage, soft, smooth, and familiar in a way that immediately pulls something deeper from you, and as the first new footage begins to play, you realize very quickly that this isn't like anything that came before.

It's you, not posed, not aware, or not performing in any way, just you.

The first clip shows you standing in the bathroom, dressed in an evening gown, your attention focused on your reflection as you apply your makeup. The lighting is warm, slightly dim, and you can see the way you move without thinking, swaying slightly. You're dancing, soft and absent-minded, completely lost in the music, completely unaware that Michael had been standing there, capturing it.

The memory hits you instantly. You were listening to the Bad album as you were getting ready for the Oscars that night, the excitement, the nerves, the comfort of putting on his music to steady yourself, and the fact that you never noticed him filming makes something in your chest tighten just slightly.

Then, the footage shifts.

Now you're in the kitchen, moving around with the same ease, making breakfast, the light coming in differently this time, softer, calmer. Again, you're dancing, small movements, barely noticeable unless someone is watching closely, but Michael had been watching. Recording. Keeping it.

You recognize this moment, too.

Right after your honeymoon, when everything still felt new in a different way, when you had just returned to Neverland before he left again for the second leg of the Bad tour. There had been a quiet happiness in those days, something simple and unspoken, and seeing it now, through his eyes, makes it feel even more intimate than it did at the time.

The video changes again, and this time, it's older. The early 80s.

You're sitting with his nephews, a book open in your hands as you read to them, your voice unheard but the moment clear in every other way. They're gathered close to you, two on both sides of you, leaning against your shoulders, a third nestled between your legs, resting back against you, all of them focused, listening, completely at ease in your presence.

Beside you, you feel Michael shift slightly, and when you glance at him, you see the smile already there, softer than anything he's shown all night.

"I love and adore my wife, she's my everything... and this moment, seeing her reading to my nephews before they went to bed, this was when I knew I wanted to marry her, and have a family with her," Michael says.

Your eyes begin to water almost immediately, the emotion rising without warning as more footage begins to play, each clip pulling something deeper from you.

These were moments you didn't know he had. You, sitting quietly and reading. You, sketching something at the table, completely focused. You, curled up on the couch watching TV, eating a snack, unaware of anything but the moment you were in. You, dancing again, always dancing when his music played, something you never seemed to realize you did as often as you did.

And then even you when you're sleeping. You looked peaceful, still, and captured in a way that doesn't feel intrusive, just... careful and intentional. He wanted to remember you exactly as you were in those quiet, unguarded moments.

You can't even be embarrassed by it, not really, because the way he chose them, the way he framed them, they don't feel exposed. They feel... loved.

"I love my wife very much, and I'm so proud to be her husband," Michael says.

The footage comes to a close, the screen dimming slightly as the moment settles, and when he turns to look at you, your eyes are already full, the tears slipping down your cheeks before you can stop them.

"I'm very proud to be your wife, Michael," you say after the cameras cut.

The shift happens quickly after that, the crew beginning to move, equipment being adjusted and packed away, voices lowering as they start to file out. Michael thanks each of them as they pass, his attention still warm, still present even as the moment winds down. The director lets you know that the final edit will be sent over for approval before anything airs, and then just like that, the room empties.

Leaving the two of you alone.

The quiet that follows feels different from before, heavier in the best way, filled with everything you just experienced together.

Michael turns toward you, his hand lifting gently to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, the gesture slow, careful, like he's grounding you back into the moment.

"You did good, baby... are you feeling okay?" he asks. You nod, leaning into him instinctively, your body settling against his as you take a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions still moving through you.

"That was so beautiful... to see our memories like that, everything we've built over the last two decades," you say. He smiles as he looks at you, that same softness still there, still present in the way he holds your gaze.

"Every single moment I've spent with you has been so wonderful," he says as he kisses your temple.

You sniffle, unable to stop the wave of emotion that hits you again, stronger this time, and before you can fully pull yourself back together, you feel his fingers gently lift your chin, his thumb brushing away the tears from your cheeks.

He leans in and kisses you, and you kiss him back a little harder, holding onto him, grounding yourself in the familiarity of him, in the way he's always been able to steady you just by being there.

When you part, your breathing is uneven for a moment, both of you trying to settle again, and you let your head rest against his shoulder, closing your eyes as the feeling of it all finally begins to soften into something calmer.

"I love you, Michael," you say softly.

"I love you more, baby... come on, let's go back to the house," he says.

You nod, lifting your head as you both stand from the theater seats, and he keeps you close as you make your way out, his arm steady around you, the connection between you as natural as it's ever been.

You're glad for today.

For the way it let you see everything again, not just as memories, but as something living, something still growing even after all these years. Seeing where it started, how it changed, how it held through everything, it only makes one thing clearer.

Twenty years later, you love Michael more than you ever thought possible, and Michael feels the same. To him, you're more than just his wife.

You're the other half of his soul.

taglist: @daddysporsche @angelofmikes @neverstreett @humannaturess @ghosteras @0ffth3walll @raefoxiegirl @a-motherfcking-fish @lauren7050 @lestatress @prettygurljo @daddytillerrr @thesecretvaultt @doveduh @mvkas @ooooglymoooogly @iwasntreddieforthis @sunsetdrvr @ikeuusstuff @saigesspace @g1antgoodfish @captaincurls @immultifandom16 @faiology @savagenctzen

[cl3ms-fruitfandomsalad]

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՞Groggy Mornings & Unfamiliar [GROUNDS],՞

ᘚ──────◡જ⁀➴_.

ᯓ𖤐 // Characters : Billy Hargrove, Max Mayfield,

ᯓ𖤐 // Pairings : Billy Hargrove and Max Mayfield, (Platonic.) ≪ Will always be platonic.

ᯓ𖤐 // Synopsis : Max doesn’t want to get up for school, too tired to. Billy drags her out of bed. Metaphorically and literally.

ᯓ𖤐 // TW : Mentions of abuse, implied body dysmorphia (??), one part has slightly heavy angst, slight description of blood, Billy reminiscing of beating some guys to a bloody pulp, mentions of dysfunctional families, cussing, some religion but it’s really just used as a metaphor, mentioned child abuse, mentioned child neglect, implied religious trauma (??),

ᯓ𖤐 // Word Count : 3.4K

☏……………………………………!

The light from the morning sun seeped through the cracks in the blinds in Billy’s room, a sea of transparent orange cascading across his bed and floor. His alarm clock rings through the space, filling his ears with an irritating, ‘Ring! Ring! Ring!’ and he groans in frustration as he shifts over onto his back, slamming his hand down onto the alarm, effectively shutting it up. He pushes himself up onto his elbows letting his head lean back as he stares at the boring display of white that is his ceiling, eyes raking over every little crack and protruding crumb, and he sighs before swinging his legs out from under the covers, throwing the blankets into the corner of his mattress and standing up, rubbing a hand over his face as he walked to the bathroom.

He did as usual; brushed his teeth, washed his face, stared at himself for so long in the mirror that he wanted to punch it and let the glass shards impale his skin and rinsed his mouth with mouthwash. As he got dressed, tightening his belt and pulling it tight through the loops on his jeans, pressing the material snug against his waist, he looked at his door–as if seeing through it–and raised and eyebrow at how there was no other footsteps prancing around the house, no faint sounds of clothes rustling as they’re being sorted through, no occasional giggle as Max reads her comics and waits for Billy to finish getting ready. Billy tucks his belt through the last loop needed after tightening it, securing it in place, and makes his way over to his bedroom door, twisting the doorknob and opening the piece of wood with an obnoxious creaking sound. 

He hasn’t putten on his shoes yet. The feel of the smooth, polished wood under his socks are comforting, especially as Neil has already left, and Susan seems to be gone too. If the wide open door of their bedroom is anything to go off of.

He opened the door to Max’s bedroom and slowly stepped inside, noting the clothes strewn across the floor, then the stack of Wonder Woman comics on her nightstand, then the lump of a human being under the covers of her bed. He stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching the blankets slightly lift up and then fall back down in coordination with Max’s breathing, her soft, squeaky snores filling the air of her room, slightly muffled by the cloth of her covers burying her.

Billy sighs and steps forward as says, “Max. Max, wake up,” Max stirred, before relaxing back into her bed, pulling further away from Billy. “Fucking hell– MAX!” She then startled, sitting up in a panicked frenzy, tugging at her sheets and a hand coming up to clutch at her chest, balling up some of the cloth in her fist as she regained her breathing, realizing it was just him and relaxing. Once she fully came to her senses, she narrowed her eyes at him, her gaze a withering, loathing glare.

“What do you want?” She asks, her tone biting and harsh, her words just barely slurring from the fact she woke up 2 minutes ago and her brain was still sort of foggy.

“School starts soon, shitbird. Get up,” Max just groans in annoyance before flopping back down and shifting onto her side, her back to Billy as she pulls the covers back over her. Billy rubs his temples, gritting his teeth in frustration. ‘He can’t hit a kid. He can’t hit a kid,’ he thinks, repeating those words in his mind in an endless cycle. “I said get up, not lay down–” he’s cut off by a pillow hitting his chest, causing him to pause as he watches it fall to the ground, barely thudding against the wood. His brows furrow and he shoots Max a questioning yet also slightly amused look, a brow raising, the corners of his lips slightly quirking upwards.

“Go. Away.” Max demands, burying her face further into her last pillow that sits on her bed. “You’re being annoying.”

“You just got rid of like– one third of your comfort,” Billy replies, settling down onto her mattress, the material squishing and compressing under his weight to fit him, causing Max to move slightly, her feet–wearing socks, because she never went to sleep without wearing socks–kick the blankets off the lower part of her body in an attempt to scooch further away from Billy. He stares, observing her and letting the gears in his head turn, a mischievous grin crossing his face as he gets an idea. One he knows she’ll probably hate. “Bummer. Guess I’ll have to wake you up some other way,” his tone is exasperated, defeated, but Max can detect something else hiding underneath. Something she can’t quite place.

“Some other wa–?” She begins, but doesn't finish as a yelp escapes her mouth from feeling hands wrap around her ankles and drag her out of bed. She desperately tries to grab at her comforter and fails, feeling her world flip upside down–literally.

Billy had grabbed her ankles and hitched them over his shoulders, half of her feet resting above his chest, and had stood up, carrying her along, her back to his. He smirks at her yelp, chuckling as he looks back, head slightly tilted up to get a better view of Max trying to hold onto something as she squirms in his grip. He just locks his fingers around her ankles, securing his vise so she can’t escape and so he doesn’t accidentally drop her. God knows he doesn’t want the kid to fall and break her neck. “What’s the problem, Max?” He playfully asks after another shout of panic and anger bubbles up from her throat and escapes her mouth. “I’m just waking you up!” 

“Fuck you, Billy! Put me down!” She snarls, trying to lift herself up, her torso bending, her hands desperately trying to reach out to most likely tug at Billy’s hair, before she huffs a breath of exhaustion and falls back down. Her arms dangle above her head, swaying in time with Billy’s movements just like her hair, which cascades down like a waterfall of fiery, copper magma and almost touches the floor. She tries to yank onto his shirt, but the action of barely lifting her middle to do so tires her, and he keeps moving so, in turn, she keeps moving and can’t get a solid grip.

“Hmm…” He pretends to think for a moment, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes squinted as his head tilts up a tad bit. “But you seemed so tired… And what kind of older brother would I be if I just let you fall back asleep and be late? Education is very important, Max,” The irony wasn’t lost on him. He knows he tends to zone out during lessons and skips out on doing homework to attend parties most nights and get absolutely wasted. But he kept good grades, so, why does it matter?

“You’d probably skip if Neil wouldn’t be on your ass about it! What do you mean, ‘Education is important,’?” Her voice is full of distain, her words loud and biting. Billy just barks out a laugh as he walks in circles around Max’s room, slowly noticing she’s stopped fighting, her arms limp, her face a mix of boredom and exhaustion, her eyes already beginning to close, eyelids drooping. So, doing what anyone would do to wake her in this situation; he hops slightly as he walks, just to add a bit of height so Max doesn’t sway, she shakes. It wakes her up, a startled gasp sounding from her, emitting a chuckle from Billy as he turns his head, straining his neck to see her glaring up at him.

“Whattt?” His voice is full of mock confusion, a smile present in his tone as he speaks, continuing to jump around and shake her up. “I’m honestly doing you a favor, Red,” Max’s glare softens at the nickname, eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.. That was a new one. No more ‘Shitbird’? She thought, brows coming back down to furrow. She didn’t dwell on it for too long at the present time, but she would later.

“Favor shmavor, you suck,” She sticks her tongue out at him. A childish action that she probably wouldn’t even have attempted to even dare do around Billy a month ago, knowing he’d either mock her for it to the point she felt ashamed for even thinking of allowing her tongue to peek out her lips, or glare at her harshly, spewing some threat before telling her to suck her tongue back in. But all he did was snort, shaking her again. His chest filled with a sort of warmth at the sight, amusement dancing in his eyes, along with some form of fondness. And, strangely, he didn’t feel the need to crudely make fun of her or straight up drop her. The grip on her ankles

tightened, weirdly enough, as if his body was subconsciously making sure Max would be safe. He almost scoffed at that, asking himself, ‘Why wouldn’t she be safe with me?’ and then let that thought drift away, because he could think of several reasons as to why Max wouldn’t be safe in his presence.

Billy knows he lets his anger get the better of him, too often, too many times to count. And honestly? He could care less. Even when Neil beat the shit out of him for talking back, even when it got him into a fight that ended up with him gaining a black eye or bruised rib–Billy thought back to Max coming home that one day with more injuries than he can remember, barely stopping himself from shuddering at the memory of how many bruises lined her ribcage–and he had to hide it while simultaneously nursing it back to normal, and even when he got into trouble with law enforcement. He never regretted ever letting the fury that had bubbled and boiled underneath his skin simmer to the surface and burn whatever it touched. And even when it affected Max, he couldn’t give less of a shit. At least, a month ago he wouldn’t have. But after she walked through the front door with blood dripping down her chin from her nose and mouth, a mark atop her eyelid swelling enough to possibly block her vision? He realized with horror and begrudging relief, he did care. Even if he didn’t want to, even if it reminded him of those nights he’d spend with his back pressed against his bedroom door, hands over his ears as a poor attempt to block out the screaming coming from his mother and Neil in the kitchen. He cared for Max, and that terrified him.

But, like he said, he rarely regretted letting his rage shine through. So, when the weekend ended and Monday came, he dropped Max off at school, and went hunting. 

It wasn’t too hard to find out who the guys were since they were gloating to their pathetic little friends about the whole ordeal, smug smirks on their faces, pride in their pupils as they spoke with a bright sense of amusement about the situation. As if beating up his little–No ‘step’?–sister was a funny, harmless prank. Don’t worry though, Billy dealt with them.

Oh, Billy absolutely dealt with them.

He still remembers coming home and washing the blood off his bruised knuckles, a deep, dark sense of pride blooming in his gut. He hadn’t even wanted to wash the red–that had coated and stained his fingers–off, he wanted to wear it like a trophy of terror and cruelty, a signal of ever-present violence, to show that he bites, that he tears flesh from the bone without a drop of regret.

Afterall, God created beings to be the slots for emotions he would never be able to as the holder of life. He didn’t dry out the plains, flood towns, and sacrificed his own children for those around to witness with regret. He was a coward who made spawn to have them bare the torture that painfully came with living. He may have loved Earth, but he didn’t love his children. You can’t truly love someone if you aren’t willing to allow your sins to suffocate you to grant them the opportunity to breathe.

Devotion is a river of false buoyancy, and Billy’s desperately trying to claw his way back to the surface.

⟢──────────

“Hey– Hey! Billy? Billyyyyy…” He was taken out of his thoughts from a whiny, petulant voice, and he made sure to shake her up for it. Just a bit.

Though, while he knew the gasp of disbelief would come, he didn’t expect the giggle breaking through the inhale of air either.

“Was that a laugh?” He asks cheekily, his amusement loud enough to make the tips of Max’s ears go red.

“No.” Billy ignores her for probably the fifth time, knowing she was lying–as would anyone else–and continuing to walk around, shaking her. An unfamiliar warmth tingled in his chest at every laugh that escaped her lips, the corners of his mouth softening, his smile more gentle now. It’s uncharted territory, something that’s akin to the bond they had in Cali, just… different.

Even back in California the dynamic they shared–the siblingship they could’ve had–was severed, constantly torn to a thin piece of paper that one of them so desperately tried to twist and scrunch up to make thicker while the other let it tear. The move to Hawkins was like a cup of water, wetting their paper-thin string. And although there was the opportunity to let it dry and return to what it was before, Billy can’t help but feel as if he messed with it too much, ripping it apart with ease.

Billy pretends to drop her, chortling at how she yells in some semblance of fear and shock, before hauling her back up.

“You really thought I’d drop you so easily, Shitbird?” He pretends to sound offended.

