emy🪽

𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒚 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒆 off the wall michael’s no. 1 fangirl ┈┈・୨ ✦ ୧・┈┈

[xffthewall]

masterlist ⋆ . ࿔ ˚

late night rentals 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

between takes — ✦ ݁ ˖

part 1, part 2, part 3

somewhere in encino ᯽ ݁ ˖

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4

just four weeks . ۫ ꣑ৎ

part 1

one shots ⋆ . ˚

just one dance

‘cheater’

— comment to be added to my taglist :)

[xffthewall]

guys do we want like fucking crazy angst sad crazy multiple chapters slow burn for the counsellor fic

yesyesyess!!!!!

no omgmake them kiss and quick hoe

Remaining time: 21 hours 47 minutes

[xffthewall]

i seen someone accusing writers of ai in someone’s comment section because they ‘use em dashes a lot’ and i actually feel siiiickkkk bruh. em dashes have BEEN a thing, it’s used in classic literature and dickens was nooot messing around on chatgpt ill tell you that.💀 idk why readers and other writers are accusing people of ai fics because of it.

i’m well aware that em dashes come up a lot in my fics and it’s purely because i just like to use them and its a style of preference like everyone else has😭. plus, the idea that people are probably out there immediately throwing an ai label on my work due to it is kinda upsetting to me. i’m not going to let it get to me too much because i know myself that i don’t use ai and i write as a hobby and to use up free time whilst my exams are happening so i do this mostly for myself and the love of the game but i just want to make it clear that ai accusations, especially nowadays with the chatgpt epidemic, can be really harmful to a writers reputation as well as their passion for writing. i’ve also seen that people in tiktok comments have said they purposefully try not to use em dashes in their work anymore since people are so quick to judge on it which upsets me so bad that people need to change their writing style so people arent running around accusing them of chatgpting their work.

no one can properly tell if a person uses ai or not, and no piece of writing can ‘sound like ai’ when ai is literally made to sound human and is fed actual fanfiction to learn how to write its own. ai sounds like that because real writers do that.

just be mindful guys pleaseeeee and if you think someone used ai then stop reading it and scrollllllll—nobody is forcing you to read it i promise you

i don’t understand why someone would use ai to write a fanfic anyway, i mean youre not being forced to write… but just remember to stay blessed, write how you want, and fuck ai🙌🏽

[xffthewall]

just four weeks . ۫ ꣑ৎ .

𑣲⋆ summary : you begin settling into life at your summer camp job you took in attempt get out of the house, gradually growing closer to your cabin mates. during a chaotic morning of icebreakers, you and michael quickly become favourites among the campers who waste no time teasing you both on being a couple.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ late 70s camp counsellor!michael x camp counsellor!reader

a/n : first off, i’m not american nor have a been at a summer camp in the 70s so im going off gut instincts if what id think would happen and you’re going to go with ok cool— also i plan to make this a series so if this part is taken well then ill do part 2 soon yayyyy

summer always sounded a lot better when other people talked about it.

for everyone else, it seemed to arrive with plans already attached—beach trips, late-night drives, constant friendly get togethers at the local park, sneaking out to drink, parties etc. etc.

for you, it mostly arrived with silence. the kind that settled over the house by mid-morning that made the ticking of the clock in the kitchen seem louder than it actually was.

most days, you drifted from room to room without much purpose. flipping through whatever magazine was closest to you, scanning disinterested down the pages. staring into the fridge for the eighth time that day for something to eat out of pure boredom.

you told yourself you liked being alone—sometimes you did, but there was a difference between choosing solitude and having it chosen for you.

by the second week of summer, the days had started blending together—wake up, eat, waste the day away in your room, sleep, and repeat.

one afternoon, while at your nearest supermarket to run the errands your mum forced on you in an attempt to get you out of the house, you spotted a job listing splattered on a window nearby.

‘summer councillor job needed. four-week residential programme. no experience necessary.’

you almost laughed when you couldn’t think of a job less suited to you.

the listing was filled with smiling groups of teenagers standing by lakes and campfires, all of them looking like the kind of people who had never struggled to start a conversation in their lives.

you stared at it for longer than you meant to—looking specifically at how happy they all looked, especially compared to how to you felt locked away in the house for the past two weeks.

reaching for a pen in your jacket pocket, you took note the number provided and made a mental note to call it once you got home.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you quickly found yourself standing in a crowded parking lot at six in the morning with a duffel bag slung over your shoulder and a growing suspicion that you’d made a terrible mistake

a yellow bus sat idled near the curb with fellow counsellors and staff milled around in small groups, already talking as if they’d known each other for years.

awkwardly adjusting the straps of the bag on your shoulder, you make your way over to the bus. it was already half full by the time you climbed aboard—the driver barely glancing at your ticket before waving you down the aisle.

conversations buzzed all around you. some people already seemed to know each other, talking across seats and laughing over stories you weren’t part of. others sat alone like you, clutching bags on their laps and staring out windows.

you chose an empty seat near the middle—not too close to the front, yet too close to the back. the worn vinyl squeaked beneath you as you sat down. your duffel bag shoved beneath your feet, and after a moment of hesitation, you rested your forehead against the cool glass of the window.

outside, more counsellors trickled into the parking lot, and one by one, they climbed aboard. before no time the seats gradually filled and the noise grew louder.

your stomach twisted in worry that maybe this had been a mistake—you weren’t suddenly going to become a different person because you’d signed up for a summer job.

four weeks at a camp wouldn’t magically make you more outgoing, more interesting, or better at talking to people.

the thought settled heavily in your chest but you could dwell on it any longer when the bus lurched forward—a few conversations paused, the parking lot slowly disappeared behind you.

and just like that, there was no backing out—the town gradually fading behind you into stretches of countryside.

fields rolled past the windows in broad patches of green and gold. telephone poles flickered by in steady intervals. occasionally, you’d catch sight of an old farmhouse tucked between clusters of trees before it disappeared from view again.

the further you travelled, the fewer buildings there seemed to be—soon it was mostly forest. tall pine trees crowded the roadside, casting shifting shadows across the bus whenever the sun slipped behind them. the air outside appeared heavy with summer heat.

you listened to the low hum of conversation around you. eventually, your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

before you knew it, several hours had passed.

the first glimpse of camp came through the trees, a wooden sign stood near the entrance.

‘camp pine ridge’

the bus gradually slowed before turning on a gravel road and almost immediately, the atmosphere changed.

small wooden cabins appeared between the pines, a dining hall sat near the center of camp, its wide porch already crowded with people moving back and forth. beyond that, you caught a glimpse of sparkling water from the lake through the trees.

the bus hadn’t even stopped yet and already the place felt alive—children ran between buildings carrying duffel bags nearly as large as themselves, parents shouted last-minute instructions through open car windows, counsellors crossed paths carrying boxes, clipboards and armfuls of supplies.

the moment the bus doors opened, the noise doubled, stepping down onto the gravel and behind hit with warm air in the face.

somewhere nearby, a whistle blew, a little girl raced past clutching a stuffed rabbit, two boys were already arguing over who got the top bunk, someone dropped an entire suitcase which earned a groan from a counsellor whilst another laughed—it was definitely chaotic, but not unpleasant.

for the first time all day, you found yourself smiling—maybe four weeks here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

after check-in, you were directed toward the staff office—a tired-looking woman sitting lazily behind a desk handed you a key attached to a wooden tag.

“cabin four,” she stated groggily, clearly already fed up by the first hour. “three roommates.”

before you could ask who they were, she was already helping the next person in line.

you stared down at the rusted key in your palm.

‘three roommates.’

wonderful.

the knot in your stomach returned, asking yourself ‘what if they don’t like me? what if i make a shit first impression?’

cabin four sat slightly apart from the others beneath a cluster of pine trees. it wasn’t much to look at—weathered wooden walls, a small porch out front, a screened window on either side. the building looked like it had been standing there for decades.

inside, it smelled faintly of pine, dust and old wood. two bunk beds lined the walls with a narrow dresser stood between two windows. sunlight spilled across the floorboards in golden rectangles.

you dropped your bag beside one of the lower bunks, claiming it before anyone else could.

i mean, at least you’d gotten there first you thought, soon unpacking all your belonging in the space of ten minutes.

after that, there wasn’t much left to do except wait.

the cabin door soon opened—a girl stepping inside carrying two bags and immediately sighed with relief.

“oh, thank god,” she sighed of relief before letting out an nervous giggle. “i was starting to think i got lost.”

she couldn’t have been much older than you. dirty blonde hair fell to her shoulders in loose waves, and freckles dusted her nose. she wore faded denim shorts and a yellow blouse that had clearly been wrinkled sometime during the journey.

“i’m mary,” she states, holding her hand out in front of you.

you introduced yourself and in minutes she was unpacking too, chatting comfortably as though you’d known each other longer than the reality of five minutes.

the next arrival came shortly after—a tall brunette guy squeezed through the doorway carrying enough luggage for an entire family, unsure how he’d managed it.

“please tell me there’s room left.”

mary pointed at the empty bunk opposite. “there y’go.”

“life saver,” he exasperated, dropping his bags beside it with a dramatic groan.

“eric, by the way.”

after another round of introductions, he immediately launched into a story about nearly missing the bus that morning which earned a laugh from you and mary.

you found yourself relaxing a little, that maybe sharing a cabin wouldn’t be so bad.

the three of you were midway through conversation when the door opened for a third time.

this time, the newcomer paused in the doorway.

dark curls framed his face beneath the afternoon sunlight spilling through the open door. he wore a simple button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows and carried a duffel bag over one shoulder.

for half a second, you thought he looked vaguely familiar before it clicked.

not because anyone reacted or that there was some dramatic revelation, just familiarity—the jackson 5, michael jackson.

you’d seen him on television before. i mean, it was hard not to when nearly every station had him and his brothers plastered on it.

though standing here now, he looked far more like another counsellor arriving for work than someone you’d occasionally seen performing on stage.

“oh,” eric said. “michael jackson.” he spoke out nonchalantly, relatively calm at the fact such a well-known star was stood in front of him.

michael gave a shy nod in agreement. “yeah.”

there was no fanfare, no excitement, just basic acknowledgement of his existence.

“cool,” eric replied with an approving nod.

and that was apparently the end of that. michael claimed the remaining bunk on top of eric’s and began unpacking himself—quietly and efficiently.

while mary and eric slipped back into conversation, he mostly listened—occasionally responding when spoken to.

you didn’t have much of an opinion on him yet—he wasn’t rude, but he wasn’t particularly friendly either, just reserved.

still, as the four of you settled into your cabin and the sounds of camp drifted through the open windows, you couldn’t shake the feeling that these people—complete strangers only hours ago—were about to become a very large part of your summer.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the following morning, a whistle cut through the morning air to signal for the camp to begin to wake up.

you jerked awake before you even understood why, blinking up at the unfamiliar wooden ceiling above your bunk. for a few disoriented seconds, all you could do was stare as the events of yesterday slowly came back to you.

oh, right.

a low groan rose from somewhere across the room, followed by the sound of a pillow being aggressively dragged over somebody’s head.

“ugh, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” mary’s voice was muffled beneath several layers of blanket, but her inner-misery came through loud and clear.

the cabin still held that cool early-morning chill that lingered before the summer heat properly settled in for the day. pale sunlight filtered through the windows, painting thin golden stripes across the floorboards and climbing slowly up the opposite wall. outside, you could already hear movement around camp—doors opening and closing, distant voices and another whistle somewhere farther away.

on the other side of the room, eric leaned over the side of his bunk with the exhausted expression of a man returning from war.

“it’s six o’clock,” he announced to nobody in particular. “there are children in this camp who are probably still asleep. why am i awake before them?”

“‘cause we made poor life decisions,” mary remarks.

a laugh escaped your nose before you could stop it. across the room, michael had already pushed himself upright and was sitting on the edge of his bunk above eric, staring down at the commotion below. his curls were slightly flattened on one side from sleep and his lips slightly swollen.

“y’all look terrible,” he addressed, taking in the sluggish sight before him—hair frizzed to the brim, pillows over faces, blankets half onto the floor.

mary immediately sat up at his insult, glaring up at him through her eyebrows.

“how do you look awake already. that’s suspicious.”

michael shrugged. “maybe i’m jus’ better at mornings.”

“no one is better at mornings,” you retaliate, voice hoarse with sleep, rubbing your eyes roughly with the heels of your hands in an attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“exactly,” eric sleepily agreed with a nod. “jus’ not a thing.”

the conversation continued as everyone slowly dragged themselves into consciousness. somehow, despite only knowing each other for less than a day, the awkwardness that had lingered in the cabin yesterday evening had begun to wear away. not entirely, but enough that nobody felt the need to sit in silence anymore.

it was strange, but entertaining—yesterday they had all been strangers, and today you were already arguing about breakfast before you’d even left your beds.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you quickly threw on a pair of high-waisted denim shorts along with your designated red ringer tee with the word ‘staff’ plastered on the back of it. slipping on some tube socks and an old pair of scuffed yellow canvas sneakers, throwing you hair quickly into a ponytail—too lazy to actually bother to do anything cute at this time in the morning.

by the time everyone had managed to get dressed and look somewhat presentable, the camp was already wide awake. the morning air still carried a lingering coolness, but it wouldn’t last long. you could feel the promise of heat waiting just beyond the treetops as sunlight filtered through the pines, painting patches of gold across the dirt paths. around you, counsellors and campers were already moving between cabins, some energetic despite the early hour, others looking as though they’d been dragged from bed against their will.

the walk to the dining hall wasn’t far, though it felt longer on tired legs. mary walked beside you, stifling another yawn behind her hand.

“if i disappear into the woods sometime today,” she informed the group, “just know it wasn’t personal. i’m simply not designed to function before at least nine.”

“yeah, we’ve gathered. you’ve mentioned that three times already,” eric snaps sassily with a roll of his eyes.

“‘cause nobody’s taking it seriously.”

“well you’ve got up.”

“uh-huh, barely.”

michael, walking a few steps ahead, shook his head with a tiny grin. “i think you’ll survive, mary.”

mary pointed at him dramatically. “easy for you to say.”

“what does that mean?”

“you woke up normal, looked prepared the start the day at six.”

eric nodded in agreement. “yeah, that’s true.”

“i looked exactly the same as everybody else?”

“no,” mary pressed firmly. “you looked pretty awake.”

the dining hall soon came into view before michael could defend himself—it was larger than you’d realized the day before, a long wooden building with wide windows and a porch that wrapped around one side. the sounds hit first, dozens of conversations overlapping, chairs scraping against the floor, laughter bouncing off wooden walls.

inside was even more chaotic—children crowded around tables, balancing trays piled high with food. counsellors navigated the sea of bodies with the concentration of people attempting to survive a natural disaster.

the smell of pancakes, eggs, toast and coffee hung heavily in the air.

“now this,” eric began as he grabbed a tray, “makes waking up worth it.”

you followed the line, accepting a plate of scrambled eggs and toast before moving toward an empty table near one of the windows. sunlight poured through the glass, illuminating floating specks of dust and casting bright patches across the table.

for a while, conversation stayed light, mostly consisting of guesses about what the day would involve.

“i heard we’re doing canoeing or something later this week,” eric speaks, muffled between bites.

“that’s assuming none of the kids sink us first,” mary jested.

“i can swim.”

“okay, but can they?”

“i feel like that’s an important detail somebody should’ve checked before hiring us.”

you found yourself smiling into your coffee at the flow of conversations of your group. the nervousness from yesterday hadn’t vanished entirely, but it was beginning to loosen its grip. there was something oddly comforting about sitting around a breakfast table with people who were just as unsure as you were.

even michael seemed more relaxed this morning—not necessarily talkative, but more present than the day before, listening and occasionally contributing.

at one point, mary launched into a story about accidentally getting locked inside her school’s gym equipment shed by the janitor when she was thirteen, prompting eric to nearly choke on his milk and michael to snicker quietly into his orange juice.

it happened so quickly you almost missed it—a brief sound that quickly was gone again a second later. still, it felt strangely rewarding, like catching sight of a rare animal in the wild.

before long, an announcement echoed through the dining hall, reminding staff to report to the counsellors’ meeting cabin.

the room immediately erupted into movement—chairs scraped back, trays were collected, children groaned at the prospect of organized activities so early in the morning.

“here we go,” mary groans as everyone stood.

you weren’t entirely sure whether you were excited or terrified—perhaps both.

the staff cabin sat near the center of camp, tucked between the dining hall and the lake. by the time your group arrived, it was already packed with counselors. some leaned against walls chatting casually while others sat at tables flipping through schedules.

a large chalkboard stood at the front of the room—assignments written across it in neat white lettering.

the camp director, a woman named mrs. johnston, waited until most people had settled before clapping her hands together which caused the room gradually quieted.

“good morning, everyone.”

a few sleepy greetings answered back.

“i’ll make this quick. since today is our first full day, we’re keeping things simple. the campers will remain in age groups, and your focus is getting them comfortable, learning names, and making sure nobody runs away into the forest,” she half jokes before making her way to a table with multiple clip boards and sheets of paper stacked on top of it.

several names were then called as assignments were handed out, groups shuffling around the room.

then—

“michael jackson, y/n l/n…” mrs. johnston gazes down at her notes, scanning down the page.

“group three.”

a clipboard was handed over towards the both of you, michael reaching for it first before glancing down at the information sheet.

you leaned slightly closer. “…eleven year olds.”

a nearby counselor visually winced—that didn’t seem promising.

“what’s wrong with eleven year olds?” you asked in confusion of the gesture.

michael stared at the paper for a moment before answering. “they’ve just discovered sarcasm.”

“oh.”

“and they think they’re funnier than they are.”

“yikes… this’ll be a ride.”

