Summary: After finding a strange door in the dark part of Neverland you find yourself in a world where everything that has been wrong is turned into right. Including your husband, Michael. You finally think your wishes have been answered. Weirdly, and strangely but answered nonetheless. If only you paid closer attention to who was listening to them. Now you might never leave.
Tags: uncanny valley, slight dub con, stalking, emotional manipulation, horror, marital neglect, obsession, cheating? (You're with another version of Michael, so idk if that counts), violence, supernatural at play, dolls, Coraline inspired, illusions, your other!kids are very creepy, other!Bubbles
Wc: 0.5k
𝐒𝐍𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓
Neverland felt too alive. Too warm.
Even in your sleep, you can feel the thickness of it. It is that feeling that draws you out of your sleep and into the waking world. A mild sweat coats your forehead as you look at your surroundings.
You prop yourself on your elbows, looking out the window. It was still dark out by the looks of it. When you turn to look at the analog clock on the nightstand, you find it vacant.
Weird. You never moved that thing.
You lay back down, wanting to go back to sleep, but the thickness of the air wasn't the only thing keeping you from sleeping.
It was a smell. A familiar aroma that always made your stomach growl.
Was that ..
Was that bacon?
Who was cooking breakfast food so late at night? All the staff had gone home for the night, and you were home alone.
Then a sound echoed in the empty home.
Humming. Unmistakably Michael’s.
What?
Wasn't he in Europe? He wasn't due back home for another month.
After putting on your robe and adjusting your bonnet, you open your bedroom door and walk down the dark hallway. Everything was so dark and cold in Neverland. As it usually is, but this type of darkness didn't feel like what you were used to.
It felt more deliberately placed.
You follow the sound of your husband's humming like breadcrumbs. Walking until you come across the warm lighting of the kitchen shining in the dark hallway. It stood out more than it should.
When you come to the kitchen, you stop at the doorway. Arms crossed over your chest.
His back was facing you, dressed in all black silk pajamas that looked 2 sizes too big. Hair draping down past his shoulders. He leaned over the stove, flipping the bacon while humming an unreleased tune from his upcoming album.
You haven't seen this sight in… well, forever.
It should've made your heart warm in the happiest way possible. But it didn't. The mundane scene in front of you felt wrong somehow. Like a misplaced scene in a movie.
It didn't make sense.
“Michael?” You timidly say.
He stops humming abruptly. His body freezes into a stillness that was unlike him. The bacon in the pan sizzled, and the grease popped on his arms. He didn't react to them.
He turned off the stove, turning around with the hot skillet in his hands and-
What the fuck.
The doe-like eyes that once stared at you with adoration and love were gone.
They were replaced by a black void that took over his irises, showing no emotion or warmth when he looked at you.
‘Michael’ smiled at you. But it wasn't one of his smiles he had given you before. This one had sweetness that felt rotten, and teeth that looked too white, too perfect. No dimples or skin creasing at the facial movement.
You stumbled back a step. Your heartbeat raced wildly in your chest. This was a dream. Some weird, sick and twisted dream.
SYNOPSIS: Michael's curiosity has often lead to interesting situations. This time, it leads to his producer's wife.
CONTENT: fluff, no use of y/n, invincible!Michael, era 2000, forbidden attraction, pining!Michael, mature!Michael, married reader
Song Inspiration: Loosely inspired by "I Wish" - Carl Thomas
PART ONE
Tag List: @whosrafey @persie123 @delictezz @vigilantlysassypact @muddyloserlia @strawberrychita @bangtan7553 @yesalphadawn
The studio smelled faintly of coffee, warm circuitry, and somebody's forgotten Chinese take-out. A bass-line drifted through the speakers. The same thirty seconds repeated for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon while engineers adjusted details most people would never hear.
Normally, Michael loved days like this. The studio had always been one of the few places where his mind settled completely. Music demanded everything from him. His attention, his instincts and patience.
However, today was one of those rare occasions where his concentration had abandoned him.
It had been two weeks since the lounge. Two weeks since Michael first wandered into the lounge, completely unexpecting. And two weeks since he left that lounge with a new fixation he just couldn’t seem to shake.
