RUNAWAY DREAMERS. Michael Jackson x reader
Instead of spending your wedding night having fun, you're sitting on the stairs of a hotel, crying your sadness away. Fortunately enough, your Charming Prince will come to save you.
Michael Jackson x fem!reader
Highly recommend listening to Dance Hall Days while reading ;)
Your wedding dress looks very pretty under the city lights. The gowns float like little clouds when you drop down to rest your pained feet. Reaching under the dress, you slip off of your shoes, which looked so good this morning, but feel like another regret.
Regrets. As if you already haven’t enough of them.
You look up, tilting your head to assess where you are. You’re sitting on the flight of stairs that leads to the entrance of the Quinns Hotel. Great. There’s nothing worse than looking like a crazy homeless woman right outside of a hotel full of celebrities and stars.
Sighing, you take back your words. No, actually, there is something worse: finding out that your fiancée has been actively cheating on you with your maid of honor right as you’re about to pronounce your votes. Sighing, you drop your head between your hands.
An unknown voice perks up from somewhere behind you.
You raise your head and turn to it. Something immediately strikes you. There’s a man standing right behind you, a confused expression on his face. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket, and his curls are framing his forehead in a way that looks meticulously studied, but also very casual.
Realisation hits you like a train. This is Michael Jackson.
You’re wearing a bridal dress, sitting on the stairs of a hotel in the middle of a busy sidewalk, and Michael Jackson is standing right behind you.
‘I’m sorry, do I look that crazy?’ you ask, looking up at him.
He smiles at that, and, then, drops down next to you.
Okay, maybe you’ve fallen off the steps of the altar while you were running away from your fiancée. Maybe you’re still there, laying dead, and you’re dreaming this whole scene.
‘No. But you do look like you’ve lost something along the way’ he looks down at your dress, and raises a brow.
A laugh escapes your throat. Unfortunately, you’ve been crying the whole day, so it looks more like a snort. Still, you didn’t think you were going to laugh again after today.
‘It’s, uh, a very long story. Embarrassing, at times. But just so you know, I promise I'm not a runaway psycho from the nearest mental hospital’.
A smile forms on his lips. He doesn’t ask to know more, which feels refreshing. At the same time, there’s something in him that makes you want to confide in him, and tell him everything.
He looks down at the steps, grinning.
‘Depends on what you mean by lost. Technically, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be, which is at the Quinns Hotel’. He looks up at you. ‘But I’m also lost, because I can’t find the words I needed to write a song tonight, so I decided to take a walk and let inspiration come to me’ he finishes, looking up and meeting your eyes.
You nod, turning to look at the city passing by. The night is chilly, but not cold. Not yet. It all feels very surreal, but at the same time, sharp at the edges. Almost like a real dream come true. Just, not the dream you were expecting.
‘What do you say we go for a walk together?’
The words slip out of your mouth before you can control them.
He gets up from his seat, and humiliation floods in your body. Great. Abandoned at the altar and labeled as crazy by the Michael Jackson. You brace yourself, ready to see him run away from you.
Instead, he walks in front of you and extends his hand.
‘It’s nice to meet you. I’m Michael Jackson’.
You frown, reaching for his hand but not quite touching it. What kind of game is he playing?
‘I’m Y/N’ you say. He shortens the distance and takes your hand.
‘You look in desperate need of some comfort. And possibly even something nice enough to distract you from your worries’ he says, lifting you to your feet. You smile, and reach down to slip your heels back on.
‘You’re right, Michael’ you confirm. One corner of his mouth lifts up, content to see you playing along.
‘That is such a fortunate coincidence! You see, I’ve been looking for a way out too’ he explains, guiding you down the steps. He puts his hands in his pockets and starts walking backwards. You laugh. He looks silly walking like this, but it’s good to see.
‘I know of a good place where you can eat great fries, right around the corner. You in?’ you ask, teasing him. Fries are possibly the only thing that could comfort you right now. Besides this lovely man in front of you.
He nods, and turns to walk beside you. Something prickles at the nape of your neck. There’s something that seems… casually off in his behaviour.
Whatever. There’s no space in your brain to worry about anything else.
