running often through my mind

[joyyous]

ᯓ 𝐣𝐨𝐲.ᐟ.ᐟ 𝟐𝟎’𝐬. 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠. 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥. ᥫ᭡

(18+ minors dni)

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 (coming soon!)

©𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐬𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟔

[visualsbyaina]

MICHAEL JACKSON: HOLLYWOOD WALK OF FAME (1984)

[lestatress]

PROJECT MOONWALK | mission report

m. jackson x time traveler!reader [ series ] Under the code name Margot, you have been assigned by TimeLine Corporation to prevent the death of global icon Michael Jackson. con. time travel/multiverse AU , fem!reader , inaccurate science , angst , dystopian vibes , loneliness , premise for character study , reader’s ethnicity is not disclosed wc. 2k

not much michael in this one, but i had to set the stage a bit so i hope you enjoy!

masterlist series masterlist

They took you on a Thursday night.

When you were flushed with sleep in bed and eyes gently shut, lost in the grand delusions procured by your mind once you laid to rest. There was no sudden light startling you awake or soft sounds of strangers lurking in the shadows. There was sleep─sweet, sweet sleep, in which you dreamt of a sunset and a kiss─until there wasn't.

Until your eyes were covered with a dark cloth and you were blindly led outside. Shoved into a car and driven away from your home, where there was no one left to chase after you. No family to mourn you, no friends to miss you.

You couldn't sleep anymore during the ride. Under the blindfold, time ceased to exist. What was left to do but surrender to the darkness?

When the car finally came to a halt, a pair of hands pulled you from your seat. A painfully brief moment of fresh air is all you were given before a door hissed open. It shut quickly behind you like a mousetrap.

You were quickly led to a room and sat on a cold, metal chair. The air carried a sterile scent that made you faintly sick. The process continued promptly and smoothly. You wonder how accustomed they are to it. They pressed your fingerprints with cold ink onto cardstock. Your makeshift pajamas─an oversized t-shirt and sleep shorts─were exchanged for a cotton bodysuit; their gloved hands left an itchiness on your skin. They took samples from the inside of your cheek, a strand of your hair, and a urine test. Then, you remain seated and patiently wait another hour before they return and escort you through another door.

As you were led through the halls, you could hear indistinct murmurs dancing around you. They grew in volume, quickly, until they took up all of the silence left. An echo of whispery voices swarming around you until another door closed behind you.

They locked it and sealed you in your tomb. The cloth was removed from your eyes, though there was nothing to see besides a blinding, golden light pointed directly at you.

"State your name," a deep voice spoke from the darkness.

You momentarily frowned; your system was still in shock. But then, a second light flashed white, followed by the jarring shutter of a camera lens. You answered them and said your name aloud.

"Is this really necessary?" You squinted to make out the faces of your captors past the light.

Nothing. Darkness. Pitch black. In fact, you'd never seen darkness like this before─the kind that envelopes everything else with it, until only a deep void spans across anything perceptible. "TimeLine is a strictly private organization," the voice replies. Sounds with no source. "Following your agreement as a TimeLine agent, certain precautions are taken throughout the process."

The white light flashed again, then again, and you wonder how many pictures they really need.

When it finally stopped, a small screen illuminated itself to life across from you, presenting the TimeLine logo in its big, blue letters. A video began to play:

"Established in 2010, TimeLine corporation is a covert, privately-owned organization founded on the principle of improving the world through the use of time-altering. This process requires the tessellation of projected light beams through a film-like material called "essence", created and patented by TimeLine. Light beams live on beyond the human eye. Time is merely a perception."

"TimeLine agents, when exposed to the light beams of essence, are transported through the tessellation to the desired time of light. This transformation is referred to as 'hitching' lightwaves through our present timeline, referred to as 'the seam'. Agents may feel lightheaded, nauseous, exhausted, confused, and sensitive to sunlight upon hitching. It is highly advised to administer 24-hour intervals between each hitch."

The screen then reads:

"Your mission [ MISSION 829 ] is to prevent the death of Subject #6251, known as Michael Jackson. #6251 is categorized as a Class 1: Critical Event. Access subject file for more information. Verbal, physical, or even visual contact with mission subjects can lead to potential risks; take caution." Mission 829 has been attempted by [ 20 ] agents. Successes: [ 0 ] NAME: Margot

Upon signing, you hereby surrender yourself to the essence, fulfilling your mission for the sake of humanity, and agree to the circumstantial danger of your role as an agent traveling through light. You understand that this is an isolated task and you will not have contact with your time of light apart from your submitted logs. The future of the commonwealth is indebted to you for your service.

