Stay || Michael x Gf! Reader ||
Synopsis: Request! Michael x goofy!Reader. During the Bad era, you and Michael are inseparable, pulling pranks and feeling safe enough to act like kids around each other. However, Michael's eating habits begin to change, and you slowly grow worried for him.
Content warning: mentions of ed, struggling with ed, conflict caused by ed.
Tags for my angels : @sadieisagoodgirl @snoopyreincarnated3 @prettygirlwmula @khxna @thequeenofthedisneyverse
You and Michael held the plastic wrap and pulled it across the doorway, creating an invisible barrier. Giggling like crazy, the two of you taped it into place.
Once the prank was ready, you both hurried over to the couch and tried to act casual. Every time one of you glanced at the doorway, another fit of giggles threatened to escape.
"Shh..." you whispered, trying to hold it together.
Michael tried to call out, "La Toya!" but ended up stuttering over her name instead, sending the two of you into another uncontrollable laughing fit.
"Shh! Shut up!" you whispered through your laughter, playfully covering his mouth with your hand.
"La Toya!" you called instead. "Yeah?" she answered so innocently as she walked toward the doorway.
Her face collided right into the clear plastic wrap. You and Michael doubled over with laughter.
You could barely hear La Toya's complaints through your own laughter. Tears sprang to your eyes as you clutched your stomach. What made it even worse was the bright red lipstick mark she'd left behind on the plastic.
Even La Toya couldn't stay mad for long. The sound of you and Michael laughing was far too contagious, and soon she was laughing right along with you.
Once the laughter died down, you turned to Michael, your smile growing more mischievous. You pulled out a can of silly string and started spraying him, making him scream with laughter.
The moment he got up to chase you, you bolted toward the kitchen, ducking beneath your own sheet of clear plastic wrap that you'd secretly placed there for him.
Michael didn't have enough time to realize what was happening.
He walked straight into the clear plastic wrap as well. You collapsed onto the floor laughing while Michael doubled over too, laughing in defeat.
Michael crawled over and wrestled the can of silly string out of your hand. Before you could escape, he pinned you beneath him and sprayed your face with it in revenge.
"I got you now!" he laughed.
Your laughter echoed through the house as you tried to shove him off, only for him to spray you one more time.
That was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to how you two behaved around each other. It was even worse on the set of Speed Demon.
You kept sneaking on the clay rabbit mask and mockingly copying Michael's dance moves, making him burst into laughter every single time.
But dancing was something Michael took seriously.
Between fits of laughter, he would gently stop you and patiently teach you the choreography properly. You'd nod along as if you were paying attention, only to let out another little "hee-hee" from inside the rabbit mask.
The sound echoed around the hollow clay head, making it sound absolutely ridiculous.
The moment your distorted "hee-hee" reached Michael's ears, the two of you doubled over laughing all over again.
The directors and film producers could only watch helplessly as the two of you danced around and joked with one another.
Eventually, deciding nothing productive was going to happen anytime soon, the director called for a fifteen-minute break.
The crew dispersed, heading off to the bathrooms or grabbing something to drink.
Meanwhile, you and Michael were playing The Floor Is Lava, hopping from one high platform to another across the set. The producers exchanged defeated glances as two fully grown adults...
or, as far as they were concerned, two giant toddlers, continued raiding the set.
Eventually, you called the game to a stop, wanting to grab a snack from the vending machine.
"Do you want anything?" you asked.
Michael simply shook his head.
You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look.
"You're getting something," you declared before walking off toward the vending machine.
Standing in front of it, you stared at the rows of snacks as though the machine itself were your greatest enemy, carefully weighing your options.
You punched in the numbers for a chocolate bar before grabbing an orange juice for Michael, figuring he was probably still full from the breakfast he'd told you he'd eaten.
Walking back over to him, you tossed him the juice box. He caught it effortlessly halfway through the air.
Michael sat down to rewatch the filmed footage, quietly criticizing himself.
You walked over and sat beside him, resting your head against his shoulder.
Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around you, gently pulling you closer by the hip.
"What are you thinking about?" you asked softly. He hummed to himself for a moment before looking at you.
"I have a vision I wanna do..." he said. "I just gotta feel it out."
You looked up at him before pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw.
You loved how visionary he was.
It was admirable and fascinating to watch him bring his ideas to life right before your eyes.
"Do you wanna order something for lunch?" you asked, absentmindedly playing with his hand.
For a brief moment, Michael's gentle rocking came to a stop.