Reaching up, you unlodge the veil from your hair, balling it up and throwing it on the ground. It feels like a neat break from everything.
‘What do you mean that he called dates off because his team was playing?’
Michael looks disconcerted enough. A little distraught too: he’s holding a handful of forgotten fries, and his face shows every ounce of disapproval he’s feeling.
Embarrassment makes you blush.
‘Look, I was in love, okay? I believed it only right to give him his space’ you murmur, shoving fries in your mouth.
The diner is almost totally empty, save for you two and the owner, James. You’ve known him for years, so he wasn’t exactly surprised when he saw you come in. He did shoot a preoccupied look at your outfit, but something in your face told him it was better not to ask. However, when he saw who was with you, he almost choked.
You quickly walked the steps to the counter, eyes wide and shaking your head. ‘Don’t’ you murmured. ‘Please’ you added. He exhaled loudly, trying to not look too much at the man behind you. He began trafficking with some glasses behind the counter. ‘Anything I can do for you, dear?’ he asked, as polite as ever. You sighed, relieved.
‘Yes. Could I get the largest portion of fries you have? Make that two’.
‘I’m totally for giving each other space in a relationship. But a man that bails you on date night because his team is playing is not a real man’. Michael takes a drink of his Coke, mumbling something under his breath.
‘I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet. This is just an appetizer, Michael. I didn’t run away from my wedding because he bailed on me’ you joke, reaching for some more fries. Your plate was empty. Michael slid his to you, motioning for you to serve yourself.
You chew silently for a few moments, trying to collect the strength in you to talk about what happened just hours ago. That feeling from before surfaces again. Something in Michael makes you feel good: you feel like you could tell him anything, and he wouldn’t judge you. You don’t remember the last time you felt like this with someone that wasn’t your journal.
‘So. Picture the scene. I’m at the altar, and the-’ you stop, reaching in your mind for a good enough nickname to give to your ex-fiancée.
‘Grinch. We’ll call him Grinch’ suggests Michael, leaning back in his seat. You nod.
‘The Grinch, he was right in front of me. The priest was just finishing his sermon. We were about to pronounce our votes, when, all of a sudden, my maid of honor crumbled to the floor. I looked behind me, and I hurried to help her. My first thought was that she may have fainted, or felt ill. But no. She was crying’. You stop, to create a little suspense. Michael crosses his arms, and narrows his eyes slightly. ‘Go on’ he murmurs.
Your stomach twists pleasantly at hearing his low voice. Wait, what?
‘She was crying. I was extremely confused: she’s never been one for antics, and what did she have to cry about anyway? The Grinch, meanwhile, was frozen in his place. I didn’t even think about how suspicious it looked of him to just stand there and do nothing, maybe because that’s what he always did. Nothing’ you smile at that. Michael snorts a laugh.
‘She was sobbing, but also trying to say something. I was growing more and more scared, and asking myself if I should call for help. That’s when she raised her head, and, looking straight at him, she screamed, TELL HER. I freeze. What did she mean, tell her?’. You stop then, and exhale briefly. This is the most painful part of the story. Michael straightens up, and unfolds his arms.
‘Hey. You’re not forced to tell me anything’ he murmurs, softly. He reaches for your hand, and brushes your fingers. The brief contact soothes you. You nod, and look up from the table to meet his gaze.
‘No. It’s good, I need to talk about it. Plus, you’re a very good listener, Michael. I have never told a stranger about my disastrous wedding, so that’s a point for you’ you try to laugh it off. He smiles, and holds your hand delicately, enough to make you feel like you can finish the story without bursting into tears.
‘Yeah, so, at that point, my brain was piecing things together. I got up, left her on the ground to her despair, and confronted him. I told him: What is she talking about?. He couldn’t even look me straight in the eyes, God. He looked at the priest, as if the poor man could help him out. He sighed, loosened the collar of his shirt, and murmured something. I raised my voice, and repeated the question. The guests had started rumouring, and the church was filled with whispers. He crushed under the tension, and confessed. It seems that my almost-husband and my maid of honor had been hooking up for years, leading up to the wedding. Shamelessly, he didn’t even bent down to try and comfort her. I felt like I was dying, right there, on the spot. I looked around me. Breathed deeply. Then, I collected my gowns and quite literally ran out of the church’. You stop to take a sip of water. ‘I have been aimlessly walking all day, trying to not get lost, and at the same time, trying to not think about what happened. Then I met you, and here we are’ you conclude, sighing. It feels like a heavy weight has lifted off your chest.