“much so.”

mrs. johnston continued speaking. “your first activity will be icebreakers down by the recreation field. name games, team activities, introductions—the usual.”

a collective groan rolled through the room from the unamused counsellors. you weren’t sure whether that made you feel better or worse.

a few minutes later, you and michael found yourselves heading toward the field with a stack of activity sheets and a growing sense of uncertainty.

the recreation field stretched out beneath the morning sun, bordered by pine trees and patches of wild grass. campers were already gathering in small groups, talking loudly, chasing each other across the grass, or pretending not to know anybody.

several eleven year olds sat waiting on a nearby bench that was actually a random log they discovered on the ground a shifted over.

the moment they spotted the two of you approaching, one boy immediately pointed. “i think they’re our counsellors.”

another looked michael up and down. “he looks mean.”

michael blinked in confusion. “i haven’t even said anything—“

the boy shrugged. “exactly.”

you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself laughing, and beside you, michael let out a long sigh, rubbing his eyes in anticipation for the carnage about to inevitably occur.

it was only eight-thirty in the morning and somehow, you had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

“soo, what are your names?” a little girls asks, gazing up at you both with a small smile, her front tooth missing which really reminded you how young these kids really are.

“well, i’m y/n,” you smile back. “and this is michael,” you gesture over to him—him smiling down at the kid as well.

the little girl nods in return before running to a group of kids and giggling.

michael looks down at the clipboard, scanning the expected activities for the day. “human knot?… what is that? it sounds like a safety hazard.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

it wasn’t long before the group of children were stood in front of you both, hands and arms tangled awkwardly with each others.

“mason, you’re going to dislocate my shoulder if you keep tugging me!”

“then maybe you should comply!”

“i feel a lot like a pretzel right now.”

“ava, go under my arm! no, not that arm— the other arm.”

as the children awkwardly shuffled in the circle, reaching across each other to grab random hands, your attention drifted toward a little girl near the edge of the group.

unlike the others, who were already laughing and pulling each other around, she stood unusually still—her ginger ponytail had begun slipping loose from whatever rushed hairstyle she gave herself that morning. she held onto the hands she’d been assigned with obvious uncertainty, shoulders drawn tightly toward her ears.

every few seconds her eyes darted around the circle as if she was trying to figure out what everyone else understood that she didn’t.

you watched her chew nervously on her bottom lip, abruptly, you stepped away from michael’s and wandered over to her.

“hey,” you whisper softly, just for her to hear—crouching down slightly on your knees to meet her level to not strain her.

the girl, startled slightly, looked down at you—her eyes clearly full of worry.

“you okay?”

she glanced down at the tangled mess of arms. “i don’t get it,” she murmurs timidly.

you followed her gaze before admitting, “honestly, neither do i.” which earned the tiniest smile. “i think we’re all just kind of making it up as we go.”

the little girl let out a nervous laugh. “what if i mess it up?”

“then you’ll fit right in,” you gestured toward a nearby boy who was currently attempting to crawl beneath three different arms at once.

“i think we’ve already got at least four people messing it up.”

the girl giggled shyly as she looked at the kids who, very obviously, had no clue what they were doing either. around you, the knot continued descending into complete chaos.

“it’s supposed to be fun,” you said softly. “no one’s grading you. and if the whole thing falls apart, we just try again.”

her shoulders seemed to loosen slightly at the comforting reassurance you delivered.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

she nodded, squeezing the hands she was holding a little more confidently this time. when you stood back up and returned toward the others, you noticed she wasn’t looking around nervously anymore—she was smiling, eager to play with the other kids.

later, you and michael try to stifle your laughs at the chaotic scene unfolding infront of you both. abruptly, one little boy accidentally turns around to far and yanks the kid beside, causing the circle to collapse—kids falling on top of each other with contagious laughter and screams. everyone tumbled into each other with startled yelps and uncontrollable laughter as the circle collapsed into a heap on the grass.

michael immediately rushes over, chuckling loudly at the cluster of children folded on the grass below, making sure everyone’s alright—you following closely behind, picking the kids up one by one.

you were already moving forward to help untangle limbs when a small figure suddenly appeared beside michael.

a little boy named noah limped dramatically across the field, one hand clutching his knee, tears burning in his eyes, slowly dripping down his cheeks as he winced in pain.

“m-michael,” he murmured, voice wobbling slightly.

michael immediately crouched down, eyebrows furrowed as he looks over at the little boy side him. “hey kid, what’s wrong?”

the boy stuck out his leg, revealing a small scrape, pink around the edges and dusted with a bit of dirt from the field that sat just below his kneecap, barely bigger than a coin. it looked like the kind of injury most kids collected without even noticing during an afternoon of running around outside, a shallow mark that would probably be forgotten by tomorrow.

it wasn’t serious, but judging by noah’s expression, you’d think he’d survived a vicious attack of some sort.

michael studied the injury with exaggerated seriousness. “oh, man.” he hissed through his teeth sharply.

noah’s eyes widened in panic. “wh— what?”

michael leaned closer, playfully insepectimg with squinted eyes whilst nibbling on his lower lip in ‘deep thought.’

“i dunno… i think we need to chop your leg off,” michael concluded, glancing up at the boy to be met with a horrified expression.

“i’m— i’m kidding,” he quickly explained, his eyes slightly widened at the genuine horror on noah’s face.

“but i do think we’re gonna need at least…” he paused dramatically. “two superman bandages.”

noah blinked. “two?…”

“maybe three.”

“three?”

“yeah, that’s how serious this is.”

the little boy stared at him for a moment before letting out a laugh, earning a playfully smile from michael.

“hm, can you still walk?”

noah tested, walking in a small circle around michael before stopping again infront of him.

“yeah.”

“can you still run?”

a few experimental jogging steps followed.

“…yeah.”

“good.”

michael stood, lightly ruffling the boy’s hair.

“then i think you’ll survive.”

the campers around them laughed, and by the time noah ran off to rejoin the others, several of the children were already crowding around michael with entirely unrelated questions.

you caught the way their attention naturally drifted toward him now—somewhere between helping a crying kid and diagnosing a life-threatening scraped knee, he’d apparently won them over.

“i’m not kidding, mike. i think i’ve dislocated something,” a little boy named oscar complains, holding his shoulder dramatically.

“no you haven’t,” michael assured, hands in his hips.

“and how do you know, little boy,” oscar squints up at him, crossing his arms in an attemptto appear intimidating.

“first of all, you’re the little boy here, kiddo. secondly, if it was, you’d be crying.”

“well, maybe i’m just brave.”

michael rolls his eyes before walking away, oscar sticking his tongue out to michael’s back.

you burst out laughing at the childish action of the boy, along with the fact michael was getting riled up from an eleven year old. almost immediately, you slap your hand onto your mouth which caused michael to look behind him in confusion—his upper lip curled slightly.

oscar gazes up at you, wriggling his eyebrows in a flirtatious manner. “find me funny, beautiful?” he winks.

you gasp in shock at the flirty remark, not sure if you should laugh or cry.

soon enough it was michael’s turn to laugh, hunched over slightly, hands on his knees at the kids confidence as well as the shock evidently portrayed on your face.

“i don’t think she’s interested, my guy,” another little boy, possibly oscar’s friend, chatted as he patted him supportively on the back. “she’d want someone like michael over here,” he gestures of with his head, nodding towards him.

suddenly, michael didn’t find it so funny no more—the smile from his face awkwardly faltering before fading completely.

“oh boy,” michael muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

oscar immediately pointed towards him. “see?”

“see what?” you asked, eyebrows knitted.

“you didn’t deny it.”

michael looked genuinely offended. “deny what?”

“that she wants you.”

the entire group of kids erupted into laughter—your stomach dropping as you feel your face burning as several heads turned towards you, trying to think of something to redeem yourself with.

“okay,” michael snapped, clapping his hands together once. “this is not an icebreaker.”

“no, wait,” another kid interrupted, sitting upright in the grass. “let’s vote.”

“no.”

“no, we are not voting on anything,” you agree.

ignoring both of your calls, a small voice begin to speak. “everyone who thinks y/n should date oscar, raise your hand.”

oscar’s arm shot into the air—two of his friends following.

“traitors,” somebody muttered under their breath.

“now, everyone who thinks she should date michael.”

this time nearly the entire group raised their hands, the field exploding with shouting.

michael stared at them in disbelief. “yous don’t even know us?! we— we barely know each other!”

the high-pitched shouting only grew louder—someone attempting to create teams, another child starting to act as a commentator.

you could feel a headache forming at the overwhelmed racket the kids evolved into. “alright!” you called out, trying and failing not to laugh. “new camp rule.”

the children gradually quieted.

“we are never discussing the counsellors’ love lives again.”

a girl near the front frowned. “but what if something happens?”

“nothing’s happenin’.”

“what if something does?”

“it won’t.”

the girl nodded thoughtfully then pointed toward michael. “what if he asks you out?” she adds innocently.

michael nearly choked on nothing—you feeling your face heat instantly.

and the worst part, the kids noticed.

the second they did, they descended like sharks smelling blood in the water.

“OOOOOOOH!”

“oh my god, she blushed!”

“she did!”

“totally did!”

“i didn’t!” you protested, awkwardly laughing and you stare down at the small swarm.

a girl suddenly pointed across the circle. “look, michael’s blushing too!”

every small head whipped toward him—michael freezing like a deer in headlights under their intense gaze.

“am not.”

“are too.”

“mm-mm,” michael shakes his head, a few stray curls swaying in the wind.

“your ears are red.”

michael immediately slapped a hand over one ear which caused an eruptions from the campers.

“HE CHECKED!”

“haha, he checked!”

“that’s guilty behavior!”

“it’s not guilty behavior,” michael argued, staring blankly—visibly fed up with the children now.

“it is!”

“it— it’s hot outside…”

one boy looked around at the shaded field. “we’re stood under a tree.”

the cheering somehow grew louder—the kids clearly finding this extremely amusing.

michael glanced at you with the exhausted expression of a man questioning every decision that had led him here.

you, unfortunately, were laughing too hard to help.

“okay, okay! we’re movin’ on.”

nobody listened, continue to press you.

“you like her!”

“i do not, we just met yesterday!”

“you totally do—“

“guys,” michael sternly interrupted.

for the first time all morning, his voice carried enough authority to cut through the chaos—causing the group to quieten.

michael folded his arms.

“we’ve spent ten minutes discussing people dating.”

nobody spoke.

“do any of you actually want to finish today’s activities?”

there was a brief pause which followed his question until oscar proudly raised his hand. “can i still marry her when i’m older?”

the collective groan that escaped both you and michael at the exact same time was enough to send the entire group into another fit of laughter.

i hope we liked this i’ll try post part 2 soon ive just got exams coming out of my ass rn

tags : @wondergotham @kietourhrt @xxxercess @ceeriusly-dumb @melynex @sscrumertt @lov3lylxvender @darkgreengrl @frangiipanii @starliqhtsworld @izluvsyou @cloverjeanmj @uknownn111 @invinor @art-faux @softchaosdiary04 @sulkygyu @meowwrites @itsmonetnicole @yourlocaltenderoni @bonni-98

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between takes III — ✦ ݁ ˖

𑣲⋆ summary : jaafar brings you out to lunch with him, soon finding out of a date you’ve been asked out on which he internally doesn’t take too well.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jaafar jackson x makeup artist!reader

a/n : sorry for the gap between part two and three i didn’t know how to continue it for a minute — this isn’t/barely proof read btw im too lazy sorry not sorry

the longer you and jaafar worked together, the more your friendship grew and the easier everything became.

stupid one-worded inside jokes that made utterly no sense to anyone else in the trailer except you both, shared lunch breaks, him showing up early to hair and makeup just to sit there longer whilst you purposefully take your time on his makeup specifically to make the process last longer so yous could talk for longer until someone came knocking on the door to tell yous to “hurry up!”

you sat cross-legged on the sofa beside him in his trailer whilst you both picked half-heartedly at the soggy complimentary salads that were provided to the crew for lunch that day.

“right, i can’t eat this,” jaafar verbalized, scrunching his face up before it pushing away across the table infront if him.

you giggle at his childish remark before continuing to pick at your own, staring down at the deathly green petals which glared back up at you.

“you’re not actually considering eating that, are you?” he stammered, eyes slightly widened like you had to be crazy to of himeven contemplate eating it. “it looks like coughed up grass from a cow that was scooped up into a bowl and served.”

your scrunch your nose up in disgust at his unappetising observation before shortly push your own salad away beside his own. “well not anymore after you put that image into my head.” you scowl, earning a light-hearted laugh from him.

“hey, how about we go out somewhere? anywhere. anywhere would serve better food than the slop they serve us,” jaafar suggests, pulling up his phone before even awaiting an answer from you, his fingers rapidly typing ‘lunch spots near me’ into the safari app.

“oh— uh… no it’s really—“ you begin to protest. the thought of jaafar spending money on you almost made you feel guilty but he threw a hand up to initiate silence, to which it did.

“shh, i don’t care. you’re coming whether you like it or not,” he concluded, still staring down at his phone as he tried to find a spot that he’d know would suit both of your tastes.

after the few months you worked with him and the countless hours sat in the trailer as yous discussed both nothing and everything, you eventually learned a lot about each other—one of them being your favourite foods.

his eyes light up as they land on a nearby food truck said to be located only ten minutes away from the set.

he immediately stands up and rushes to get his keys from the counter on the side of trailer, waving his head with a ‘lets go’ gesture with a that signature smile he always adorned—eyes crinkled and dimples deep.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the car ride up consisted majoritively of debates—food debates.

“who actually likes mint ice cream,” he presses on, eyes locked on the road but glancing at you every now and then.

“don’t even start, jaafar.” you warn, point a finger at him. “all of you mint ice cream haters always use the same argument of it ‘tasting like tooth paste’, which mind you it literally doesn’t. you must be going to really shitty places if you think it tastes like tooth paste.”

you continue to glare at the side of his face disapprovingly, “alright, what do you get then. since you’re so passionate about the topic of ice cream flavours.”

“well, m’lady,” he begins, a smug look on his face—glancing at you through the corner of his eye. “i usually get vanilla, sometimes coconut if i’m feeling daring.”

“coconut?… vanilla?” you repeat im astonishment. “yeah, i don’t know how you ever thought you had the right to your opinion.”

the childish banter continues before jaafar reaches to turn on the radio in an attempt to drown out the meaningless ‘argument’.

“yo, get me on aux,” he commands as he nods his head to radio, handing his phone out to you in one hand beside him.

“oh, absolutely not. not after last time.”

he momentarily shifts his gaze from the road to you, a confused expression adorning his face as he tries to recall what you meant.

“remember, last week? when gave you speaker privileges in the makeup trailer and all you played on repeat was ‘return of the mack’ for an hour?”

it started coming back to him, a small laugh escape from him before turning serious—whipping his head to you in offence. “that’s a good song!”

“it is a good song, but an hour jaafar?”

“okay, okay. maybe an hour was slightly excessive.”

“i think it’s a little more than slightly,” you giggle, lighting shoving his shoulder teasingly.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

some time had passed, the laughter and playful bickering dying down into a comfortable shared silence in the car. you look outside to the sunny landscapes surrounding you—the towering palm trees, people walking by with shopping bags from all kinds of stores, people skateboarding on a flighty of stairs, a flock of birds soaring through the sky.

“so, how are you finding it all?” you queried, leaning your head back onto the head rest of the car seat.

“hm?” he hums with a small smile—eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“you know, the acting. the rehearsals n that stuff,” you continued. “you got that moonwalk perfected yet?”

he let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his head before answering. “uh— yeah, it’s going alright i guess…” he fades out slightly as he ended the sentence. just enough that it shouldn’t have been noticiable—but it was to you.

“you guess?”

“it’s just… it’s a lot of pressure. y’know, getting to portray your uncle, the biggest star in the world, in his biopic isn’t a common experience. i just want to be perfect. it means a lot to me and i want to show the world how revolutionary he really was—to share his story…”

it was obvious that this role meant a lot to jaafar. i mean, it would mean a lot to anyone—getting to play the michael jackson in his biopic, let alone playing your uncle.

you glance over at him quietly for a moment. for once, he didn’t sound like the easygoing, joking version of himself he acted when yous were together usually. this time he sounded tired. overwhelmed.

“that’s a lot to carry,” you admit softly.

jaafar lets out a small breath of laughter through his nose, though there wasn’t much humour in it. “guess so.”

“especially because everyone already has their own version of him in their head,” you continue. “no matter what you do, someone’s gonna say it wasn’t enough.”

he glances at you briefly, almost surprised you understood what he meant so quickly.

“but,” you shrug lightly, “i don’t think people realise how much pressure’s on you either.”

jaafar’s fingers tap absentmindedly against the steering wheel before he speaks again.

“sometimes i worry people are only gonna see michael,” he admits quietly. “and not me. i mean obviously it should be a good thing—means i’ve done my job. but it’d still be nice to… y’know, get noticed. be appreciated. i mean— im working my ass of at the moment. can’t remember the last time i’ve woken up without my feet throbbing or my back aching.

something about the way he says it makes your chest ache a little. you knew how much he put into the role—not because he told you, but because you noticed. noticed the way he’d walk into the makeup trailer clearly sleep deprived from practicing all night. noticed the way he’d silently skip meals from the loss of appetite from the stress. noticed the way he’d silently curse at himself when he’d stumble on a move when you were on stand-by for makeup reapplications.

“well, you know what i think?” you said with a small, calm smile.

“mm.”

“i think if michael trusted anybody with telling his story, it’d probably be someone who loved him enough to be terrified of getting it wrong.”

the corner of jaafars mouth twitches upward slightly. “that was annoyingly wise.”

“thank you,” you nod proudly, a playfully smug smirk on your face.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the two of you soon sat silently in jaafar’s car, parked in a random car park overlooking the beach that seemed not too crowded, eating at the burritos he bought you both from the food truck he eyed—ignoring your pleads to let you pay or at least pay back your half.

“so, you got any weekend plans?” jaafar asked, his voice slightly muffled from chewing on his food.

“yeah, actually. i’m going on a date!” you remarked, your cheeks rounding with a wide grin as you suddenly remember.

for half a second jaafar’s face faltered. the words landed strangely in his chest—a date?

“with who?” he pressed on, eager to find out who had the privilege of taking you out.

“evan,” you smiled down at your burrito as you think back to the moment of when he asked you a couple days prior—awkward, but adorable, smile, furrowed eyebrows when he was worried you’d say no.