"...Yeah, I'd love to, but not right now. I don't wanna be too full while dancing... you know how I get."
He gave your hand a small squeeze. "But don't be shy. Order something for yourself."
He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to your temple.
You understood. Dancing on a full stomach could cause cramps and make it uncomfortable to move around.
"We can just eat at home," you suggested. "Your chef's there. We can get sushi..."
He smiled and nodded. "Yeah..." he said softly. "That sounds lovely."
Of course, it wasn't long before the two of you started goofing off again.
You jumped onto Michael's back and repeatedly poked him between the shoulder blades, pretending to turn on his imaginary engine.
Michael immediately zoomed off, running around the set while pretending to be a race car.
The director's voice echoed across the set. The two of you froze like children caught with your hands in the cookie jar. "You two need to goddamn behave!"
Michael gently set you back on your feet.
The pair of you stood there with your tails tucked between your legs while the director scolded you.
Then you made the mistake of looking at each other. You both had to fight the overwhelming urge to laugh.
Michael let out the tiniest giggle.
You covered your mouth, pretending to cough to hide your own.
Then, in the quietest voice imaginable, Michael mimicked La Toya's laugh.
"Hee hee..." That was it. You completely lost it.
You tried so hard to hold your laughter in that your stomach started cramping and tears welled in your eyes.
Seeing your face turn bright red only made Michael laugh even harder.
The producer watched the two of you for a long moment before letting out a defeated sigh. There was no winning against the two of you.
The directors could only roll their eyes until the two of you finally settled down.
"Can we film now?" the director sighed.
The two of you nodded innocently.
Before another mischievous idea could form in your head, the director pointed a finger at you.
You raised your hands in surrender. "I didn't do anything!"
"You were about to," he shot back. "Go sit down." You pouted dramatically as Michael laughed beside you.
"Embarrassed?" he teased. You reached over and poked his side.
"Stop it," you giggled. Michael tried to dodge your finger, laughing under his breath. Eventually, you made your way behind the camera, plopping down in a chair to quietly watch the filming.
You sat down and watched him dance.
Michael had the most contagious energy and rhythm.
In your eyes, he truly was heaven-sent.
You found yourself swaying along to the music, just like the producers around you. Before long, the entire room was gently moving to the beat, everyone clearly loving the song and watching the music video come together before their eyes.
applauded Michael. Of course they did. He was wonderful, such a talented person. He deserved every bit of it.
Michael quickly jogged over to you. "Did you like my moves?" he asked, pulling a silly face in an attempt to make you laugh.
You smiled. "You're a visionary..." you murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek.
His cheeks flushed pink. He scratched the back of his neck, letting out a shy little laugh.
By the time you both got home, Michael dramatically flopped onto the couch with a groan.
You giggled at his childish dramatics. "Get up, Applehead! We have to get the chef. Come on... what are you craving?"
Michael, always quick-witted, immediately thought of a way to postpone it.
"I wanna meditate, baby..." he said softly. "I just need thirty-ish minutes. Y'know how I meditate... I like to let it take me away."
You nodded. You loved Michael's spiritual nature. It genuinely brought him peace, so you always encouraged it. You quietly gave him the space he needed, making sure nothing disturbed him while he disappeared into his own little world.
"Okay, but we have to get something. You only had breakfast today."
Michael stood and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.
"Of course," he reassured you.
You watched as he disappeared up the stairs to his bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.
Deciding to get a head start on dinner, you wandered into the kitchen where the chef Michael had hired was sitting with a cup of coffee.
"Hey, Chef... what are you thinking of making tonight?"
He looked up with a warm smile. "Hello to you too, miss." He chuckled. "I haven't decided yet. Mr. Jackson has unique tastes. You'd probably know his appetite better than I do."
"Can you tell me what Michael had for breakfast today? Maybe that'll help narrow it down."
The chef's smile faltered ever so slightly. He cleared his throat, his eyes briefly drifting toward the sink before meeting yours again.
"...Ma'am, as far as I'm aware, Mr. Jackson didn't have breakfast today."
Your smile slowly disappeared. "...What do you mean?"
The chef shifted uncomfortably.
"Mr. Jackson never asked me to make breakfast this morning."
Your brows knitted together. He told you he had.
You knew Michael had struggled with food for a long time, but you never imagined he'd lie about something as simple as eating breakfast.
"...Excuse me." You turned on your heel and hurried upstairs, your chest tight with a confusing mix of hurt, fear, and anger.