“Not on accident. But on purpose? Yeah. You’d probably push me off a cliff if we were standing on the edge of one!” She squawked indignantly, but the corners of her lips were turned up, her teeth on full display as she beams.

“Not a bad idea…” She gasps. “I’m kidding, Maxi. Can't you take a joke?”

“Can’t you suck a di–”

He shakes her, swinging her around as he prances around in a circle. “Pottymouth. Your mother would not approve.” He kisses his teeth somberly and she snorts, raising an eyebrow.

“You gonna wash my mouth out with soap?” It’s kittenish banter, her words light and spirited, any malice she once had rinsed out and taken away by the tide. For now, at least.

“Nah, old man has done that enough times to me. You don’t gotta deal with the same thing,” He shook her again, listening to her laugh, all loud and kiddy.

The house was still, but not in an uncomfortable way, not in the way where it's waiting–Billy is waiting–for Neil to return, but rather glad to be housing two kids. Two kids who, for once, are acting their age, are siblings. The kitchen doesn’t have the comforting waft of ready breakfast prepared by a mother who loves, the living room doesn’t have the sound of an encouraging and caring father watching football, always inviting his kids to sit down on the couch and watch with him, and the silence outside of Max’s room is still stale and seems like it’s frozen in time, but Billy can’t find it in him to care. He can provide for Max just as much as any parent may, so, why bother over such miniscule things that don’t even truly matter to him.

The clock in the hall ticks, and he’s reminded of school.

“Alright, Maxi-Pad,” (“Don’t call me that–”) “Time for school. Get dressed, get ready. You look like a rat, one who just freshly crawled out of the sewers.” He backs up close to her bed so she can safely detach herself from his grip, softly thudding against her mattress.

“Yeah? Well, you smell like one, so…” Billy dusts himself off as he snickers, reaching a hand over to ruffle her hair, slightly rocking her head back and forth with the action.

“Get ready, Max,” He retracts his hand, stepping out of her room, swinging his keys in his grip. “AND HURRY IT UP! I’M NOT BEING LATE BECAUSE OF YOU!” He hears her faint shout back, cursing at him, and he exhales a breath that’s half between a sigh and a chuckle.

He pulls a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, as well as his lighter from his jeans’ back pocket, taking a roll out and placing it between his teeth, lighting the tip up before shoving the pack back into his pocket, playing with his lighter for a bit. He stomped down the steps of the porch and power-walked to his car, the ends of his jacket swaying in the breeze, the cloth picking up in the wind he’s obliviously created with his fast-paced steps.

The sky is clear, the UV rays of the sun beating against his skin, probably set to tan perfectly. Unlike Max. He smirks at the thought. Because of her pale complexion and genetics, she always got easily sunburned while he naturally tanned amazing. He teases her about it, not often though, seeing as he remembers how she seemed genuinely insecure about it. She had said something about how “She knows she’s ugly and doesn’t have the same flawless genetics as him, but he doesn’t have to rub it in–” he had promptly stopped talking after that, his mouth clamping shut. She didn’t snitch, she rarely did for some reason, but he hasn’t forgotten the frustrated tears that had formed on her waterline, and how she frantically rubbed them away, the slight crack in her voice. He didn't say anything else mean or overly cruel that day, avoiding her instead.

He throws himself into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind him. His fingers boredly drum against the material of the steering wheel as he waits for Max, running his tongue over his teeth as he barely gazes outside. He perks up when he hears the sound of the front door slamming though, watching Max hurry down the porch steps and over to his car.

“Close the door, don’t slam it. If you break it, you’re paying for it,” He mutters as she settles in the passenger’s seat, her hand on the handle as she looks back at him. She closes it, the door shutting with a soft ‘click’.

Billy starts the engine, a loud, rumbling purr filling the air, blaring against his eardrums. The sound is soothing, familiar, and Billy feels his mood lift just from being in the vehicle, just from relaxing against the leather of his seat, his fingers barely sliding over the wheel, fingertip tapping against it. He pulls a pair of sunglasses from his glove box, flicking his wrist to force the ear pieces to spread, then resting the glasses against his face, the darkened lens covering his eyes, making his world slightly darker and the sun less brighter.

“Can we go now?” Max questions, her tone bordering on a whine, a hint of impatience having snuck into her words. Billy grins, sharp and wolfish, but–out of the corner of his eye–he doesn’t see Max shrink or slightly curl in on herself, she just stares at him. There isn’t fear dancing in her pupils, just boredom and amusement, a brow a tiny bit above the other, which rests in its original spot.

“Calm down, Max. We got all the time in the world,” She scoffs, baffled, offended, and in disbelief.

“All the time in the– You rushed me out of the house, you hypocrite!” He cackles, his foot abruptly pressing down on the pedal, speeding them out of the driveway, Max continuing to shout at him as he takes a dangerous turn out into the street that leads out of their cul de sac. She doesn’t say anything about how he keeps his eyes on the road the whole drive, and he doesn’t mention how her voice is slightly shaking with barely concealed laughter.

And if they’re both grinning and throwing untrue, playful insults at each other by the time they reach the school? Well, that’s none of your business to know. 

✏️‿‿‿‿

[ → Pt. II ← ]

(If you wanna read it on AO3 instead ➞ ᯓ★)

[eatingmarkerz]

jarona guy

[i-bet-the-max-limit-is-32-symbol]

hopefully OP doesn't mind if I

Visit Original Link

[ronanscomfycorner]

saw an image on reddit of these handmade carrying harnesses for your plushies, thought ‘huh, i just got a sewing machine and am learning to sew, i bet i could make that’, so i gave it a shot and here’s how it came out! i love the idea so much, and will probably make another one or two of these and improve my method. (original reddit post here, pls support the creator of the original tag-a-long bags if you can! they’re selling the bags they make :))

[mango-kitty-art]

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

[cordeliya]

⠀࿁   ˙ monkey is waving at you !

[itzpookiepooh]

Old Heads

You both can’t work a phone in your old age (Elder!Michael x Elder!Reader) His reading glasses are so cute!

"Well what's this?" He mumbled as his head dipped.

"Says accessibility." You mumbled getting closer as he hummed.

Your grandchildren watched with disgust, confusion and humor. They couldn't believe you guys couldn't do this simple thing. They've heard so many stories about their legend of a grandfather and he can't even work his phone that well. Don't get Michael wrong he can do the basics but trying to find a specific setting was hard. Even you couldn't find it.

"Grandma, how don't you know?" Your eldest grandchild asked.

Your head raised in their direction. "Phones aren't my thing. I call my girlfriends and take pictures. That's it." You waved them off.

"What if I press this?" He asked before the phones alarm went off loudly.

"Granddaddy!" Your second grandchild scolded him before taking the phone and turning it off.

Your third grandchild cackled as they fell to the floor. "You guys don't know nothing!"

Your eldest glared at their sibling. "You don't know nothing about the red, yellow and white plugs for the tv." They reminded the youngest.

The youngest stopped laughing abruptly. "You said you wouldn't tell anyone."

Your eldest smugly smiled before turning back to you both. The phone was handed back to Michael as you both were in awe. You clapped for them. "You guys are so smart! You should be electricians!"

They all groaned as Michael chuckled before you both tried to find videos on YouTube. Your grandchildren didn't know how you would deal with the ever changing environment. They had a clear understanding that you'd both call them if you couldn't find the tv remote. They'd come over but you'd still hear their mouths about adapting. You really only called about something small to spend time with them.

Old people are so funny when they can’t work nothing. My grandma use to do anything to her phone, she made her number private and nobody could call her back 😭

[abandonwaregames]

This is how I imagine the boys would act if they knew each other.

[bizarrelovetriangel]

needy.

they joke about you being needy but you take it seriously so you stopped kissing and sleeping with them and suddenly they're not laughing anymore.

mdni. 18+ only. grinding. suggestive but no actual sex. reader enjoys being an insufferable tease <3

sylus.

You pushed him down on the couch and straddled his thighs while one of his hand runs up and down your back, and the other rests on your waist.

He breaks free from your deep kiss with a playful smirk on his face.

"You've been quite needy lately, kitten."

You paused.

Needy?

"Oh."

Sylus froze as soon as he saw the lack of amusement on your face.

"I didn't mean — "

"No, you're so right." You suddenly got off his lap and expertly dodged the hands that attempted to catch you and pull you back down. "I really should calm down, shouldn't I ?"

"No — "

"That's such a great idea, Sylus." you smiled and pinched his cheek. "Let's do something else instead. Let's make cookies!"

That was the start of Sylus' awful week, when he didn't get to touch you at all.

No hand holding.

No hugs.

No kisses.

No sex.

Sylus thinks he might actually go insane.

But he can't lose your game so easily.

He'll toughen up if he must.

He lasted years without you and he had successfully kept his distance from you, no matter how difficult and tempting, until the time was right.

His patience and self-control are not to be underestimated.

He'll be fine.

That's what Sylus keeps reminding himself every time he gets the urge to hold you. Every time his eyes fall to your lips, he tells himself that he'll survive without them.

You're trying to punish him for calling you needy, but he won't give in.

He'll wait until you give in.

It's more fun that way.

Okay, so this is harder than he thought.

It's day two and he's already weak on the knees from the very moment you walked out of the bathroom wearing the dress for tonight's date.

Sylus watched you put on your heels, flashing him a part of your thighs while doing so, and he wanted to run a hand on it to feel your smooth skin.

"Sylus?"

He blinked out of his trance to realize you just asked him a question. "What was that, sweetie?"

"I was asking if it'll be cold in the restaurant you chose, so I can know if I should bring a jacket or not."

He shook his head. "You'll be just fine."

That was a total lie.

It turned out to be cold as your table was specially reserved at a rooftop of a building.

However, it just so happens that Sylus has a jacket and the cold wasn't affecting him, so he was able to give it to you.

With a grin on his face, Sylus pulled your seat right next to his and gently put the jacket around your shoulders, making sure his fingers brush against your skin even if it's only for a second.

"Thanks." as you gave him a smile, you slightly moved closer to his face. "I feel much better now."

Sylus made the mistake of looking at your lips. Without much thought, his head tilted down and his nose grazed yours before aligning your lips.

"Wow! This wine is so good! Try it!" You shoved your glass of wine to his lips before scooting your chair back to its initial place, a couple of feet away from him.

Sylus almost choked on the alcohol but gladly accepted your offer. He put his lips on the same spot that had your lipstick stain on it.

At the very least, he got to enjoy an indirect kiss that should keep him satisfied for the rest of the week.

Or so he thought.

Day four.

The frustration has gotten to Sylus.

It's like owning the world's most valued weapon yet not being able to use it.

He can look, but he can't touch.

It's much more difficult than he thought.

Especially when you're doing everything in your power to make him cave in.

Well, technically, you aren't doing anything out of the ordinary.

Right now, all you're doing is hitting the punching bag in the exact way that he taught you, but the way you look at the moment is making him want to grab you and pin you down — or you can be the one to pin him down. It doesn't matter to him. All he wants is his body to be pressed against yours.

Sylus quietly growled under his breath.

He clenched his fist and started to hit the other punching bag, hoping to take away some of the tension burning inside him, particularly inside his shorts.

You tilted your head and watched curiously as Sylus' punches to the sandbag has gotten heavier, leaving such satisfying sounds at the impact.

"Whoa! So good! You look like you're getting ready to beat up some real nasty bad guys. Did anyone piss you off or something?" You picked up the clean towel nearby and held it up towards his face to wipe the sweat on his forehead. "You do look tense lately."

Sylus' left hand suddenly caught the one you're using to wipe his face. "You're a vicious little kitten."

He gave your hand a kiss before stepping back and patting your head before walking out of the room and leaving you alone.

"Hey, where are you going?! We haven't sparred yet!"

"Shower." He looked over his shoulder to give you a smirk. "Would you like to join?"

You almost agreed in a heartbeat.

But you have to stay strong.

"Nope, I'll just stay here and keep practicing so I can kick your ass the next time we spar."

Your own answer only disappointed the both of you.

Day seven.

You and Sylus went out for a ride on his newest motorcycle at night, on the empty, spatious roads of N109.

It was the worst idea of all.

As the one that's manipulating the vehicle, you're the one sitting at the front and you took advantage of the close proximity by pressing your ass right against his crotch.

Sylus had to concentrate on making sure his grip on your waist doesn't hurt you, with the way his body had gone stiff. Every part of him.

Every bump on the road slammed your hips against him and he had to hold his breath every time. His pants became tighter and tighter by the minute, and his breath had gotten unsteady.

He was sweating throughout the entire ride.

And once you finally made it back to his place, Sylus' patience finally broke.

From the moment you got off the motorcycle, Sylus quickly removed his motorcycle before taking off yours.

As soon as your face was in clear view, before you could even comprehend what was happening, Sylus' left hand caressed your jawline before locking his lips with yours.

Your eyes widened with surprise, though you didn't waste a precious second to kiss him back and pull him close by grabbing onto his shoulders.

Sylus didn't dare to pull away until he was out of breath. Even then, he'd only stop for a second before diving back in like a starved man.

Every time you'd pull back to gasp for air, Sylus would come after your lips and slip his tongue between them to capture yours.

"You win." he huffs in between kisses while your hands run through the strands of his hair. "I yield."

"Heh?" you can't help but grin. "What are you talking about? What are you yielding for?"

"Don't play innocent, kitten. You know what you've been doing." He tapped your forehead as you laughed. "I won't call you needy ever again, so if you could stop teasing me, I'd greatly appreciate it." he whispered against your ear before kissing it softly, "I don't know how long I can keep holding back."

"Since you learned your lesson...." you pressed your lips under his jaw. "You don't need to hold back anymore."

That was all he needed to hear.

Sylus wrapped your legs around his hips and kept you up against him as he made his way into his bedroom.

zayne

You're drawing random patterns with your finger on Zayne's bare chest as you cuddle with him when suddenly, he made a lighthearted joke.

"Your libido has been rather high lately. Based on my record, your premenstrual syndrome symptoms shouldn't be showing up for another two weeks."

You looked up to see the playful grin on his face.

"Oh, is that right?" you huff. "Must be my diet or something. No worries, I'll fix it."

Zayne blinked with confusion. "Huh?" But he received no more response for an explanation as you closed your eyes and drifted oft to sleep.

It was only until the very next day when he realized his mistake when he received absolutely zero kisses.

He was quick to figure out what brought on such an evil scheme.

"Oh, no..."

Day three.

You stopped by his work to join him for lunch, just as he requested.

Zayne observed that you're not angry with him and you have no problem spending time with him. You act normal for the most part. The one big change with your behavior is that you refuse to give him any physical affection.

You didn't even give him a hug as you greeted him.

It feels strange. It's like he's forgetting something as important like his wallet or his car keys.

"Are you punishing me for what I said the other day?"

"What you said the other day?"

"You know... about your high libido...."

He could've sworn a vein popped out from your forehead just now and he does his best to suppress a smile of amusement. He's already in trouble. He doesn't want to dig his grave any deeper.

"Nope! I don't care at all!"

Despite the words that came out of your mouth, you continued to make him suffer.

Later that day, you met up aftet work to drink milk tea while taking a night stroll around the city during such a lovely weather.

The way you were smiling the whole time made Zayne want to hold your hand and keep you close to him.

And yet, you were constantly moving around so much, either on purpose or due to all the sugar from your drink, so he ended the night feeling somewhat emptyhanded.

He hasn't realized until now just how much he enjoys even the little touches you grace him with.

Day five.

You and Zayne attended a formal event.

It's a banquet for the hunters association and you were obligated to come, and he was your date, so you two dressed up nicely to follow the dress code.

Although, if he was being honest, Zayne wishes you two are still in your apartment, where he can have you all to himself.

Ever since he had come to your home to picked you up, he couldn't keep his eyes off you. And throughout the event, he has been rather... uneasy.

As you're eating dessert, Zayne can't help but imagine tasting it from your lips. It has been days since he last kissed you, and he needed to be reminded of your sweetness.

He needed to feel the warmth and softness of your skin underneath your dress.

Zayne lets out a shaky breath before loosening his tie.

It seems that the room suddenly feels hot.

Or maybe it's just his racing mind and heart and the blood rushing down below his hips.

"Zayne, are you okay?"

You scooted your chair closer to him so that your legs are touching. You faced him and put a hand on his forehead.

"You feel warm. Are you sick?"

Zayne lets out a laugh that was half-nervous. "Are you teasing me again?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just worried about you."

He detected from your tone that you are indeed teasing him.

On the drive back, Zayne was clutching the steering wheel as his mind continues to race, imagining all the things that he'd been wanting to do with you. Sitting still became difficult with a bulge rising through his pants.

But yet again, he ends the night without a single touch from you.

And Zayne has decided, he'll never joke about anything ever again.

Day six.

On his day off, Zayne had taken you out for a picnic and the torture continues.

Whenever you two have a picnic, there's lots of cuddling involved. This time, there's none at all and there's the Happy Snowman plushie sitting right between you two as a barrier.

You two are playing kitty cards and Zayne seems to be on top of his game today.