Michael was someone who dwelled on things that fascinated him. And it was for this reason that he wanted another conversation. Every time he thought about that night, he found himself remembering a story you'd started and never finished. Sometimes it was a question he'd forgotten to ask, or a joke he'd thought of three days too late.
The feeling reminded him of putting down a book halfway through a chapter. And it was addictive. Michael had always been deeply mentally stimulated by things that were unfinished, unresolved.
Which was ridiculous. You were not a mystery. Well, you shouldn’t have been to Michael. You were Marcus’ wife. A woman he'd spoken to exactly once, and yet, he kept finding himself wondering what the rest of the conversation would've sounded like.
"Mike."
Marcus interrupted Michael’s thoughts.
"What?"
The producer narrowed his eyes.
"You got a girl somewhere or something, man?"
The men in the room began to hoot, teasing Michael. Michael shook his head, covering his face.
“You guys are embarrassing me” he said, dissolving into a fit of giggles. The truth was, there was a girl, rather a woman, somewhere that was holding Michael’s attention. Marcus just didn’t know it was his wife.
Marcus continued jonesing Michael.
"You find one thing interesting, and suddenly everybody gotta hear about it for six months."
“You won’t be hearing about this anytime soon” Michael thought to himself as he prepared a response to escape the conversation.
Before Michael could respond, the studio door opened.
And just like that, the conversation vanished.
There you were.
Iced coffee in one hand, canvas tote hanging from your shoulder. Sunglasses pushed into your hair.
Michael sat up before he realized he'd done it. The movement was automatic. Like some part of him had recognized you before the rest of his brain caught up.
Across the room, Marcus looked up, immediately smiling.
"Hey, baby." You crossed the studio without hesitation, leaning down to kiss him. You murmured something that made him laugh.
Michael watched the exchange despite himself. It didn’t bother him. Actually, he liked seeing it. There was something reassuring about the two of you together. Comfortable. Solid. Like a favorite song that had been playing for years.
Then you straightened and finally looked his way. Your face brightened immediately, the way people's faces changed when they spotted somebody they were genuinely happy to see.
"Michael."
His name. That was all. Yet, somehow it landed differently than it should have. Because for two weeks he'd been remembering your voice. And now here it was again. Real, warm, and attached to a smile. Better than he remembered.
The corner of Michael's mouth twitched upward before he could stop it.
"Hey."
The response came too quickly. You noticed, your gaze lingered on him thoughtfully for a moment as you settled into a spot on the couch. Which only made Michael smile harder. An unfortunate development. He immediately looked away toward literally anything else.
Michael found himself growing distracted by your presence. There was something about the way you sat cross legged, turning pages of the book you were reading absentmindedly. You had an off-shoulder sweater on that revealed the soft skin of your shoulders.
Marcus noticed Michael’s loss of focus.
“Mike, what do you think about this run man? This is take 20.”
“Hm? Oh, I think I liked the last one better.”
Truthfully, Michael had forgotten which of the two was his favorite. You glanced up from your book, amused. You had felt his gaze on you long before you looked up.
Suddenly, a shrill sound filled the studio. Marcus stood up, crossing the studio to answer the phone.
He spoke for a few minutes, then turned to Michael.
"The label needs me."
The words carried all the enthusiasm of a prison sentence. A collective groan moved through the room. You looked amused. Michael looked annoyed. For entirely different reasons.
"They want an emergency meeting."
"About what?" you asked.
Before he could answer, another call came through. Marcus answered, listened, then slowly closed his eyes.
"No."
A pause.
"No, don't tell them that. I'll be there in twenty."
The phone hit the receiver harder than necessary. The room went quiet. Michael leaned back in his chair, already irritated.
The song was dangerously close. Close enough that he could feel it. Like standing outside a locked room while somebody whispered the answer through the door.
Something was missing. And he hated stopping when he was this close.
"Marcus."
The producer looked up. Michael tapped a rhythm against the arm of his chair. Listening and thinking, trying to hear something nobody else could.
"We gotta get this song right." The room quieted. Everyone recognized that tone. "It's almost perfect."
His gaze drifted toward the speakers. "The groove's there." A gesture. "The vocals are there…the strings are there."