“evan? like— like evan from the editing department? that evan?” he probed. clearly he internally wasn’t taking this too well. “when’d he ask you?”

“like, what— two… maybe three days ago? i can’t remember, everything is all over the place at the moment for me,” you shyly let out a small chuckle, before looking back at jaafar in the car seat beside you, who’s face looked… not the most pleased.

he quickly caught on, a tight grin covering his inner—…

inner what?… jealousy?

no—why would he be jealous? you’re just his makeup artist, a co-worker, just a friend.

right?

“cool, cool…” he nodded weakly, lips tightening into a line before inspecting the flimsy food in his hands—but suddenly he wasn’t so hungry anymore. “y’know where he’s taking you?”

“no, but i think probably a fancy restaurant of some sort. told me to ‘wear something fancy.’”

jaafar looks at you, but there was something different in this look than the others. something deeper.

“but you told me your dream date is the cinema,” he murmured, picking at the loose tortilla in between his fingers to not make any eye contact with you.

why? not even he knows. but he knows he’s feeling something unnatural for him, an unfamiliar feeling tightening in his chest as he thinks back to that dreaded word you spoke out a few minutes ago.

‘a date.’

you pause to look at him for a second, slightly taken aback from his recollection of what you thought was a meaningless conversation you two had a couple weeks back, that apparently wasn’t so meaningless anymore.

“you remembered?”

“‘course i did,” he lets out a breathy laugh.

it soon fades, putting his hands on the steering wheel in front of him. “well, we should probably get back now. they’re gonna start looking for me for rehearsals,” he concluded before pulling out of the lot and driving you both back.

the drive back was silent, a kind of silence that felt the urge to be filled—not one you could sit relatively comfortably in.

“what scene are you practising today?” you inquired, trying to find something to talk about.

a silence followed, causing you to look over at jaafar who’s eyes looked deeply in thought at the road in front of him. he snaps out of his daze with a hard blink.

“s-sorry— what?”

“what scene are you practising today?” you repeat, annunciating your words more clearly.

“oh, yeah right. the thriller dance thing,” he responded—eyes still focused in front of him.

your eyes furrowed at his sudden change in attitude—he wasn’t one to zone out like that. trust me, you knew after the countless hours you’d had spent conversing during the couple of passing months.

“you good, j?” you ask, your voice soft in a way he hadn’t heard before—it almost made him melt.

jaafar didn’t understand why his mood changed, why this date had such an effect of him. you’re only a friend—it’s not like yous had any connection other than that. sure yous watched movies together, and you knew things about each other most people didn’t. but yous were just friends.

he paused for a split second before answer with a fakely enthusiastic “yeah.”

“jus’ didn’t sleep the best again last night,” he excuses.

i mean it wasn’t entirely false, he was in fact up late that night trying to get that leg kick just right. but deep down he knew that wasn’t the real reason for his current behaviour—he just was trying to convince himself it was.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you both managed to make it back to set before lunch break ended. jaafar was quick to open the car door for you, waving an arm out jokingly causing you to giggle as you stepped out the car.

“thanks for lunch today, i had fun.” you give him smile which he returned before walking towards the makeup trailer, giving people small smiles as you passed them.

jaafar stood, still beside the car as he watched you walk away—arms crossed and leaning on the vehicle before pushing himself off and beginning to walk into a separate building before his name would be yelled down the hallways for the start of rehearsals.

tags : @wondergotham @kietourhrt @xxxercess @melynex @sscrumertt @lov3lylxvender @darkgreengrl @frangiipanii @starliqhtsworld @izluvsyou @cloverjeanmj @uknownn111 @invinor @art-faux @softchaosdiary04 @sulkygyu @meowwrites @itsmonetnicole @yourlocaltenderoni

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somewhere in encino IV ᯽ ݁ ˖

𑣲⋆ summary : after a long day of rehearsals michael sneaks out to your place for the night when he realises you’re the person he needs.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jackson 5 era // pre-off the wall michael jackson x reader

a/n : mb for going ghost its peak exams rn and i have writers block on top of that rip and tysm for 350 followers ily allllll!!!!!

the creak of the bed under michael echoed around him, his back and knees aching from the demanding rehearsal he’d just spent the past 12 hours perfecting.

the distant murmurs of two of his siblings from down the hall was enough to remind him that even now, even at this hour, the house never truly slept.

it was always alive. always moving. and always waiting for the next mistake.

michael sat still on the edge of the mattress, elbows resting on his thighs, head lowered. his fingers hovered over his knee, tapping in a restless rhythm absentmindedly. his body was begging him to lie down, begging him to shut his eyes and let go—yet his mind refused.

it was loud.

too loud.

he swallowed, staring down at the carpet as if it had answers hidden in the fibres. the air in his room felt heavy, like it was pressing against his chest. he shifted slightly, wincing when pain shot through his back.

he tried to control his breathing, slow inhales and exhales filling the room.

still nothing—no calm, no peace. just the same thoughts circling his head like vultures.

off the wall.

the tracklist.

the vocals.

the expectations.

the label wanted perfection. everyone wanted perfection. and the worst part was that he wanted it too—maybe not for himself, but he wanted it. perhaps just to make everyone leave him alone. or to prove he more than his brothers.

he slowly stood up and dragged himself over to his desk, flicking on the small lamp. the soft yellow light barely filled the room, casting long shadows against the walls. his notebook sat open, messy handwriting scattered across the page, random disney inspired doodle on the edge of the pages, words crossed out so aggressively the paper was starting to tear.

he stared at it for a long moment before he grabbed his pen again, his hand moving quickly, scribbling down a line, then another before pausing, reading it back.

and without thinking, he tore the page out.

the sound of the rip was sharp, violent in the silence, crumpling the paper into a tight ball and throwing it across the room, not attempting to see where it landed.

his shoulders sagged as he ran a hand down his face, dragging it over his eyes.

“i— i cant…” he whispered to himself, voice barely even there as he shook his head before stepping back from the desk, pacing once… twice… then stopping, hands on his hips, looking at the clock.

2:17 am.

he stared at the numbers as if they were mocking him. he had to be up again in a few hours. rehearsals with his brothers, meetings, studio time, smiling, performing, pretending.

pretending he wasn’t tired, that he wasn’t scared.

somewhere down the hallway outside a small creak could be heard. michael froze instantly, heart leaping into his throat, eyes flicked to the door. the murmuring down the hall stopped with a thick, suffocating silence that followed.

for a second, michael couldn’t even breathe. his body went rigid, as if his father might burst through the door at any moment, ready to bark orders, to tell him he wasn’t doing enough—even at night, he felt like he was still being watched.

and so he waited.

waiting for the loud booming voice to find something to bark about.

and nothing happened.

but still, the tension didn’t leave his body—it never really did anymore.

michael slowly let out a breath, his fingers trembling slightly as he curled them into a fist. he turned away from the door, swallowing hard.

i can’t stay here.

the thought hit him so suddenly it almost startled him.

not forever.

but just for tonight.

just for a little while.

because if he stayed in this room for one more minute, he felt like he might lose it. like he might scream, or cry, or break something, anything, just to release the pressure building inside him.

his eyes drifted to the window, and then, without even giving himself time to overthink, he moved.

michael grabbed his hoodie from the chair, pulling it over his head. he shoved his feet into his shoes without bothering with socks, his hands fumbling slightly as he grabbed his keys and slipped them into his pocket.

he paused, just for a second, stood in the middle of his room, listening attentively. heart thudding loudly in his chest as he slowly opened his bedroom door. the hinges gave a soft groan, and he winced like the sound physically hurt him.

he peeked out to the dim hallway, lit only by the faint glow of a lamp further down. shadows stretched across the floor, the house smelling like old wood and faint cologne, a scent that clung to the walls.

michael stepped out quietly, closing the door behind him with careful hands. he moved down the hall, each step deliberate and controlled. his socks would’ve been quieter, but he didn’t care. he just needed out.

he reached the stairs and paused again, gripping the railing as he looked down into the dark living room below. he could hear the faint hum of the refrigerator, the ticking of a clock, his breathing.

michael began to descend. halfway down, a floorboard creaked low under his weight. his stomach immediately sank, freezing mid-step, one foot hovering slightly, his hand tightening around the banister, his knuckles turning pale.

he didn’t moved, didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. for a moment, he thought he heard movement from the direction of his father’s room—a soft shift, a rustle.

his heart slammed violently against his ribs, staying completely still, eyes fixed on the darkness.

seconds passed like hours.

then silence again.

michael slowly lowered his foot, continuing down the stairs, even quieter now like he was walking through a minefield.

he reached the front door, his fingers hovering over the lock and for a split second, doubt crept in.

this is stupid.

it’s risky.

if he finds out—

michael clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away, because the truth was… he didn’t care. not tonight.

tonight he needed air—needed space. he needed somewhere that didn’t feel like a stage, like he had to perform.

he unlocked the door, the click sounding far too loud in his ears. he opened it slowly, letting the cold, crisp night breeze brush over his face.

michael stepped out, pulling the door shut behind him carefully, gently, as if the house itself might wake up if he was too rough.

once the door closed behind him, he stood there for a moment, staring at the dark driveway ahead, and without another thought, he started walking. he knew exactly where he was going.

as he thought of her, his pace began to quicken—his frantic trudges growing quicker and quicker until he finally made it to the gate.

michael kept close to the shadows as he made his way around the side of the house, the cold night air biting at his cheeks. gravel crunched softly beneath his shoes, and he instantly winced at the sound, glancing over his shoulder like somebody might suddenly appear behind him.

but there was nothing, only the distant hum of the city and the faint rustling of leaves overhead.

he diverted his gaze over to her window—the bedroom light off.

for a second, doubt hit him again. that maybe this was a bad idea, that she’d be angry. maybe she’d think he was insane for showing up in the middle of the night like a cliché romcom.

michael exhaled quietly through his nose and looked up toward the familiar tree stretching beside her window. it’s branches curved close enough to reach the roof if you climbed high enough—something the two of them had figured out months ago after one very reckless afternoon.

usually she was the one laughing while he panicked halfway up.

tonight though, he barely hesitated.

he grabbed onto the lowest branch and pulled himself upward, shoes slipping slightly against the bark. the tree shifted softly beneath his weight as he climbed higher, fingers cold against the rough wood.

by the time he reached the branch closest to her window, his breathing was uneven again.

michael steadied himself carefully before crouching near the glass. the curtains were partly open, enough for him to see the outline of her room illuminated faintly by moonlight. clothes draped over a chair. a stack of VHS tapes beside the television. her desk littered with papers.

the familiar scene in front of him in the dark brought a ping of warmth in his chest. comfort. his chest tightened unexpectedly, lifting his hand and tapping lightly against the window.

silence.

he waited a second before tapping again, slightly louder this time.

still nothing.

michael glanced nervously toward the street below. “c’mon…” he whined under his breath.

finally, movement stirred inside the room. a figure shifted beneath the blankets before sitting up suddenly. he watched her look around in confusion, hair messy from sleep, before her eyes landed on the window—a faint silhouette causing her to jump nearly out of her skin before bringing a hand to her heart in shock.

michael lifted both hands quickly in surrender, a small smile on his face.

he could practically hear the ‘what the hell?’ forming in her head as she hurried over, pulling the curtain aside harder this time.

“michael?!” you hisses through your teeth from behind the glass.

he gave a small sheepish smile as he momentarily brought his hand up with a wave.

“why are you here?!”

“can you open the window before i fall and die? please?”

you stared at him for another second like you were debating whether to leave him out there on purpose before slowly getting out of the warm confinement of the bed as you unlocked the window quickly and shoved it upward.

cold air rushed into the room immediately.

“you scared me half to death,” you criticised.

“m’bad...”

“you’re in a tree at like—” you glanced towards the clock, “—three in the morning!”

michael opened his mouth, probably to defend himself, but the branch shifted dangerously beneath him instead.

“oh—”

his balance gave out almost instantly, you grabbed for him at the exact same time he lunged forward, and the next thing either of yous knew, michael came tumbling through the window in an ungraceful mess of limbs and pyjamas.

you hit the floor together with a muffled thud, and one horrifying second, both of yous froze until you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop herself laughing.

michael groaned dramatically beneath her.

“ooh, my back.”

that was the breaking point—you broke into quiet laughter, shoulders shaking as you tried not to make too much noise. michael couldn’t help laughing too, breathless and tired and slightly delirious from exhaustion.

“shut up,” you whispered between laughs.

“you shut up,” he whispered back instantly.

“you almost killed me!”

“i almost killed myself.”

“you landed on me!”

“well, you were positioned very badly.”

you shoved his shoulder lightly, still trying to contain your laughter. michael grinned for the first time all night, the sound warming something in his chest he hadn’t realized had gone cold.

but as the laughter died slowly, you finally got a proper look at him.

his curls were messy like he’d been dragging his hands through them for hours. dark circles sat heavily beneath his eyes—his face appearing exhausted in a way sleep alone couldn’t fix.

“…michael,” she said softly this time. “what happened?”

his expression shifted almost immediately, the tiny bit of light in him dimmed again. he moved his gaze to an empty spot in the room.

“nothin’…”

you gave him a knowing look. during the year yous had been been friends, you both learnt everything about each other—even the things yous hadn’t actually told each other. like the way michael taps his fingers on his legs in a rhythm to distract himself from what’s going on around him, or how you giggled when you were nervous.

he sighed quietly and pushed himself upright off the floor, leaning back against the side of her bed. “you ever get so tired you feel sick?” he murmured after a moment, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie under his fingers.

your brows pulled together slightly in concern, michael rubbing his hands together absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the carpet.

“i couldn’t sleep.” he swallowed. “every time i tried, i just kept thinking.”

“about what?” you whisper softly, grabbing his hand in an attempt to stop the mindless fidgeting.

he let out a humorless laugh. “just… everythin’.”

the word sat heavily between them.

he pressure was crushing down on him from every direction.

you slowly sat beside him on the floor, shoulders barely touching as you look softly at the side of his face with a worried expression. “you could of called me, mike.” you mumbled, tucking a stray curl delicately behind his ear.

michael’s small smile became evident from the ticklish sensation you caused on the side of his face before he shook his head lightly. “no, i…” he paused, jaw tightening slightly. “i just wanted to be here. i needed to be.”

your heart nearly stopped at his reply.

he still wasn’t looking at her. his voice gone quieter now, softer around the edges. “it’s easier to breathe around you.”

you didn’t even know what to say to that for a second. instead, you bumped your shoulder gently against his.

“well,” you whispered, “you’re lookin’ rough.”

a tiny smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “that’s ‘cause your tree just tried to kill me off.”

you snorted quietly, and for the first time that night, michael felt some of the pressure in his chest loosen. just a little.

you both sat there on the floor in silence for a while, enjoying the others presence quietly. the faint harmony of your breathing as the distant tapping of rain on the pavement below was only heard. usually people would expect this kind of silence to be awkward. but in fact, it felt safe. comforting.

michael sat with his head tipped back against the side of your bed, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion while you sat beside him, knees pulled to your chest beneath the oversized blanket you dragged down from the mattress.

every now and then he’d steal a glance at you like he wanted to say something, then stop himself halfway through.

and you’d noticed every single time.

“you’re thinkin’ too loud again,” you murmured eventually.

a weak laugh left his nose. “didn’t know that was possible.”

“with you it is.”

he peered down at his hands—long fingers twisting nervously together before he sighed quietly. “‘m sorry for showin’ up like this.”

“michael. you climbed a tree at three in the morning.”

“…yeah.”

“you could’ve died had i not saved you.”

“bit dramatic.”

“you fell through my window.”

“yeah, that part’s fair.”

you smiled despite yourself, shaking your head lightly before your expression softened again. “you never have to apologise for coming here.” your hand meeting in top of his on the floor.

the words hit him harder than you’d meant them to. you could see it immediately in the way his shoulders dropped slightly, tension easing from his body like he’d been carrying it for weeks. maybe months.

michael swallowed hard, staring at the floor again.

“it’s just…” his voice came out quieter now. “sometimes i feel like if i stop workin’ for even a second, everythin’ falls apart.”

he paused for a short moment before continuing, “like if i’m not perfect all the time then…” he shrugged weakly, unable to finish the sentence.

then i’m not worth anything.

he didn’t say it aloud, but you heard it anyway—chest aching.

“y’know that’s not true, right?”

michael gave a tiny smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “depends who you ask.”

the implication settled heavily between you both.

joseph.

he had impossible standards hanging over him every second of every day. rehearsals, performances, albums. you hated it. hated the way he talked about himself sometimes, like he was only useful when he was performing. like rest was something he had to earn.

carefully, you nudged your shoulder against his again. “well, i’m askin’.”

he finally looked at you properly then, his eyes scanning your face. maybe trying to analyse what answer she was expecting from him.

and god, you nearly forgot how to breathe.

even exhausted, falling apart a little, he still looked at you with this softness that made your stomach flip violently every single time. his deep brown eyes searched yours carefully.

“you don’t gotta be perfect around me, mike,” you spoke, barely above a whisper if that.

his face immediately faltered. his bottom lip began to quiver slightly before biting it roughly with his teeth to try stop the movements, turning his head in the other direction as he tried to ground himself.

no one had ever said that to him, constant expectations were given to him him by the people around him, and if he wasn’t perfect, trust me, they would let him know.

his jaw tightened as he blinked hard. “you make everythin’ easier, y’know that?” he spoke in a volume that would’ve been inaudible if it wasn’t for the complete silence around yous.

you laughed nervously, trying to play it off. “i mean, i do try.”

he huffed out a laugh, rubbing tiredly at his face. “no, but i’m serious.”

the smile slowly faded from your face as your eyes met with his. “so am i.”

another silence followed the confession,

yet this one doesn’t feel as comforting as the previous. heavier

rain continued softly outside while somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled low across the city. michael’s eyes drifted toward the window before he spoke again, voice barely above a whisper.