After all, he had a special proposal.

"Whoever wins must do something that the winner wants."

It's a simple but classic prize that no one can ever resist, so you gladly accepted the challenge thinking you'd easily win.

But Zayne's focus is unshakeable.

He's consecutively dropping assist cards to take away your points, and somehow he's stocking up all the sixes.

He won't even let you switch cards by acting cute. That's how serious it is right now. The stakes are high.

After six rounds, Zayne comes out as the winner.

"How could this happen?!"

Zayne chuckles at your dramatic cries, aggressively shaking Happy Snowman as if it was the one responsible for your loss.

Unfortunately for Happy Snowman, it's Zayne's turn to have your attention.

Zayne snatched the plushie out of your hands and set it aside.

"Darling, it's time for me to claim my prize."

You sigh and bowed playfully. "Yes, yes, congratulations for being crowned as the King of the Kitties. What can I do for you, Your Highness?"

Zayne smiled and gently held your chin with his fingers before guiding you to look up so you can lock gazes.

"Kiss me."

Your mouth drops at his request, face immediately heating up.

"Oh."

He found a way to end your silly little game.

He really is a clever boy.

"Your wish is my command~"

At last, you stop holding back against your urges and brought yourself on his lap.

Zayne eagerly welcomes you into his arms and wraps them around you tightly, making sure you don't try to escape.

His lips meets yours with desperation and his hands slides down to your thighs, encouraging you to sway your hips back and forth.

Between the deep and heavy kisses, he mutters, "I joked about you being needy yet here I am, being the needy one. But it's all your fault. Are you going to take responsbility for it?" Zayne pressed you down against his hips to let you feel just how hard he is for you.

"...should we end picnic early?"

"We should end picnic early."

caleb

You stumbled into his room while removing his shirt and almost tripped on his feet as you reached the bed.

"What's the rush, Pip-squeak? And here I thought I was the needy one."

Your hands come to a halt.

"What did you say?"

"I said there's no need to rush, I'm not going anywhere — "

"No, you just called me needy just now."

Caleb chuckles at your furrowed brows.

"I was joking, Pip— what are you doing?" you picked up his shirt that you dropped on the floor and threw it at his chest before walking out of his room.

"Gonna be needy all by myself in my room. Goodnight."

"Wha — hey wait!"

It's too late. You stomped your way into your own room and Caleb is left all alone with a boner that remained standing until his mood died down.

Caleb sent you a bunch of stickers, hoping you'd come back beside him. Sadly, you ignored all of them and he was forced to sleep with a cold, empty bedside.

The next day, Caleb woke up early and prepared breakfast for the two of you as usual. You came out of your room and lazily greeted him a good morning, so he was relieved to know that you weren't really mad.

But once he tried to kiss you on the cheek after giving you a cup of coffee and you blocked his lips with the palm of your hands, he learned that he's not completely off the hook just yet.

"No."

"Huh?"

"No kisses."

"What?! Why?!"

You almost laughed at the way his face shifted, looking like a little boy who'd gotten his favorite toy taken away.

"Because. I don't want to seem needy."

"Come onnnn, it was a joke! I'm sorry!" he tried to embrace you from the back but you stood up and moved away.

"Wow, look how nice the weather looks today!" you exclaimed as you look out the window, admiring the clouds of Skyhaven.

Caleb pouts at the way you deflected him.

Knowing how you behave whenever you're being petty, he has to brace himself for the worst few upcoming days of his life.

Day two.

The pout hasn't left his face.

You two are working out together at his home gym and he's pouting as he's doing push ups.

You're not even sitting on his back and motivating him to do more reps. You're just doing your own sets of excercises in front of him while pretending he's not there.

"Pip-squeak, look. I'm doing push-ups with one hand."

"...."

"Now I'm doing push-ups with just one finger!"

"..."

No matter what he did to grab your attention, he just couldn't get you to look at him.

But what if....

"Whew, it's so hot in here."

Caleb took off his shirt and threw it aside.

He tries not to grin as he caught you sneaking glances from the corner of your eye.

Now, he'll do pull-ups on the bar right in front of you.

Or at least, that was the plan.

His shirt was thrown back at his chest just like the other night.

"Caleb you dummy. You'll get cold."

You walked out of the room and he was back to pouting.

Day four.

You went back to Linkon at Monday morning. Caleb couldn't believe he lasted four whole days without getting a single kiss from you. He didn't even get to hold your hand or pat your head.

The lack of physical affection and intimacy should be nothing to him since he always had to hold back from acting on his feelings for you. He was willing to wait forever for you.

But now that he thinks about it, he'd always been touchy with you.

Even before you were in a romantic relationship, he'd given you plenty of hugs, he'd given you lots of forehead kisses, he'd hold your hands whenever you let him, he'd hold you when you don't want to sleep alone, and he'd even kissed your cheek during the times whenever you pretended to be a couple.

Physical affection has always been a part of your relationship.

Taking it away is like taking away a pilot's airplane.

Well, maybe it's not that drastic but it surely feels that way to Caleb.

Now that he's able to kiss you and hold you whenever he wants, he can't stop. He loves being with you and becoming one with you.

He can't help but seek for your touch.

It's only been a few days but he misses your warmth. He misses how you taste. He misses the sounds you'd make.

Oh, he definitely won't survive for long.

This scheme of yours has to end now.

Day five.

You got a good jumpscare when The Colonel showed up at your doorstep at night, in his full uniform and all.

Before opening the door, you peeked through the peephole and took note of his serious expression, just as The Colonel often appears as.

But the scary demeanor vanished the moment you oppened the door.

His face lights up and you're flashed with the warm smile you've used to seeing.

"Caleb! What are you doing here?!"

"I just dropped by to bring you something you forgot at my house. It's pretty important so I thought I'd make a trip to Linkon so you don't worry about it."

You let him in your apartment, trying to recall what you could have forgotten. You were able to get through a long day at work without noticing anything missing, so what could've been that important that he had to give to you immediately?

"What did I forget?"

Caleb dug something from one of the pockets of his coat.

"Ta-da! Here you go~"

Caleb took your left hand and dropped something to your palm.

".....Are you being serious right now?"

A hair clip.

"What? It's something that you use every day, is it not? I know you were probably feeling weird without it. You're welcome."

"...I leave this behind on purpose. I always use it whenever I'm at your house, every time I'm doing my hair. It was meant to stay there."

Caleb laughs and scratches the back of his head. "Oh, my baaaad, Pip-squeak. Ah, but since I'm already here, might as well have dinner together!I'll help you cook~"

He removed his hat and coat before entering your kitchen. You're in the middle of making dinner too, so he somehow arrived perfectly on time.

You should've known he came in with a mission.

As he goes around the kitchen, he does everything possible to accidentally touch you.

He'd lightly bump into you and touches your shoulder as he apologizes.

His hand brushes against your waist to move you aside so he can pass by.

He stands behind you and reaching over you so he could get some containers on the cabinet, making sure to grind his hips against your ass just for a brief second.

Eventually, you found yourself cornered against the fridge.

"What are you doing?"

"Making dinnner." you glare at him and he was quick to give you a pout. "...And trying to win your attention because you've been so mean to me by neglecting me."

"Neglecting?" you tilted your head. "But I thought I was being needy."

Caleb groans before completely losing his patience.

He pulls you into a hug. "I'm sorry! I won't say it again! Please don't punish me anymore I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry — " his embrace starts getting tighter at every word, making you cough dramatically.

"Jeez, alright fine! I get it, now let me go — "

"Never!"

Caleb lifts you off the ground and nuzzles his face against yours. "So soft and so warm ~"

"Caleb, the pot is boiling!"

"The pot can wait. I'm busy."

"Caleb — " the sizzling noises from the stove forced him to jump away from you.

"Okay I'm coming!"

rafayel

"You don't need to be so needy cutie, I'm not going anywhere~"

You pulled away from his kiss and raised a brow at him. "Needy...?"

Rafayel's eyes widen as he realized what he just said. "I — I was just joking!"

"Right..."

You laughed along but five minutes later, the kisses suddenly stopped and your attention shifted to your phone to play a silly game (one that he recommended to you in the first place).

Rafayel didn't think much of it. He was able to cuddle with you as the two of you fell asleep that night.

But once he woke up, things started to seem weird to him.

As you left to go to work, you didn't give him a kiss. You always give him a kiss. You rushed out of the studio before he could even remind you about it.

He didn't get to see you for the rest of the day because the Wanderers robbed him all of your time and energy.

At the very least, he was able to videocall with you and chat with you about how your day went. Though, seeing your sleeping face made him wish he was next to you so he could comfort you and ease your exhaustion.

Day two.

You joined him for a stroll at the beach and helped him collect some shells. He tried to hold your hand but you not-so-subtly moved away from him.

The face he made was worthy of a drama actor award.

"Are you worried I'd give you a virus? Come here, cutie, I'm perfectly clean. I just took a bath an hour ago."

"No no, just don't wanna seem clingy, that's all."

Rafayel took a moment to figure out what prompted that response.

"Waaaait, you're not really mad about me calling you needy, are you? It was just a joke, Miss Bodyguuaaard..."

"Mhmm."

Rafayel sighs as he realizes you're going to prolong this cruel revenge of yours just a little further. It's good that you're not really mad, though he can't help but pout about it.

He had to walk through the beach with you so close yet so far from him, and his hands have never felt so cold and lonely.

You don't even always hold his hand, as sometimes collecting sea shells require all hands available, but now that he's aware of your punishment, he can't help but notice that he really loves holding your hand and giving you little kisses.

Without them, his day feels incomplete.

Day three.

You showed up at Rafayel's art exhibition and he's acting like you just dumped him.

"Oh, I didn't expect you to show up today, Miss Bodyguard. I thought you'd forgotten all about me."

He showed you one painting that you haven't seen finished until now.

"This is inspired by the gaping hole in my heart because my beloved has left me."

Trying not to laugh, you flicked his forehead. "Your beloved saw you this morning for breakfast and watched you get scolded by Thomas because you weren't ready for your event on time."

Rafayel huffs. "Well, I would have woken up early and would've been prepared on time if only I went to sleep early. But I couldn't sleep early because my beloved is being mean to me and won't let me kiss her."

"Weeeell, that sucks for you." you patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna go check out that lovely painting over there. See you later."

Rafayel followed you the entire time, walking so closely beside you so his hand would constantly brush against yours.

Once you reached an empty room, he stood right behind you and put a hand on the wall next to the painting that you're admiring.

His lips brushed against your ear after taking a whiff of your neck. "This perfume... it's the one that I really like..."

It was indeed the scent that makes him act like a cat that's high on catnip. You wore it on purpose, solely to get the reaction that he's giving right now.

Rafayel's lips brushed against your neck like a feather, testing the waters to see if you'd push him away.

So far, you do nothing but stare at the beautiful painting he worked months on.

His right hand landed on your stomach and gently nudged you back so that your body is right against his.

His kisses grew a little bolder, lingering on your skin a little longer.

But then, the sound of footsteps coming close forced you to spring away from him.

You held back a grin at his red face.

"This has been a wonderful exhibit, Sir Rafayel. Thank you for the tour."

"...Hmph..."

He crossed his arms and looked away, trying to calm down his racing heart.

Looks like his body craves for you more than he realized.

Day four.

"I got here as fast as I could! What's the emergency?!"

You slam the bathroom door open to find Rafayel chilling in his bathtub, naked body submerged in warm water mixed with pink foamy soap.

"...."

"Oh, good, you're finally here." Rafayel sighs with relief. "Miss bodyguard, you have to help me. I slipped from a paintbrush earlier and hurt my right arm, so I can't move it around easily because it hurts. Will you help me with my bath?"

"How did you get in the bathtub in the first place if your arm hurts so much?"

"Don't worry about it, cutie. That's in the past. I like to focus in the present."

You shook your head, though you're unable to hide a smile from his silly yet clever response.

You knelt down beside the bathtub and started petting his head. Right away, he closed his eyes and leaned in towards your touch.

You lowered your hand to his neck and brushed slowly your thumb against his skin just under his jaw, and you caught him gulping nervously.

Next, you slid your hand down to his chest, drawing random shapes between his pecs, causing his breath to stutter.

"But now that I think about it... how does one get help for taking a bath?" you asked. "What exactly do you want me to do?"

Rafayel caught your hand before you could even think about pulling away and leave him hard, just like yesterday at the exhibit.

"I just need you... to move your hand... just a little lower...."

Your face heated up at his low tone. His face had turned into a dark shade of red, flushed from the warmth you've made him feel with just a few light touches.

"You better be careful." you whispered, moving your hands down as slow as possible. "With how you sound just now, someone might think that you might be a little....needy...."

Rafayel opened his eyes but didn't move a single muscle. His hand remained on top of yours, letting you wander to wherever you want to.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm the needy one." he kept his gaze fixated on you. "I need to have you close to me. I need to hold you. I need to feel you."

Your face burned.

As did the rest of your body.

At last, your hand reached where he needed you to be.

Stiff and twitching, just for you.

Your core clenched as you recall the way he feels inside you.

"If.... if I'm gonna help you take a bath, you better make some room for me."

Rafayel has never moved so quickly.

xavier

Xavier breathes heavily on his bed, face flushed and chest heaving, glistening with sweat. You're lying next to him, equally spent after getting lost in each other's bodies.

"We've been doing it so much lately, I'm starting to feel sore." he says with a chuckle, putting one hand on his neck and shoulder.

"....You're right." you softly tapped on his chest as if to give him comfort. "Don't worry, I'll let you recover. Let's not do anything for a while."

Xavier's eyes widen. "What?! That's that not what I meant — "

You let out a yawn. "I'm sleepy. Goodnight, Xavier~"

"Wait — "

"Goodnight, I said."

Day one.

You had to be joking, right?

You were probably just so tired and blurted out such a hasty statement.

You probably don't even remember what you said.

Xavier didn't forget, though. He couldn't, even if he wanted to.

When he woke up at noon, you were already at work. You made breakfast for him. If you were really upset with him, you wouldn't have cooked anything for him.

So, everything should be fine.

He arrived at work and the very first thing he did is greet you at your station. You're behind your desk, busy with a report on your computer.

"Good morning."

He leaned down to give you a hug. Although you didn't return it, you didn't deflect him.

That means you really were just bluffing. Everything is fine.

"Good morning, Xavier."

Fast forward to a couple of hours later, you two are investigating an abandoned but recently used building that's been raided by Wanderers.

There was a suspicious man on site, so you hid somewhere so that you can observe him for any possible leads.

Xavier pulled you into a room that looks to be a supplies closet, which was luckily clean enough to not contain any foul smell that would make it unbearable for you to hide in.

You stood by the door that's slightly cracked open so that you can keep an eye on the suspicious man.

Xavier stood right behind you with absolutely no space between your bodies. His left hand made its way to your waist while his lips brushes against your neck.

Before he could do anything else, you turned around and covered his mouth with one hand.

"Hmm? What are you — "

"Shhh. We need to be quiet."

Okay, so you rejected his attempt to makeout.

But that was only because you couldn't risk missing out on any leads and had to focus on the suspicious guy, right? That's all. Everything is fine.

Everything is not fine.

He caught you on a conversation with Andrew and you were touching his shoulder. Then you spoke with Simone and you were touching her arm.

But when he talked to you, you didn't touch his shoulder or anything. You didn't touch his hand and you even moved away when he tried to touch yours.

For the final check: the Pocky test.

Once you're back in his apartment after work, Xavier decided to share his last box of Pocky with you.

As you were eating one, Xavier quickly went up to you.

"Wait, let me check if yours is good."

He continued to eat the stick of Pocky until he's closer to your lips.

But then you suddenly pulled back and ate the rest.

"Wah — "

You gently patted his cheeks. "Nice try."

So, it turns out you knew what he was doing and no, you were absolutely not going to give him kisses today.

And so, sulky Xavier makes his return.

Day two.

Xavier decided to get revenge for taking away kisses and cuddles by showing you the most horrifying scary movie on both of your watch list.

You two are sitting on his giant bean-bag chair, sharing a blanket while your eyes are glued to the TV screen, unable to look away at the bloody scene of another character getting ripped apart.

Little did you know, Xavier is mentally cheering.

For every jumpscare, you scoot closer and closer to him. Around halfway of the movie, you're sitting on his lap yet you're too focused on the movie to realize it.

Xavier kept quiet and rested one hand on your thigh, while the other casually shoves popcorn in his mouth.

As the end credits started to roll, Xavier got up to refill your drinks so that you can have more for the next film, which is another horror one.

"Wait where are you going?!" you grabbed his hand before he could start walking towards the kitchen.

Xavier almost laughed at your expression. "I'm just going to get us more drinks. I won't be gone for long. Just sit here and relax."

"You're not scared even a little bit?" you murmured, tightly hugging a pillow. Right now, your brain is imagining the killer in every dark spot of the apartment.

"I'll be fine~"

Five steps forward and he suddenly turns around.

"Are you really that scared?"