You signed with your index finger along the blank space, loopy and truly unlike your actual signature, but two guards whisk you away nevertheless. Whatever prospect of life you had left was now sloppily signed away in fine print. In truth, what does it matter if you aren’t who you say you are? They couldn’t care less. You’re a pawn, a soldier, a disposable agent to their experiment. Then again, you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think it was worth it.

The world have given up hope. Corrupt governments and their corrupt institutions poisoned the land before you were born. You grew up seeing barren fields outside your window on car rides, murky water from the bathtub spout, dirty, gray clouds blanketing the sky. You still remember the sickness. The coughing, the runny-noses, the constant dull headache. And once you were old enough, you were on your own. Alone, as was the rest of the world. How can such lonesomeness be so collective? How can everyone be so close yet so far apart?

TimeLine was a last resort. It certainly was not your dream to work for an underground company whose name you'd only heard ill of. But what else was left?

If the world left to you was so unbearable, surely the only resolution would be to explore a new one—one that already existed.

When you stood across from the theater doors, the moment suddenly became entirely real. It left a shiver throughout your bones. Your life—fragments of it flashing before your eyes; car rides, rainy mornings, funerals, birthdays, breakups, first times—will never be the same after this. You could hardly call it your own anymore.

It's for the world, you consoled yourself as they walked you past the threshold. This’ll help the world.

They led you down the aisle, and into a cushioned seat in the third row from the screen. The theater is completely void of light. Your sight is completely futile in the pitch black.

Rough, gloved hands strap you down in your seat, and, left to your thoughts in the dark, the flashes of your life briefly resume. What had led to this; where did it all go wrong?

Eventually, the hands disappeared, and you could hear quick footsteps retreating into the darkness. It cloaked you, heavy and insistently. You began to suffocate on it.

Until something like a heavy switch broke and a bright beam of light projected onto the screen. You wanted to shield your eyes with your arm, but you found it completely impossible to move through the light. And soon enough, your eyes adjusted to the magnified rays. They glistened, and within them, small flecks made themselves present like stars through smog. They fluttered to a cohesive rhythm as if they breathed with one another; the essence.

You even began to see small, moving shapes of color coming together like brushstrokes on a canvas. And once they began to sharpen, you can hear faint sounds, muffled and layered.

The colors become pictures, scenes on the screen, and the sounds became voices, laughing and crying, shouting and whispering. And, beyond it all, in the echo of the voices is music. Sweet, soulful music that follows along with your pulse until you’re certain the music is a part of you.

Altogether, the light and sound come together as static broadcast through the seam, transporting you along with them.

“Michael!” A little girl’s voice echoes through the light waves.

A small boy runs through a hallway before he's suddenly on a stage with a microphone in his hand. His round, almost black eyes reflect a cheering crowd. Flashes of light, and the boy is older, in shimmering suits with sweat dripping down his neck and chest. Next, his face has taken its shape with age, his hair is longer, and his complexion has changed, but it’s undoubtedly him. Instances of him with his brothers, of him running through a grassy field, of him in a hospital bed. The young boy returns, but this time, he weeps quietly into his pillowcase, and the image morphs into his older yet childlike face. He cries in the mirror, he cries alone in a car, he cries with his back turned to a crowd. He cries in bed again.

“Just leave me alone,” he says to the darkness, to no one at all. No one can hear him—besides you.

“Please, leave us alone.”

The image glitches into the next. He's older again—you can hear it in his voice as he sings into a microphone. The bright colors of the stage carve a shadow of his figure into the air.

“Michael! Michael! Michael!”

Crowd chant his name. It comes through grainy police radio. It’s cried out throughout the world. You can hear it repeated in every voice that had ever uttered it, ricocheting in the theater walls until his name is the only thought your mind can fathom. You watch as these moments of his life, etched into the eternal seam of light, flash before you just as your own life had minutes ago.

You watch his tears, his joys, his secrets, and you wonder, what could your life be in the presence of his?