“i think about you all the time,” he confesses. michael immediately looked horrified with himself after saying it out loud. “wait—no, not in like a weird way— like, uhm…”

you burst into quiet laughter, covering your mouth quickly so you wouldn’t wake the house.

michael groaned dramatically and dropped his head back against the bed. “just forget i said anythin’.”

“no,” she grinned, cheeks burning. “keep goin’. its entertaining for me.”

“i’m tryin, im pouring my heart out right now.”

“you’re doing a terrible job.”

“mhm, thanks for the support.”

you smiled softly at him then, the teasing fading when you noticed how genuinely nervous he looked.

his fingers tapped anxiously against his knee again before he spoke quieter this time. “i just… when stuff gets bad, you’re the first person i wanna see.”

you felt your stomach twist itself into knots, a heavy feeling in your chest—like someone was putting all their weight onto it.

“an’ when something good happens,” he continued carefully, “you’re the first person i wanna tell.”

his eyes finally met hers again.

“and that probably means somethin’. it almost brings me comfort when i think of you. feels like… i don’t know— like a light at the end of the tunnel. gives me hope, n makes me remember not everyone expects something from me. that no matter what i do, or how things turn out, i’ll always have someone who’ll be here no matter what. and persons that’s you.” he finishes as he brings his eyes back to yours, an emotion clearly displayed on his face yet you couldn’t place what.

the room suddenly felt very small.

your face hurt from trying not to smile too hard as you stared at him.

“can you please say somethin’, i feel like im fighting for my life right now.” he rushes, his hands absentmindedly touching his hair, puffing his, now messy, afro out.

that earned another quiet laugh from you before looking down shyly at your hands. “well i’m glad you feel that way, mike. i’m glad you realise that, because…” you pause to grab his hands, holding them gently in your own as you manoeuvre yourself to sit facing him. “because i will always be here. i don’t care what happens, what the press might say, what your family says. i will always be here, michael. every day, every night. for the rest of our lives. you’re my best friend and i love you more than anything.”

michael stared at her, his eyes beginning to glass over leading to him rapidly blinking to try gain his vision back. his jaw visibly clenched as he tried to maintain his composure.

no one showed him affection like you did—not even his own parents. it was almost a distant imagination in his mind, for someone to love him without trying to gain from it. all so unfamiliar.

he let out a low, shaky breath before his voice cracked. “y-yeah?” his lips forming into a strong frown—really doing the most not to crack under the overwhelmingly new affection he was being shown.

before you could even blink he collided into your chest. his arms wrapped around you with a powerful grip as he began to shakily sob into you, leaning harder into you to try mute the sounds. you could already feel the shirt you’d thrown on earlier beginning to rapidly dampen under his tears—and you didn’t care. your main priority was michael, it’s always michael.

although you could barely breath from how tightly he was embracing you, you worked around it. you grabbed his wrists as you gently pry them off you before standing him and grabbing him with you to pull him onto the bed to give him a more comfortable place that the hard floor yous were sitting on previously.

you shifted to rest your back on headboard of your bed before opening you arms toward michael who immediately took the hint and crawled towards you, looking at you with his, now reddened, eyes.

he sat softly beside you in the bed, curled up nearly in a ball as he leaned his head on your chest, continuing to let out quietly sobs every so often.

“you can always be yourself with me, mike. i really do mean it. and you can come to me for anything, i’d never judge you,” you whisper softly as you gently began to stroke his head, running your fingers through his curls.

you could feel him immediately ease into your touch, his breathing beginning to slow down slightly with an occasional hiccup.

michael’s eyes began to droop slightly, heavy with a lack of sleep for who knows how long. he’d probably lost track himself.

he hiccuped, “y-you’re too nice to me. i’m— i’m…” his words faded, almost not want to finish whatever thought he was saying aloud.

you didn’t push however, you let him be. continuing to lightly scratch the back of his head with your nails as you let him cry everything out.

you’d notice how he’d gather himself slightly before crumbling all over again. his hands would grab weakly onto your shirt as an anchor, sharp inhales and shaky exhales filling the room.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

a while has now passed, michael’s breathing beginning to even out as he rested weakly on your lap, staring blankly at the dresser in front of him—eyes clouded with thought.

“‘m sorry…” he whispered shakily, fidgeting with the hem of the oversized shirt on you as he continued to stare in front of him.

“why’re you sorry, mikey?” you whisper back to him, stroking the side of his face tenderly.

“for crying’, i’m sure it… weirded you out or somethin’…” his words began to fade out the more he talked, like he was fading deeper into thought as he went on.

you immediately shake your head to his revelation, eyebrows furrowed in both frustration and sadness.

frustration at the fact he immediately assumed you were “weirded out” by the innocent act of displaying emotions, and saddened at the same point. the idea his family, probably his father specifically, had led him to the conclusion that emotions meant weakness and uncomfortability for the people around him.

“don’t say that. don’t you ever say that,” you said sharply with a slightly shake of the head.

his gaze met yours in confusion at the sudden sternness of your voice, “wha— why?”

“because that’s not true. you’d never ‘weird me out’. especially if you’re just expressing yourself, your emotions. whatever it is.” you grab his face in your hands as you peer down at him, his irritated eyes from crying meeting yours.

“you are my best friend, michael joseph jackson. and i will always be here for you, and i need you to know that no matter how you’re feeling, or what people are telling you, you can always come to when you’re hurt, happy, lost, confused—i do not care. i will always be here, and trust me when i tell you, im not goin’ anywhere.”

his face immediately contorted, a faint smile on his lips yet his eyes were filled with an unspoken sadness.

his hoisted himself off your lap so that he’s sat beside you. his bottom lip began to quiver slightly again, strong blinks to try stop the tears spilling from his eyes.

“i really don’t know what i did to deserve you, y/n.” michaels voice was now slightly hoarse from his profuse sobs from beforehand.

“for goodness sake, michael. you don’t need to do anything to deserve things. i wish you knew that,” you pout. you hated his state of mind. the same state of mind forced upon him since he was little.

he looks away swiftly, letting out a nervous chuckle before looking at you again. except, the look he gave you this time wasn’t like the others.

his pupils dialated, looking at you with easy, unhurried adoration. he slowly shifted where he was sat, almost like he was debating what to do next.

abruptly, he crawled towards you, now directly in front of you. and before you knew, all you could feel was his soft lips planted delicately on yours and the feather-like touch of his hands on the sides of your face.

shortly, you felt him hesitantly pull away, his eyes scanning your face for how you took his abrupt confession of an action, only to be met with a cheeky grin on your face before you pulled him by the fabric of his hoodie to meet his lips again.

though this kiss was different, not as ‘safe’ as the last one he initiated. this one was fill with more passion, unspoken words being displayed through your mouths. tongues dancing with each others.

michael cautiously reached his hand out onto your waist, the other still cupping the side of your face as your fingers slid slowly into his curls earning a low, startled gasp from him.

he slowly grabbed onto the sides of your thighs to pull you down from leaning against the headboard and onto your back as he hovered on top of you, the kiss growing messier by the minute.

he eventually pulls back, not necessarily because he wanted to, but he knew you both needed to breathe.

michael looks down at you with a small smirk. “y’look good from this angle.”

you gasp at his teasing remark before playfully pushing him off of you causing him to land beside you on the bed.

“don’t say things like that!” you hiss, trying to sound annoyed but in fact it was the opposite. your heart was beating rapidly at the suggestive moment, grateful the room was dark enough to disguise the blush creeping onto your face.

“why? you nervous, pretty girl?”

“pretty girl?”

“yeah, my new nickname for ya. y’like it, pretty girl?”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you both lay silent beside each other, michael’s head resting on your chest as you stroke his arm up and down lightly in an attempt to help him sleep—luckily, it was working.

his breathing gradually began to slow down, eyes resting shut permanently for the night. michael’s arm lay lazily over your side as he’d push himself closer to you in his sleep. a tiny smile crept onto you lips as you gaze down at the boy, relieved that he finally seemed at peace. for now, at least.

it wasn’t long before you yourself drifted into slumber as well, holding michael tightly in your arms like he could disappear at any given moment. you knew he’d have to sneak back home soon, so you made sure to take in his calming presence as much as you can whilst you still could.

tags : @wondergotham @kietourhrt @xxxercess @ceeriusly-dumb @melynex @sscrumertt @lov3lylxvender @darkgreengrl @frangiipanii @starliqhtsworld @izluvsyou @uknownn111 @invinor @art-faux @softchaosdiary505 @sulkygyu @meowwrites @yourlocaltenderoni

[xffthewall]

‘cheater’ ⋆ 𐙚 ˚

𑣲⋆ summary : you go on an innocent arcade date with your boyfriend only to realise things get competitive, and quick.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ thriller era michael x reader

you and michael sat awkwardly on the king-sized bed as you both mutually stared focused on a random spot in the room.

his quiet voice murmurs beside you, “you wanna do somethin’ today?”

looking over to him, your eyebrows knit to together in confusion, “like what?”, shifting in the bed in an attempt to get more comfortable.

michael shifts himself closer to you as you do so, wrapping is arms around you before gazing up to the ceiling in thought.

“maybee… arcade?”

you ears perk up at his proposal, looking at him pleased. “that’s a good idea right there.” you point at him before sitting up and stretching your arms outwards, his arms still desperately wrapped around your waist like a clingy toddler.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you both made it to the arcade, michael renting the whole place out because you know—

it’s michael.

the arcade lights flickered in bright neon colors, flashing over the polished floors like it was some kind of dreamland. the place smelled like popcorn, soda, and that weird warm electronic smell that every arcade had.

you stood at the entrance, staring around in amazement at it being completely empty—no screaming kids. no annoying teens hogging the machines. no loud parents yelling about tokens.

just you and michael, and a million arcade games.

you turned to him slowly, eyes narrowing. “…michael.”

he stood beside you with his hands in his pockets, looking innocent—way too innocent.

“yes?” he asked sweetly, a polite smile on his lips.

“you rented out the whole arcade.”

he shrugged like it was no big deal. “i wanted it quiet. no one coming up to us.”

you stared at him like he was insane. “you could’ve just came here at like… 10am.”

he clicked his tongue and shook his head, like you just didn’t get it. “no, no. then there would be people. and know you, you’d punch me in the jaw if i woke you up that early anyway.”

you blinked. “okay, maybe true… but there’s still people here anyway”

he pointed a finger in your chest. “you’re people.”

you rolled your eyes sarcastically, laughing. “wow, thank you.”

michael’s lips curled into a smug smile. “yeah, you’re welcome.”

you grabbed his hand tightly and started pulling him deeper into the arcade, the bright machines reflecting in his sunglasses.

“okay, come on, we’re gonna be playin’ everything today.”

michael gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “everything?”

“everything.”

he leaned closer, voice dropping like he was sharing the most serious secret in the world. “…even the basketball one?”

you squinted at him. “oh. you think you’re good?”

michael scoffed like you’d just insulted his entire bloodline. “oh please, i know i’m good.”

“you’re so cocky when it comes to games.”

michael’s eyes widened in mock offense. “me?” he gasps. “me? cocky?”

“yes, you!”

he nodded slowly, stepping back like he was preparing for war.

“…alright then. let’s see.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the basketball machine stood in the corner, glowing almost in an attempt to lure us in—and it worked.

michael walked up first, stretching his shoulders like he was about to play in the nba finals. you leaned casually on the side of the machine, smirking. “why are you warming up. it’s arcade basketball.”

“it’s serious, i shift into michael jordan when playing this,” he said firmly.

you laughed. “alright, go on then.”

michael ignored you and grabbed the first ball firmly in his hands. the game commenced, the timer ticking down anticipatingly. at first, he was missing a couple shots—on purpose, you suspected—until suddenly he got into rhythm.

you straightened up, eyes widening. “oh, hell no.”

michael’s face was calm, but his lips were twitching like he was holding in the smuggest smile of all time.

you stepped closer towards him as you continue to watch the score increase by the second. “michael.”

he didn’t answer, tossing another ball effortlessly into the hoop.

“michael!” you said louder.

he finally looked at you, eyes innocent. “what?”

“you’re cheating.”

michael paused mid-shot, offended. “i am not cheating?”

“yes, you are.”

“how could I cheat?” he asked, holding the ball like it was evidence.

you pointed at him accusingly. “because you’re michael jackson. that’s how.”

he burst into laughter, bending forward slightly, almost dropping the ball. “that makes no sense!” he continued to argue.

“no, it makes perfect sense!” you snap back. “you probably bribed the hoop.”

michael wiped his eyes dramatically. “bribed the hoop—”

before finishing, he straightened, fixing his shirt and regaining his composure like the drama king he was.

“alright. fine. you play.”

you snatched the ball from him with a look.

“oh, i will.”

michael slotted in a token, the timer started and you were determined.

you threw the first ball—which bounced off the rim and rolled away.

michael’s laughter instantly echoed through the empty arcade. “oh my gosh,” he wheezed. “that was tragic.”

you shot him a death glare, eyes squinted and eyebrows sunken. “it was the warm-up.”

“the warm-up?” he repeated, sounding like he was about to collapse laughing.

you grabbed another ball.

ding.

you both froze before you grabbed another ball from the rack.

ding.

and another.

ding.

michael’s mouth dropped open in almost disbelief. your eyes narrowed as you started going faster, hitting shot after shot like you’d been secretly training for this moment your whole life.

he stared at you, baffled.

“…oh,” he said quietly. “so you’re cheating.”

you gasped dramatically, stopping mid-shot. “ME? cheating?”

he pointed at you accusingly. “yes. you’re using… like— witchcraft.”

“oh my gosh, shut up! you’re just saying stuff now.”

michael shook his head, genuinely appalled. “no, no. this is suspicious. very suspicious, mrs.”

you tossed another ball.

ding.

michael groaned like he was suffering. “suspicious.”

you kept going, and by the time the timer hit zero, your score flashed bright on the screen.

you had beaten him.

by a lot.

the machine played that stupid little victory tune, basically mocking him as you turned to him slowly, smirking.

“still think you’re good?”

michael stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him, glaring deeply at it. he then looked at you, eyes wide.

“…you’re cruel.”

you leaned closer, whispering, “you’re just mad because you lost.”

michael scoffed. “i did not lose.”

you pointed at it the screen which said otherwise with your mouth drawn into a line, eyes widened.

he shook his head firmly. “the screen is lying.”

you burst out laughing at his dedication of trying to seem like he won. michael crossed his arms, but he was smiling too, even though he was clearly fighting for his dignity.

“you got lucky,” he muttered.

“yeah,” you said smugly. “lucky and talented.”

michael narrowed his eyes at you before declaring, “we’re playing another game.”

“oh, we are?”

“yes.”

he grabbed your hand dramatically as he weaves around the variety of machines trying to find one which catches his eye. “you’re not leaving this arcade until i win something.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

he dragged you over to a row of classic arcade games—pac-man, galaga, space invaders, donkey kong…

you looked at them fondly as you pass them by, michael’s eyes lit up at space invaders like it was a long-lost soulmate.

“oh my gosh,” he whispered. “i used to love this one when i was younger.”

he eagerly tosses a token into the slot and watches excitedly as the start screen began to load up. you watched him play, and he looked genuinely focused, tongue slightly pressed to the inside of his cheek. his fingers moved fast over the buttons, and every time he dodged a hit he’d quietly mumble something like—

“okay… okay… got it…”

you leaned against the machine beside him, watching with a soft smile. he was adorable when he got competitive.

‘til suddenly, he lost a life—gasping like you would’ve thought he’d been stabbed.

“no!”

you laughed at the genuine distraught on his face. “michael, relax.”

“no!” he insisted. “this machine is rigged!”

you tilted your head, amused. “oh, now the machine is cheating?”

“uh-huh,” he huffed. “it knows who i am.”

you snorted. “it’s an arcade game, michael.”

he pressed the buttons again with determination. “i’ll show it.”

he ended up getting a ridiculously high score—the screen flashing NEW RECORD! his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning before jumping in the spot, his hands leant against the sides of the machine to make him jump higher into the air.

“damn, you’re really excited.”

michael turned to you with wide eyes, his eyes cheeks rounded as he smiled. “i am a champion.”

“congratulations, champ.”

he pointed at the screen proudly. “look at that.”

he leaned closer to you, smug. “you still wanna accuse me of cheating?”

you stared at the screen, then at him with a dead-serious expression on your face. “yeah.”

“you’re so rude!” he gasped.

grabbing his sleeve, you dragged him away. “come on, ‘champ’. let’s go win something real.”

“win something?”

you nodded. “a prize.”

michael immediately straightened upwards like a man with a mission, his nose up in the air. “…take me to the claw machines.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the claw machine section was lined up along the wall, glowing bright with stuffed animals inside—some had teddy bears and little cartoon characters, some had shiny keychains.

but then you saw it—a claw machine full of disney plushies, your eyes widening in excitement.

“oh my god.”

michael leaned beside you, looking into it. there were mickeys, minnoes, a few dumbo plushies, and even some winnie the pooh ones.

until you spotted him.

peter pan. small, soft-looking, green outfit, little hat, the whole shabang.

you leaned closer to the glass, staring at it like it was the most important thing in the world.

michael noticed your silence and tilted his head. “what?” he asked quietly.

you blinked, snapping out of it. “oh, nothing.”

he narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. “you’re lyin’.”

“no i’m not,” you waved him off quickly, but you were already pulling out tokens.

michael’s eyes widened as you shoved them into the machine forcefully. “what are you doing?”

“jus’ playin’...”

he watched you suspiciously as you grabbed the joystick. the plushies looked all cozy and perfectly placed—the peter pan plush sat slightly to the side, wedged between a dumbo and a mickey.

you could already tell this was gonna be annoying, but you were dedicated.

michael leant behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist in a hug, leaning closer to the glass.

“you want that one.”

you glanced at him. “no i don’t.”

“yeah, you do,” he insisted.

“just… be quiet.”

you guided the claw with careful precision.

left…

left…

forward…

shit, that was too forward.

michael hovered close beside you like a commentator. “go right—no, wait, go left—wait—”

“michael,” you warned through gritted teeth.

“what?” he asked innocently.