He uses his evol to shine a bright light on his face while pulling a silly expression, mocking the one that the killer from the movie wore.

"Ah!"

His plan worked a little too well because now, you can't sleep alone.

"Are you really that scared?" he asked, walking up to the bed, watching you hug Bunbun with your dear life. "We fought Wanderers that are much worse. If you were in the movie, I bet you'll make a good final girl that'll outlive the killer."

He sat next to you and smiled as he put a hand on the plushie.

"Bunbun can go now. I'm taking over his job in protecting you while you sleep."

You gasped as he snatched the plushie and threw him across the room.

"Xavier!"

"Ssshh, I got you."

After turning off all the lights, he laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him, with your back against his chest.

The second you closed your eyes, your mind starts replaying the scariest parts of the movies you just watched, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

You hear a faint gasp behind you, but you ignore it as you're trying to block off the scary images in your head.

"Ugh! It's no good! I need a distraction."

You turned around to get your phone on the nightstand, but then you come face to face with Xavier.

"A distraction?" he leans close to you so that your noses touch. "I can give you a distraction, if you want."

"....nope, I'm good." you turned back around with a huff. "Don't wanna make you sore."

Xavier laughs and nuzzles his face on your neck.

"I'll remember not to joke about something like that ever again. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?"

"....are you also sorry for making me watch those really scary movies?"

"Well.... not really...."

They were excellent movies, after all. Aside from the scary parts, he could tell you enjoyed it overall.

"At least you're honest."

A few seconds later, Xavier starts to pepper kisses all over your neck and jaw.

"Do you still need a distraction? I can help you get your mind off of anything scary."

You let out a quiet moan as he softly pushed his hips against yours.

"Just focus on me."

From the moment he got on top of you, you forgot about everything — your silly scheme and the horror movies.

Right now, there's only Xavier.

[sweeterners]

DOMESTIC BLISS. 𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝗼𝗻

❛  mature era!michael jackson  𝑥  𝑓 nanny!reader  ❜     ╱   summary. some instances in which michael and you function as a couple . . . which you guys aren't. just a really, really good team.

warnings. no real warnings, it's just mainly fluff. and tbh i can't tell if this is actually domestic or not, but oh well i just really wanted to write the following scenarios. prince being prince. hints at michael's obsession for you. age gap - twenty years. not proofread. series m.list main m.list

michael who made an extreme emphasis on his desire to be present in his children's lives and not have them be raised by nannie's. but soon after blanket's birth he knew he needed a little extra help with a newborn and two little ones running around.

the interview process was long and tedious and happened over a few weeks as michael personally reviewed over applications, made the phone calls to let which applicants will be getting interviewed where and when, and conducted the interviews process with various questions;

"during times of stress how do you handle the chaos of the children?"

"what was the reason for leaving the last family you works for, and what made you interested in caring for my family?"

"do you have any formal education in child care, child education, or child development?"

"are you ready to take on not just my children's schedules but my own, and what that entails?"

he wants the best for his children and you just happen to be that. you're one of two of the last applicant who progressed to the very last interview, and watching the other applicant go first and leave with an unreadable expression only worsened your worries. and when you think everything is going good your nerves are on edge and heart pounding against your chest when michael rose from his seat across from you and extending his hand out to you. placing trembling hands on the edge of the conference desk to push your seat out and away so you can also stand, wiping your sweaty hand on your slacks before extending it to meet michael's firm grip, "congratulations, you're hired."

you didn't formally meet the children until your second day, you're first day was just you getting acclimated. already having signed every form of paper possible upon getting hired, all michael requested of you for your first day was to show up to neverland ranch at 7 a.m sharp. giving you a proper tour of neverland ranch before returning back to the house and to his office to go over the kids routine.

michael's eyes follow where your body bends to reach inside of the bag you brought with you, eyes widening just a bit when you pull out a dark green journal and pen. flipping the journal open and clicking the pen to jot down the small bit of what he had said about their schedules before he went silent, only the sounds of pen on paper filling the office.

when there's nothing more left to write down you peer your gaze up just a bit, but michael's eyes are trained on the journal in your lap, mouth slightly agape. "you can continue, mr. jackson."

the sound of your voice pulls his eyes back up to meet your own, licking his lips, "right," he continues, coughing lightly, "'nd it's michael, no formalities."

and he gets amused when you give him a curt nod before moving your pen to the very top of the page and write something down, probably something along the lines of no use of formalities.

only further getting amused by you when just before you leave you pull a container full of various cookies out, "i don't know what they're favorite is so i just made small batches of chocolate chip, snickerdoodle, and sugar cookies with sprinkles," you explain, fingers gripped around the nice container you bought specifically for this, not wanting to hand michael jackson a tupperware container.

hand it over, feeling uneasy when all he does is start at the container now in his hands, "you and the other staff can have some too of course, they're not just for the children," rambling on.

when michael looks up there's a small smile on his face, "thank you, we 'ppreciate it. they're are going t'love them for dessert."

introductions with the children go well, michael makes them thank you for the cookies, and it really doesn't take too long for them to warm up to you. it only took prince a few hours to approach you to ask if you would play with him, and if there's one thing about childcare that you will never get over is their small voices when they're still a little shy, which didn't last long with prince once he got comfortable with you.

and with blanket it took no time. the five of you sat around the dinning table as the kids ate their breakfast, with prince and paris sat next to each other, paris next to michael who is at the head of the table, you were in the seat right in front of paris while blanket was in his father arms, already having had a bottle. when michael was nursing his glass of orange juice that's when you feel it, a chubby hand lightly against your forearm.

taking blanket's smaller hand in yours, the natural movement he's making seem like the two of you are shaking hands. "hi, blanket," you muse, grinning when the infant begins to coo and show off his gummy smile. his arms now fully trying to reach you.

"he's tryin' t'escspe my arms, d'you wan' him?" the question has you thinking for a second, but you do agree.

"yeah, i'll take him." opening your arms and reaching out to grab the infant. blanket instantly settling within your arms, resting his head onto your shoulder, his cheek squishing adorably against it that has michael bringing a finger to sooth at his other chubby cheek.

however, it's paris that takes some time to fully warm up to you. she still interacted with you, but she never sought you out like how prince would take your hand in his and guide you off somewhere, most likely somewhere with an elaborate toy set up or the makeshift fort he built. or how blanket started to naturally cling to you whenever you were around. but paris seemed to always longingly stare at you whenever you interacted with her brothers. you always tried to include her, making the space for her to join in welcome as you remember michael telling you that paris is interested in whatever prince has.

you didn't take it personally, you figured it would take time since during the first meeting she had clung to michael's leg, using it to hide and peek from as she'd like. and you related to her, being a shy yourself during childhood, knowing that within time and gentleness that she will hopefully get more comfortable around you.

and that she did. a few weeks into caring for them it was quiet time. blanket was down for afternoon nap and this was the time where you'd put on a movie for the kids, usually a disney one and they could choose from watching the movie, a quiet activity, or to take a nap as well. prince had insisted on watching tarzan just end up curled asleep on the couch before jane and tarzan even meet, while paris chose to do a quiet activity of coloring.

taking this time you'd often journal in the very same dark green journal about anything and everything, a habit you carried for middle school, through high school, through college, and now through adulthood. you used to journal right before bed when you were younger, but the hours of being a nanny are from the start of the morning to the end of night, so you often opt for any free time you have to do so.

"wha's that?" a small voice asks.

feeling startled you look you see paris standing in front of you, trying to peer into the journal on your lap, "oh, it's just my journal," you respond, showing her the outside of the cover that's a little worn at the edges and the inside of the lined pages where you write.

her eyes sparkle with curiosity as you show the journal off, "is it for coloring?"

you're eyebrows furrow as you look at it, flipping through its ages, "it can be," you don't see why it couldn't be, "but i use it to write."

it's then that paris moves from in front of you to now sit squished against your side, "'nd write what?"

the question makes you smile, remembering how michael and her were sat at the dinning table just being dinner with sheets of blank paper and different colored crayons as she practiced writing her name. "i write anything," you begin, moving the journal from your lap into hers and allowing her to flip through the pages, "mainly about how i'm feeling."

"oh," it comes out quiet, like she's thinking about something.

and as you watch her an idea comes to mind, "y'know, i could get you a journal like mine."

your words instantly has paris's head turning to look at you, eyes wide like saucers, "really?" she exclaims.

chuckling at her excitement and the fact that she's still at the age where r's still sound like w's as you nod, "really, and we could practice your writing in it too," you solidify.

that's when paris's arms shoot and wrap around your torso, hugging you and squeezing her eyes shut, "than' you."

the moment tugs at your heart, wrapping your arms around to embrace her, "you're welcome, sweet girl."

and when you left that night you returned the next morning with baby pink journal, a few pack of stickers, and a glitter pen set.

it's truly fate on how well you and michael work together. falling into an easy rhythm within no time between the two of you and the children. you'd arrive at neverland every morning at 6, which gives you just enough time to say your hello's to the rest of the staff around the house before the children need to be woken up. you've developed routine of swigging by the kitchen to see what the chef is cooking for breakfast and snag a small bite of whatever is available, usually fruit when the chef's back is turned. and more times than not it leaves you and michael enough time to do a debrief of what the day entails, which is something that isn't really needed since you stay a little later on sunday nights to go over the next week, but still happens regardless. and through time it developed from that, figuring which one was going to wake which child up to random small talk, you're often the person who catches michael up on whatever sitcom show is airing on tv while he's tells you something from the news.

just outside the kid's bedrooms michael and you play rock paper scissors, the both of you hitting your open palms with your first as you whisper the words. and when you go for your safety, the reliable rock, while michael just had to go for paper you groan, throwing your head back.

looking back at him he's grinning at the way your shoulders are slightly slouched, "out of three?" you attempt, wiggling your eyebrows at the father.

an airy chuckle passes from his lips, "i've woken the lil' dragon everyday this week, by time i've gotten to wake the princess."

you and michael started referring to prince as little dragon when it comes to waking him up in the morning. he's stubborn, and it's hard to get the boy up and out of bed without persistent gentle pats and rubs to the head or back and encouraging words. you two try to hold off on turning the lights on in the kids room to get the up, finding it too abrupt, so more times than not the only light is either from the hallway or the raising sun through the curtains. while little miss paris is a dream to wake up, all it takes is a warm hand circling her back that gets her up and stretching in bed.

everyone knows that michael captures everything when it comes to his kids. from home videos, sports events, recital, anything, he finds it worthy of being caught on film.

and that includes the hard days. blanket had come down with cold that had only made abnormally fussy, and you would be lying if you said you weren't relieved when michael returned home. because entertaining prince and paris while maintaining blanket's symptoms and staying on top of his doses and still making sure that the two old kids don't get too close to blanket as siblings do so they don't fall sick as well.

michael took over for the evening essentially, he was with blanket for a little bit before you thought about how if anyone can get sick from being in close proximity to blanket it should probably be you, so you two swapped while he wore down the older kids and got them settled for the night.

while he was handling bath and bed time you were able to give blanket some purée that michael request the chef to make in batches and a bottle along with a night dose of medication. and instead of retreating back to couch that you've been on for most of the day, you retreated to blanket's nursery. sighing when you're tired body hits the rocking chair, instantly getting into the subconscious movement of rocking the infant to sleep. and in doing so you're own eyelids get heavy with each blink.

unknowingly michael had been looking for you after putting both prince and paris to bed. it takes him returning to the hallway where the kid's rooms reside to notice you and blanket in the rocker, watching the gentle movements of the rubs you're giving blanket's back. he doesn't fully know how to process how or what he's thinking, and to be honest michael hasn't been able to form a full solid opinion on you since the day you met. not that that's bad, you just seem too good to be true, and the way at which you deeply care for his children only confuses him more. knowing what it means for them to reach their development milestones along with ensuring that they are healthily expressing themselves both identity wise and emotionally. and it doesn't help that you're smart, one of the old family you nannied for during high school being generous enough to fund you going to school for psychology, and beautiful, your go to outfit being jeans with either a loose t-shirt or sweater it's effortless but pull it off too well and often more times than not you opt to have your curls up and away from blanket's strong grip.

and he knows it isn't right to develop a crush? or a deep admiration for his nanny, it gets in the way of you being able to do you job and it gets in the way of michael being able to form coherent thoughts around you, not to mention that he's twenty years your senior. he's kept it at bay since you started working, but he can't help but have the reason of why you split with your previous family you worked for loom over her head, the reason being that the kids you cared for just got too old for a nanny, entering adolescence. and although it was a mutual decision between you and the family, he doesn't think he could ever come to the conclusion that him and his children won't need you.

pulling himself out of his thoughts he retreats and returns with his camcorder. catching the sweet moment as a forever memory, just in case there is every a time you decide to leave, maybe to leave to pursue further education (although michael would happily fund it and keep you employed at the same time) or to start your own family (which he secretly dreads), for the kids to have moments they can look back on with you in them.

you who start staying later than you need to. masking it in the disguise of wanting to help michael with whatever chore is left, which is true, but you also selfishly enjoy the alone time with michael. the nights where you stay and help pick up toys and put them back and arrange them, which sometimes turn into small fights between you and michael when either one of you throw a stuffed animal at each other and quickly turn your backs before the other turns around. or the quieter nights spent listening to the jazz station on the radio as michael washes the dishes while you dry them. it's chores that you and michael really don't have to do, he has cleaners.

prince can pursued anyone, including his father and you. which is exactly how sleepovers became a special occasion.

the hard bargaining wasn't even getting his father to say yes, it was michael having to tell blanket that you may have something you'd want to do for yourself or with friends instead of having a sleepover with them.

which was a hard pill to swallow for both, but prince still being young ran from his father and straight to you. collapsing into you arms with tears brimming in his eyes, "please have a sleepover with us," his small voice messing up the pronouncement of a few words from pushing his face into your sweater, smoothing a gentle hand through the boy's hair to regulate him.

upon looking up to search for michael, he's already there, a hand on his hip, "he wan's y'to stay 'nd have a sleepover, but i told him that y'may have plans," he explains, walking over and trying to pull the boy from off of you, but he clings to your waist.

looking down at only the peek of blonde hair, you frown then smile, looking back at michael, "'m free friday night so i really don't mind."

"you really don-"

"'s alright, michael. and besides, haven't you been wanting to build that jumbo fort, prince?"

the mention of a fort and his name has prince pulling himself back from where he hides his face against your stomach, hands still crumpled in the material of your sweater. "yeah," it's quiet and meek as he nods his head.

you hand falls from his head down to his rosy cheek to wipe his tears streaks, "then no more cryin', we've get to look forward to friday."

which is exactly how you spent a friday night building the biggest fort you have every built with michael and the kids, the night entailing movies and ice cream and books and flashlight shows.

michael who has selfish thoughts whenever you're around. often during mealtimes when the five of you intertwine hands to bless the food.

he knows it's wrong to fantasize about the five of you being a real family whenever you arrive extra early just because you promised the kids special pancakes.

michael shuffles into the kitchen, expected to see the chef, which he does, but they're off to the side chopping fruits while you're the one at the stove. the sound of your name falling softly from michael's tongue has you looking up.

and he knows he's beyond gone when the wide smile that spreads across your face gives him butterflies, because it shouldn't.

"want a pancake?" you ask, as michael moves closer, turning your head back to pan to pay attention.

"wha' are you doin' this for?" he's close enough to you for you to feel his breath on your neck and for him to smell the faint scent of your perfume mixing with the scent of your hair products.

"for the kids," of course it is he thinks, peering down into the pan to see various sizes of pancake shapes, "gonna turn them into designs, like a monkey or somethin'" you explain, flipping the pancakes once their tops get all bubbly.

and when that's done you turn your head again, as best you can with michael close in your proximity, he might as well be glued to your back. "d'you want a pancake?" asking the father again as the two of you lock eyes.

"yeah, i'll take a pancake."

your head swiftly nods and once again focuses back on the pancakes. hearing shuffles of michael's feet and no longer feeling the presence of his body close to yours, "gonna go wake up the kids for breakfas'."

michael who secretly refers to paris and you as his girls.

all three of his children are blessings, but there was nothing more exciting than to find out he was having a daughter. and now with you in their lives he's thankful to have such a positive and strong woman figure in their lives.

lingering around in the mornings, body pressed against the bathroom doorframe as he watches you do paris's hair for the day as she sits on the bathroom counter. he can do his daughter's hair, but mostly just in simple plates and ponytails, while you can do the more detailed hairstyles.

and he loves nothing more than to come home and notice that the two of you has a dress up day. either by the colorful marks on your face and the precise blends of color on paris's or by paris running into her father's arms right when he steps through the door to show off her nails that you painted while he later notices the messy marks of nail polish on your nails and the surrounding skin at dinner.

michael who keeps a polaroid of you and the kids in his wallet. one taken on blanket's first birthday that he cherishes whenever he's away. often tracing a too large finger over your faces, missing the cheerful chaos of the kids and you no matter he's at a buzzing event or a quiet hotel.

the four of you are all wearing tiny birthday hats for blanket's birthday party. the birthday sits calmly in your lap while michael attempts to direct the old two around.