Then softer:
"But the magic ain't there yet."
Marcus sighed immediately because he knew that look. Everybody did. Michael was chasing a ghost again. Marcus pointed toward him.
"Every album." The producer looked at you. "He'll get everything technically perfect, the musicians will have done their job. Engineers too."
Then he looked toward Michael.
"And this fool will spend three weeks chasing a feeling."
The room laughed.
"What feeling?" you asked.
Michael thought for a moment.
"It's like hearin' somebody call your name from another room." The room quieted. "You know it's there." A pause. "You know you heard it…but every time you get close enough to find it..."
His shoulders lifted.
"It disappears."
For a moment nobody spoke. Your expression softened slightly. Like you understood exactly what he meant. Marcus noticed that too. Then immediately stood. Breaking whatever strange little moment had settled over the room.
"Anyway."
The room laughed and the spell shattered. Marcus grabbed his jacket and ointed toward you.
"If he starts askin' weird questions, walk away."
You laughed and Michael rolled his eyes.
"I don't ask weird questions."
Marcus barked out a laugh.
"Baby." The single word carried years of marriage. "Do not encourage him." Then he pointed between both of you. The smile on his face was warm, trusting.
Entirely unconcerned. Which somehow made it worse.
"Y'all behave. I’m sorry Mike. For real."
Michael nodded in acknowledgment, raising his hand to say goodbye.
Marcus didn’t realize it, but Michael heard “Spend uninterrupted time with the most interesting person you’ve met in years”.
The studio door swung shut behind him. For a moment, nobody moved. The song continued drifting through the speakers. Half-finished. Still searching for itself. The engineers returned to work almost immediately, settling back into familiar rhythms. Somebody adjusted a slider. Somebody else scribbled notes onto a legal pad. The low hum of expensive equipment filled the room.
Instantly, the gears began turning in Michael’s head on what he should ask you first. Honestly, he had made several more observations about you that fascinated him during the short time you’d been in the studio.
Around this time, you stood, stretching your arms over your head. You decided to stretch your legs, walking over to the floor to ceiling windows.
Your eyes wandered up and down the street. Michael watched quietly, wondering what you were thinking about.
When all of a sudden, you gasped.
“There it is. I’ve been dying to see that exhibit for months.”
Really, you were talking to yourself. Unbeknownst to you, someone was listening.
Michael decided this was his opportunity.
“Why haven’t you gone?”
You turned to face him. He was already looking at you, staring intently actually. Strangely, the intensity of his gaze didn’t bother you. It felt oddly familiar.
“Marcus…” You started off the sentence and stopped. You didn’t really want to discuss your marriage at your husband’s work place. So you didn’t really know why you kept talking, but you did.
“He’s been meaning to take me. But it’s been months, and work has just been busy. Ya know?”
Then softly:
"I think tickets are sold out now."
Michael understood better than most how time could get away from you when it came to the music business.
He nodded thoughtfully. Before Michael could even process why, he was motioning over his security guard.
You didn’t notice, you were still taking in the sight of the museum. It had colorful banners waving in the wind advertising the exhibit.
Michael spoke quietly to his security guard for a few moments, and then the man was gone.
He stood, walking across the studio and standing next to you. You instantly breathed in the smell of his cologne. It was woodsy and warm. For a moment he just stood there. He presence was oddly comforting.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, looking over to you.
Again, you were taken aback at how handsome this man was. You weren’t one to obsess over celebrities, you had never paid close attention to him in the media. But you understood what women saw when they looked at him.
You looked over at the clock on the wall. It had been an hour, and you knew Marcus wasn’t coming back any time soon. You shrugged.
“I probably should eat.”
15 minutes later, Michael was opening the door for you. Instinctively, he placed his hand on the small of your back as he gently gestured for you to go ahead of him.
It didn’t dawn on Michael until after he did it that the action could have been considered intimate.
You didn’t seem to be offput, smiling up at him and thanking him. He really was a gentleman. In an old soul kind of way that was rare to encounter these days.
Michael made small talk on the way over to the restaurant, trying to keep you distracted from where the car was pulling up. Too late.
“Michael! Is this that museum?” Your head snapped toward him and he was already avoiding your eye contact.