“you’re stressing me out.”

“nuh-uh. i’m helpin’.”

the claw hovered directly above peter pan—pressing the button in a pleased manner. the claw dropped down slowly, grabbing onto the plush—

and then slipped right off, falling back into the pile like it was mocking you.

you stared blankly at it, michael gasping in your ear beside you like it was the most heartbreaking tragedy ever.

“no!”

you blinked before going back in focus. “oh my goodness, calm down.”

michael pointed at the machine, his finger resting on the glass. “it cheated.”

you narrowed your eyes. “michael, you’re saying that about every game.”

“because they do,” he insisted.

you shoved another token in.

“again?”

“yes, ‘again’.”

he watched you intensely as you tried again.

the claw dropped.

grabbed it.

lifted it up—

and then it slipped out again.

You stared at the plushies like you wanted to fight them—eyebrows knitted, tongue poking into the side of your cheek, eyes squinted.

michael leaned forward, shaking his head in disappointment. “this machine is evil.”

you huffed, determined to get it—for michael.

“i can do it.”

you put another token in.

then another.

and another.

michael slowly started looking amused. “you’re really committed,” he said, voice soft.

you kept your eyes on the claw machine.

“hush it, kiddo.”

michael giggled at the sheer seriousness in your voice. “you really want that peter pan.”

you glanced at him briefly, eyes narrowed.“…maybe.”

“why?”

you froze for half a second—you weren’t about to say it.

you looked back at the machine, trying your best to appear unbothered. “no reason.”

michael’s eyes softened slightly, like he already knew, but he didn’t push. he just stood beside you, watching quietly.

you put in another token.

at this point, you were pretty sure you’d spent $10.

maybe more.

you lined up the claw again, carefully—breathing in slowly.

then pressed the button.

the claw dropped, grabbing peter pan perfectly around the waist and lifting him up

yours eyes widened, the claw carrying him slowly towards the chute.

and then—

thunk.

there he was—in the prize slot.

michael yelled, grabbing your arm and shaking it excitedly before grabbing your face in his hands and placing a rough peck on your lips.

“oh my god, baby. you did it!”

you laughed, bending down and grabbing the plush from the slot, standing back up and presenting it in your hands as though it was a crown jewel.

michael stared at it like you’d just handed him the moon before he looked at you—hi expression shifting into something softer, warmer. almost shy.

“…you wanted that for me,” he said quietly.

you shrugged, trying to act casual. “you told me he’s your favourite.”

michael blinked, his face lit up so much it was unfair ‘til mouth fell open slightly, like he didn’t know what to say.

“yeah?” he whispered.

you nodded. “yeah.”

michael looked at the plush again, then back at you, smiling like an excited little kid.

“hes… he’s so cute,” he murmured as he fiddled with the felt clothing on it and turning it around in his hands, delicately inspecting it. he took it carefully, holding it to his chest, smiled down at it, then hugged it tighter.

he looked down at you again, his eyes so soft it actually made your stomach flip.

“you spent all that money… just to get me this?” he asked.

you shrugged again, trying to hide your smile. “it’s fine. money comes back, this won’t.”

michael shook his head. “no, it’s not just fine,” he said seriously.

before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you in a tight hug, pressing his cheek against the top of your head as you laughed quietly.

his voice was muffled against your hair. “you’re too sweet, mama.”

you mumbled back, “you’re too dramatic.”

he pulled back slightly, staring at you like you were the best thing he’d ever seen. “mkay,” he spoke softly. “now it’s my turn.”

you blinked. “your turn for what?”

he adjusted the plush under his arm like precious cargo.

“to win something for you.”

you opened your mouth— but he was already walking confidently toward the otherprize machines. and you could tell by the look on his face, he was determined.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

michael stopped in front of another claw machine—this one full of cute teddy bears holding hearts.

you stared at him knowingly. “oh no.”

michael glanced at you, eyebrows raised. “what?”

“you’re about to take this way too seriously.”

michael scoffed. “pft, me? no.”

you crossed your arms. “you look like you’re about to avenge your ancestors.”

michael pressed a hand to his chest. “hey, just tryna win my baby a prize.”

that sentence was dangerous to you, yet michael didn’t even seem to realize what he said. he just popped in a token and grabbed the joystick then leaned in close to the glass, studying the bears like he was a scientist.

he muttered to himself, nodding his head to hype himself up, “okay… okay… yeah, i got this…”

you leaned closer to him, heads nearly bouncing off each other at the lack of space. “you look insane.”

michael glanced at you in the corner of his eye. “be quiet. i’m concentrating.”

you gasped. “excuse me!?”

he smirked, still staring at the bears. “you heard me.”

“oh my gosh, you’re rude.”

ignoring you, he moved the claw carefully, tongue pressed against his cheek again. you watched, amused, as you try to match his gaze.

he pressed the button.

the claw dropped, grabbing a teddy bear by the ear.

lifted it up—

then it fell.

michael stared down at it—his face blank.

you burst out laughing, kneeling over slightly at the bewilderment painted over his features.

he turned to you slowly, eyes narrowed. “…don’t laugh.”

that made laugh harder. “it grabbed it by the ear.”

michael frowned, “that bear should’ve held on.”

“oh, so you’re blaming the bear now?”

he sighed and put in another token.

“okay, again.”

you watched him play again.

and again.

and again.

…and again.

after around five tries, he still hadn’t won anything. you leaned against the machine beside him, arms folded with a smirk.

“so… how’s that going for you, champ?”

“shut up.”

“michael, you’re about to start a fight with a claw machine.”

“it’s personal.”

then he narrowed his eyes.

“you’re distractin’ me.”

you blinked innocently. “me?”

“yes, you.”

you leaned closer. “ohh, so now i’m cheating?”

michael nodded seriously.

“you’re using your beauty as a weapon.”

you doze instantaneously on the spot, your cheeks warming up immediately.

“michael.”

he smirked like he knew exactly what he was doing before rolled your eyes and turned your head away, smiling.

“you’re seriously ridiculous.”

michael put another token in—he tried again.

the claw dropped.

this time, it grabbed the teddy bear perfectly around the middle.

lifted it.

carried it over.

thunk.

it dropped into the slot.

michael gasped like he couldn’t believe it—whipping around to you, eyes wide, smiling like he’d just won the olympics.

“I DID IT!”

“alright, calm down.”

he eagerly grabbed the teddy bear from the slot and held it out to you proudly.

“here y’ go, princess.”

he held it out towards you proudly, smiling softly with his eyes gazing down at you.

“see?” he said smugly. “i told you.”

“okay, okay, you win.” you comply, holding the bear tightly into your chest and leaning your chin on its head.

michael’s smile widened. “i win.” he leaned closer, voice teasing. “n’ you thought i was the cheater.”

you squinted at him. “you are a cheater.”

“i’m not!”

“you are.”

“no, YOU are.” he quarrelled, playfully pushing your head back lightly.

“i literally just won you peter pan.”

“and i won you the bear,” he shot back.

“alright, fair.” you nodded along.

michael grinned down to you, stepping closer. “so what now?”

you looked around at all the glowing machines, the arcade still empty except for you two.

“now we do racing games.”

“oh, it’s over for you.”

you pointed at him with a stern look. “and no cheating.”

michael scoffed, placing a hand on his chest like he was offended.

“i never cheat, and never will.”

you raised an eyebrow. “michael…”

he smiled sweetly before it slowly began to falter. “…okay, sometimes.”

you softly giggle, grabbing his hand again.

“come on, peter pan.”

michael glanced down at the plush tucked under his arm, then back at you—smiling so softly it almost made you melt. as you pulled him toward the racing machines, he squeezed your hand tighter like he never wanted to let go—and neither did you

tags : @wondergotham @kietourhrt @xxxercess @ceeriusly-dumb @melynex @sscrumertt @darkgreengrl @lov3lylxvender @frangiipanii @starliqhtsworld @uknownn111 @invinor

[xffthewall]

can yous give me some ideas and requests you’d like to see llsplspls i do fluff and angst, literally anything that’s not smut (sorry guys.)

[xffthewall]

just one dance 𖥔 ݁ ˖

𑣲⋆ summary : after being ditched on prom night your childhood best friend saves the day last minute.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 70s michael jackson x reader

a/n : i think i reused to same adjectives like 20 times sorry..

you and michael had been best friends for as long as you both can remember with your mums both being friends from a mutual book club they attended and history continued.

frequent visits to each others homes, numerous outings into the city side by side, multiple sleepovers—you both were inseparable.

your senior prom was coming up and it was all you could talk about to michael—your dress, what colour you’d want, what you planned to do with your hair… and your prom date.

excitement overjoyed you at the thought of the ‘perfect’ night.

one of the popular boys, jonathan, had asked you out to prom a week prior, making a cardboard sign in pink writing as he knocked on your front door with a bouquet of red roses and of course you were thrilled. you’d found him attractive for the whole of junior and senior year, so the idea of him picking you to go to prom with left you flattered.

michael sat across from you on your living room carpet, legs folded, leaning back against the couch like he lived there—which, honestly, he basically did. one hand rested on his knee with the other holding a half-finished can of soda you’d shoved into his hands the moment he walked in.

you were perched on the edge of the coffee table like it was a stage, rambling with the kind of excitement that made your words tumble over each other.

“and i think i’m gonna wear the pearl studs because the dress is already kinda dramatic, so I don’t wanna overdo it, but then again, it’s prom, so like… you have to overdo it a little, right?”

michael nodded along, slow and patient, like every word you said was important enough to be memorised. his eyes stayed on you, attentive, warm.

every now and then he’d hum in agreement, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh at how passionate you were about earrings.

“mhm,” he said softly. “pearls would look pretty.”

you spun around, pointing at him like he’d just solved world hunger. “see! that’s what i said!”

he smiled a little wider, tilting his head. “and the shoes?”

yo practically gasped, delighted he was asking questions. “okay, so i was thinking heels, but not the kind that make me look like a baby deer learning to walk. like, i wanna be able to dance. i don’t wanna spend prom sitting down ‘cause my feet ache.”

he nodded again, but this time he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “, yeah, i can see you dancing a lot.”

“oh, definitely.” you grinned, already picturing it. “i’m not wasting my night standing around like a lamp, that’s what losers do.”

michael laughed quietly at that, his eyes crinkling for a second before settling again. he looked relaxed, but there was something about the way his fingers tapped lightly against the soda can, like his energy couldn’t sit still for too long.

“and makeup,” you continued, completely unstoppable. “i’m gonna do the sparkly eyeshadow. like, silver.. or maybe blue? like a soft blue.”

michael’s gaze flickered, thoughtful. “blue would suit your eyes.”

you smile softly as he starts to try match it to you, making sure it would compliment you—the comment on your eyes leaving you feel remarked. noticed.

michael shrugged, acting casual, but his ears turned just a tiny bit pink. “i’ve known you forever, i know what suits you.”

you leaned closer like you were about to reveal state secrets. “and i’m doing my lashes—the dramatic ones. because i want to look like one of those girls in magazines.”

michael hummed, nodding, as if he could already picture it. “and my necklace,” you said, holding up a little sketch you’d drawn of your outfit. “i’m thinking something dainty, but also-“

you paused only briefly before blurting, like it was the cherry on top. “jonathan’s takin’ me.”

michael’s nod didn’t stop, but it slowed—just barely. the air shifted in a way you didn’t notice since you were too busy spinning your dream prom night into existence.

“jonathan said he’s gonna wear a suit,” you added. “can you imagine? him in a suit. he’ll probably try and act like some gentleman from a movie,” you continue with a giggle.

his eyes stayed on you, his expression still calm, still polite, still listening, but omething in his chest twisted. it wasn’t anger or even bitterness—it was that sharp, quiet ache that came when something you cared about was suddenly not yours.

he still kept his smile though, kept his posture relaxed, keeping his voice even, but his fingers tightened around the soda can for just a second.

jonathan.

michael had heard that name enough times to feel like it belonged to someone he didn’t like, even though he’d never met the guy.

he still swallowed the feeling down, i mean you were excited. and michael—michael would never be the one to ruin that.

so he nodded again, like he always did. “that’s good,” he said softly, the words tasting strange in his mouth.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the night of prom came faster than you expected. it felt like the whole day moved in a blur, like the hours were racing each other just to reach six o’clock.

your room smelled like hairspray and perfume with your bed covered in scattered makeup products and jewellery like the vanity exploded all over it.

the dress hung from the closet door, shimmering softly in the warm yellow light of your bedroom lamp. every time you looked at it, your stomach fluttered.

this was it—the night you’d been talking about for months.

your mum was downstairs, humming as she set out snacks like you were hosting royalty. she’d been excited too—maybe not as excited as you, but enough that she’d been smiling all day.

you sat at your mirror, curling your hair carefully, piece by piece as you daydream about how perfect the night will be—jonathan, the music, the lights…

the curling iron made your room warm, your cheeks already flushed as you concentrated, pinning the top section back, letting the bottom curls fall over your shoulders like waves. when you finished, you sprayed your hair until the air tasted like chemicals.

then came makeup, dusting powder over your face, smoothing blush onto your cheeks, and applying the blue eyeshadow you’d decided on last minute which shimmered when you blinked.

you lined your eyes with a steady hand, holding your breath as you dragged the pencil along your lash line following mascara, slow and careful, making your lashes dark and thick.

when you finally put on your lip gloss, a soft pink with a little shine, you stared at yourself for a long moment.

you looked… grown. not like the little girl who used to chase michael around the garden, laughing so hard you’d fall into the grass.

you looked like someone who belonged in a the magazines you read.

you slipped your dress on slowly, careful not to smudge anything. the fabric hugged your waist, accentuating your curves perfectly, flowing down in a way that made you feel like you were floating.

for a second, you just stared at your reflection, hands pressed lightly against your sides—taking in sight, adjusting your jewellery and hair to make sure you looked perfect.

grabbing your purse, you walked downstairs, every step echoing against the wooden staircase.

your mum turned when she saw you and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.

“oh my goodness,” she breathed. “you look… absolutely beautiful.”

you smiled, feeling your face heat up. “stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

she stepped forward, adjusting a curl that had fallen out of place. “i mean it. you look like a princess.”

you laughed, nervous energy bubbling in your chest as you glanced at the clock.

5:50.

ten minutes.

your heart began to thud loudly in your chest, your stomach tightening with nerves as you started to wait patiently.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

six o’clock came.

and then went.

you stood by the window, peeking through the curtain every few seconds, your nails tapping against the fabric.

cars passed, a dog barked somewhere down the street. sky outside was turning that soft evening purple, the kind that made everything look dreamy.

then, 6:10.

6:15.

6:20.

your mum tried to distract you by asking about your corsage, but your attention kept snapping back to the driveway.

6:30.

the smile on your face started to strain slightly—maybe he was late.

you swallowed, trying to stay calm as you gave yourself more excuses to try comfort yourself.

6:45.

your stomach now sunk, your makeup feeling too heavy on your skin now and the dress suddenly feeling too tight, your heels pinching and suffocating your feet.

7:00.

and still no jonathan.

the silence in the house became unbearable, thick like fog. your mum hovering nearby, her face tense—lips pressed into a line.

you didn’t want to believe it—not after the roses, not after the sign, after all the stupid promises.

but the truth was slowly crawling its way into your chest, cold and sharp. your eyes evoked a hazy layer of tears over your vision, burning sensations filling your senses as you try to hold them back—you don’t want to ruin your makeup, right?

yet, before you could stop yourself, the tears spilled over—sinking onto the stairs, clutching your purse like it was the only thing keeping you together. your shoulders shook as you tried to breathe through the lump in your throat.

your mum rushed to you immediately, sitting beside you and wrapping her arms around you as she gently traced her finger up and down your arm in an attempt to ground and comfort you.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmured, rubbing your back. “oh, honey…”

you tried to speak, but it came out broken.

“he-… he was supposed to come.”

“i know,” she whispered. “i know.”

you buried your face into her shoulder, mascara threatening to run as your chest tightened with sobs.

it wasn’t even just about prom—it was about the humiliation. the waiting. the way you’d been so excited and now felt like a fool.

you’d dressed up like a dream, only to be left behind. your mum held you tighter, her voice gentle as she began to speak.

“you don’t deserve this. not ever.”

you sniffled, wiping your face quickly, but more tears came anyway before the atmosphere shifted from a knock sounding at the door.

your heart jumped violently, hope flashing through you for half a second but it died just as quickly. because if it was jonathan, you didn’t even know if you wanted to see him anymore.

the door opened slowly before a familiar voice echo’s through the front door.

“i heard he didn’t come.”

your head snapped up only to see michael stood in the doorway.

for a second you thought you were imagining it—like your brain had decided to create the one person who could fix everything.

he stepped inside slowly, holding out a bouquet of lilies, their pale petals glowing under the hallway light.

your favourite flowers.

he remembered.

of course he did remembered.

he was dressed in a suit, crisp and perfectly fitted, dark fabric sharp against his skin, his shirt underneath was spotless, his tie neat. his afro was styled carefully, round and full, like he’d spent time making sure every detail was right.

and his smile :

it wasn’t big.

it wasn’t flashy.

it was small and comforting.

you stared at him, your mouth slightly open as michael’s eyes flicked to you on the stairs, meeting yours, and something softened in his expression.

he stepped closer slowly, holding the bouquet out gently.

“i… uh,” he cleared his throat quietly. “i brought these.”

your voice came out small. “michael…”

he crouched slightly so he was closer to your level, not towering over you. “i heard he didn’t come,” he repeated, softer this time.

you swallowed hard, your eyes stinging again. “i feel stupid,” you admitted.

michael’s smile didn’t fade, softly comforting you. “you’re not stupid, mama.”

you gave a watery laugh. “i sat here for an hour, expecting his ass to actually turn up.”

his jaw tightened just a fraction—not enough to be obvious, but enough that you could tell he was holding something back. he looked at you like you were the most important person in the room before he held the lilies out again.

“so,” he said gently, “w-wanna go with me instead?”

“what?”

he tilted his head, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“i don’t have a prom,” he said. “and you… you’ve been talking about yours for months.”

his eyes dropped to your dress, then back to your face.