And you surrender to it. Tears well up in the corner of your eyes, though they never fall. You give yourself to the essence, and you feel as if you are floating.

When the light ends, you feel something begin inside you—a chill, that becomes an uneasiness in your stomach, but alongside it is vigor. Your skin feels indescribably different, and it frightens you before you realize you no longer don the industrial jumpsuit. Instead, a pair of bootcut jeans and a sleeveless blouse hug your figure.

Light returns to the theater through gold sconces, and the room is rendered unrecognizable. What was once gray pads on the walls are now gold wainscoting. Your seat is lined with a crimson velvet, and the air has a certain staleness as if it had been trapped in this room forever.

In your hand is a large leather satchel. Inside, you find an array of identification documents, envelopes of cash, a thick folder, sunglasses, and a tiny, golden pin adorned with a boldened TL.

Thank you for your service.

With no other choice, you move from your seat and make your way to the black doors at the end of the theater. Through their round windows, you can see an oddly unfamiliar light. When you enter the lobby, you can hardly adjust to the harsh light. You blindly stumble towards the front doors and quickly fasten the sunglasses around your head. Suddenly, everything becomes clear.

The street roars with speeding cars. A cool breeze amid the hot air smells faintly of salt. It’s clear and easy to breathe. A few people pass by on the sidewalk—a couple, a group of skaters, a runner, an old man with a cane. They all glance, some longer than others, but they continue on nonetheless as if you were not an imposter on their time.

Time. What’s the time?

No phone. No calendar or reminders app. Not even a wristwatch. Just the stupid corporate pin that taunted you from the depths of your bag.

You sigh, and when you inhale, you nearly choke on the air—the clearest, purest air you've ever felt. The taste of it was nothing at all. No smoke, no dirt, no chemicals, even despite the industrious setting around you. You breathed it again, and again, like you'd never breathed before.

Turning on your heel to the facade of the theater. Palace is emboldened in cursive, white lettering above the marquee, which lists various films: "King Ralph", "Sleeping with the Enemy", "Silence of the Lambs". And below the list, in smaller letter cards, reads the answer to your question—the undeniable proof that you were no longer in the present.

2/29/1991.

likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! © lestatress 2026.

[moonwalkingforever]

It's been 17 years without you. I hope that, wherever you are, you can feel how much we love you and that you know we always will. Your loss will always be a tender wound, a pain that never quite fades. And I know you are in our hearts, in our souls, in every step we take, still inspiring us, guiding us, giving us strength. There aren't enough words for everything I'd like to say to you, to thank you for how many things in my life are how they are because you existed. And, even if it's what I'm about to say won't convey even a speck of it, know that my gratitude and love for you are immense. Rest in peace, Michael.

[joyyous]

hi pals 📖🖋️🫶🏼

dropped a lil something and im going to sleep bc EXHAUSTED but just wanted to say welcome to my new sideblog n’ let’s be pals!!!

[joyyous]

𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

SUMMARY— jealousy gets the best of you when your bestfriend’s brother / longtime crush brings another woman around. the next few weeks are utter turmoil.

loosely based on ‘lacy’ by olivia rodrigo

WC— 2.7k

CONTENT/WARNINGS— thrillerera!michael x nondescript fm reader, angst w/ a happy-ish ending, brooke shields lowkey tryna take our man, some cursing, reader is stubborn and a lil insecure.

Lacy, oh Lacy, skin like puff pastry

Aren’t you the sweetest thing on this side of hell?

Dinner time at Hayvenhurst was chaotic. Everytime. Besides the plethora of Jackson children, Katherine welcomed others frequently. Friends of the children. Significant others. The occasional business partner. It was the gathering spot for many. Always full of laughter and joy. And tonight, like many others, you sat around the large dining table basking in said joy. Right next to Janet, your longtime friend.

You were mid-conversation, bickering with Jackie about something and giggling, when— in walks Michael. You can’t help but straighten up a little. The crush (which you considered to be fairly miniscule, or atleast you told yourself that) you had on him was very obvious to others— everyone but him apparently. It had only grown over the years. Spending time with Janet had eventually turned into watching movies with Michael. Reading fan mail with Michael. Listening to records with Michael. Being in the studio with Michael. You got so comfortable with him, sometimes even sleeping curled up next to him in his room after staying up til’ ungodly hours of the night talking.