You threw the bedroom door open, making it slam against the wall.
Michael's eyes snapped open. He immediately looked at you, confused by the look on your face.
It wasn't really a question.
His eyes widened. His throat went dry.
He knew exactly what you were talking about.
"Why would you..." You struggled to find the words through your frustration. "You're the one person who has to take care of yourself! You could faint on stage! You could collapse! You could—"
Your voice cracked with frustration. Michael slowly stood from where he had been sitting.
"Please understand..." he pleaded softly. "I just... I didn't have much of an appetite today."
You let out a disbelieving scoff.
"Today?" you repeated. "What about yesterday? And the day before that? You're living off juice, Michael!"
His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Don't accuse me like that," he said, hurt creeping into his voice. "Do you really think that low of me?"
You stared at him in frustration.
"Don't deflect," you said firmly. "Why wouldn't you eat? Why are you constantly starving yourself?"
The truth hung heavily between you.
Michael's face twisted for only a moment before hurt settled across it.
"Why do you make me hurt like this?" he whispered.
You looked at him in disbelief.
"How can you be my girlfriend..." His voice wavered. "...when all you ever do is hurt me?"
He swallowed hard, avoiding your eyes.
"Sometimes..." he murmured. "...this relationship feels embarrassing."
The words settled over the room like shattered glass. You had both been hurting. And in trying to protect one another, you had only hurt each other even more.
Your gaze drifted to the wall as tears burned behind your eyes. You clenched your jaw, refusing to let them fall.
Your voice barely rose above a whisper. "I won't embarrass you anymore." Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out of the room, leaving Michael frozen exactly where he stood.
The bedroom door clicked shut behind you.
You left. That night, you couldn't sleep.
Michael's words echoed through your mind over and over, each repetition hurting just as much as the last.
Michael wasn't any better. He tossed and turned restlessly, sleep refusing to come. He wasn't embarrassed by you.
He was embarrassed by himself. By his eating habits. By the way he couldn't simply eat like everyone else. He hated feeling weak. He hated being confronted with it.
Meanwhile, you lay awake staring at the ceiling. You couldn't understand what was so embarrassing about you.
Was it the little snacks you always carried in your bag? Was it the countless trips to vending machines because you wanted him to eat something? Was it the afternoons you'd quietly spoon-feed him soup in his dressing room whenever he was too exhausted to bother?
You couldn't help the tears that slipped down your temples, disappearing into the pillow beneath your head.
Miles away, Michael squeezed his eyes shut.
Every time he closed them, he saw your face. The hurt and disappointment in your eyes. The tears you were trying so hard not to let him see.
He knew you were right. He could make himself sick. He could collapse. He could get hurt.
Food had become the only thing he could control. His rehearsals weren't his own. His tours weren't his own. His schedule wasn't his own.
Every hour of his life belonged to someone else.
The only thing that still felt like it belonged to him, was deciding if, when, and how much he would eat.
To Michael, food was a blessing, a gift from God. He loved food, he truly did. Sometimes, he just wished he didn't have to feel hungry to eat it.
The next day, Michael called your phone. You let it ring a little longer than usual. He noticed.
"Hey... baby," he said nervously, his voice soft and fragile. "Can you still make it to the set?"
You were quiet for a moment.
"...I don't know," you said. "Am I not embarrassing?"
"No! No..." he answered immediately. "Please..."
"Okay. I'll be there... don't pick me up."
You hung up before he could say anything else. You didn't want to hear his voice anymore.
You arrived on set after a long taxi ride that cost far more than it should have.
It only soured your mood further.
Quietly, you slipped inside and made your way behind the cameras, choosing a seat as far away from everyone else as possible.
Michael noticed you the second you walked through the door.
He had been watching the entrance all morning.
The moment he saw you, some of the tension left his shoulders. At least you were safe.
You sat down and pulled your Game Boy from your bag. Michael's heart sank. He knew exactly what that meant. Whenever you wanted to shut the world out you pulled out your Gameboy.
He quietly excused himself from the crew and slowly walked over to you.
"Hey..." At the sound of his voice, you looked up. The energetic playful song of Super Mario World filled the silence between you.
"...Hey." Your answer was short. You set the Game Boy in your lap, finally giving him your full attention.
"You should go film," you said quietly. "I don't want to distract you."
Michael's chest tightened.
It wasn't what you said that hurt, It was how you said it.
"...Okay." He nodded once. Then turned around and walked back toward the set. If you wanted distance, he'd give it to you. Even if it broke his heart.