Michael is silent. He bites his lip, looking like he doesn’t really know what to say.
‘He’s an asshole. No, better. He’s demented’. He looks angrier than you.
‘Don’t worry. At least I’m free of him now’ you shrug your shoulders.
The radio in the background is playing Dance Hall Days. You smile.
Michael looks around, confused. Then, he picks on the music, and mirrors your smile.
‘You like this song?’ he asks, tapping the table with his fingers.
You nod. ‘It’s possibly one of my favourites of all time’ you explain, sipping the rest of your water.
‘What are the others?’ he asks. He seems genuinely curious to know more about something as simple as your favourite music.
Gosh. Your heart is already beating faster in your chest.
‘Uhm, let’s see. Brothers in Arms, definitely. Also, The Winner Takes it All, and Dancing Queen. This last one has been the soundtrack to my highschool years’. You laugh, then hesitate. You’re not sure you want to tell him the rest.
He senses your hesitation.
‘Anything else?’ he asks.
‘I Will Survive. And, yeah, Beat it, also. Maybe even The Girl Is Mine, when I’m feeling romantic’ you finish, trying to play it off. Your cheeks are awfully red, so maybe you’re not really good at this.
‘Don’t get too excited, okay?’. You lightly kick his leg under the table, but you’re smiling.
‘No, I’m not making fun of you, don’t worry. It’s just good to see that I’m one of your favourites’ he says, tilting his head.
‘You’re not going to let me live it down, right?’ you ask.
He shakes his head, smiling. There’s a strange feeling in the air. What you just said premises a possible future where you two stay in contact. Where you’re friends with Michael. Not the superstar, but the guy who just ate fries with you in an attempt to lift your humour.
It seems like a very good perspective.
The air is colder when you step out of the diner. You shiver, wanting to set your dress on fire just to warm yourself up a little.
A jacket lands on your shoulders. You look behind, surprised. Michael has shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, looking casual.
‘Thanks, Michael’ you murmur, taking in the warmth and the smell of his cologne.
‘Don’t. Wouldn’t want you to freeze to death, Y/N’ he says, walking next to you. Your heart takes a leap.
‘I mean, I could get blamed if they find you dead and I’m the last person you were seen with’ he jokes, smiling. You laugh, and your breath draws a puff of air in the chilly night.
Michael doesn’t want this night to end, and neither does he want to go back to his hotel. He managed to dodge Bill and spend one single hour like a normal man, eating fries with a pretty girl in a diner. A dream come true, really. Still, he feels like he could do more for her. She had to run away from her wedding, so she deserves to live the greatest night of her life.
He steals a glance at her. She’s awfully pretty, even in the wrinkled dress, ruined makeup and hair down. A brief thought crosses his mind: if she were at the altar with him, she would have been the happiest woman on Earth. He would have never done what the Grinch did.
Wait, what? Stop it. You look crazy.
Michael clears his throat.
‘So. Are you in a hurry?’.
She turns to look at him, frowning.
The cinema is empty. She bought a large popcorn bucket while he hid behind a poster, trying to not look psycho, and avoid fans all the same.
The cinema’s showing Singin’ in the Rain tonight. They settled down, sitting next to each other, elbows brushing here and there. Every single time his skin had touched hers, Michael felt a shot of electricity surging through his body.
Fortunately, he’s got the movie memorized: he spent the entire time stealing glances at the beautiful woman next to him, admiring her. Really, how could anyone consciously cheat on her?
The door to the cinema hall slams open. Like a scene straight out of a horror movie, a girl appears in the doorway, and points at Michael. She’s screaming.
Survival instincts kick in. Y/N, next to him, is already rising to her feet. Michael takes her hand and guides her toward the exit, while the girl has her back on them. She’s calling someone. Fuck. They don’t have much time.
Michael holds her hand while they quickly descend the steps and push the door open. He stops for a split second, and looks at her.
