࿐ Here comes Y/N the American beauty
Synopsis: OTW!Michael meets a gorgeous woman who doesn’t seem to know who he is. A game of double Dutch and a lazy evening ensue
Content: Fluff, set after Michael asks his brothers to play twister, double Dutch, children. Cookout vibes
Word count: 1.5k
A.N. : my first ever time doing this guys, lemme know how I can improve pls 🥹 also if you want more?
June - Havynhurst, 1980
The sound of laughter echoed throughout the neighborhood. Reverberated off every person like rain falling through gutters.
Through it a lonely Michael walked, with an unopened box of twister tucked under his arm. Superstardom hadn't brought friends along with it, nor had it made his family any softer.
But, then again he was older, and so were they, twister was a dumb idea.
It was hot, to hot to walk aimlessly. The ground seemed to warp from the heat, cracks in the sidewalk only gaining leeway to expand further. Ants hid in their dirt homes, and birds dove into the nearest patch of water and shade.
Yet. Kids danced and jumped, and ran through a broken hydrant. As carefree as a camel lazying in the desert.
Micheal continued to walk, watching as everyone moved around him as though he was a random bloke. A bubble broken when a small kid, still growing in her too front teeth stood smack in front of him.
"Mister. can you play double dutch?" She'd asked, tilting her head, her toed up braids moved with her head, bobos clacking loud in the ears of someone whose whole life revolved around image — around curated perfection.
Double dutch. Sure he had seen some girls do it here in there when he was young, but play it? Jump both ropes? Michael laughed softly "No, I don't think i can."
The little smiled brighter, and turned on her heels, running off to where two kids were setting up the two ropes. But not before telling him to follow her.
"AUNTIE!" the girl squealed as she jumped on your back.
There a stood probably the most gorgeous woman Michael had ever seen, and she was turned around.
"I told you adults don't double dutch"
Michael just stood there, awkward as can be, twister still tucked under his arm. You turned around slowly, and stared at him like he wasn't Michael Jackson, the star since 5, no. He was a random man your niece brought to prove a point. "Tiffany get down."
A voice of heaven, or was that his imagination?
You stood, one hand on your hip, wearing a black ribbed tank top that stopped two inches above your belly button, and denim shorts that stopped an inch under. "Did she drag you over here to play double dutch?" you'd asked him with a smile.
Michael took a second before nodding softly, and before he could speak, you were. "You don't have to if you don't want to."
Tiffany ran back over from where she had been with her cousins, "No. you said adults can be better at double dutch than kids and hes the…" she paused, thinking of the science word you had taught her, but seven meant she had forgotten when not in the classroom.
"Variable" you helpfully chimed in for her, a laugh of your own bubbling up. A hand came up, pushing back your hair out o f your face as you looked to Tiffany.
Michael looked between the two of you, "I'll do it. Its nothing"
you looked over and smiled like he was doing you a favor, not like the Michael Jackson was standing in front of you. "Alright, well I'm Y/N and this is Tiffany"
His own small smile danced across his face, "Michael"
And that's how he ended up standing between two kids spread out, both holding either end of two ropes. You were sat on the curb, leaning back, your own sunglasses, much like his own, pulled down to watch.
"Now, be careful. and don't make me a liar." You said with a laugh as the kids began to circle the ropes, slow for the first timer. Once he even looked like he was getting it down they decided it as the perfect time to speed up the rope. All the children who were lazing around the house sat nearby to watch the show, all too young to recognize a celebrity.
Michael was intently focused on the game, watching down at the ropes, not listening to the children counting his jumps. 15 before one caught his ankle. He'd walked over a bit defeated, Tiffany had gotten 30, and he was apart of your team.
You just laughed, high fiving him. "You did great, you'll get em in round two huh?" you said patting his back on the way to your own turn.
Michael took your seat on the curb, where you had kicked your shoes off in preperation, and tied your hair up once with a band. "Ok now, don't show out". you said as the ropes started, no warm up for you.
The sun had begun to set by now, yet laughter was still the main sound he heard, looking around at all the little kids, sitting with juices and plates of food and snacks. All filing out of one backyard with chairs. Michael hadn't known such carefree joy. Kids with big Afros and cornrows, and girls with colorful clips and beads that knocked.
His attention turned back to you as a rhyme began.
"Policeman, policeman, do your duty,
Here comes Y/N."
You laughed again, louder as you began, a semi-natural, not your first rodeo but definitely not your thousant.
"And she's a cutie;
She can jump, she can twist,
But I bet she can't do this."
Michael blushed for you, clapping along with the children. As you jumped, a small kid curled into Michael's side, clearly tired. His hair was shaved down, and he looked more content than Michael's heart could fathom. Mini wife-beater stained with BBQ sauce and chip dust, a bottle of juice cradled in his hand.
The rope sped up as the kids voices died down, once at 20 jumps they picked back up again. Their voices drowning out the sound of your feet hitting pavement, the sound of the ropes spinning, the sound of your stacked jewelry jumping.
"Sailor, sailor do your duty,
Here comes Y/N, the American beauty,”
You decided to get a bit fancy as you neared thirty, moving your feet along with the children's voices, your laughter ringing out louder than any of the children (in Michael's ears at least).
"She can wiggle, she can waggle, she can do a split,
But she can’t wear dresses above her hips!"
The kids laughed loud, and louder when by 40 the rope caught your thigh. You walked off in mock defeat.
Towards Michael.
You picked the child up gently, "Kareem, go inside if your tired." You said setting the child down who groaned and stalked inside.
Michael's eyes never left you, especially not as you sat next to him.
"How was i?"
"You did good" His soft voice barely audible as the kids went back to playing with the entertainment off.
you nodded, slightly sweaty, "oh i never asked, you hungry? Daddy put some more stuff on the grill a few ago." your head tilted slightly, expecting his answer.
Michael nodded slightly, he'd been out all day. Thriller was set in motion, on top of OTW tours, practice ran long, and then he'd been with you the rest of the day.
you stood, dusting off your shorts, then reached out a hand to lead him into the backyard. The same once all the kids had been filing in and out of, where the older folks sat in plastic chairs, laughter ringing just as loud. You walked Michael toward the grill, past where your uncles were playing spades and rummy for change left in their pockets.
"Just over there," you half shouted over the music, pointing to a table off near the grill where foil pans sat. "Take whatever"
Michael felt your presence behind him as he grabbed a plate of food, a rather large one, per your aunts instance when she saw him grab nothing but a cheeseburger. Though she just eyed your solo burger.
Michael sat at the only empty spot of grass in the back, you followed naturally. Not a good look to leave your guest (even if your niece got him over here) all alone.
"Ya know," you started to break the spreading silence — your family having begun to pile out now that the street lights had been on for some time, small children with knocking beads and berets Michael stared at lifted in a sleepy daze back home — "You didn't do as bad at double as i thought you would've"
Michael laughed slightly, "Hey! I'll have you know i have great rhythm"
"Rhythm… right"
Michael turned, looking slightly offended. You just patted his arm, "How you gettin' home?"
He paused, snapped out of the haze of normalcy, of just living for the joy life gives. "I got my car just down the street" You nodded, thumb sucked in your mouth to get the food off as you reached over, grabbing a napkin. On it you wrote your number. "Call me, we never got to finish double dutch"
Your smile lit Michael's whole way home. The laughter, the easiness, the way he was Michael, just Michael. Not a single expectation was placed on him above keeping his manners. Not one performance needed when for a whole night. Your number pressed against him, tucked neatly into his pocket.
Yeah, maybe he’ll call in the morning.