But then, something changed. Seemingly out of the blue.

In came Brooke. Literally and figuratively.

You gnawed at the inside of your cheek as you watched her follow Michael into the dining room. Recently, she’d become a staple in the Jackson household. The actress, who was a few years your junior, was breathtaking. Perfect teeth. Gorgeous smile. Long legs. Your eyes flickered down to your lap as you tried hard to calm the feeling growing deep in your gut. Pure, burning jealousy.

Within the last couple of months, Michael had spent less time with you and more time talking to Brooke on the phone. Prancing around red carpets with Brooke. Hanging out with Brooke. Talking about Brooke.

Brooke. Brooke. Brooke.

It was devastating.

Like perfume that you wear, I linger all the time

Watchin’, hidden in plain sight

“What are you thinkin’ about over there? You’re gonna burn a hole thru the ceiling.”

Michael’s voice pulled you from your trance. You were sprawled out on his bed on your back while he sat on the floor, flipping through a random magazine. The two of you had been listening to music, but you’d stopped humming along a while ago. He couldn’t help but notice.

You huffed, turning onto your stomach to face him, resting your chin on your hands, elbows digging into the plush mattress below you.

You shrug, eyeing him. Face emotionless.

Michael wasn’t stupid. He’d picked up on the way your friendship had started to wither. You seemed distant. Painfully so. But, he figured maybe it was because he was around less and less. Spending more time at the studio. Attending meetings. Planning a tour. Or maybe you had a secret boyfriend you weren’t telling him about. He had no clue.

So, he had been ecstatic that you’d agreed to hang out with him tonight. Tucked in the dim light of his bedroom. Enjoying each others company. Though, you seemed extra reserved tonight. Not your typical bubbly self. Taunting and teasing. Spitting jokes to him. Ranting about girl stuff. He knew you well enough to know something was wrong. But he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Before you could even begin to think about answering his question, the phone rang.

Michael was quick to hop up, answering the phone in his typical sweet tone. He wrapped the cord around one of his fingers, fidgeting with it as an obvious smile spread across his face. It was clearly a woman’s voice on the other end. Brooke undoubtedly. And, he began chatting back. Basically forgetting your mere existence, leaving you laying on his bed aimlessly. Your face flushed, a sudden urge to cry beginning to claw at your insides. Clenching your jaw, you move fast. Wanting nothing more than to get out of his room. But he saw your movement as you trying to give him privacy. Nothing more.

Michael eyed you, watching you bend down to gather a few of your belongings before you made your escape to Janet’s room. He waved a hand at you, keeping the phone to his ear, mouthing a ‘no no no!’ but made no further attempt to stop you.

Your eyes burned as you stepped out of the room, leaning against the door as it shut. Chest heaving as you tried hard not to break down into a sob right then and there.

Smart, sexy Lacy, I’m losing it lately

I feel your compliments like bullets on skin

Dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate

Well aren’t you the greatest thing to ever exist?

It wasn’t your typical Saturday night. No, this was different. The sudden barrage of camera flashes and yelling. The red carpet beneath your feet. You were attending the Grammy’s and that alone had you reeling. Arm-in-arm with Janet, you navigated past reporters and celebrities. It was a no brainer for Janet to bring you along tonight. The two of you did everything together. Though, Janet was admittedly a little nervous.

She knew Michael was coming with Brooke. More importantly, she knew how much you’d been struggling with that whole situation lately. She was your bestfriend after all. The one you’d thought would’ve been horrified when you’d admitted your feelings for her brother. Instead, she was the one who held you when you cried a few times recently when it all got too much. Your overwhelming feelings pouring from you as you sobbed to her.

Janet kept you close, watching your eyes sparkle at your surroundings.

And then, she watched them fill with raw emotion when Michael began to walk over. Hand clasped tight in Brooke’s. You swallowed hard, putting on your best fake smile. Something you’d mastered recently. Michael offered you and Janet both a quick hug, then your eyes met Brooke’s.

“You look amazing!” She grinned, her words genuine, yet somewhat of a metaphorical punch to the gut. In her defense, she had no clue about your feelings for her date.

“Thank you.” You smiled a little. “So do you.” Your reply was also genuine. Despite the position you were in, you’d never pray on anyone’s downfall. Especially someone Michael clearly admired. It wouldn’t do you any good.