“and you look too pretty to sit on the stairs crying over a boy who doesn’t know what he lost.”

your breath caught at that, your mum stood behind him, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes already glossy as she watched the scene in front of her play out.

michael stayed calm, patient as though he’d already decided.

he’d already chosen you.

you blinked quickly, trying not to cry again and ruin your makeup further before you finally nodded—slowly at first, then with more confidence.

“yeah,” you whispered. “yes, i do.”

michael’s smile widened, just a little. “good, good...”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the ride to prom felt unreal. michael sat beside you in the car, his knee bouncing slightly as the streetlights flickered past the windows as you held the lilies carefully in your lap, their scent sweet and soft.

“you okay?” michael asked, glancing at you with concern, his eyebrows slightly furrowed with a frown.

you nodded, smoothing the fabric of your dress. “yeah. i think so.” your words coming out quieter than you’d intended.

he hummed, not pushing you. “you look…” he paused, like he didn’t know how to say it without sounding too much. “like princess, like one of the ones we used to watch together,” he finishes, almost shy, as he stared down at his hands in his lap.

you turned to him, smiling through the last traces of sadness. “you clean up pretty well yourself.”

“yeah, i know,” he teases with a playful smirk.

you laughed, and suddenly, jonathan wasn’t even a second though anymore.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

once you arrived, the gym was glowing with decorations. steamers hung from the ceiling, fairy lights twinkled around the walls like stars trapped indoors and a disco ball spun lazily above the dance floor, throwing glittering reflections everywhere.

the second you stepped inside, heads turned—not because of you.

because of michael.

people stared openly, whispering, pointing, eyes wide like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing, yet he didn’t react.

he didn’t stiffen or shrink, he simply offered you his arm and you took it.

you both walked in together like you belonged there, owning the night.

the music was loud, bass thumping through the floor, and when you stepped onto the dance floor, you couldn’t help it. you started moving—not who watched.

michael soon followed, his movements smooth and effortless, dancing was stitched into his bones—nothing existed except the music and the lights and the moment.

and michael—michael couldnt take his eyes off you.

the way your dress swayed when you turned, how your laughter cut through the noise like something bright and real and your cheeks glowed from dancing, sweat collecting lightly at your temples, making you look warm and alive.

he thought you looked beautiful, but he obviously couldn’t say it.

i mean, it was michael.

but it was there in his eyes every time he looked at you.

it wasn’t because of your makeup or your jewellery or your hair—it was because you were you.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

after what felt like hours, the music shifted—the beat slowed as the lights dimmed slightly and a slow song began to play—soft, romantic, the kind that made the entire gym feel like it was floating.

you slowed, catching your breath, brushing hair away from your face as michael stepped closer slowly.

his hand hovered near yours for a second, like he was asking permission without words, before he spoke :

“may i have this dance?”

“yes, you may.”

michael delicately placed one hand gently at your waist, then other taking your hand in his.

you rested your hand on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of him through the suit fabric, the two of you beginning to sway slowly to the music naturally, like you’d been doing it your whole life.

you looked up at him, only to be met with his gaze already looking at you. his eyes were dark, soft, almost glowing under the dim lights.

for a moment, everything else disappeared.

no gym, no classmates and their whispers—only you and michael.

your voice came out quietly, almost like you were scared to break the moment.

“i’m glad he didn’t come.”

michael blinked, his brows lifting slightly.

“why?” he asked, his voice low as he scanned your face in confusion.

you swallowed, your heart pounding harder than it had all night.

“because then…” you whispered, squeezing his hand gently, “then i wouldn’t be here right now.”

you continued, voice trembling a little. “i wouldn’t be dancing with you.”

michael stared at you for a long second, like he was trying to process it, like your words were too good to be real before his mouth curved into the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“i’m glad too,” he admitted.

and as you swayed together under the spinning lights, it felt like the universe had rewritten your night—not into what you wanted, but something better.

…with michael.

jonathan completely left the picture as you beamed up at michael, a small smile painting you face as you admired the sight in front of you.

slowly, but surely, you both mutually leaned in as you swayed to the music before you absentmindedly move your hand from his grasp and up to his cheeks, rubbing your thumb gently over his soft skin.

the gap between you both eventually sealed, his soft lips providing a sense warmth—delicate and comfortable against yours.

it wasn’t dramatic nor rough, just almost a conformation of what you two had been feeling for the past years.

as yous deliberately begin to part, yous look at eachother again, but it wasn’t the same look as earlier.

this was different.

different how?

you don’t know—but you could sense it.

it had always been michael, it only just took one dick of a boy for you to realise it.

tags : @wondergotham @kietourhrt @xxxercess @ceeriusly-dumb @melynex @sscrumertt @lov3lylxvender @darkgreengrl @frangiipanii @starliqhtsworld @izluvsyou @uknownn111

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somewhere in encino III ᯽ ݁ ˖

𑣲⋆ summary : you find out michael’s never celebrated christmas before and you take it upon yourself to make sure his first is the best.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jackson five era // pre-off the wall michael jackson x reader

a/n : my phone crashed three times trying to upload this so if there’s error bare with pls pls

𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟕

you and michael were both sat in his bedroom at hayvenhurst. now that your friendship has blossomed fully, you’ve found yourself making more frequent visits to his home, being introduced to his siblings and his parents and even forming a slight relationship with them.

the late autumn air pressed softly against the bedroom window, the glass slightly fogged from the contrasting warmth inside. you sat cross-legged on the carpet, your back resting against the side of michael’s bed while he lounged nearby with a notebook balanced on his knee.

the room smelled faintly of clean laundry and whatever cologne he’d been obsessed with lately. everything about hayvenhurst felt lived in, full of noise even when it was ‘quiet’—footsteps down the hallway, a distant laugh, the muffled sound of someone calling for someone else, and for some reason, being there always made you feel comoforted.

you stared at the posters on his wall for a second, letting out a breath you didn’t even realise you’d been holding.

“oh my god,” you blurted suddenly, turning your head toward him with wide eyes. “michael… christmas is soon.”

the words came out in a rush, the excitement bubbling out of you before you could even pretend to be calm about it.

“i swear, i can already feel it,” you continued, sitting up straighter. “like, it feels like the festivities are already starting. the cold air and the early nights, everyone rushing around, the little lights in shop windows, like have you seen the decorations downtown? it’s actually insane. and the tinsel everywhere. like, everywhere. it’s so tacky but also so perfect. it just never lets you forget it’s christmas time,” you rant, pure excitement coursing through you.

michael’s gaze flickered up from his notebook. he watched you with that familiar, gentle attention, the corners of his mouth tugging upward as if your excitement was contagious.

you leaned forward slightly, completely unable to stop yourself. “and my mum’s already started talking about what we’re doing this year,” you went on, your voice animated.

“she’s been making lists and everything. she’s one of those people who treats christmas dinner like she’s hosting the queen. i’m not even kidding, she’ll be standing in the kitchen in an apron acting all stressed, and then she’ll start bossing everyone around.”

you made a dramatic face, putting on a mocking cranky voice as you try set the scene, “she’ll be about the place yelling ‘don’t touch the mince pies, they’re for later!’

your own laughter slipped out, warm and breathy. “and i know my dad’s going to fall asleep on the sofa again,” you added. “every single year. he always claims he’s just ‘resting his eyes’ and then next thing you know he’s snoring and the telly’s blaring some old christmas film that can be heard around the whole house.”

you rambled on, your hands moving as you spoke, the words tumbling out faster the more you thought about it.

“and the presents. oh my god, the presents. i love wrapping them even though i’m god awful at it. i always end up using too much tape and it looks like the gift has been trapped in plastic or something. but it’s fine because it’s the thought that counts, right?”

michael nodded along quietly, listening in that way he always did, like every detail mattered. his expression stayed soft, but there was something else underneath it, something faint that didn’t belong with your excitement.

you didn’t notice it at first. you kept going.

“and christmas music! everyone complains about it but I love it. i love the stupid jingling bells and the choirs and the cheesy lyrics. i’ll be humming it all day, and it drives my dad crazy. last year he threatened to throw the radio out the window.”

you giggled at the memory, then paused, finally taking in michael properly. he was still nodding, still smiling a little, but his eyes had drifted down, unfocused—the smile didn’t reach them. his shoulders seemed more tense than they had been a moment ago, and his fingers tapped lightly against the edge of his notebook, almost distracted. the excitement in your chest slowed, fading into confusion.

“…hey,” you murmured, tilting your head. “you okay?”

michael blinked, snapping out of it, his smile tried to come back stronger, like he could force it into place.

“yeah,” he replied softly, though his voice lacked its usual brightness.

you didn’t buy it for a second, shifting closer, your tone gentler now. “michael… what’s wrong?”

he hesitated. for a few seconds, the only sound was the distant creak of the house settling and a muffled voice somewhere down the hallway. his eyes stayed on his hands, thumbs rubbing together slowly.

he let out a quiet breath. “it’s not… it’s not anything bad,” he began, carefully choosing his words. “it’s just…”

he paused again, jaw tightening slightly.

“we don’t… celebrate christmas.”

your eyebrows lifted. “you don’t?”

michael shook his head, gaze still lowered, “my family, we’re jehovah’s witnesses,” he explained.

the words sounded almost heavy coming out of him, like he’d said them a hundred times to people who didn’t understand. “we don’t do holidays. not christmas, not birthdays… none of that.”

your mouth parted, the realisation settling over you slowly.

“oh.”

you didn’t mean for it to sound so small but you were disappointed on his behalf.

michael glanced up at you then, his expression was unreadable—soft, but edged with something quieter, one you couldn’t fix with a joke like usually.

“it’s just how it is,” he continued, voice calm but distant. “i’m used to it.”

however, the way he said it didn’t sound like he was used to it at all. you stared at him for a moment, your heart twisting in your chest. suddenly all your tangents about decorations and presents felt unfair, as though you’d been waving something shiny in front of him without realising he wasn’t allowed to touch it.

you swallowed before speaking, “…do you want to celebrate it?” you asked carefully, not sure if it’s ‘offensive’.

michael didn’t answer straight away. his gaze drifted to the window where the sky was fading into a pale grey-blue, the kind of evening that promised the upcoming winter.

“i-… i don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “sometimes i wonder what it’s like. i hear people talk about it all the time. the trees, the food, the music…” he trailed off, then shrugged slightly, forcing a small laugh that didn’t quite land. “it sounds… nice.”

that was all it took.

your face lit up again, but this time it wasn’t just excitement—it was determination.

“well then,” you declared, sitting up straighter, as if you’d just made the most obvious decision in the world. “you’re coming to my house.”

michael blinked, caught off guard. “what?”

you pointed at him like you were accusing him of something. “you heard me. you’re literally coming to my house for christmas. no arguments.”

his eyes widened, and a nervous smile flickered across his face. “i don’t think I’m supposed to-“

“oh, please,” you interrupted, waving your hand dramatically. “i’m not asking your whole family to start singing carols and dancing around a tree. i’m just saying you should come over. just for the day. you can eat with us. you can open a present. you can watch my dad fall asleep mid-film. it’s basically a cultural experience.”

michael let out a quiet laugh—the first real one since the conversation shifted.

you leaned closer, voice dropping into something softer, more sincere. “seriously, michael,” you added. “you shouldn’t have to sit here and pretend you don’t care. christmas is… warm. it can be annoying and loud and chaotic, but it’s warm. and you deserve that too.”

michael stared at you, his smile fading into something gentler, something almost stunned. his eyes softened, and for a moment he didn’t look like ‘michael jackson’, the star everyone’s obsessed with. he just looked like a boy your age, sitting on his bedroom floor, quietly absorbing the fact that someone wanted to share something special with him.

“you’d really do that?” he asked, voice low.

you scoffed. “obviously. you’re my best friend. what, did you think i was gonna let you spend christmas day doing nothing?”

he glanced away again, but this time the sadness didn’t sit as heavily on his face. instead, something else appeared—something fragile, almost hopeful.

“i… i don’t know what to say,” he murmured.

“say yes.”

michael’s lips parted, hesitating for only a second before the smallest smile returned, more real than before.

“…okay,” he agreed quietly.

something in your chest warmed instantly, as if the christmas lights you’d been imagining all day had suddenly switched on inside you.

you came home that night telling your parents about michael’s situation and your proposal to have him over from the day.

luckily, they were delighted to have him over as they’d begun to grow fond of him once you both grew closer and his appearances at the house became more frequent.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

it was now one week before christmas and you were in a crisis on what to get him. you knew his interests, hell, you knew as much about him as he knows himself. yet you continued to panic on what to buy, telling yourself ‘it has to be perfect’ since it’s his first christmas and you had to make a good first impression.

you scrounged the mall for what felt like hours, analysing every shop on every floor to see if anything caught your eye… and it wasn’t much.

at the end of the day you settled on a gift basket containing all the things you knew he loved and what you think would be necessities for christmas ; fluffy socks, a new pair of red plaid pyjamas (which you found a matching pair of for yourself), his favourite assortment candy you always noticed him reach for when yous were out together, a new notebook along with a pen with ‘michael’ written on it in cursive gold letters, a framed photo of you and him that janet took of yous one time at their house, you both cuddled next to each other on the sofa as yous fell asleep in the middle of a movie marathon and she found it the cutest thing, and finally, a heart-felt, handwritten note you took the time to write—listing every single thing that came to your mind, pouring your heart into it.

you best believe you took ages to make sure it looked perfect for when you gave it to him as well, experimenting with putting the things in different places and adding a red bow on top once finally content.

it was perfect, and you couldn’t wait to show him. you knew michael would love anything you got him—you could get him a rock picked up off the floor and he’d be happy, just by knowing it was gifted by you.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the second michael stepped through the front door, he knew he’d made a mistake. it wasn’t because he didn’t want to be there, i mean god, he wanted to be there more than he’d admitted out loud, but because the feeling hit him all at once, too fast, too big.

warm air wrapped around him, carrying smells he couldn’t place properly at first. something sweet too—cinnamon, maybe pine? and underneath it all, the faintest trace of something smoky from the fireplace.

his fingers tightened around the strap of his overnight bag as his eyes flickered over everything. your hallway was wide but still cosy, the walls dressed with framed photographs and little decorations he didn’t recognise but somehow understood anyway. a wreath hung on the door behind him, thick and green, with a ribbon tied neatly in the centre. there were also tiny lights strung along the bannister leading upstairs, glowing softly, making the whole house look like it was lit from the inside.

he stood there a moment too long, taking it all in. you shut the door behind him, grinning like you’d been waiting for this exact second all week.

“well?” you asked, dropping your voice like it was a secret. “watcha think?”

michael swallowed, his gaze still wandering, still absorbing. he didn’t even realise he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache slightly.

“it’s…” his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. “it’s really nice.”

your smile widened triumphantly. “i told you.”

he nodded and followed you, wherever you were going, his shoes softly tapping against the floor as you led him further into the house.

then he saw it.

the christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room, taller than he expected, almost touching the ceiling. thick tinsel wrapped around the branches, ornaments hanging like jewels. red and gold, little glass baubles, tiny candy canes, ribbons, and lights blinking softly in warm colours. the whole thing glowed, throwing little reflections across the walls.

he stopped walking, his breath caught in his chest, sharp and strange, as though his body didn’t know what to do with the sight.

he’d heard about christmas trees. he’d seen them in store windows and on television, always in the background of things he wasn’t supposed to be a part of, but seeing one in real life, close enough to touch, inside a house where people were laughing, cooking and living felt unreal.

his eyes traced every detail, lingering on each ornament, each light. he felt stupid for staring, but he couldn’t help it. it was like his brain had been waiting his whole life to see this and didn’t know how to stop looking.

you noticed instantly, stepping beside him, folding your arms with a smug little tilt of your head.

“you can stare,” you told him. “i give you permission.”

michael let out a soft laugh through his nose, though his voice didn’t come.

“it’s…” he tried again, but the word wouldn’t form.

‘pretty’ didn’t feel like enough.

he slowly stepped closer, careful and cautious, as if the tree might disappear if he moved too fast. his fingers lifted, hovering over one of the ornaments—a small glass star. it caught the light and shimmered, throwing tiny sparkles across his skin as he touched it gently. the ornament swayed a little, and he watched it like it was alive.

“it’s beautiful,” he finally murmured, barely audible.

something in your expression softened. “i know,” you replied quietly. “that’s why i wanted you to come.”

michael’s throat tightened. he turned his head away quickly, pretending to examine something else in the room, but the feeling stayed lodged in his chest like a stone. not heavy, exactly. just emotional.

he hadn’t expected it to hit him like this. your house was warm in a way he wasn’t used to. not just temperature-wise, warm in the way people moved around without rushing, the way the lights were soft, the way everything seemed to glow with comfort. there were voices in the kitchen, the clinking of dishes, the hum of festive music playing quietly from a radio.

it made him feel like he was stepping into someone else’s world, one he’d never been invited into before.

before he could think too hard about it, your mum appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel. she took one look at Michael and smiled so brightly it startled him.

“there you are!” she exclaimed. “michael, my love, come in, come in. you must be freezing.”

michael straightened immediately, polite instincts kicking in like they were automatic.

“yes ma’am,” he answered, his voice respectful. “thank you for having me.”

“oh don’t be so formal,” she waved him off, though her smile only grew. “you’re staying the night. that makes you family for the evening.”

the words made something flicker in his chest.

family.

he forced a smile, but it wobbled slightly at the edges.

you glanced at him as you noticed his nervous demeanour.

“see?” you whispered, leaning toward him. “i told you she was gonna adopt you.”

michael let out a small laugh, then lowered his voice, almost shy. “she really nice,” he admitted.

your mum ushered him toward the kitchen with an energy that made him feel like he didn’t have a choice.