All the producers immediately noticed the tension. To distract both of you, they began filming, staying as focused as possible. This was surprisingly more uncomfortable than the two of you goofing off and playing games. They could only look back at you and then back at Michael.
You just sat there, absorbed in your Game Boy, while Mike focused on the playback of his moves in front of him.
Soon enough, the producer yelled out for a fifteen-minute break. That was the moment you put your Game Boy down and pulled out a homemade sandwich.
You walked into his dressing room, making him jump at the force with which you opened the door. He looked back at you, a little tense.
"Baby... you need something?"
You quietly set the sandwich down on the table. "No. Don't want to embarrass you."
You turned around and walked out of the dressing room. Michael had gotten up to reach for you, but he didn't have the words, so he just let you go.
When filming was done for the day, Michael walked over to you.
"Thank you for the sandwich..." he said quietly. "You made it, right?"
He asked the question calmly, though there was still a hint of shyness in his voice.
"Yeah..." you answered. "I used honey mustard to make it tastier."
He nodded. "It was tastier..." he murmured. "Thank you very much... I ate half."
You simply nodded before getting to your feet.
"I'm going home." You both got into separate cars and drove home alone.
For two months, the two of you were uncomfortably professional.
You would drop off light meals in his dressing room. A sandwich. A salad. A creamy soup. You even experimented and made vegetarian options for him, knowing he preferred not eating animal-based meals too often.
He, in return, always left little notes thanking you.
You had just dropped off a meal in his dressing room when you noticed a sticky note on your chair.
"I liked the sushi you made! :) It was yummy. I loved it. Could you make it again tomorrow?"
His note was sweet, like always.
You looked over toward his dressing room and caught him already watching you. He gave you a little shy smile.
The next day, you did make the sushi for him and dropped it off in his dressing room.
You were about to leave when he gently grabbed your hand.
"Baby..." He hesitated. He wanted to apologize. But he wanted to make things right even more.
"Thank you for this..." It wasn't what he truly wanted to say, but he didn't want to scare you off.
"Of course, Mikey..." you smiled softly. "I'm glad you like it."
Slowly, he stood up and carefully cupped your face in his hands, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn't.
"I wasn't aware of how much I was hurting you..." he admitted quietly. "And I deeply regret it." He swallowed. "You were right."
His eyes searched yours. "I feel better after every meal you've made for me." A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You are not embarrassing."
He gently brushed his thumb across your cheek.
"You are my greatest love."
His kind, genuine words tugged at your heartstrings, making you finally feel seen. Appreciated for every little effort you'd made to take care of him.
He leaned down until his forehead rested against yours. "I'm truly sorry for hurting you."
He pressed a soft kiss to the bridge of your nose.
He wanted to go further. But instead, he looked back up at you. Silently asking for permission.
"Okay..." you whispered. "I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to get so overwhelmed by it... and hurt you too."
He immediately shook his head.
"No, no..." he said softly. "You were right... you were completely right."
"Yeah... I can be right and still have hurt you." You looked down for a moment. "I'm sorry too, Mike..."
He gently smoothed down the hair at the side of your head.
"All's forgiven..." he murmured. "I'm sorry."
You nodded, giving him a shy smile.
He pulled you closer and pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. When he finally pulled away, he smiled.
"Your lips taste the best..." You laughed quietly.
"There's no nutritional value to my lips." He shook his head dramatically.
"No, you're wrong there."
"You wear fruity lip gloss..." He leaned in, stealing one more quick kiss. "So in reality..." he grinned. "I'm eating my fruits."
He kept kissing you like he'd missed you, because in reality, missing you wasn't enough to describe what he felt.
He slowly backed you up against the wall, gently pinning you there while keeping one hand behind your head so it wouldn't hit the hard wall.
He pulled away just enough to look at you before his lips found your neck.
He hesitated for only a moment but grew more confident when you tilted your head back for him.
He pressed gentle kisses along your neck, slowly trailing lower.
His hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, resting against your waist as he pulled you a little closer.
A sudden knock at the door made you both jump apart.
"Michael! You're on in two!"
"Bummer, Mikey," you teased, trying to hide your flustered smile.
He only smiled back, refusing to give you the shy reaction you were expecting.
"Tell that to your purple neck," he replied before walking out.
Confused, you turned toward the mirror. Your eyes widened. Staring back at you was a very obvious purple mark decorating your neck.
You screamed as the door sat open and you chased after him while he ran away laughing.
Do we like this? Was it good?