So, seconds later after Michael had mumbled a few things to Janet, him and his date sauntered off. Janet immediately touched your arm, offering you a look of pure sympathy.

“I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I wish things were different.”

Ooh, I care, I care, I care

Like ribbons in your hair

My stomach’s all in knots

You got the one thing that I want

This was hell. You were sure of it.

You sat silently, lounged on a chair near the pool at Hayvenhurst. Sun beaming down, music playing loud. The brothers all splashing around, talking loudly and tossing a ball at one another.

Then there was Michael and Brooke who were giggling like children, chasing each other around the shallow end. Michael’s arms wrapping around her waist when he caught up to her, lifting her playfully.

You averted your eyes, tilting your head up towards the sun. If you didn’t know any better you’d settle for staring at the bright orange fireball above you, permanently burning your retinas. That might be less painful than this.

Over the last couple of weeks, you’d picked up the pieces of your heart alone. Or tried to atleast. A clueless Michael too busy with an all too familar Brunette. Despite your pain, you refused to stay away from Janet. She had been your rock through all of this, and you couldn’t imagine not hanging out with her. Even if it meant seeing Michael daily. And apparently Brooke.

Even though you’d accepted the fact that you’d never be with him in the way you’d dreamed about, that surely didn’t mean it didn’t sting to hear him shamelessly flirt with her or laugh at her jokes. Her name alone would always be a knife to the heart.

You shuffled uncomfortably in the lounger, reaching for your drink. It was only then that you spotted Michael whisper something in Brooke’s ear before she placed a kiss to his cheek. You sucked in a breath, clumsily dropping the glass onto the concrete beneath you— the sound of it shattering making everyone freeze.

Fuck.

Wincing, you moved to start cleaning it up until Katherine quickly ducked in.

“S’ okay baby.” She said, her calming voice floating around you. “Just a glass. It happens.” She knew.

You nod, eyes welling with tears behind your sunglasses. Everyone returned to what they were doing, and you followed Katherine inside as she disposed of the broken glass.

Moving to wash the sticky liquid of your drink off your hands, you stared aimlessly out of the large kitchen window.

“He doesn’t know.” She said suddenly, standing behind you. You shut the water off, not sure if you’d understood her correctly.

“What?” You murmured, turning to her.

“Michael.” She smiled a little, expression sympathetic. “He doesn’t know how you feel.”

You blink, suddenly speechless as you exhale a long breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“Janet told me.” She reiterated, reaching out to rub your arm comfortingly.

You drop your gaze to the floor because you don’t want to cry infront of her. And when you start to speak, your voice cracks. Katherine was quick to pull you in, sighing to herself when you began to sob into her chest. “I know, baby.” She soothed, rubbing your back with one hand and cradling your head with the other. “I know—It’s hard. Feelings are hard.”

She moved to grab your face, urging you to look at her. “You need to tell him. You shouldn’t hold things like this inside.”

“No.” You sniffle. “No— I can’t do that to him.”

“I don’t think things are as serious with Brooke as you think they are.” Katherine said, voice hushed.

“I think it’s just a special friendship. Nothing more.”

“I can’t handle rejection from him.” You whimper. “And it would ruin our friendship.”

“Sometimes we have to take chances, honey.” The woman’s motherly wisdom poured from her effortlessly. Somehow she always knew what to say and just how to say it. “We might fall time and time again. But you have to fall to walk. Take a chance. I think you might be surprised.”

I despise my jealous eyes

And how hard they fell for you

It was nearly two weeks later when you found yourself creeping quietly down a long familiar staircase, heading for the front door of Hayvenhurst. Overnight bag in hand. It was a little past six in the morning, the sun just barely up. The wood of the stairs creaking beneath your weight.

Janet was still fast asleep when you’d exited her room. You’d barely slept, mind overly busy per usual. Suddenly, you decided that you wanted the comfort of your own apartment. Your own bed.

But, when you reached for the doorknob, the door began to open without your touch. And then, there was Michael. Standing infront of you with tired eyes. You froze, a little startled.

“What are you doing up?” He smiled a little, face lighting up at your presence. “It’s early.”

“Going home.” You mumbled, attempting to move past him without looking him in the eyes.