"no, prince, on her other side," his voice already defeated as the young boy keeps wanting to pose his own way.

"i wanna d'it like this though," prince pouts, moving to stand right behind where you sit on the floor and throw his small arms over your neck and hook his chin over your shoulder.

"let him be," you muse through a small grin that you shoot michael, the two of you know that prince is going to win the battle either way.

"okay, paris," just when he starts paris settles against your side, removing a secure hand around blanket's belly and using it to wrap around paris and pull he snug under your arm, "good, good," clicking his fingers together to get blanket's attention facing forward.

"everyone say happy first birthday, blanket."

and when it's said and the four of you are all smiling at the end, there's a click, that encases the memory forever.

©sweeterners 2026.

[mvsticmoony]

say say say, prince charming

SUMMARY: based on this request. Paul Mccartney casts his actress friend as Michael’s love interest in the Say Say Say music video, knowing they both secretly have crushes on each other. What starts as teasing quickly turns into nonstop flirting. @ariitashi <3

CONTENT: michael jackson x actress!reader. lots of flirting. paul mccartney being a menace. fluffy chaos. confident michael.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭

By October 1983, Paul McCartney had developed two favorite hobbies:

1. making music.

2. psychologically tormenting Michael Jackson for sport. In a friendly way, though.

The Say Say Say short film had already turned into complete chaos before filming even officially started.

Bob Giraldi wanted something cinematic.

Not just a music video.

A film.

So suddenly there were horse-drawn wagons, fake saloons, vaudeville routines, medicine-show scams, clown makeup, bar fights, tuxedos, fire gags, and enough costume changes to make the wardrobe department consider unionizing.

The entire set looked like somebody let theater kids run the Wild West.

And in the middle of all of it Michael Jackson was suffering.

Because Paul knew about the crush. Of course he did.

Michael had accidentally revealed it months earlier after making the catastrophic mistake of watching one of Y/N L/N’s films in the studio. And Paul happened to walk in during an emotional scene.

Michael sat cross-legged on the floor completely invested, chin propped against one hand, staring up at the television like the movie personally held his soul hostage.

Paul leaned against the doorway quietly watching for a second. Then:

“Oh, mate… you’ve got it absolutely catastrophic.”

Michael nearly launched off the couch.

“I—wha—what do you mean?”

“Michael,” Paul said gently, “you paused the film when she smiled.”

“That’s film appreciation.”

“You sighed.”

Michael looked deeply offended.

“I did not sigh.”

“You looked like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankle for the first time.”

Michael threw a pillow at him immediately, his cheeks turning violently red.

Unfortunately after that, Paul noticed everything.

Every time Y/N appeared in a magazine.

Every time Michael casually brought her up for absolutely no reason.

One time during dinner Michael randomly blurted: “She has kind eyes.”

Nobody had even been talking about Y/N.

Jermaine nearly inhaled water laughing.

Paul, however, became significantly worse.

Because unlike normal people, Paul McCartney weaponized information recreationally.

So when Bob Giraldi mentioned needing another actress for the Say Say Say storyline, Paul smiled slowly like a man about to commit a felony.

“Oh,” he said casually. “I know someone.”

Which led directly to Michael sitting on the edge of the stage days later in full costume while Paul wandered over holding a cup of tea and the expression of satan himself.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Michael asked, immediately getting suspicious at Paul looking delighted.

“I called my dear friend, Y/N.”

Michael froze, brown eyes widening a bit.

“…Why.”

“She said yes.”

Silence.

“No.”

“She’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“Absolutely not.” Michael stood up, his legs feeling jiggly. “PAUL.”

Bob Giraldi looked up instantly interested.

Paul continued like this was the funniest thing ever. “Oh, and she’s playing your love interest.”

Michael dragged both hands down his face.

“If I’m fast enough I think I can flee the country.”

Paul nodded thoughtfully. “Probably.”

The worst part? Y/N actually owed Paul a favor. A massive one.

A few months earlier she’d gotten stranded halfway through Europe after her passport vanished during a press tour.

Absolute disaster.

The embassy was useless.

Her manager was panicking.

And somehow Paul McCartney himself had called connections and fixed the entire situation within minutes.

“I owe you my firstborn child.” Y/N had cried dramatically down the phone.

Paul immediately replied: “Perfect. I’ll collect eventually.”

Apparently this was him collecting.

And unfortunately for Michael, Paul and Y/N were genuinely good friends.

They’d met backstage at an awards show earlier that year and bonded instantly because both of them were deeply unserious people pretending to function professionally.

Y/N once convinced Paul to sneak out of a Hollywood party through the kitchen because she ‘couldn’t mentally survive another producer explaining cocaine like he invented it.’ Paul laughed so hard he nearly fell down the staircase.

After that they became inseparable.

Linda adored her too. Mostly because Y/N treated fame like an elaborate joke.

One afternoon Linda found her sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter eating cereal straight from the box while wearing sunglasses indoors.

“Bad day?” Linda asked.

Y/N looked emotionally exhausted.

“A man with a ponytail tried explaining jazz to me for forty minutes. Again.” Linda nodded sympathetically. “If that happens one more time I’m banging my head against the wall.”

“Horrific.”

So naturally, the second Y/N agreed to the video, Paul planned specifically to make Michael’s life worse.

“By the way,” Paul added innocently. “she’s obsessed with you too.”

Michael froze on the spot. Again.

“…What.”

“Oh yes,” Paul continued casually. “Terribly embarrassing.”

Michael tried acting calm for maybe four seconds.

Then immediately: “I need you to tell me what she said exactly”

Paul burst out laughing.

Now, standing on the dusty California set waiting for her arrival, Michael looked one inconvenience away from cardiac arrest.

He adjusted his suspenders.

Then his curls.

Then his sleeves.

Then the suspenders again.

La Toya, his sister, watched this happen with visible delight. “You know she’s just a person.”

Michael looked horrified.

“That’s not helpful at all.”

Then finally a car pulled onto set. And suddenly nothing else mattered.

Because there she was.

Stepping out into the sunlight wearing a vintage cream-colored dress, dark sunglasses, and hair pinned away from her face.

Michael forgot how breathing worked.

Which was unfortunate timing because Paul noticed immediately.

“Oh, this is gonna be brilliant.” He exclaimed clapping his hands excitedly.

Y/N spotted Paul first.

“Paul!”

She hurried toward him immediately, hugging him tight while Paul laughed.

“You made it!”

“Barely,” she replied dramatically. “I got stuck behind a chicken truck.”

“…Chickens?”

“There was an alarming amount of chickens.”

Then Paul casually turned her toward Michael.

“And here’s your prince.”

Y/N froze.

Because oh. Oh no.

Pictures genuinely didn’t work.

Nobody prepared her for Michael Jackson in real life.

The red shirt.

The suspenders.

The curls falling over his forehead.

That stupidly beautiful face.

And worst of all?

The eyes.

Warm and shy and devastating. All at once.

Michael noticed the exact second she lost composure.

And immediately—immediately—his confidence returned.

Tiny menace.

“Hi,” he said softly.

Y/N stared at him for a second too long.

Then accidentally blurted:

“Oh my God, you look like a real-life Disney prince.”

Complete silence. Brutal, tense silence.

Paul howled instantly.

La Toya cracked up, trying to keep her composure but failing miserably at it.

Michael blinked once.

Then slowly—very slowly—that smug little smile appeared.

“Oh?” he asked softly.

Y/N covered her mouth immediately. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Michael tilted his head pretending to think.

“No, no,” he nodded seriously. “Keep talking.”

Paul was wheezing now. “This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Y/N pointed accusingly at him. “This is your fault.”

“That’s true,” Paul agreed proudly.

Meanwhile Michael looked delighted.

Because suddenly she was the nervous one now.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

He stepped closer slightly.

“Which prince?”

Y/N stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

Michael shrugged innocently.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, you absolutely do.”

Paul pointed dramatically between them.

“Oh they’re flirting already.”

“We are not flirting,” Michael replied immediately. Then glanced slowly toward Y/N. “…Right?” The sass in his voice nearly killed her on the spot.

Because Michael had this thing where he acted shy until he realized somebody liked him back. Then suddenly he became playful. Teasing. Dangerously charming.

Like a cat discovering it could knock things off shelves purely for entertainment.

“What, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart, the hell?” Y/N blurted out, her palms feeling very sweaty and cheeks already tinted red.

Filming became impossible afterward. Absolutely impossible.

Because now Michael kept messing with her constantly.

Every scene turned into psychological warfare.

During wardrobe fittings Y/N walked onto set and found Michael leaning against the saloon doorway beneath warm stage lights looking genuinely unfair.

Without missing a beat he asked:

“Do I still look like a prince today?”

Y/N nearly walked directly into a lighting rig.

Paul screamed laughing somewhere behind the cameras.

Later during choreography rehearsal Bob Giraldi tried explaining blocking while Michael kept glancing toward Y/N every six seconds.

Finally Bob snapped. “Michael.”

“What?”

“You missed the entire count.”

Michael pointed immediately toward Y/N.

“She distracted me.”

Y/N gasped dramatically.

“ME?”

“You’re staring.”

“I am NOT.”

“You absolutely are.”

Paul looked between them thoughtfully.

“This feels like supervising teenagers.”

Then came the saloon performance scenes.

Which only made everything worse because Michael looked ridiculous in that outfit.

Red sleeves rolled up slightly.

Suspenders hanging loose.

Hair framing his annoyingly beautiful face perfectly.

Smiling constantly while dancing beside Paul.

At one point Y/N sat beside the monitors watching playback while Michael performed.

And unfortunately Michael caught her staring again.

Not casual staring either. Full dreamy expression.

Michael smirked immediately.

Then proceeded to miss his cue because now he got distracted watching her watch him.

Bob Giraldi lowered his clipboard slowly.

“You two are very exhausting.”

Then came the actual filming together.

Which somehow made everything infinitely worse.

Because now Michael had to flirt with her on camera. And unfortunately for him, Y/N turned out to be devastatingly good at acting.

The saloon set buzzed with controlled chaos around them.

Extras in costumes filled tables pretending to drink.

Stage lights burned warm against the wooden walls.

Paul sat at the piano laughing with Bob Giraldi while makeup artists sprinted around trying to keep up with costume changes.

Meanwhile Michael stood near the bar pretending he was completely normal about any of this. He was not.

Because Y/N had changed costumes.

And somehow she looked even prettier now.

Vintage dress hugging her figure perfectly.

Soft curls pinned back loosely.

Lipstick slightly smudged from touch-ups.

And worst of all? She looked extra-confident now.

Bob clapped his hands loudly.

“Alright! We’re doing the saloon performance sequence. Michael, Paul—stick close to Y/N during the chorus. Make it playful. Flirty.”

Paul immediately pointed his thumb at Michael. “Oh, he won’t have trouble with that.”

Michael just glared at him.

Y/N laughed softly into her drink prop and Michael’s entire nervous system betrayed him instantly.

“On your marks, people!”

The music started blasting through the set.

Say, say, say what you want

And suddenly the room transformed.

Michael and Paul slipped effortlessly into performance mode, dancing through the saloon while extras clapped around them.

But every single time Michael passed Y/N she looked directly at him.

Not casually either. Like she was in on a secret.

Like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Which became a massive problem during the second chorus. Bob wanted Y/N interacting more naturally with Michael during the performance.

“Touch him a little!” Bob yelled from behind the camera. “Tease him!”

Paul burst out into laughter. “Oh, this is just cruel.”

The music kept going.

Take, take, take what you need

But don't leave me with no direction

Y/N swayed toward Michael perfectly in rhythm, smiling sweetly while adjusting the front of his suspenders playfully.

Tiny gesture.

Barely anything.

Except Michael visibly malfunctioned. He missed half the next movement entirely.

Paul noticed that and started singing harder to avoid laughing directly into the microphone.

Y/N bit the inside of her cheek trying not to smile too much.

Interesting. Very interesting.

Because Michael Jackson—the coolest man alive apparently—was getting shy.

Actually shy.

Then came the next setup: Bob wanted Michael pulling Y/N into the dancing crowd while singing.

Simple enough.

Except the first second cameras rolled, Y/N slipped fully into character.

And oh. Oh no.

Michael wasn’t prepared for all of that.

Because suddenly she wasn’t giggling awkwardly anymore. Now she looked warm. Confident. Playful. Movie-star charming.

She grabbed his hand smoothly as the chorus echoed around them.

All alone, I sit home by the phone

Waiting for you, baby

And Michael completely forgot there were cameras around.

Because Y/N kept smiling at him like that. Like he was genuinely the prettiest thing she’d ever seen. And that unfortunately made him blush. Hard.

Paul clocked it instantly. “Our boy is gone!,” he yelled over the music.

Michael shot him an offended look while still dancing. “I am NOT.”

“You’re blushing at the camera, though!”

Y/N burst out laughing at that, which only made Michael blushes get worse. Because now she looked delighted by how flustered he was.

“Closer! Closer together!” Bob yelled.

Y/N obeyed immediately, one hand sliding lightly up Michael’s chest as part of the choreography while she spun beneath his arm.

Michael felt his soul leaving his body. Gone. Nothing behind the eyes.

The man looked too stunned to speak.

Y/N noticed and the menace returned.

She leaned closer during the next chorus, smiling innocently at him.

“You okay there, prince charming?”

Michael nearly missed the beat entirely. He gulped and nodded lightly.

Paul grabbed onto a nearby table wheezing. “I haven’t been this entertained in so long!” He told no one in particular. “Oh, Linda is going to love this!”

Michael tried recovering. ‘Tried’ being the keyword.

Because then Y/N tilted her head slightly, still dancing with him beneath the saloon lights, and said:

“You know what? I’m done pretending.”

Michael blinked. “…Pretending what?”

Y/N pointed at him dramatically while still moving perfectly to the music.

“You are an actual Disney prince.” She stated.

Paul went completely silent from where he stood.

Michael just stared at her.

Y/N kept going confidently despite the fact her stomach was doing back flips.

“You have the hair, the eyes, the dramatic little outfits—”

“My outfits are not dramatic.”

“Oh please! You look like woodland creatures help you get dressed.”

Michael fully broke.

Actually broke.

He bent laughing helplessly mid-performance, one hand grabbing her waist to steady himself while the other covered his face.

Not cool laughter either. Real laughter. The kind that made his shoulders shake and tummy hurt.

The cameras kept rolling because Bob Giraldi was screaming: “KEEP FILMING KEEP FILMING—”

Y/N pointed at him triumphantly. “See?”

Michael shook his head trying unsuccessfully to recover.

“You are unbelievable.”

“Oh, and you love it.” She teased him. “A little bird told me you kept replaying the scenes in my latest movie where I smiled!”

Michael looked back at her then.

Still laughing.

Still pink-cheeked.

Still holding her waist loosely from the dance.

And very quietly—

“I did, actually.”

That shut her up immediately.

Paul watched the entire thing unfold with the expression of a man witnessing a natural disaster in slow motion.

Then slowly started backing away. “Nope,” he muttered. “I’m leaving before one of you starts writing poetry.”

“This is actually your fault!” Y/N yelled after him.

“Correct!” Paul shouted proudly while retreating toward the monitors.

By the time he reached Linda, she looked up curiously from her chair.

“Well?” she asked. “Are they lovers yet?”

Paul glanced back toward the dance floor where Michael and Y/N were still standing way too close together smiling like complete idiots while the music replayed around them.

Then sighed deeply.

“Worse,” he answered. “They’re idiots.”

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭

Taglist:

@skiicoreee @18lkpeters @ami-kay-01 @bouncylikebouncyball @hewassunshine @umafanficdoidaqualquer @darkgreengrl @boredpretty @thatonegirl412 @velournoir @watamotee33 @nodisdino @leipforggy @amoravelee @defmaybesam @niyahctrl @daniela75201 @d3adlyclassrat @bangtan7553 @romansbbg @chims-kookies @needjoekeery @cruelsummer01 @dreyar-palacez @maerawrrr @maxivstappen @iris-xoxo-juhu @cakewiththecreamer @lovern-9 @faercia @ladyjacksonsblog @quietlyscornfulfable @whoscamila @lovern-9

[invinor]

SUGAR BABY

f!reader (younger wife reader) / mature era michael

(lowercase INTENDED!) & not proofread !

preview: michael has never once cared what the media and the public overall had to say about his marriage to you. the age gap wasn’t big to an extreme— just 6 years younger. however, that doesn’t stop you from feeling insecure about everything once seeing michael spoil you rotten like money never mattered.