‘I’m sorry’ he says, frantic. He didn’t want this to happen. Yes, there was a high risk that someone was going to recognize him and break their little bubble, but still. Sometimes he just wishes he could be your average, normal guy, so he didn’t have to interrupt dates nights with pretty girls like Y/N to run away.
‘Don’t. Michael, I think we have to run’ she says, looking him in the eyes. He still has her hand in his. She’s got a small, lovely hand, and it feels so good to hold her.
Michael. Back to reality.
‘Yes. We do’ he says, just in time as the door behind them springs open.
She lurches forward, and they start running away from the cinema.
Why didn’t you decide to get married in sneakers? These heels were the worst choice in the world. You make a mental note to throw them in the fire as soon as you get home.
The night air is hitting your face and ruffling your dress as you and Michael run away from the screaming fans. If you weren’t busy trying to catch your breath, you would find this scene incredibly funny.
Michael comes to a halt next to a park.
‘C’mon, come here’ he murmurs. He seems just fine. How does he do this? What kind of training is he under? You feel like your lungs are melting in your chest.
He drags you over the gates, and shelters your figures in the shadow of an oak, right in the corner.
Your bodies are pressed close to each other. You let go of his hand and hold on to his shoulders, trying to not breathe too loudly. He looks down at you when you grip his shoulders, and smiles. A hand flies up to rest on your back, moving you even closer.
You tell yourself it’s just because he doesn’t want to be caught.
It’s not much until you hear the crazy storm pass by. Nobody, fortunately, spots you and Michael, which means that you can move.
At this point, you’re breathing fine. Looking up at him, you realise that he looks obscenely pretty after the run. His hair is all messy, and he somehow lost the hair tie along the way, which means that his curls are free roaming his face now.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks you, brushing away a strand of hair that fell in front of your eyes.
You nod, but don’t say anything.
‘Let’s go. I’ll walk you home’ he says.
You bite your lip when you get to your flat. The night is officially over, so why does it feel so sour to let go of him?
‘You know, maybe you should take up professional running. Seems like you’re pretty good at it’ he jokes, stopping on his tracks next to you.
You laugh, unable to shake the sadness away.
You’ve had fun tonight. Michael quite literally saved you from absolute doom and despair, and now what? You’re not even sure you’ll see him again.
‘Thank you, Michael. I don’t know where I would be if it weren’t for you’ you tell him, trying not to look too gloomy.
‘I’m the one who has to thank you. You’ve allowed to spend one night like a normal man. You’ve trusted me enough to tell me about your wedding, and you’ve also ran away with me from fans. That’s more than what the average woman would do’ he shrugs his shoulders. You sigh, and smile.
You move to take the jacket off.
‘Don’t. It looks better on you’ he stops you.
You look up at him, lips parting slightly.
You want him to kiss you. But also, you still feel that your heart is recovering from this day. But you also don’t want to say goodbye.
In an impulsive moment, you fish a pen out of the pocket of the jacket, and grab his hand. Turning it upwards, you scribble your phone number on his palm.
‘There. So you’ll know where to find me if you feel like you need another normal night’ you finish, putting the pen away. He looks down at your writing, and smiles.
‘I don’t want to go, but I have to. Bill is going to have a heart attack if I don’t reappear within the hour’ he sighs. You nod.
You turn your body to walk the few steps up to your door, when a hand grabs your arm. Michael spins you around and drags you to his body.
‘Keep the jacket, I’m serious. In fact, wear it when I see you again’. His hands slide to your waist, and rest there.
‘I’ll call you, I promise. You’ll probably get annoyed at how much I’ll want to hear your voice. Don’t forget about me’ he finishes off, in a whisper.
‘Call me, Michael. Ask me out, talk to me, whatever you want. I could never get annoyed at hearing your voice’ you confess.
The wedding feels like a distant scene, now, something that belongs to somebody else. A version of you that died the moment Michael offered you his hand tonight.
Quickly, you reach up and leave a kiss on his cheek. He looks as stunned as possible when you pull away.
Smiling, you sneak out of his arms and get into your house, kicking the heels away and sliding down on the floor, smiling like a schoolgirl.
Michael walks to the hotel with a smile on his face.
Let me know if you'd fancy a part two :)