That’s when he gently grabbed your wrist. “Hey.”

You huffed, forcing yourself to look at him. Annoyed. “What?”

“Can we please talk? Are you mad at me?” He asked simply, looking a little hurt. “You’ve barely spoken to me for weeks.”

“You’ve been busy, Michael.” You say pointedly. And it’s not false. He has been extremely busy this month.

“But I’ve been around.” He says, eyes searching your own. “And when I am, you avoid me at all costs.”

You sigh, defeated— The anger that had been bubbling in you dying down when you realize the disappointment and confusion written on his features. He looked tired. Worn down.

“Say something.” He speaks up again.

“I don’t know what to say, Michael.” You say, exasperated, stepping past him and starting to walk towards your car.

“I need you to tell me what I’m missing.” He walks behind you, clearly upset.

“Everything!” You turn to him, watching his face change when he notices your eyes are full of tears. “You’re missing everything Michael!”

His brows furrow as he steps closer. “I—”

“I’ve totally lost you.” You cry. “And for the sake of you and Brooke—”

“Wait, this is about Brooke?” He interrupts, and you almost laugh, hot tears streaming down your cheeks now.

“I’m in love with you, Michael!” You almost yell, chest heaving. “I’ve been in love with you. For a long time. And I can’t watch anymore. I can’t watch you and her any longer. I’m happy for you, really. She’s beautiful and kind. But I can’t—” As you continue to ramble, your voice cracks. Words failing. You reach to cover your mouth, choking on a sob.

His expression shifts to shock, mouth falling open as he tries to come up with something of substance to say in response to your admission.

“I’m sorry if this changes things between us— but we’ve already changed so much. I just.. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Brooke and I aren’t together.” Michael speaks up, his voice soft. Cautious almost. “She’s just a really good friend. She’s one of the only people I trust. Besides you.”

“No, she absolutely likes you Michael. It’s so clear to everyone. It’s more than that. Everyone thinks you’re an item.” You start to turn away, reaching for the handle of your car door until Michael begins to grab at your arm to stop you. His touch soft but demanding.

“Listen to me.” He begs, face entirely too close to your own. “Please, baby.” There it was. That silly little pet name he’d let slip a few times before. One that always had you spiraling. You chewed at your lip anxiously.

“I don’t want Brooke.” He breathes. “I can’t picture myself with Brooke like that. Getting married. Having kids. I just don’t see it. We have a wonderful connection but I don’t love her. Not in that way.”

You sigh, sniffling. Not wanting to accept what he’s saying but forcing yourself to listen. You were far too stubborn for your own good.

“I’m sorry if it looked like something else. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize you felt this way earlier.” He says soothingly, eyes begging.

You shake your head, denial taking over.

“I don’t want her.” He breathes again. “I want you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes.” He corrects you quickly. “I do.”

“You don’t mean it.” You sniffle again, lashes wet. And God, you look so beautiful like this to him. It pains him to see you crying because of him, but seeing you this close. The softness of your features. The plushness of your lips. So, so pretty. It made warmth creep through his chest.

He’d admired you for years. Though, as Janet’s bestfriend, you were off limits. Atleast in his eyes. That didn’t mean he didn’t daydream about you though. Frequently. He loved having you around. In his room. On his bed. Thighs touching when you sat next to each other watching a movie with a huge bowl of popcorn on your laps. Fingers brushing when you passed him the remote. You were one of the only constants in his life. One of the only people he was comfortable around. Could fully trust. Really, truly loved. Deeply. Unconditionally. He just didn’t think it would evolve into anything more. That seemed too good to be true.

So, at your admission— he felt idiotic. Mentally cursing himself for not seeing it before. God, he’d wasted so much time.

He couldn’t possibly waste anymore.

And instead of words he knows you won’t listen to, he moves to slide his hands along your jaws, tugging you into him as he presses his lips to your own.

You freeze against him, wanting to fight it. Wanting to push him off and yell at him. But you can’t. After a moment, you kiss him back, melting into him as one last stray tear slides down your cheek and meets the warm plushness of his where your skin meets. When you both pull away, you exhale. Feeling far too many things at once.

“I do.” He says softly. “I do mean it. With everything in me.”

[startingsomethin]

MICHAEL JACKSON

birthday message for Brooke Shields