“Hm? This restaurant right here really is good.” He pointed out the window, still not looking.
You pushed his shoulder, crossing your arms.
“I just know you didn’t rent out this museum just because I said I wanted to go.”
Michael couldn’t help but laugh, putting a hand to his chest.
“You said you wanted to go, what?”
“I didn’t mean spend money to get me in!”
Michael had often been considered excessive in his doings for others. He was a generous man, and money was no obstacle to him. If he could pay to create an experience for someone he cared for, he would.
Today, you just happened to fall into that category.
Your words came out somewhere between disbelief and accusation. His face scrunched slightly in a bashful way.
“You make me sound so extra”
You stared.
"Michael."
"What?" He was amused by your surprise that he was able to pull this.
"You rented out a museum. That is extra."
He finally looked at you then. Really looked at you He wasn't showing off or waiting for you to be impressed. If anything, he looked excited for you. Like a child who couldn't wait to give someone a birthday present.
Michael opened his car door. He got out and extended his hand to you.
“You coming, or what?”
Amusement danced across his features. He knew he had created the perfect playground to get to know you.
As you looked at his outstretched hand, you couldn’t help but feel like you were accepting something more. The banners shifted gently in the afternoon breeze. You'd waited months. Your stomach dropped.
"Oh, hell." Your hand fit perfectly into his. And you could have sworn his thumb brushed over your knuckles, but you quickly pushed the thought away.
You pointed at him.
"If this turns out to be a prank—"
"It isn't." He shook his head laughing.
"If there are cameras—"
"There aren't, c’mon I wouldn’t do that to you."
"If somebody jumps out and scares me—" Michael looked genuinely horrified. He pressed a hand to his chest in shock.
"Why would I do that to you?"
"You seem capable of anything right now."
Now that delighted him. You could tell. Then the museum doors opened. And just like that, the afternoon became something neither of you would ever forget.
The first thing you noticed was the silence. Museum silence. The soft kind.
Sunlight spilled through enormous windows overhead. Dust drifted lazily through golden beams of light. The entire building smelled faintly of old paper, polished wood, and history.
For a moment you simply stood there, taking it in.
Not speaking or moving, just looking. Michael stood beside you patiently. Hands tucked into his pockets, watching. The thing was, Michael had been to museums before. Lots of them.
Entirely too many according to some people. The exhibits themselves rarely interested him as much as the people experiencing them. And right now, you looked completely enchanted.
A slow smile appeared before he could stop it. You didn't notice, you were too busy staring.
"Oh my God."
The words escaped as a whisper.
Michael's smile widened.
"What?"
You turned toward him, eyes the kind of bright that couldn't be faked.
"You got me in."
The accusation sounded strangely emotional. Michael lifted his shoulders in a half shrug.
"Well...You wanted to go."
The answer should not have affected you as much as it did. Simple and matter-of-fact. As though the solution had always been obvious.
You wanted to go. So now you were here. No fanfare or expectation. And there were absolutely no strings attached. Just Michael. Quietly moving mountains because somebody mentioned they wanted to see something.
The realization caught you dangerously off guard. Before you could examine it, your attention was stolen by a display across the room.
A gasp escaped immediately.
"Oh my God."
You were gone, completely.
Michael laughed softly. One second you were standing beside him, the next you were pulling him halfway across the gallery, already reading and fascinated.
And at moments, already forgetting he existed. Which, oddly enough, only made him like you more. Most people wanted something from Michael. His attention or approval. Access.
You seemed perfectly content forgetting he was there. It was refreshing. And unfortunately, it was becoming increasingly intoxicating to him.
The next hour disappeared almost immediately.
In the center of the exhibit was a massive scale model. It was an eighteenth-century opera house recreated in unbelievable detail beneath glass. There were tiny balconies and curtains.
You stopped so abruptly Michael nearly walked into you. His hand brushed the small of your back at the sudden motion.
"Oh wow."
You hadn’t noticed at all. Michael smiled immediately. There was that look again. Pure and uncomplicated.
You moved closer to the display.
Already lost.
"Look at this, this is incredible."
Michael stepped beside you. Truthfully, he was more focused on the scent of your perfume. He really didn’t know what he was looking for.