“sit down, sit down. i’ve got cookies and hot chocolate. you both can have some.”

michael hesitated, eyes widening slightly, “oh-, i-“

“no ‘I’,” your mum interrupted, pointing at him with playful authority. “you’ll have some. christmas eve rules.”

he blinked, caught off guard, and you burst out laughing causing him to glance at you, eyebrows raised as if to ask ‘is she serious?’

you only grinned harder. “she’s serious,” you mouthed.

he sat himself down at your kitchen island while your mum moved around with practised ease, humming to herself. the kitchen smelled even stronger than the hallway—sweet, rich and warm. something was baking, its chocolatey aroma flowing through the kitchen.

his stomach twisted slightly, not with hunger but with nervousness. he wasn’t used to being treated like this. not without expectations, without cameras, not without someone wanting something. but here no one seemed to want anything from him except for him to eat.

your dad wandered in a few minutes later, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken up from a nap even though it was barely evening. he looked at michael, then smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“a’right, bud?” he greeted, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder as he walked by.

michael stood up quickly. “hello, sir,” he replied.

your dad waved a hand with a light chuckle. “sit down, sit down. you’re in the house now. no need to stand like you’re meeting the president.”

michael sat again, his cheeks warming in embarrassment.

you leaned closer, whispering, “you’re so polite it’s embarrassing.”

michael shot you a look. “i’m not embarrassing,” he muttered.

“you literally just stood up like he was gonna knight you,” you teased.

michael’s lips twitched. “…maybe he will.”

you laugh at that, loud and bright, and for a second michael forgot to be overwhelmed—he just laughed too.

later on, you brought him back into the living room with two mugs of hot chocolate, steam curling into the air. marshmallows floating on top, melting slowly into creamy clouds on the surface of the hot drink. he held the mug with both hands, careful not to spill.

as he took as small sip, his eyes widened immediately.

“oh,” he breathed.

you watched him with a grin. “good, right?”

michael nodded slowly, almost reverently. “this is… really good.”

“it’s basically liquid happiness,” you declared before taking another sip of yours, a moustache of marshmallow forming on your upper lip.

he took another sip, pausing as he stared at the mug as though it had personally changed his life.

“i think i’ve been missing out,” he admitted quietly.

something about the way he said it made your teasing smile soften, you sat down beside him on the carpet, close to the tree. the lights flickered gently, reflecting in michael’s eyes. he stared at them again, the same look on his face as earlier—half wonder, half disbelief.

he didn’t know how to explain the feeling, it was excitement, yes, but also something heavier that he couldn’t quite name. it all felt unfair. unfair that he hadn’t been before, how it all was robbed from him during his childhood.

michael shifted slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his mug balanced between his hands. his gaze lingered on the ornaments, he noticed how each one was different. some looked expensive, shiny and perfect. others looked handmade—paper stars, little glittered cut-outs, a lopsided angel that clearly had been glued together by someone with no patience.

it made his chest tighten again because it wasn’t about perfection. it was about memories.

and he never had that.

you bumped your shoulder gently against his, snapping out of his thoughts with a blink.

“you’re thinking too hard,” you told him.

“am not,” he replied automatically.

you raised an eyebrow.

“you’re doing that thing where you go quiet and look like you’re about to write a sad song.”

michael let out a breathy laugh. “maybe i will.”

“well don’t,” you warned. “it’s christmas eve. sad songs are banned until at least january.”

michael glanced back at the tree. “it’s just…” he began, then stopped, unsure how to come about what he was thinking. his fingers tightened around the mug. “i didn’t know it would feel like this,” he admitted, voice softer now. “i thought it would just be decorations. stuff. but it’s-… it’s more than that.”

your expression softened completely. “it is,” you agreed.

“it’s almost sorta overwhelming,” he confessed, the honesty in his voice surprised even him. “in a good way. but… still overwhelming.”

you nodded slowly, understanding his point of view, eyebrows furrowed with sympathy. “that’s okay,” you comfort gently. “it’s your first christmas. you’re allowed to be overwhelmed.”

his eyes flickered to you, something warm stirring in his chest at the way you said it.

‘your first christmas.’

you reached over and plucked one of the candy canes off the tree, holding it out. michael blinked blankly at you, confused on what you were doing.

“is that allowed?”

“michael,” you replied, dead serious, “it’s my tree. i make the rules.”

he hesitated, taking it carefully from your hands. he began to delicately unwrap it, like it could easily snap in his fingers, and tasted it, his face twisted slightly.

“it tastes minty, like toothpaste,” he commented.

“that’s the point!”

he chewed slowly, his facial expressions changing as he made a new inner-opinion on the candy.

“…it’s strange,” he decided, not sure on if he actually liked it on not.

“you’re strange,” you shot back.

he glanced at you, suddenly smiling wider—the corner of his eyes crinkling with the

“i am not strange.”

“you’re literally chewing a candy cane like it’s a life decision.”

he laughed properly then, shoulders shaking slightly, his eyes bright.

and for the first time since he’d arrived, the tension in his posture eased. the tightness in his chest loosened, just a little, finally letting himself exist in the moment instead of worrying about what it meant.

later that night, you ended up upstairs in your room with sleeping bags spread across the floor. the radio played softly in the background, some christmas song crackling through the speakers that you happily hummed along to.

you lay on your back, staring at the ceiling, while michael lay beside you, hands folded neatly over his chest.

it was quiet now, the kind of quiet that felt safe. safe because you were with him.

you turned your head slightly towards him in the dark, the faint glow of the moon through the lace curtains highlighting his features.

“you okay?”

“i think so.”

“that sounded like a lie.”

michael exhaled through his nose, amused. “it’s not a lie,” he insisted. “it’s just… I feel weird.”

“weird how?”

his gaze stayed on the ceiling, but his voice lowered. “like I’m doing something I’m not supposed to,” he admitted.

you went still before michael continued before you could respond, his voice gentle but honest.

“i know it’s silly. i’m nineteen years old. i shouldn’t feel nervous over a tree and hot chocolate.” he paused, adding, almost embarrassed, “but I do.”

you shifted onto your side, facing him, propping yourself up on your elbow as you looked down at him.

“it isn’t silly, michael.”

his eyes flickered to you, “its not?”

“no,” you replied firmly. “it’s human.”

his stared at you in the dim light, the faint glow from the hallway slipping under the door. his face looked softer when he wasn’t performing—less guarded.

“i’m glad you invited me,” he murmured.

“good, because you’re stuck here now.”

michael’s lips curved slightly. “am i?”

“uh-huh,” you confirmed. “you’re part of Christmas now. sorrry. no refunds.”

he let out a quiet laugh, his expression turning gentle again. “i’ve never had… a night like this,” he admitted.

your throat tightened a little but you still tried to keep it light.

“well, get used to it. because you’re having another one next year.”

“y’promise??” he asked, the words came out smaller than you expected as his gaze softened.

you hadn’t realised how much he meant it, how much he wanted something stable that wouldn’t disappear.

your voice softened completely. “i promise,” you whispered.

michael didn’t speak after that, he just looked at you for a long moment, his gaze holding something you couldn’t name—too warm, too sincere.

he turned onto his side too, facing you. in the quiet, he murmured, “merry christmas, y/n.”

“it’s still christmas eve,” you whispered, smiling gently.

“i know,” he replied. “but i wanted to say it first.”

you stared at him, the room feeling suddenly too small, too warm.

“merry christmas, michael,” you answered softly.

he closed his eyes after that, his breathing slowing as sleep finally began to take him. but even as he drifted off, his expression stayed peaceful, like he’d finally found something he didn’t realise he was missing.

for a while, you lay there awake, listening to the quiet, feeling the weight of the moment settle gently around you, because this wasn’t just a sleepover—it was the beginning of something.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

christmas morning came too fast.

the first thing you noticed was the cold. not in the room, your room was warm, but the kind of cold that came from the world outside. a pale light seeped through the curtains, soft and grey, and the air felt crisp, fresh, new.

you blinked slowly, still half asleep before you hear an uprupt rustle of movement from beside you.

you turn your head abruptly towards see michael was already awake, sat upright in his sleeping bag, hair slightly messy, eyes wide as if he’d been awake for hours. he looked like a kid trying to stay quiet so he wouldn’t wake anyone, but failing miserably because his excitement was practically vibrating off him.

you stared at him from a second, trying to get to grips of what you were seeing before groaning.

“michael,” you mumbled, voice raspy with sleep. “why are you sitting like that?”

he looked over at you immediately, like he’d been caught. “oh-, sorry,” he whispered, his voice hushed.

“what time is it?”

“…six.”

your eyes widened at his reply. “six?!” you repeated, horrified. “michael, it’s christmas, not a military operation.”

“i couldn’t sleep,” he admitted.

you rolled onto your back dramatically.

“you’re such an old man.”

michael scoffed quietly, offended. “i am not an old man.”

“yes you are,” you argued. “you’re basically a grandfather trapped in the body of a pop star.”

michael laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“i’m just… excited,” he confessed, and his voice softened on the last word. he stared down at his lap not meeting your eyes—a small smile growing on his face

you sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. “alright,” you sighed. “come on then. let’s go see the tree before you explode.”

his face brightened instantly at your proposal. you got out of your sleeping bag and crept downstairs together, careful not to make too much noise. the house was still asleep, the air quiet, the floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet.

when you reached the living room, the tree lights were still on, glowing gently in the dim morning light.

and there they were.

presents.

michael froze again, just like he had the night before, but this time his expression wasn’t overwhelmed, he was almost ed amazed at the sight in front of him.

he stepped forward slowly, crouching down near the tree. his eyes scanned the pile of wrapped gifts, each one in different paper, different ribbons, different sizes.

his fingers hovered over one, not touching as he looked at the tags—names written in neat handwriting, ‘y/n’, ‘mum’, ‘dad’

and then :

michael.

his name.

under the tree.

he stared at it as if he couldn’t believe it was real, looking up at you slowly.

“that’s…” he began, voice cracking slightly.

you smile softly at him. “yeah,” you replied. “that’s yours.”

michael swallowed hard as he looked back at the present—whispering, almost to himself, “that’s mine.”

he didn’t move for a moment as if he was afraid to touch it, that it might be taken away if he reached too fast.

“hey, not just yet. presents are an after-dinner activity,” you ordered before playing swatting his hand away.

the hours after that felt like they passed in a blur. eventually, your mum came downstairs first, wrapped in a fluffy robe, her hair a mess but her face bright with that warm christmas morning glow with your dad followed not long after, half asleep and yawning like his body physically wasn’t built for mornings.

michael stood up immediately when they walked in, like it was instinct, like his body couldn’t stop itself.

“mornin’, pet” your mum chirped, her voice loud enough to make michael flinch slightly.

“good morning, ma’am,” michael replied politely, straightening his posture.

your dad blinked at him, then laughed quietly. “christ, he’s still doin’ that standin’ thing.”

your mum walked over and squeezed michael’s shoulder gently, like she was already used to him being there. “merry christmas, sweetheart.”

michael paused for a second, “…merry christmas,” he said back, softer.

your dad shuffled into the living room, scratching the side of his face. “right,” he muttered. “where’s my coffee before i collapse.”

“dad,” you groaned.

“what? i’m a simple man.”

michael let out a small laugh under his breath, the sound surprised even him. it was such a normal moment. so stupidly normal. and for the first time, he didn’t feel like he was trespassing in someone else’s life. he felt like he was part of it.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

christmas dinner came quicker than anyone wanted.

your mum had been in full christmas mode all day, the kitchen basically becoming her personal battlefield. there was music playing from the radio, pots clanging, the smell of roast filling every inch of the house. every time you walked in, she’d shove something into your hands.

“taste this.”

“stir that.”

“tell me if this needs more salt.”

and every time michael tried to help, she’d practically shoo him away like he was a stray kitten.

“no, no, no. you’re a guest. you sit down.”

michael would blink, confused, like he wasn’t used to adults being kind without expecting anything in return.

“are you sure?” he asked, polite as always.

“yes, i’m sure,” your mum insisted. “and if you try to argue, i’ll make you peel potatoes for an hour.”

michael’s eyes widened.

you leaned toward him and whispered, “she’s not joking.”

he glanced at you, dead serious. “yeah, i believe you.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

by the time dinner was ready, the dining table looked insane.

it was covered in everything—roast meat, golden potatoes, endless vegetables, stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce—a ridiculous amount of food that could’ve fed a small army.

michael sat at the table quietly at first, hands folded neatly in his lap, watching everything like it was a scene from a movie he’d only ever heard about.

your dad poured him a drink, “there y’go, boy.”

michael blinked. “thank you, sir.”

“don’t call me sir,” your dad replied instantly. “makes me feel like i’m about to arrest someone.”

your mum smacked your dad’s arm. “stop teasing him.”

“i’m not teasing him!” your dad protested. “i’m bonding.”

michael let out a soft laugh, his shoulders loosening.

you watched him, and your chest warmed at the sight, because he was laughing like he belonged here.

and maybe he did.

as dinner went on, the conversation became louder, warmer. your dad told the same old story he told every year about how he once nearly set the christmas pudding on fire, and your mum kept correcting him mid-sentence.

“that’s not what happened!”

“yes it is!”

“no it isn’t, dramatic idiot!”

michael laughed harder at that, covering his mouth slightly like he was trying not to.

you leaned closer to him. “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

he hesitated, then nodded. “…yeah,” he admitted. “i really am.”

your mum glanced at him. “good. because you’re stuck with us now.”

michael smiled, and it wasn’t the polite kind he usually forced out, it was real.

your dad pointed his fork at michael. “so, michael. what’s it like bein’ famous?”

michael paused mid-bite, his expression shifting slightly, like he’d braced himself. he’d heard that question a thousand times. every interview. every stranger. every adult who looked at him like he was a product instead of a person.

before he could answer, your dad shrugged. “actually, no. don’t answer that. boring question. everyone asks that.”

michael blinked, surprised as your dad continued, “what i wanna know is… what’s your favourite food?”

michael stared at him, “my… favourite food?”

“aye,” your dad said. “everyone’s got one.”

michael’s lips parted slightly, like his brain had short-circuited.

“i mean, i like enchiladas,” he admitted slowly.

your dad slapped the table. “YES. i like him, he’s well cultured.”

you burst out laughing along your mum rolled her eyes. “you like anyone who likes enchiladas.”

“exactly,” your dad replied proudly.

michael laughed again, properly this time, head tipping forward slightlyx it hitting him then, quietly, like a soft wave—no one was asking him to perform, no one was asking him to sing, no one was asking about shows or cameras or albums or fame.

they were just talking to him.

like he was michael.

not michael jackson.

and god it felt so good it almost hurt.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

after dinner, your mum made everyone sit in the living room.

“right,” she announced, clapping her hands once. “presents.”

your dad groaned dramatically. “finally. my feet are goin’ numb.”

you grabbed michael’s wrist and pulled him toward the tree before he could overthink it. his eyes immediately went to the gifts again. the ones with his name on them.

he crouched down slowly, like he still couldn’t believe it was real as your mum handed him one small present first.

“from me,” she said sweetly.

michael froze.

he looked at the tag, then up at her, and his voice came out quiet. “…for me?”

your mum smiled like it was obvious. “of course for you.”

he unwrapped it carefully, almost painfully slow, like he was terrified of tearing the paper too much.

inside was a warm knitted scarf, dark coloured, soft-looking.

michael stared at it before he touched it, his face softened instantly.

“oh…” he whispered. “it’s… beautiful.”

“put it on,” your mum ordered.

michael did, still looking slightly stunned, and your mum beamed like she’d just accomplished her life’s mission.

your dad handed him another, the wrapping messy, tape just slapped on when it felt right. “from me.”

michael blinked again. “sir— i mean… thank you.”

your dad snorted. “there ya go.”

inside was a record—a classic one, stevie wonder.

michael stared at it like he’d been handed a piece of treasure.

“i heard you like music, ‘n y/n mentioned you liked a bit of wonder” your dad said casually.

michael’s lips parted.

“…i love music,” he corrected softly.

your dad nodded like he’d just won something. “good. then i picked right.”

michael smiled at him, quiet but genuine. “thank you, so much,” he said again.

your mum clapped. “right. now your best friend’s present.”

you scooted forward, heart thumping stupidly hard, and grabbed the basket you’d worked on for hours.

you handed it to him nervously, michael’s eyes widening the second he saw it. he didn’t even move for a second.

“…what is this?” he asked, voice small.

“open it,” you urged.

slowly, he pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the top.

and then he saw everything.

the socks.

the pyjamas.

the candy.

the notebook.

the pen with his name.

the photo.

his fingers froze on the frame, his eyes stared at it for so long you almost got nervous.

“janet took that,” you explained softly. “remember? when we fell asleep.”

michael didn’t answer, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. he began picked it up carefully, like it could break in his hands.

then his gaze dropped to the note, pulling it out gently. you watched his face change as he read.

slowly.

his expression shifted from curiosity, to softness, to something dangerously emotional.

his expression shifted from curiosity, to softness, to something dangerously emotional.

his eyes shimmered, your stomach dropping immediately.

“…michael?” you whispered.

he blinked hard.

once.

twice.

“…you wrote all this?” his voice cracked slightly.

you nodded, suddenly nervous. “yeah.”

michael stared at the paper again, like he couldn’t believe words could be that gentle. his eyes filled properly this time.

he looked down fast, wiping his face with his sleeve like he was embarrassed.

“i’m sorry,” he muttered, voice shaky. “i’m sorry, i don’t know why i’m-“

“michael,” you cut in softly, scooting closer.

he kept wiping at his face, but the tears didn’t stop. your mum’s face softened instantly, and even your dad looked awkwardly emotional, clearing his throat and pretending he suddenly found the carpet fascinating.

michael sniffed quietly, voice barely above a whisper. “no one’s ever… gotten me something like this. put so much effort into something for me.”

your heart clenched as you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him without even thinking.

michael froze for half a second before he melted into it, leaning into your touch. his hands clutched the note and the photo against his chest like he was scared it would disappear as you held him tighter.

“you deserve it,” you whispered.

michael’s voice was muffled against your shoulder.

“…it’s too much.”

