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.
so I know Six Hundred Strike has us all in a chokehold, but can we talk about how Dangerous had "six hundred deaths under my command, cause I had only one goal in mind" and then dead silence for three seconds
Write Characters Who Feel Dangerous (Even If They’re "Good")
╰ Make their unpredictability a feature, not a bug
A dangerous character isn’t just the guy with the gun. It’s the one you can’t quite predict. Maybe they’re chaotic-good. Maybe they’re lawful-evil. Maybe they’re smiling while they’re plotting the next five ways to ruin your day. If the reader can’t tell exactly what they’ll do next — congrats, you’ve made them dangerous.
╰ Give them a weapon that's personal
Anyone can have a sword. Yawn. Give your character a weapon that says something about them. A violin bow turned garrote. A candy tin full of arsenic. Their own charisma as a leash. The weapon isn’t just what they fight with, it’s how they are.
╰ Let them choose not to strike and make that scarier
Sometimes not acting is the biggest flex. A truly dangerous character doesn’t need to explode to be terrifying. They can sit back, cross their legs, sip their coffee, and say, “Not yet.” Instant chills.
╰ Layer their menace with something else, humor, kindness, sadness
One-note villains (or heroes!) are boring. A dangerous character should make you like them right up until you realize you shouldn’t have. Let them charm. Let them save the kitten. Let them do something that makes the eventual threat feel like betrayal.
╰ Show how other characters react to them
If every character treats them like a nuclear bomb in the room, your reader will, too. Even if your dangerous character is polite and quiet, the dog that won’t go near them or the boss who flinches when they smile will sell the danger harder than a blood-soaked axe.
╰ Make their danger internal as well as external
It’s not just what they can do to others. It’s what they’re fighting inside themselves. The anger. The boredom. The itch for chaos. Make them a little bit scary even to themselves, and suddenly they’re alive in ways pure external "baddies" never are.
╰ Don't make them immune to consequences
Even the most dangerous characters should get hit—physically, emotionally, socially. Otherwise, they turn into invincible cartoons. Let them lose sometimes. Let them bleed. It’ll make every moment they win feel twice as earned (and twice as scary).
╰ Tie their danger to what they love
Real threats aren't powered by anger; they're powered by love. Protectiveness can be feral. Loyalty can turn into violence. A character who's dangerous because they care about something? That's a nuclear reactor in a leather jacket.
╰ Remember: danger is a vibe, not a body count
Your character doesn’t have to kill anyone to be dangerous. Sometimes just a glance. A whispered rumor. A quiet, calculated decision to leave you alive — for now. Dangerous characters control the room without ever raising their voice.