You pointed toward one of the miniature balconies, already leaning closer and studying.
Michael found himself watching you instead of the exhibit. The sunlight in the museum was highlighting your features in a way that made him stare. You were pretty to him. Pretty in a way that made him want to pay anything just to see you this way, happy. In your element.
You stepped closer, trying to get a better angle through the glass. The rope surrounding the display shifted slightly beneath your foot. Michael noticed it immediately. Unfortunately, he noticed it half a second before you did.
Your balance tipped forward and a startled gasp escaped you. The world seemed to lurch sideways.
And suddenly, gravity had very different plans for the afternoon. Michael reacted before either of you had time to think.
Before you could process what was happening, his forearm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly backward against his chest.
The movement was quick and instinctive. Protective. Once you were secure, his hands drifted down to your hips, steadying you.
For one disorienting second the museum vanished. The voices from distant galleries. All of it faded into the background.
"Hey."
Concern immediately replaced surprise.
"You alright mama?" Michael's voice sounded closer than it ever had before, because it was.
One of his hands remained at your waist, the other at your hip. Steady and grounding. You hadn't realized you'd grabbed him until your gaze dropped.
Your hand was wrapped tightly around his forearm, holding on. Somewhere in the chaos of almost falling, you'd pulled his arm across your chest and stomach and clung to it.
The realization should have embarrassed you. Instead, for a moment, neither of you seemed capable of thinking about anything except the fact that you were still standing entirely too close together.
Slowly, you looked up and found Michael already looking at you.
The concern was still there. His eyes searched your face like there was something he wanted to say. Neither of you moved. And neither of you seemed particularly aware of the silence stretching between you.
For the first time all afternoon, you became acutely aware of him. Not Michael Jackson. Just Michael.
The way his hand remained at your waist as though letting go too soon might somehow cause you to fall again.
Michael swallowed.
You watched it happen.
His gaze flickered briefly to your hand where it remained wrapped around his arm. Then returned to your eyes. You didn’t remove his grip.
His eyes found yours as he leaned closer to you, his breath ghosting your lips. He looked down at them once, and then back up at you. Almost like he was asking for permission.
You closed your eyes, and in that moment…
Your pager began ringing. It was loud and abrupt, and it completely ruined whatever was happening. The sound cut through the moment like a knife. Reality returned immediately.
You stepped backward so fast you nearly stumbled again.
This time from embarrassment. Michael dropped his hands at the exact same moment.
"Oh boy."
The words escaped before he could stop them. You laughed at his use of expression.
Then looked down at your pager, the screen was flashing insistently. Your stomach dropped.
"Oh no."
Michael frowned immediately.
"What is it?"
You stared at the pager as if the screen might somehow change its mind. Without speaking, you turned the pager toward him. Three messages, all from Marcus. The oldest had been sent over an hour ago.
For a moment Michael simply stared, then he glanced down at his watch and froze.
"Oh, wow." He looked at you. And the realization arrived at exactly the same time.
"Five hours?"
The words left both of your mouths simultaneously.
For a moment it was completely silent. And suddenly you were both laughing. Five hours, gone.
You pressed a hand against your forehead.
"Oh my God. My husband’s looking for us."
Michael was still staring at his watch.
"Gee."
The response startled another laugh out of you.
"You say gee like somebody's grandaddy."
His head snapped up, smiling at you jonesing him.
"I do not, quit it."
"You absolutely do."
Michael pointed immediately. "Now you're just bein' mean."
For a moment, you both almost got distracted again until you remembered.
Your husband. The man who trusted you enough to leave you with Michael for an afternoon. Who had kissed your forehead before leaving the studio. The man who had smiled and told the two of you to behave.
A knot tightened unexpectedly in your chest. Nothing had happened. Technically.
And yet, you couldn't remember the last time five hours had disappeared like that with another man. Not with anyone. And you weren’t exactly jumping at the idea of telling Marcus about your almost fall.
The thought felt disloyal the moment it appeared. Beside you, Michael had gone quiet. The shift was subtle, but noticeable.
“Funny how time flies when you’re having fun” He said softly, wishing there was a way to extend your time with him. He was still standing close enough for you to smell his cologne.