A/N: was watching a true crime documentary and for SOME ODD REASON this idea popped up even tho they both are not correlated whatsoever 😭😭😭 just thought it would be cutesy so hopefully you guys like this one!

dating for a few years and finally being publicly married made michael more of a love sick man than he ever was before. especially knowing the world can finally see how madly in love he was with you and how he spoiled you like you deserved it.

michael ignored the small ounce of backlash he received over marrying a woman who was 34 while he was 40. you both didn’t care. especially michael. whenever he had a chance he flaunted you off.

it began with music videos, to award shows, all the way up to being a background interest in his concerts and tour dates.

any chance he got he would show you off to the world. you loved every single bit of it. at first you never paid attention to the backlash you ended up growing with michael by your side— till it started affecting your every move.

at first it was shoes.

it was past 12am and michael had finished getting into bed as he watches you quietly untie your bath robe to reveal your pjs for the night. soft silky red material curves your figure as he watches you with so much love in his eyes.

you turn your head to face him before quietly laughing at his expression. “you’re doing it again.” you say as michael shakes his head and smiles up at you. his hands immediately grabbing your hip now feeling the silky material of your pj shorts tug down between his slender fingers.

“doing what baby?” michael softly spoke looking up at you with doe eyes and a light shining in his dark orbs that instantly made you melt. he smirks at his playfulness as you grab his shoulder soon seeing him lift his head up from the pillows and plant a quick kiss amongst your lips.

“check the dresser” your eyes furrow confused at michael’s teasing voice suddenly interrupting the moment before you pull away feeling his fingers slip away from your hip.

as you walk across the room feeling the soft rug from below come in contact with your bare foot, your hands grab on the edge of your dresser before looking back at michael. he now sits up on the bed with his hands interlocked behind his head—awaiting for you to open the drawer.

“what’s in here?” he pouts signaling to open the drawer with his lips as you roll your eyes playfully before opening the drawer to see a vintage box inside. your hands pull the box out as you look at it in total admiration.

the box itself was something absolutely stunning. gold little details imprinted on the case with a velvet material and a big chunky white bow wrapping it around.

your voice soft as you hear michael shuffle in bed nervously. “michael you did not…”

you could hear him mutter something under his breath before hearing him softly giggle at your sudden reaction. as your fingers grasp the white bow and begin tearing it apart from the box, you slowly open it with shaky hands.

inside laid two perfectly pair of high heels. but not just any heels— the heels you had told michael two weeks ago that you’ve always dreamed of owning.

you pull a singular heel out as your hands caress the gorgeous vintage design amongst the stitch all the way towards the heel itself. without realizing that michael had moved out from your bed, you feel his hands softly cup your shoulder before looking down at your palm to see the heel.

he smiles now placing a kiss below your ear as you felt a sense of ease in your chest grow. turning your face to see him in utter shock you sigh. “these were vintage and expensive! baby you shouldn’t have.” michael shakes his head before kissing over your temple, just hovering a little over your brow.

“y’know what i shouldn’t have.” you watch him closely before he breaks into a big smile now kissing your cheek. “i should’ve done it the day after you mentioned them to me.”

“michael!” he laughs pulling you closer as he watches you continue to look at the gorgeous heels you now could call your own.

you later on ended up wearing the heels to an event in attendance with michael before later on looking online to see the comments begin to flood horrifically.

so she wears expensive one of a kind shoes and suddenly thinks she’s that girl?

he definitely bought those for her…

what a shame michael wasted his time with her

let’s be honest you guys they aren’t really together. that’s his sugar baby!!

…sugar baby.

at the name being thrown at you, you couldn’t help but feel sudden shame and guilt spread through your body. michael spent so much on those shoes and people realized that which was the worst part.

you didn’t hate michael displaying his acts of love for you in a publicized manner. you just hated how the sudden names got the best of you.

later that same night by midnight, you ended up after the event placing the shoes gently back into the box and tucking them deep in both you and michael’s shared closet. as your arms go deep into a pile of clothes, you hear footsteps slowly stop abruptly in-front of the closet door.

michael leans there with his tie in his hand and his shirt fully undone. his eyes trained over you before looking at you weirdly. “baby?” you snatch your arms away from the pile before wiping them amongst your legs.

“it’s nothing the clothes just fell.” you giggle nervously before michael rolls his eyes and jams the tie in between two hangers. “i hate that little corner. keeps falling i gotta fix that soon.” was the only thing he said before placing a kiss on your head and walking away into the room.

he didn’t ask any further questions after that. and the shoes soon went from being seen twice a week to once every 4 months.

after some time went by, it soon continued with clothing.

then nails.

hair.

purses.

then the last and final straw—had become the jewelry.

michael had gifted you a new wedding ring for “no reason” except the fact that he wanted you to shine brighter than anyone else.

“honey—” michael takes the diamond oval cut ring out from the box as you watch it soon subtly shine with each movement michael did. the ring was huge. something you’d see on disney princess movies with how shiny, bold, and overall bright it was.

michael’s fingers laces amongst your own before removing the old ring and now replacing it with the huge rock on your finger. you watched carefully as you look at your hand. michael watches you attentively in nothing but pure joy.

you can tell he was so proud of this gift, while also being so proud of seeing your reaction become something he dreamt of turning into a reality.

“this is absolutely humongous!” michael laughs before placing his lips over the diamonds and kissing it gently. “beautiful ring for my beautiful girl.”

you both later went out for a charity event. your hands interlocked with michael’s as you both handed out pantry boxes to families in need. you would think good deeds would make headlines online— yet that was not the case whatsoever.

before night time had fallen, your hand was plastered all over the media. the zoom in pictures of michael’s hand on yours while the big ring showed amongst the flashy lights, stunned many.

how long did she have to beg to get a huge ring like that??

gold digger

that’s a A list sugar baby right there folks

damn michael got them big bucks don’t he?

the night ended with you twirling the new ring amongst your fingers. michael kept full attention of your worried look as he takes his glasses off the bridge of his nose and soon placing them over his curls.

“princess?” you hum as a response without looking at his side of the bed, still twirling the ring around your finger thinking at the same name repeated over and over again.

sugar baby.

michael snaps you out of your deep trance as he forces your head to the side to look at him directly now. his hand drops to your ring before touching the cut of it. “you don’t like it?”

your eyes go wide at his accusation before shaking your head quickly. “baby, mike that’s not the issue. it’s just…” your breath lodged slightly in your throat as michael touched the side of your arm. “people keep on talking..”

michael didn’t interrupt. he never once did. he just watches you quietly letting you express your feelings and making you felt heard every last bit of it. you explain the ‘sugar baby’ comments as the immense backlash continued to grow at the simple sight of you getting pricey items from him.

michael scoffs as he curses under his breath. “baby they’re nothing but scums.” you sadly chuckle before you stop fiddling with the ring fully. “let them think that, who cares.”

your lips suddenly tuck between your teeth nervously as you watch michael begin to get agitated at the comments people were saying about you. “if me buying you everything you desire and love just to make myself feel more happy at the expense of your enjoyment is you being my “sugar baby” then so be it.”

your lips part open before michael reaches towards the ring now letting it be his turn to watch the shine reflect a bit over the headboard.

“you deserve the world and more.”

he lowers his head now kissing softly the shell of your ear before lowering down more to your collarbone and shoulder blade. the bed comforters slowly slipping away and down michael’s chest with each lower movement he’d continue to do.

“and hell i’d give it to you in a fucking heartbeat.”

michael mutters slowly and seductively as you sigh feeling his lips continue to nibble and kiss along your skin as you catch another small glimpse of the rock on your hand.

at this moment you realized you never truly cared about what they thought about you or your relationship with michael.

because at the end of the day, you were the one with the flashy items, the shared bed, and the big wedding ring on your finger— all while being a public symbol of love to michael no matter what.

and that’s all that truly mattered.

[mvsticmoony]

love caught on tape

SUMMARY: what starts with Michael lying horribly about loving to tour slowly becomes an intimate portrait of the life he built with the one person who loved him beyond the fame.

CONTENT: michael jackson x reader. chaotic domestic fluff. established relationship. ‘i love to tour’.

this is one of my favorites so far. dedicated to the kind people in my inbox <3 you know who you guys are!

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭

The cameras had been rolling for almost four hours.

By now they had already covered the children.

Neverland.

Recording.

The media.

Michael’s perfectionism in the studio.

His sleep schedule, which had somehow turned into a twenty-minute argument because Y/N kept exposing how little he actually slept.

And now there were only two topics left on the producer’s clipboard:

Touring.

And Y/N.

Half-empty water bottles cluttered the tables near the monitors.

Somebody’s headset crackled every few minutes.

One exhausted production assistant sat cross-legged on the floor eating pretzels straight out of the bag while trying not to fall asleep.

And in the middle of all of it sat Michael Jackson.

Leg crossed neatly over the other.

Black jacket up rolled slightly at the sleeves.

Dark hair falling softly around his face.

So beautiful it was almost unfair.

But tonight he looked different.

Less guarded.

The whole point of the recording was supposed to be honesty.

Michael watching old home videos and reacting naturally after years of manipulated interviews and twisted media narratives that turned every sentence into a headline.

The production team wanted warmth.

Humanity.

Softness.

What they got instead was Michael Jackson being impossible.

“Okay,” one producer said carefully from behind the cameras, glancing at his notes. “Next we’re gonna talk a little about touring.”

Michael visibly deflated immediately.

Y/N noticed from across the studio and started smiling to herself.

Because she knew that expression.

That was Michael preparing to complain.

The producer continued cautiously.

“Just keep it positive.”

Michael blinked slowly.

“But I don’t like it, though.”

The entire room froze.

A camera operator lowered his headset.

The producer laughed nervously.

“…Michael.”

“No, I go through hell,” he insisted sincerely. “I go through hell touring.”

Y/N had already covered her mouth trying not to laugh.

Michael kept going. “You go from one continent to another. You’re sleepy, the time zones are different. You can’t sleep after the shows.”

The producer rubbed his forehead.

“We just mean maybe phrase it a little more… positively.”

Michael stared at him for a very long moment. Then sighed dramatically.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll keep it positive. But you guys know the truth.”

The producer looked deeply unconvinced already.

Michael turned toward the camera, face completely serious.

“I love to tour.” He said while he lifting one hand delicately in this exaggerated little gesture like he was trying way too hard to sell the lie himself.

Y/N absolutely lost it.

Not a cute laugh.

Not graceful.

Full-body hysterics.

She folded in half on the couch beside the monitors wheezing so hard she nearly slid onto the floor.

The entire studio broke immediately afterward.

The sound guy bent over laughing.

One assistant smacked the table repeatedly trying to breathe.

Even the producer gave up pretending to be professional.

And Michael sat there looking deeply pleased with himself.

“That’s not funny,” he muttered while trying not to smile.

Y/N pointed at him gasping for air. “You looked directly into the camera like somebody was holding you at gun point!”

Michael burst into laughter too then. Real laughter. Head tipped back slightly. Eyes squeezed shut. Shoulders shaking.

And years later that exact clip would go insanely viral online.

Millions of people replaying Michael’s painfully obvious lie followed immediately by Y/N’s explosive laugh echoing somewhere behind the camera like she physically could not believe his audacity.

People quoted it constantly.

“I love to tour.” *violent wheezing somewhere off-camera*

Entire compilations existed of “Michael Jackson being accidentally hilarious.”

And Y/N’s laugh became part of internet history.

But back then,inside that warm sleepy studio, it just felt real.

Eventually the producers calmed everybody down enough to continue filming.

“Alright,” an assistant sighed while wiping tears from beneath her eyes. “Let’s roll the tapes.”

The lights dimmed softly.

The monitor flickered.

Static crackled through the speakers before old home video footage appeared onscreen.

Grainy.

Golden.

The kind of footage that made every memory feel softer somehow.

Michael’s expression changed immediately.

The joking faded.

Not completely.

But enough.

Because suddenly there was a younger version of himself onscreen.

No makeup.

No stage lighting.

No rehearsed answers.

Just Michael.

The first clips showed Neverland in the early morning.

Sunlight spilling across the grass.

Animals wandering lazily near fences.

Children laughing somewhere in the distance.

Then suddenly the camera jerked violently because someone behind it started running.

“WHERE IS SHE?” Michael’s voice echoed breathlessly through the speakers.

And instantly Y/N appeared from behind a tree holding two enormous Super Soakers.

Michael inhaled sharply laughing already.

“Oh no.”

Y/N looked directly into the camera with the expression of somebody about to commit a felony.

Then proceeded to fire water directly into the lens.

The footage shook violently while Michael screamed.

The studio burst into laughter.

“She cheated,” Michael protested immediately. Y/N looked offended. “You had TWO super soakers.” He pointed an accusatory finger at where she stood behind the cameras.

“That’s called strategy.”

“That’s cheating!”

The footage continued.

Michael sprinting across the grass absolutely soaked while Y/N chased him relentlessly. Both laughing too hard to aim anymore.

At one point Michael slipped dramatically near the lake and disappeared completely from frame.

Y/N’s scream-laugh echoed through the tape so loudly the cameraman started laughing too hard to hold the camera steady.

Studio Michael physically hid his face smiling.

“Oh my God…”

Another clip started.

The lake at Neverland.

Golden sunlight reflecting across the water.

Michael floating peacefully on his back while Y/N swam nearby splashing water directly into his face every few seconds just to annoy him.

“You’re so mean to me,” young Michael complained weakly.

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately I do.”

The studio laughed softly.

But Michael had gone quieter now.

Watching carefully.

Then another tape started.

The camera quality looked worse here.

Shakier.

Chaotic.

The kind of footage that Michael filmed himself constantly.

The screen showed Neverland’s arcade room decorated for some kind of party.

Bright lights.

Music blasting faintly in the background.

And little Macaulay Culkin running across the room screaming.

The entire studio immediately smiled.

“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered already laughing.

The footage panned suddenly —and there she was.

Completely unaware of Michael filming.

Y/N stood in the middle of the arcade dancing ridiculously with Macaulay.

Not normal dancing either.

Terrible dancing.

Full commitment.

Wild arm movements.

Spinning in circles.

At one point Macaulay dropped dramatically to the floor mid-dance and Y/N copied him instantly like they were in some serious choreography routine.

Michael’s voice behind the camera laughed softly.

“Look at these fools…”

Y/N grabbed Macaulay’s hands suddenly and the two of them started aggressively swing dancing completely off beat.

The studio burst out laughing.

“She dances exactly like she drinks,” one assistant muttered.

“Violently,” Michael answered immediately.

Onscreen Y/N attempted some kind of spin, but her boot got caught awkwardly against the carpet. And suddenly—she absolutely ate shit.

Straight to the floor.

Macaulay screamed.

The camera jolted violently because Michael behind it started wheezing.

Not normal laughing.

Full breathless wheezing.

The kind where he physically couldn’t hold the camera steady anymore.

“Oh my God—”

Young Y/N stayed sprawled dramatically on the floor for a second before pointing accusingly toward the camera. She didn’t say anything, just glared.

Michael’s laughter got worse.

The footage shook so badly now you could barely see anything.

Macaulay had collapsed beside Y/N laughing too hard to stand.

“I thought you died for a second!” he yelled through laughter.

Y/N lifted one arm weakly from the floor.

“Tell my family… I was batman…”

The studio completely lost it.

Even the producers were crying from laughing now.

Michael had buried his face in one hand trying unsuccessfully to breathe normally.

“You fell for no reason,” he accused weakly.

“I was performing.”

“You looked absolutely possessed.”

Y/N pointed at the screen defensively.

“That carpet attacked me.”

Michael laughed so hard tears formed in the corners of his eyes.

Then another clip appeared.

Michael teaching Y/N how to moonwalk inside one of Neverland’s empty hallways.

The camera quality got shakier because whoever filmed it was already laughing.

Michael stood patiently demonstrating the movement.

“No, no,” he said through laughter. “You gotta glide.”

“I AM gliding.”

“You look like a confused C-3PO.”

Y/N gasped dramatically, looking genuinely offended. “You take that back,” She pointed her index finger at him. “You know I like R2-D2 better.” Michael rolled his eyes playfully.

Then she proceeded to try again. And immediately lost balance.

Michael instinctively reached forward to catch her.

Which turned into both of them crashing onto the carpet in a tangled mess of limbs and laughter.

Y/N screamed laughing directly into his shoulder while Michael tried unsuccessfully to sit back up.

Then suddenly—without any warning— Y/N grabbed his face and started kissing him everywhere.

Forehead.

Cheek.

Jaw.

Nose.

Rapid-fire affectionate attacks while Michael laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“STOP—”

“You’re talented!”

“Y/N—”

“You’re AMAZING.”

Then her voice echoed dramatically through the hallway:

“You know what they say: support the arts, kiss a musician!”

From behind the camera somebody snorted laughing.

Michael blinked up at her.

“Y/N, who on earth says that?”

“Well ME.”

And then she immediately resumed kissing his face obnoxiously while Michael curled into himself laughing helplessly.

The studio melted.

Because neither of them even looked aware of the camera.

It was just instinct.

Comfort.

Love overflowing too naturally to contain.

Another tape rolled.

This one started abruptly.

The camera quality was terrible.

The angle was crooked.

Lens zoomed in.

Clearly filmed by somebody who had absolutely no idea what they were doing.

And of course, Y/N’s voice filled the speakers.