For the first time all afternoon, neither of you seemed entirely sure what to say.
"Well." Your voice sounded strange to you. Like deep down you wished there was a reason to stay too. "We should probably head back."
Michael looked up and for the briefest moment, disappointment crossed his face. It was gone almost as soon as you saw it. Somehow that made everything worse. Because you felt it too. Neither of you wanted the afternoon to end. The realization hung between you, unspoken.
Michael shoved his hands into his pockets, accepting defeat.
"Yeah."
A pause.
Then softer:
"Probably."
Still, neither of you moved, not right away.
The moment stretched. Finally Michael nodded toward the exit.
"Marcus is gonna think I kidnapped you."
The joke landed exactly where he intended, it cracked the tension immediately.
You laughed. Thank God. Michael almost wondered if he had gone too far this time.
The drive back to the studio passed much too quickly. Conversation returned almost immediately. As though neither of you quite knew how to stop. One topic became another, then another.
By the time the studio came into view, the spell had already begun dissolving. Reality waited on the other side of those doors.
The reunion with Marcus was almost disappointingly normal.
He laughed when he learned the two of you had somehow spent five hours wandering a museum. Then life moved on.
As though nothing unusual had happened. As though your pulse hadn't stumbled when Michael caught you. As if you didn’t almost cheat on your husband. And you hadn’t. That was certainly what you told yourself.
The next few days passed exactly as they should have. Work. Deadlines. Dinner with Marcus. The familiar rhythm of a life you'd spent years building together. It was comfortable and steady. Good.
But, every now and then, however, something would remind you of the museum.
A costume sketch. A newspaper advertisement. And for one brief second your mind would wander backward.
To marble floors, sunlight. Laughter echoing through enormous galleries. Then you would move on.
Which was why the package caught you completely off guard.
It arrived on a Thursday afternoon. It had plain brown paper and no return address.
No explanation. Just your name written neatly across the front.
You carried it into the kitchen and set it on the table. Then ignored it, or tried to.
Fifteen minutes after that, curiosity won. The tape peeled away easily. Inside sat a book.
It was heavy, leatherbound. Your stomach dropped instantly. It was the exact book. The one you'd stopped in front of.
The one you'd spent nearly twenty minutes discussing before Michael had jokingly accused you of abandoning him for eighteenth-century costume design.
Slowly, you opened the cover and a small card slipped free. Your pulse betrayed you immediately.
The message was short.
Thought you'd like this.
Love MJ
Before you could process what the note or the gift meant, your landline rang. Your gaze lingered on the book in your hands for another moment. You walked over to the phone, picking it up as you continued to look at the gift.
“Hi”
You nearly dropped the phone when the soft voice came through the phone.
This was not happening.
“Michael?”
“I wanted to make sure you got home alright…” When you said nothing he spoke again,
“I hope that’s alright.”
You got the feeling that you should end the call. Tell him you couldn’t talk. But you didn’t.
You looked over your shoulder. No one was there. Your home was still quiet.
“What is this, Michael?” You questioned, now squeezing your eyes shut.
“What, my gift? I just thought you’d like it, that’s all. You spent so much time talking about it…”
Then silence.
“Thank you.” Your voice was quiet.
“Do you think,” He paused. For a moment the line went so silent you thought he’d hung up.
“Hello?”
“Can I see you again?”
There it was. What you were afraid of. You chewed on your bottom lip, wondering how you’d gotten in this predicament.
“I’m married, Michael.”
“I know” his reply came quickly, careful not to scare you off.
Then softer,
“I just… I haven’t met anyone like you in a really long time.”
And unfortunately for you, your husband, and whatever common sense remained between the two of you,
Michael Jackson had never been very good at forgetting the things that fascinated him.
what ao3 would look like with ads. no, you do not want this. support ao3 because it’s one of the last few places on the internet that is not tainted by capitalism bullshit. support ao3 because it’s one of the last few places on the internet that is genuinely about the connection between audiences, artists, their works and the love/passion artists have for what they do
Thinking about how I said before that the diaspora likes to pick and choose when black Americans are nothing like everyone else and when suddenly "we're all black"
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