“Okay,” she whispered dramatically into the camera. “Operation Birthday Cake has begun.”

Studio Michael blinked.

“Oh no.”

The footage showed Y/N crouched somewhere inside Neverland’s kitchen wearing oversized pajamas and an apron that said Kiss The Cook.

Flour already covered her cheek somehow.

The camera tilted violently downward as she tried to use a fruit bowl as a tripod.

“I’m baking Michael a birthday cake because he’s a bit sad,” she explained seriously.

Studio Michael immediately softened.

Because he remembered that period.

Exhaustion.

Tour rehearsals.

Tabloids.

Pressure.

He’d barely been sleeping back then.

Then onscreen Michael’s younger voice suddenly echoed from somewhere upstairs:

“Why are you up so late?”

Y/N froze like a criminal, eyes widening.

Then whispered toward the camera dramatically:

“God forbid a girl is secretly Batman.”

The studio burst into laughter again.

“What’s with you and batman?” An assistant asked with curiosity.

Y/N just shook her head and mumbled an “I don’t even know.”

The footage cut suddenly.

Now the kitchen looked like a war zone.

Flour everywhere.

Eggshells on the counter.

One bowl smoking slightly, God knows why.

Y/N stood in the middle of that chaos looking horrified while reading the recipe card upside down.

“What does ‘fold gently’ mean?” she demanded off-camera. “How do you aggressively fold something?!”

Studio Michael physically covered his face laughing.

Then another voice entered the kitchen.

Tiny.

Excited.

“Y/N!”

Little Macaulay Culkin sprinted into frame carrying three bags of candy.

Y/N gasped dramatically.

“Oh thank God.”

Macaulay looked around at the disaster.

“Did it explode?”

“Not exactly.”

After that the footage became infinitely worse.

Because now there were two of them.

Macaulay dumped an entire bag of chocolate chips into the bowl without measuring.

Y/N nodded seriously.

“Beautiful work.”

Another clip.

Flour exploded directly into Macaulay’s face.

Another.

Y/N trying to crack an egg one-handed and accidentally launching it onto the floor.

Another.

The mixer turning on unexpectedly and spraying batter absolutely everywhere.

The camera caught Y/N standing frozen in silence afterward covered head-to-toe in frosting. She looked like a traumatized soldier.

Macaulay collapsed onto the floor laughing.

Studio Michael was wheezing now.

“You two are ANIMALS.”

Onscreen Y/N pointed dramatically toward the camera.

“This is for LOVE, Michael!”

Another cut.

The cake finally appeared.

Crooked.

Leaning slightly to one side.

Covered in way too much frosting.

Decorated with messy stars and badly piped writing that read:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MICHAEL :)

Macaulay stared at it proudly.

“It looks haunted.”

“It looks homemade,” Y/N corrected defensively.

“It looks like it survived something.”

Then the footage cut one final time.

Now the camera had been hidden strategically inside the dining room.

Perfect angle toward the table.

Candles glowing softly atop the cake.

And after a few seconds Michael walked into frame.

Younger.

Tired-looking.

Still wearing rehearsal clothes.

Completely unsuspecting.

Y/N and Macauley’s voice immediately yelled from off-camera:

“SURPRISE!”

Michael physically jumped.

Then he saw the cake.

And his entire face changed. Not dramatically. Not for the camera. Just this small soft shift. Like something inside him loosened.

Y/N and Macaulay stumbled into frame wearing party hats and singing loudly off-key.

Macaulay was still covered in flour somehow.

Y/N looked exhausted, frosting still smeared across her cheek.

Michael stared between them and the cake slowly.

“…You made this?”

“We went to battle for you,” Y/N informed him seriously.

Macaulay nodded solemnly.

“She almost died.”

“I did not.”

“You caught the oven mitt on fire.”

“Okay, that was ONE time.”

Michael laughed softly. Then looked back at the cake again.

And suddenly he looked emotional.

Really emotional.

The kind he tried hiding immediately.

Y/N noticed instantly and her voice softened right away. “You okay?”

Michael nodded quickly. But he kept staring at the cake.

At the uneven frosting.

The crooked decorations.

The ridiculous amount of effort somebody put into making him feel loved.

Then quietly—almost too quiet for the tape to catch— he said:

“You did all this for me?”

Y/N looked genuinely confused by the question. “Yeah?” She said it was obvious.

Like loving him was the easiest thing in the world.

The studio watching the footage went completely silent.

Because even through grainy tape quality you could see exactly when Michael fell a little more in love with her.

Another clip rolled unexpectedly afterward.

The camera pointed shakily toward Neverland’s front gates before suddenly turning around and there was Michael.

Huge grin already forming on his pretty face.

Holding a tiny dachshund puppy carefully against his chest.

The puppy blinked at the camera while Michael tried unsuccessfully to act normal.

The entire studio immediately gasped.

“Oh my God,” Y/N whispered, immediately covering her mouth with a hand.

Michael looked directly into the camera with the most devastatingly smug expression imaginable.

Then he lifted the puppy slightly higher, so the camera could capture him. It was so tiny it fit in only one of Michael’s hand. “Y/N is always saying she wants a wiener dog,” He shook his head, chuckling at how she referred to dachshund dogs. “and if my girlfriend thinks she can just bat her cute little eyelashes at me and get whatever she wants…” He glanced down at the dog. Then back toward the camera. “…she’s absolutely right.”

The studio audibly melted. Everyone chanted “awww” in unison.

One assistant physically grabbed her chest.

Another whispered:

“Ohmygod I think I’m gonna die.”

Michael hid his face smiling while Y/N looked seconds away from emotional collapse already.

Then the footage jolted because Michael started walking quickly through Neverland holding the camera in one hand and hiding the puppy behind his back with the other.

The puppy’s tiny paws kicked lazily against his shirt.

“You have to be quiet,” He whispered dramatically to the dog. “This is espionage.”

The studio burst out laughing.

The footage moved through the house shakily before finding Y/N near the kitchen island wearing sunglasses indoors and holding a mug she had custom made just to tease Michael.

It said ‘Coff-hee-hee’

She looked completely unsuspecting.

Michael tried to sound casual.

“Hey.”

Y/N looked up.

“Hey.”

Then, the puppy made the tiniest sound imaginable behind Michael’s back. Y/N narrowed her eyes immediately.

“…Michael.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“You look guilty.”

“You always say I look guilty.”

“True.”

The studio laughed softly.

Then Michael finally stepped closer and revealed the puppy from behind his back.

He was met with silence.

Y/N froze completely.

The beloved mug almost slipped from her hand.

“Michael.”

The puppy blinked at her.

“Michael,” And then Y/N made the most horrible strangled sound alive before bursting into tears immediately. “Oh my GOD—”

She dropped to the floor beside the puppy laughing and crying at the same time while Michael started laughing behind the camera.

“You gave me a wiener?!” Michael chuckled hard at her words.

The puppy climbed directly into her lap while she held it like it had personally descended from heaven.

“Oh my God,” she kept repeating emotionally. “Oh my God…”

Young Michael crouched beside her still laughing softly while she cried over the dog dramatically.

“I can’t believe you did this.”

“You deserve every wiener dog in the world, my love.”

“LOOK at him!”

The puppy licked her chin.

Y/N gasped like she’d just experienced divine intervention.

“We’re naming him Shamone.” She blurted out.

Michael burst into laughter.

“Absolutely not.”

“Yes we are.”

“No dog should be named Shamone.”

Y/N clutched the puppy protectively against her chest like a Victorian mother shielding her child from the horrors of the world.

The puppy blinked sleepily in her lap.

Then suddenly Y/N looked down at him very seriously.

“Don’t you love your name, Shamone?”

The dog barked.

Y/N’s jaw dropped dramatically before she whipped her head toward Michael with the most vindicated expression imaginable.

Michael stared back at her in complete disbelief.

“…What the schmuck?”

“See?!” Y/N screamed triumphantly. “He knows that’s his name.”

“That dog does not know his name!”

“He identified with it.”

“He barked!”

“Because he’s spiritually connected to me!”

Michael laughed hard while the camera shook violently in his hand.

The puppy barked again.

Y/N pointed at him accusingly.

“AND HE SAID IT TWICE.”

“You’re insane,” Michael wheezed.

“And yet our son agrees with me.”

“Our WHAT?”

Back in the studio present-day Michael had tears in the corners of his eyes from laughing.

“You traumatized that poor dog.”

“He loves me.”

“He fears you!”

The room dissolved into laughter again while onscreen younger Y/N continued crying over the dachshund like Michael had just gifted her the moon itself.

But slowly, as more tapes rolled, the atmosphere softened.

Because every clip carried the same feeling underneath the chaos.

Ease.

Safety.

Love without performance.

Then another clip appeared onscreen.

The lake again.

Sunset this time.

Michael sat wrapped in a blanket beside Y/N near the shore while she listened to him ramble quietly about something off-camera.

And the way she looked at him—

God.

Even the crew noticed it.

Patient.

Soft.

Completely focused.

Like listening to him was the easiest thing in the world.

Michael swallowed hard.

His eyes looked glassy suddenly.

Not crying. Just dangerously close to it.

The producer noticed immediately.

“What’s going through your mind?”

Michael didn’t answer at first.

The footage kept rolling silently.

Young Y/N laughing beside him.

Young Michael smiling without restraint.

No cameras they were aware of.

No performance.

Just happiness.

Finally Michael spoke quietly.

“I think people don’t realize how rare it is…”

His voice sounded softer now. Careful. “To have somebody around you who never wanted anything.”

The studio went completely silent.

Y/N looked up immediately from the couch.

Michael still hadn’t looked away from the screen.

“She never cared about any of this,” he continued softly, motioning vaguely around the studio. “Not the fame or the money or… any of it.”

Onscreen younger Y/N shoved him accidentally into the lake.

Michael’s younger voice screamed while she laughed so hard she almost fell in after him.

Studio Michael smiled watching it happen.

And suddenly he looked younger too somehow.

“She just loved me.”

Silence filled the room afterward.

Heavy silence.

The emotional kind.

One assistant discreetly wiped beneath her eyes.

Y/N looked down quickly trying not to cry herself.

Because Michael said it so simply. Like it still surprised him after all these years.

Like unconditional love still felt miraculous to him.

The producer cleared his throat softly after a moment.

“There’s… one more tape.”

Michael’s head snapped up immediately.

“No.”

The producer blinked.

“You did approve all the footage.”

“I know which one that is.” Suddenly Michael looked genuinely nervous for the first time all night.

Not playful nervous. Real nervous.

He turned immediately toward Y/N across the room.

And Y/N’s expression softened instantly.

Because she knew.

“Oh,” she whispered quietly.

The producer looked between them uncertainly.

“We don’t have to show it—”

“No,” Y/N interrupted gently.

Michael looked at her again.

Still hesitant.

Still protective.

Because this clip—this one had never been meant for anybody else.

No press.

No cameras.

No documentary.

Just him and her.

Private.

Sacred almost.

Y/N smiled softly.

“It’s okay.”

Michael searched her face carefully.

“You sure?”

She nodded.

“Let them see.”

The studio had gone completely silent now.

Even the assistants stopped moving.

Then slowly, the final tape rolled.

The footage started shakily.

Clearly handheld.

Nighttime.

Soft golden lights glowing through Neverland’s gardens.

Candles everywhere. Hundreds of them. Wrapped carefully around trees. Floating beside pathways. Lighting the lake in warm reflections.

The camera moved slowly through the garden until Michael’s younger voice whispered nervously behind it:

“Okay… okay…”

The entire studio immediately melted.

Because Michael Jackson sounded terrified.

Then the camera tilted slightly and there was Y/N.

Standing near the lake in a soft yellow dress.

Completely unsuspecting.

The wind moved gently through her hair while she stared at the candles in confusion.

“Michael?” she called softly.

The camera shook because Michael’s hands were visibly trembling.

Studio Michael immediately buried his face in one hand.

“Oh my God…”

Onscreen younger Michael finally stepped into frame after setting the camera down carefully on a nearby table.

And somehow—

despite every stage he’d ever stood on—

despite millions of screaming fans—

he looked more nervous here than anywhere else in his life.

Y/N noticed instantly. She always did. Her smile softened.

“What’s wrong?”

Michael laughed nervously. “Everything.”

The studio laughed softly through the tension.

Then he walked closer slowly.

Close enough to hold her hands.

And immediately his entire expression changed, as if touching her grounded him.

“You know,” he started quietly, “I spent my whole life thinking love was something people earned.” Y/N’s eyes softened immediately. Michael kept going. “Like I had to perform for it. Or work for it. Or become something for people to stay.”

The studio had gone dead silent now.

Even the cameras felt still.

“But you…” Michael laughed shakily. “You loved me when I was annoying. And exhausted. And paranoid. And ridiculous.”

Y/N was fighting tears back already.

“You loved me before all this got…” He motioned vaguely around himself. “…heavy.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last word. And instantly Y/N squeezed his hands tighter.

Michael looked down briefly trying to compose himself.

When he looked back up his eyes were glassy.

“I don’t think you understand what you did for me.”

Y/N covered her mouth as tears kept pooling around her eyes.

And Michael—sweet, impossible Michael—started crying too.

Not dramatic.

Not movie tears.

Real ones.

The kind he kept trying unsuccessfully to blink away.

“You made me feel safe,” he whispered.

That broke the entire room.

A producer wiped tears away.

One assistant outright started crying.

Onscreen Michael laughed shakily through tears.

“You’re my best friend.”

Y/N was fully sobbing now.

Michael reached up instinctively wiping beneath her eyes with both thumbs.

“And every good thing in my life somehow leads back to you.”

Then—

finally—

he dropped slowly to one knee.

The studio audibly gasped.

Y/N made the most heartbreaking sound imaginable.

“Oh my God…”

Michael looked up at her like she hung the moon itself.

Completely undone.

Completely in love.

“I don’t want another version of my life that doesn’t have you in it.”

His voice cracked again.

“I don’t care where we are. Or what happens. Or what people say about me tomorrow.”

Then he smiled through tears.

“As long as you’re there.”

Y/N was crying too hard to speak now.

Michael laughed softly.

Which only made him cry harder.

“So…” he whispered shakily. “Will you marry me?”

Y/N didn’t even let him finish fully before dropping to her knees with him.

“Yes.” Immediately. Without hesitation. “Yes, yes—”

She grabbed his face kissing him through tears while Michael laughed against her mouth so overwhelmed he could barely breathe.

The studio lost it.

People cried.

Laughed.

Covered their mouths.

Onscreen Y/N kept kissing his face over and over while Michael held her so tightly like he physically never wanted to let go again.

Then through tears she laughed shakily:

“You realize I’m gonna annoy you forever now.”

Michael laughed into her shoulder immediately. “Promise?”

And somehow—

somehow—

that hit even harder.

The footage ended shortly afterward with Michael forgetting the camera existed entirely.

Still kneeling beside the lake.

Still holding her face carefully.

Still staring at her with this expression like he genuinely could not believe she loved him back.

Then the screen went black.

Silence filled the studio.

Nobody moved.

Nobody even pretended not to cry anymore.

Present-day Michael sat quietly staring at the blank screen.

Eyes red.

Hands folded together tightly.

Y/N looked emotional too.

But calmer somehow.

Certain.

The producer spoke softly after a long moment.

“That might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Michael looked down shyly.

And Y/N just reached over quietly intertwining their fingers.

Because after all these years, after every headline and every tour and every interview and every lonely horrible thing fame had dragged through Michael’s life: their love had remained the truest thing in the room.

And maybe Y/N had been right.

Maybe people deserved to see that too.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・.・。.・゜✭

Taglist:

@skiicoreee @18lkpeters @ami-kay-01 @bouncylikebouncyball @hewassunshine @umafanficdoidaqualquer @darkgreengri @boredpretty @thatonegirl412 @velOurnoir @watamotee33 @nodisdino @leipforggy @amoravelee @defmaybesam @niyahctrl @daniela75201 @d3adlyclassrat @bangtan7553 @romansbbg @chims-kookies @needjoekeery @cruelsummer01 @dreyar-palacez @maerawrrr @maxivstappen @iris-xoxo-juhu @cakewiththecreamer @lovern-9 @faercia @ladyjacksonsblog

[ellasworldwideweb]

𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐝!𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐣𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧

ᥫ᭡. a michael jackson drabble

⋆.˚dad!michael who unintentionally made his kids also obsessed with orange juice.

⋆.˚dad!michael who finishes the last of the orange juice, but blames it on you when the kids get sad. Despite hiding it in a flask water bottle in front of them. He just refuses to share until you get more. whoops.

⋆.˚dad!michael who instills a vivid imagination in his children with bedtime stories, disney movies, and an array of costumes for them to play pretend in on a daily basis, and often dresses up himself as Peter Pan.

⋆.˚dad!michael who gets sad when the kids don't want to dress up and play pretend.

⋆.˚dad!michael who has you teach him how to do the children's hair and always chooses to dress them in colorful clothes.

⋆.˚dad!michael who loves doing crafts with his kids, like making origami and beaded friendship bracelets, making sure everyone wears their bracelet often.

⋆.˚dad!michael who begins marking your children's height on the doorframe of their ginormous playroom, always adding their name and age while smiling softly.

⋆.˚dad!michael who randomly takes the children in front of a mirror and has them make silly faces with him while snapping photos for your family scrapbook.

⋆.˚dad!michael who loves when his kids dance and perform his music for him and his friends, and makes sure everyone looks excited, because the kids are doing amazing.

⋆.˚dad!michael who saw how much the kids enjoy playing with their bikes and electric toy cars and bought an extra one of each for himself. Then started racing the children in them despite needing to squish himself inside to fit.

⋆.˚dad!michael who tries to learn how to cook in an attempt to impress his kids, and after they praise his spaghetti, decides he no longer needs to learn and allows that to be his specialty dish that he makes weekly.

⋆.˚dad!michael who easily gets talked into staying with the children until they fall asleep at bedtime and ends up falling asleep before they do.

© ellasworldwideweb I do not give consent to copying/editing my work.

[revsweetandk]

Smile ෆ

.˚࿔ Thriller era Michael Jackson x fem!reader .˚࿔

⊹summery: while preparing yourself to celebrate your one year anniversary with your dear boyfriend Michael, you notice a look of discomfort on his face. And you are determined to figure out as to why. ₊ ⊹

Contains fluff, emotional talk, Micheal gets the comfort he deserves.

A/n-Ahh this is my first one-shot ever! Let me know how you guys liked it <3 enjoy!

You and Michael had officially been together for one year. And today was your anniversary.

Micheal had made reservations to take you out to dinner, and you couldn’t be more excited.

You carefully selected the dress Michael had handpicked for you earlier. A beautiful off the shoulder dark crimson dress that hugged the curves of your body beautifully while also giving an element of elegance.

As you walked towards your shared bedroom with the dress draped over your arm, you saw Michael sitting by the vanity mirror, a look of displeasure on his face.

A look you knew too well.

You slipped the dress off your arm seemingly onto the bed before turning your attention towards Michael.

Softly, you called out to him. “Baby?” You started slowly…” What’s wrong?” A look of worry crossed your features, your brow raised lightly as ideas passed through your mind.

Michael looked up; his eyes met yours through the reflection of the mirror. His eyes softened immediately as the soothing of your voice called out to him. disrupting him out of his dreadful thoughts.

"Nothing, baby,” he said weakly, although the slight downward curve of his lips said otherwise.

"C'mon you can tell me, was something delayed? Did rehearsal go wrong today?” Your voice dipped slowly with a hint of sincerity as you tried to bridge together the matter at hand.

Michael’s heart ached. You were so good to him. Always patient with him, always taking the time to hear his thoughts no matter how ridiculous they sounded. Even when others overlooked him. Even when he so desperately tried to hide it, you just knew him too well.

Micheal let out a loud sigh, surrendering to your care. “I’m just frustrated with everything,” he said, his eyes looking down in a moment of annoyance. His hand slid over his damp curls, pulling them back in a moment of vulnerability.

“The tabloids and their lies. The criticism from Joseph. It’s just,” he took another deep breath, “it’s just too much.” The hand in his hair pulled away, slowly turning itself into a fist of uncontrollable anger. And even yet, you could still see the faintest hint of sadness.

You took a step forward to him, grabbing his clenched fist softly.

Michael’s eyes instantly softened, the palpable anger washing away from his body in a second just from your touch. His hand unclenched. Wrapping his fingers tightly around yours, grounding himself.

“Baby…” you began softly, your heart gnawing at the thought of Michael being so upset.

“The tabloids don’t know you, not like I do.” You begin slowly, almost like testing the waters. Your voice was warm and light, yet the faintest crack of sorrow could be heard from it.

“They only write what they think will get them the most attention. Without their critiques on others, they are nothing.” Your words were sure and clear, your eyes locked onto Michael’s in a wave of confidence, as he could only stare at you in hurt.

“And for Joseph, he has no right to critique you in any way. He’s a selfish man who only cares about what works in his favor, his needs.”

You emphasized the last part. You had always held Joseph in a dark place deep in your heart. For the way he treated Michael and his siblings growing up. With no one to protect them. No one to defend them, and with no one to give them the proper care and love they deserved. Especially from a father.

Michael nodded slowly in a moment of silent agreement; his eyes looked downward for a moment before he forced himself to look back up at you. He took a moment before speaking.

“Thank you, Y/N, you’re right, you always are, but…” He bit his lip tightly in a wave of thought, his lip quivering slightly. A habit you had picked up from him years ago. A nervous pattern he did in times of distress.

“I’m just never pleased. With almost anything. Except with you, of course,” he smiled softly, looking up at you before looking back down.

His soft smile disappeared once more.

“Sometimes I think too hard. I question myself about my performances. My worth. I look at myself at times and just hate what I see. Even when I so desperately try to love myself fully, it’s never there.“

Your eyes widened slowly, your hand still cradling Michael’s as your thumb softly began moving back and forth against the warmth of his knuckles to soothe him.

You watched him carefully, making sure to listen to every word he said, allowing him to address his feelings without disrupting him. 

“I guess it’s now altered the way I think about myself…because now everything must be perfect for me to feel satisfied.” His voice cracked faintly, as if the memories of his father's voice echoed through his head once again, reliving the moment. The weight and expectations that were placed on him from an early age.

Your heart ached.

You knelt down softly, reaching your hand out; you held Michael's chin softly, turning his head to look at you.

“Micheal,” you began softly, your eyes softening at the sight of him, deliberately trying to comfort him.

“You are so much more than what you can even imagine. Do you even realize how much you have impacted this world? You have so many aspirations, so much to give that sometimes you seem to forget about what it is that you want.” Your voice trembled slightly as you continued, your tone firm but delicate.

Micheal could only stare at you as you continued speaking.

“You inspire me to be a better person, not only because of the way you think, but in the way you carry yourself. You’re so soft-spoken, you never raise your voice even when you feel like shouting to let yourself be heard. You speak to everyone with such reverence, even when they shove right past you, even when they overlook you.” Your eyes strummed with tears, but you continued further.

Michael's eyes began to fill with tears threatening to spill as he continued staring deep into his eyes, his breath hitching with every word.

“You’re such a good person.” You began slowly, stopping for a moment as you tried to find the right words before continuing. “And it pains me that you don’t see yourself the way I do, the way the world does.”

“You’re so selfless, Michael. You aren’t afraid to help someone when they need it. Even when you yourself are carrying indescribable weight on your shoulders. Instead, you embrace them, hug them tightly, and offer them the comfort you so badly crave yourself. And that, in itself, is a gift.”

“You have so many dreams you want to share with the world, so much you want to accomplish. And you will, because you have a good heart. And to think that in a world full of people, full of possibilities, it was me who was destined to meet you. To be able to wake up each morning and be greeted with the warmth of your body against mine. Your face left unguarded and completely real. That is what makes me happy. I can’t even go into detail about every single thing I love about you, because it’s just too much.

Micheal let out a short, breathless huff.

“I love your voice.” You begin, “It’s beautiful and soft, just like you. It has this unique sound, so genuine and different from others. I love how soft-spoken you are; even when you’re angry, you’re still so careful to not raise your voice, almost like feathers brushing lightly off something delicate. Something that shouldn’t be disturbed.

Your voice threatened to crack, yet you forced the words out of your mouth.

“And your eyes, they're like a window to your soul. I love how big and expressive they are, almost like the eyes of an innocent deer. You have long lashes that brush through the contours of your cheeks when you close them, like fluttering wings.”

Micheal could only stare at you as he absorbed every single word you said. Marking them deep in his heart.

“Oh! And your smile, oh, your smile. I don’t think I could go a day without seeing it.”

You giggle softly; your eyes look down for a moment, almost as if pondering the thought of it. A quick smile flashed through your lips before you looked back up at Michael.

“It’s graceful, it’s delicate, and it's effortlessly charming. It’s like your smile demands attention, in any room you enter. Even when you don’t seek it. It’s so contagious and bright. Lighting up the darkest rooms. I swear it has a way of washing away any stress off my shoulders.” You unintentionally raise your shoulders a bit, taking in a slight breath before easing them back down. Like you were reminding yourself how it feels.

“Michael.” You say his name more sternly, forcing his eyes to focus solely on your next words. “Don’t let people who try to break you apart have the satisfaction of knowing they succeeded. Continue to be true to yourself, continue being the strong, confident person I know and love, the strong person the rest of the world knows.”

“That’s what makes you, you.”

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you quickly brushed them away with the back of your hand.

Micheal could only look at you for a short moment.

Within a second, Michael’s vision blurred as tears began to fall down the corners of his eyes before he could stop them. Your hands gently rose up, cradling his face as your thumbs gently brushed away the tears staining his cheeks. Like they were something delicate. Something precious.

“You’re enough. To me, to the world, and to yourself. And no matter how many times I have to remind you, I will do so. I’ll tell you what an incredible person you are. And the impact you have made to this world.” You finally finished speaking. Staring deep into his eye's as if you were almost peering into his soul. Your lips offer him a reassuring smile.

Michael could only stare at you for a moment. His breath ragged shallowly as he consumed your words. His lips quivered as if he wanted to say something, anything. But the tightening of his throat seemed to make it impossible. His shoulders hunched inward for a moment before he threw himself into your arms, cutting off his muffled sobs.

He threw himself against you, clinging onto you as if you were the only thing holding him together from collapse. His face buried deep into your chest, hands clutching the fabric of your shirt desperately, as if to remind himself that you were really here. His sobs came uneven and real. His weight leaned onto you, finally breaking through a barrier he thought was intangible.

You quickly embraced him back just as tightly, if not more. A wave of unfiltered love and protectiveness washed over you. In this moment of vulnerability, clarity settled over you. A deep reminder that this was the reason why you loved Michael so much. Outside of the fame, the music, and the expectations. You loved who he was as a person, even the broken bits he deemed to hide away from the rest of the world. Even the flaws he thought were too unlovable and ugly.

But that only made him real. raw.

You would stay like this beside him for the rest of your life if it meant protecting him from the evil of the world. He wasn’t just Michael Jackson to you. He was Michael.

Your Michael.


In a room full of silence, Michael's quiet sobs could be heard, seeking comfort in your presence.

His breath hitched in a shaky whisper against your chest as he hiccuped a small, quiet.

“I don’t deserve you.”

His shoulders shook up and down in response. In short, uneven breaths. His eyes shut tightly, the dampness of his tears staining the fabric of your shirt.

“No.” You whispered immediately, shaking your head softly. “You deserve the world.”

Your hand that was caressing the curls on the nape of his neck gently rose to his face, lifting him up from the shelter of your chest to meet your eyes. You smiled at him and leaned down to place a gentle kiss on his lips. Saying everything you couldn’t quite put into words.

And for the first time in a while, Michael broke out in a smile.

Not the kind he held for audiences.

Or the practiced one he held for photos.

Not even the kind he forced to let others know he was alright.

But a real, soft, fragile smile.

The most genuine kind.

And in that moment, you knew you’d spend the rest of your life protecting him from harm if it meant being able to see him smile.

[plumppies]

Tape 01: Interview w/ Mr & Mrs Jackson

 Michael Jackson

Synopsis: An achieved tape of Michael and you being interviewed for the first time after your wedding and honeymoon. Reader is not media trained and is a bit naive.

Pairing: Dangerous!Michael Jackson x Black fem!reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: Language, age gap.

Interviewer: So we’re gonna start off with a few questions about your honeymoon and then go from there. Is that okay?

Michael: Yeah, sure. Can I see the list of questions you have for us?

Interviewer: Uh, sure, yes. The producer has them, but you’re more than welcome to decline to answer any questions if you’d prefer.

You: How long will this take? I have dinner plans with your mom and sisters tonight. I don’t want to be late.

Rustling over the microphone as you shift closer to Michael. A soft smooch carries through, possibly Michael kissing your cheek.

Interviewer: Not too long, Mrs Jackson, we won’t be long.

Audio cuts to you humming ‘Human Nature’ as the interviewer introduces himself, along with the segment. This has been redone a few times; your humming is too loud for the introduction.

Interviewer: I’m Steven Knight, and I’m here today with the newly married couple, Mr and Mrs Jackson. How are you both doing today?

Michael: We’re doing great, thank you.

You: Yeah, we’re good.

Interviewer: And marriage? I saw a few tapes from your honeymoon. It appears you two had a blast in the Bahamas.

Michael hums in response, and you giggle at the memory.

You: We spent all day by the pool or the beach. The piña coladas are amazing! I was tipsy for most of the honeymoon!

Michael: Cut that part out.

Another cut in the audio, the interviewer clears his throat.

Interviewer: The Bahamas were your destination of choice. Is there a specific reason why you chose that spot?

Michael: My wife and I wanted somewhere warm and quiet.

You: It was also a fantastic option for us because of its proximity to the states. We got married a few weeks before Mike’s Dangerous tour, so it was easier to book a short trip.

Interviewer: Ah, yes, speaking of the tour, how has it been so far, Michael? Has your wife been to any shows yet?

Michael: It’s been wonderful. The fans are beautiful, and the shows have been exciting so far. My wife has yet to see me live. She’s too busy making Neverland more homely for us both.

You giggle, possibly resting your cheek on his shoulder.

You: Yes, the main home feels more like a bachelor pad. I’m working on renovations with the interior designer.

Michael chuckles, fixing your mic placement.

Interviewer: Any plans for the house in particular?

You: Yes! I want to make it more, umm… a farm-style home. It looks great, but it’s missing the feminine touch.

Interviewer: On other matters…the media has been commenting on your apparent age gap. Ten years, yes? Do you have a response to that?

You: Well, it’s not like we met when I was a minor. I was around 22, and he was 32, yes. I’m 25 now and know what I want — who I want, and I want Michael.

Michael: The press wants anything to make me look evil. I never rushed her into anything. She ran things between us for the most part.

You giggle again, snorting as you shift in your seat.

Interviewer: I see. Is there something in particular that you love about Michael?

You: Oh, yes! He’s such a fun man to be around! There’s never a day when I’m bored around him.

Interviewer: Could you elaborate on that?

You: Of course! Well, as you know, Neverland has an entire carnival just a few miles up. Michael lets me turn it on whenever I want. We also play quite a lot of video games, sometimes all night!

Michael clears his throat, sipping from his water bottle.

Interviewer: Ah, so he spoils you? A girl’s biggest dreams. I read a few tabloids about you spending large sums of your husband’s money on clothes and jewellery.

Michael: Money’s not a problem.

You: I don’t spend too much, but—

Michael: Cut that out, too.

A beat of silence

Producer: Which part, Michael?

Michael: The entire part about her shopping habits. I’m not allowing my wife to be perceived as a gold digger.

Producer: Yes, sir. We’ll cut that out.

You: I don’t think I’m ready for interviews yet, Mike.

Michael: You gotta learn, honey. They’ll cut out whatever I tell ‘em to, so don’t worry about sounding perfect.

A cut in the tape

Interviewer: Do you two ever feel like your marriage is under a microscope? How do you manage that?

You: Yes. I feel that quite a bit. I married the most influential man in the world. It’s a lot of pressure, but I manage it by staying away from the press.

Michael: Can I see that question paper again? I’m not liking where this is going.

A sheet of paper flaps between you both, but the interviewer continues.

Interviewer: Your critics say every appearance you’ve made with your wife feels staged. Is anything in your life spontaneous anymore?

You gasp

You: We stage nothing!

Michael: Stop.

Interviewer: Mrs Jackson, are you afraid that the public fascination could eventually turn against your husband?

You: W-what? No! They love him. He’s a good man.

Michael: Stop asking questions.

Interviewer: Michael, are you genuinely misunderstood, or simply unwilling to explain yourself clearly?

You: M-Mike?—

Michael: I said, stop the interview!

Michael rips off his microphone, but you keep yours on. The tape keeps on rolling.

Michael: I’m a very busy man. I allowed you into my home for an interview, packed in between my rehearsals and shows, and you chose to disrespect my wife and me.

Producer: Mr Jackson, I apologise. None of those questions was written on the paper. What has gotten into you, Steven?

Interviewer: The world deserves to know these things. Excuse me for wanting the truth out.

You: The truth? You’re here for a juicy tabloid hit! There’s no truth in what you’re asking, jackass! Get out! And leave the damn tape here while you’re at it!

Shuffling noises as the producer begins packing up. He’s still apologising to you both.

Michael: You heard the woman. Get the hell out. I’ll be blacklisting Mr Knight from now onward. Feel free to reschedule a proper interview with us.

A long pause of shuffling and apologies. The producer and interviewer leave.

You: I can’t believe that man. What the hell is wrong with him?

Michael: I’m sorry about that, honey. That was fucked up.

You: Damn straight it was fucked up. I’m so mad right now I should shoot that bitch up—wait, is that still recording?

Michael: Shit—

Beep!