“no,” you murmured, pulling back just enough to look at him. “it’s not. it’s literally the bare minimum because you’re amazing. you’re the best thing to happen to me, michael.”

michael’s wet lashes fluttered as he looked at you, his eyes red but glowing. “…thank you,” he whispered.

you smiled gently. “you’re welcome.”

he hugged you again, this time tighter, like he meant it with his whole soul, burying his head into your shoulder to hide the fact he was crying.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

once everything was cleaned up and your mum had forced everyone to eat dessert, you dragged michael back into the living room.

“movie time,” you announced.

michael blinked. “now?”

“yes now,” you insisted. “christmas tradition, you can’t escape.”

your dad immediately sat down like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life.

“if it’s not a good one, i’m leavin’.”

your mum rolled her eyes. “you always say that and then fall asleep anyway.”

“that’s not true.”

“uhm, yes it is.”

you shoved a blanket at michael and flopped down onto the sofa. he hesitated before sitting, carefully, like he still wasn’t fully convinced he was allowed.

the movie began to start—it was one of those cheesy christmas ones, full of snow and dramatic music and characters making ridiculous decisions, your dad making commentary the whole time.

“why’s he runnin’? why’s he always runnin’ in these films?”

your mum hissed, “shut up.”

michael laughed quietly, his eyes on the screen and you watched him from the side.

his face was soft—peaceful, as if the weight of the world had finally stopped pressing down on his shoulders for once.

at some point, without realising, you shifted closer… and michael didn’t move away. instead, he leaned slightly too, your shoulders touched, then your arms, then your side pressed against his.

you both pretended it was accidental. but it wasn’t.

your heart started beating stupidly fast. michael’s breathing was slow, calm, but his fingers twitched slightly near his lap, like he was debating whether or not to do something.

then, carefully, he lifted his arm and rested it along the back of the couch.

not quite around you… but close.

so close.

you glanced up at him, but he was staring at the movie like it was the most important thing in the world. his ears were slightly pink and you swear your brain almost exploded.

slowly, you leaned into him more, and this time, he let you.

his arm lowered gently, wrapping around you properly as your head slowly started

to rest against his shoulder. michael’s whole body tensed for a second, like he didn’t know if he was allowed to before soon he relaxed.

your dad yawned loudly halfway through the movie.

“this is borin’. i’m goin’ to bed.”

your mum smacked his arm again.

“it’s the best part!”

“it’s literally the same plot every year,” your dad argued, already half asleep.

michael chuckled softly, and you felt the vibration of it through his chest—it was warm.

everything about him was warm ; the blanket, the couch, the lights from the tree, the quiet laughter.

it all felt safe.

michael, without even meaning to, slowly started to drift off, you could feel it. his head tipped slightly toward yours as his breathing deepened, his body grew heavier against you.

and before you knew it…

he was asleep.

like, fully asleep.

curled into you like it was the most natural thing in the world. your heart basically stopped once you realised because michael jackson, your best friend, was literally sleeping on you like you were his favourite pillow.

you sat there for ages, not moving, scared that if you shifted even an inch you’d wake him.

and you didn’t want to because he looked so peaceful, like he’d never felt peace like that before.

eventually though, the movie ended. your mum peeked in, smiling softly when she saw the two of you.

“aw,” she whispered.

you mouthed back, “don’t.”

she giggled silently and disappeared again.

sighing , you gently shook michael’s shoulder.

“michael… hey…” you whisper softly to him, trying to wake him up slowly.

he stirred slightly. “…hmm?”

“you fell asleep.”

he blinked slowly, confused, then looked down at himself like he’d forgotten where he was.

“…oh,” he murmured, voice sleepy.

you smirked. “old man.”

michael scoffed weakly. “shut up…”

you stood up and offered him your hand. “come on. bed time.”

michael hesitated. “i can sleep on the floor again.”

“no,” you insisted. “you’re not sleeping on the floor on christmas.”

he looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. he just nodded and followed you upstairs quietly.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

when you got back to your room you handed him the pair of pyjamas that laid in his gift basket before reaching into your dresser to pull up your matching pair.

his eyes flickered up to you. “…we match?”

you shrugged innocently. “yeah. obviously.”

michael’s lips twitched. “…you planned this.”

“maybe,” you murmured, smirking.

michael shook his head with a quiet laugh, but his cheeks were pink again.

you both changed, and when he stepped back into the room wearing them, he looked almost stunned.

like he couldn’t believe he was actually wearing christmas pyjamas.

you grinned. “aw, you’re adorable.”

michael’s eyes widened. “i am not adorable.”

“yes you are.”

“no i’m not.”

you pointed at him. “you’re literally a christmas elf.”

michael gasped, offended. “a christmas elf?!”

“yeah.”

he shook his head, laughing. “you’re mean.”

“i’m honest.”

but you could tell—he liked it.

he liked matching. he liked feeling included. he liked being part of something, especially when it’s with you.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

you both got into the sleeping bags again and within ten minutes, you were already regretting it.

you shifted, annoyed in your sleeping bags, the rustling echoing around the room. “this is so uncomfortable, how did we do this last night?”

michael sighed too, shifting slightly. “yeah…”

you rolled onto your side. “why does it feel like i’m sleeping on concrete.”

michael stared up at the ceiling. “…your bed looks very comfortable.”

“…do you wanna sleep in it?”

michael’s eyes widened, immediately sitting up slightly.

“i— i don’t want to invade your space.”

you rolled your eyes. “michael. you literally cried over fluffy socks earlier. you’re not invading anything.”

michael’s cheeks flushed. “…i didn’t cry over the socks.”

“you cried over my love. which is worse.”

michael let out a quiet laugh at the comment.

you sat up and patted the mattress. “come on. just sleep. it’s christmas.”

michael hesitated again then slowly nodded. “m’kay.”

you both climbed into bed, the covers warm, instantly better than the sleeping bags.

you turned onto your side, facing away from him. “g’night,” you murmured as you pulled the covers close underneath your chin.

“‘night,” michael replied softly.

you closed your eyes, but you didn’t actually fall asleep, you just stayed still, breathing evenly, pretending.

you could feel him behind you, shifting slightly like he was trying to get comfortable—maybe debating something.

and then slowly, carefully…

you felt his arm gently slide around your waist as though he was scared you’d pull away.

his hand rested there, light but warm, and his body pressed closer behind you. your breath caught in your throat, but you stayed still—pretending you were asleep.

michael’s forehead rested against the back of your shoulder, his breathing slow and calm felt faintly against your skin, and for a long moment, everything went quiet. just the sound of the house settling, the faint hum of christmas lights downstairs, his warmth radiating behind you, his arm holding you like it was the safest place in the world.

and you realised, suddenly :

this wasn’t just a christmas sleepover anymore.

this was something else, something that was starting to bloom, quietly, right under your skin.

it was something that neither of you were brave enough to say out loud yet but you could feel it anyway. the both of you.

tags : @wondergotham @kietourhrt @xxxercess @ceeriusly-dumb @melynex @sscrumertt @lov3lylxvender @darkgreengrl @frangiipanii @starliqhtsworld @izluvsyou @uknownn111 @yoneida

[xffthewall]

somewhere in encino II ᯽ ݁ ˖

𑣲⋆ summary : michael invites you out to a skating rink together, fun and games until he feels something he’s not familiar with when he sees you with another boy.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jackson five era // pre-off the wall michael jackson x reader

a/n : ts lowkey long but if ur anything like me you’ll eat it up so🤞🏽. also tysm for 100 followers thats so insane omg ily all

four days had now passed, but it didn’t feel like four days. it felt like a week, a month—one of those stretches of time where everything is technically normal except your brain refuses to act normal because it keeps replaying one specific moment on loop.

the call, his voice so soft it could put you to sleep after a sentence, and his quiet laugh—the one where time feels frozen when you hear it.

morning light slipped through the curtains in thin, pale stripes, warming the edge of your pillow. you groaned softly, half-burying your face into the blanket like you could physically hide from the fact that you’d barely slept.

barely slept thinking of him.

you blinked a few times, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to every question your heart kept asking.

and then, like your body remembered before your mind could, you turned your head slightly and saw it.

the cardigan.

his cardigan

draped over the back of the chair near your dresser, hanging there like it belonged, as though it had always been part of your room and had every right to be there.

you still remember the chill left on you when his fingers grazed your skin as he adjusted it, trying to keep you warm.

it was slightly rumpled, sleeves folded in on themselves, still carrying that faint scent of him—clean laundry, something warm and familiar underneath it, almost like vanilla or woody notes.

the room was quiet except for the distant hum of the street outside. somewhere far away, a car passed. somewhere closer, a bird chirped like it was nobody’s business, yet all you could think about was him.

your eyes flicked to the phone on your bedside table. you hadn’t called. he hadn’t called either.

it wasn’t because either of you didn’t want to… but because you were both probably doing the same thing—overthinking it, trying not to seem too eager, pretending you weren’t checking the clock every ten minutes like a maniac.

you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood slowly as your head woozed from the sudden rush of blood to your head. you reached the chair, your fingers brushing the cardigan without thinking—the soft fabric tickling your finger tips.

you lifted it up slightly, holding it in your hands like it was a sacred artifact, and for a second it felt almost ridiculous—how a piece of clothing could make your stomach flip like this. from a boy you met four days ago—your heart doing little cartwheels for absolutely no reason.

no reason… right?

you sighed through your nose, shaking your head as if that would fix the way you were smiling.

“get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

but you didn’t put it away. you left it in your arms, hugging it lightly against your chest like you weren’t even trying to act tough anymore.

a loud, piercing, almost violating ring assaults your ears. sharp and sudden, like it had been waiting for the exact right moment.

you froze in place—your heart literally stopping functioning properly.

another ring insisted itself again.

you rushed to grab it, nearly tripping over your own feet, snatching the receiver like your life depended on it.

“hello?”

there was a pause—a breath.

“hey… it’s me,” a familiar, comforting voice echoed through the receiver.

michael.

his voice was softer than usual, like he was smiling while he spoke, leaning close to the phone just to make it feel more personal.

“i was, uhm, wondering…” he continued, slightly hesitant now, resembling that he was trying to play it cool but failing in the most adorable way possible.

“…would you wanna go out with me? today. like, actually go out. me and you?”

you held the receiver tighter, feeling your cheeks warming at his request.

“what do you mean, go out?” you asked, even though you already knew exactly what he meant.

you could hear him laugh quietly. “i don’t know… i just- i thought maybe we could do something fun,” he said. “there’s this skate rink i’ve been wanting to go to. just to get out, you know?”

your eyes flicked to the cardigan still in your other hand, lips parting slightly as you try to envision it—the music, laughter, the colourful lights.

“i… yeah,” you agree, trying not to sound too excited and absolutely failing. “yeah, i’d really like that.”

on the other end, you could hear his smile. “really?”

“no,” you bluntly spoke sarcastically.

a brief silence was left on the other end of the phone.

“i’m joking. yes, really.” you giggle into the phone, amused how he really thought you were serious.

he let out a breath like he’d been holding it in for days.

“okay,” he said quickly, like he didn’t want you to change your mind. “okay good. i’ll pick you up later, alright?”

you leaned against the headboard, grinning like an idiot.

“alright,” you whisper back to him.

there was a beat of silence, not awkward—just warm and comfortable.

like neither of you wanted to be the one to hang up first.

then michael spoke again, quieter this time.

“hey, um… you still have my cardigan?”

you peer down at it at the end of your bed as you reach to grab it, your fingers tightened around the fabric protectively.

“…maybe,” you teased.

his laugh was instant, sweet and breathy.

“you can keep it,” he said.

you could practically hear the confidence trying to sneak into his voice.

You raised an eyebrow even though he couldn’t see it.

“yeah?”

“mhm,” he hummed. “it looks… better on you than me anyway.”

you glance out the window, a tiny upside down smile painted onto your face as you try to refrain yourself from his flattery, a crimson glow adorning your cheeks.

the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts your thoughts, bringing you back to your thoughts before he begins again.

“anyways, you better be ready to skate. ’cause i’m really good,” he brags.

you snorted at his cocky comment. “uh-huh, that’s what they all say.”

“oh no,” he said, amused. “i’m serious.”

“sure, michael.”

he laughed again, and your heart did that thing where it forgets how to be normal. you don’t know why it has you so giddy, but it does. and you can’t tell if you like that or not.

“alright,” he said. “i’ll see you later.”

“yeah… see you later,” you whispered back to him.

when the call ended with a small beep into your ear, you just sat there, holding the phone. holding his cardigan.

the one he told you to keep.

the one ‘you looked better in anyway’.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the moment you stepped through the doors of the rink, everything hit you at once—the cold air of the air conditioning, the faint smell of popcorn and soda, the upbeat music thumping through the speakers making the building nearly have its own heartbeat.

lights flashed overhead in flashly colours, bouncing off the shiny floor where people glided past in circles, laughing, stumbling, holding onto each other for dear life. the whole place felt loud and alive, like you’d accidentally walked into a scene from a movie.

and beside you was michael. he looked completely in his element, eyes scanning the rink with this excited little spark, like he was trying not to grin too hard.

you tried not to stare.

keyword : tried.

he leaned slightly closer so you could hear him over the noise. “you ready?”

You swallowed as your snapped out of your moment of admiration, suddenly nervous for no reason. “y-yeah,” you whisper unconvincingly, your stomach feeling like it was doing backflips.

michael smiled. “good.”

you both made your way to the rental counter where the man behind it barely even looked up, uninterested, sliding the skates across with the bored confidence of someone who’d seen a thousand first-timers panic.

you took yours carefully, glancing down at them like they might bite. michael grabbed his pair too, holding them easily in one hand. of course he did.

you walked over to the benches along the wall, royal blue lockers surrounding them, the noise of wheels scraping and people laughing echoing around you. you sat down, setting the skates in front of you and pulling your shoes off and putting them to the side.

you stared down at the skates again, somehow intimidated by the inanimate object like they were designed for your own humiliation.

you slid your foot into the first one and immediately regretted being born. the skate was stiff, awkward, and somehow way smaller than it had looked in your hands. you tugged at the strap, trying to pull it tight, but your fingers fumbled. it wouldn’t click, refusing to cooperate with you—maybe this is a sign. it wouldn’t do anything except make you feel like you’d forgotten how hands worked.

you huffed quietly, cheeks warming.

michael, who had already gotten one skate on like it was nothing, glanced over.

he tilted his head slightly, looking at you with eyebrows furrowed. “you okay?”

you nodded too fast. “yeah. totally. i’m… i’m fine!” almost sounding like you were trying to convince yourself.

he blinked at you, clearly not buying it.

you tried again, yanking at the strap with more force.

it slipped out of your fingers and snapped back. you froze, staring at it in pure disbelief as a feeling of embarrassment fills your chest.

michael’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“i hate these,” you muttered, avoiding eye contact with him.

what a good start, right?

that was enough to make him laugh softly, the sound warm and sweet, sounding like it belonged in your chest instead of the air.

he leaned closer. “here,” he said gently. “lemme help you.”

before you could protest, he kneeled himself down in front of you—your breath caught.

you didn’t know what to do with your face, or your hands… or your entire existence.

he reached for your skate carefully, his fingers warm as they brushed against your ankle. he didn’t rush nor act annoyed. he just focused, brows slightly furrowed in concentration, lips parted as if he was quietly thinking through it.

you sat there frozen, looking down at him like you’d been hypnotised. he tugged the strap gently, threading it through the buckle with ease.

click.

then he adjusted it again, tightening it just enough, not too much, making sure it sat comfortably. his hands gentle and precise.

your heart was pounding so hard you were genuinely worried he could hear it. michael glanced up for half a second, eyes meeting yours and you swear the world paused.

his expression softened instantly, like he’d just realised how close he was, how intimate it looked—him down there, you sitting above him, your legs angled toward him.

for a moment neither of you spoke.

soon, his eyes flicked away quickly, and he cleared his throat, pretending to focus again.

you could feel your face heating up as moved onto the second skate, repeating the same process. his fingers brushing your foot again, tightening the strap, checking the fit.

you sat completely still, afraid that if you moved even an inch, you’d explode.

once he finished, he gave the front of your skates two quick pats.

“all set,” he proclaimed, voice quiet but pleased, as if he’d accomplished something heroic.

you blinked. “you’re… really good at that.”

he shrugged slightly, smiling like he was trying to act casual, but there was something shy in it too.

“i’ve got my practice.”

you stared at him as he stood up, his movements smooth even in skates, like gravity personally favoured him. he reached out both hands toward you.

“come on,” he affirms. “i’ve got you.”

you hesitated—not because you didn’t want to but because the second your hands slid into his, your brain stopped functioning.

his hands were warm, steady, holding yours like it was nothing.

but it wasn’t nothing, not to you.

he pulled you up gently, helping you rise from the bench.

the second you stood :

oh.

oh no.

your ankles began wobbled instantly, the ground felt wrong—too slick. too fast.

you gasped softly, eyes widening as your feet slid out from under you.

“shit-, michael!”

before you could fully fall, his arms wrapped around you with superhero speed—secure and tight.

one arm around your waist, the other still holding your hand, pulling you close before you could hit the ground.

your body collided lightly against his chest as he kept you up right, safe in his arms.

your breath came out in a shaky rush, gripping onto his shirt without thinking—only focused to not make your ass make contact with the floor.

the music thumped around you, lights flashing, people skating past, but it all felt distant as if the entire rink had blurred into the background.

all you could focus on was him.

his face was close—too close.

you could see every detail of him : the softness of his expression, the way his eyelashes cast faint shadows under the rink lights, the little curve of his mouth as he tried to hide his smile.

“you good?” he asked tenderly, his voice low, almost teasing you.

you look around the rink to look occupied, unable to look him in the eye for more than a second.

“i-, yeah,” you stammered. “i just… i’m not used to skating.”

michael’s smile grew. he tightened his hold slightly, steadying you like it’s his life’s purpose to make sure you don’t fall to the ground again.

“yup,” he said taunts playfully, “i’ve definitely noticed.”

your face burned, lightly hitting his shoulder in retaliation.

“oh my god,” you whispered, mortified, as you trying hide your face into his shoulder to hide the blush adorning your face now. “this is so embarrassing.”

“it isn’t embarrassing,” he said quickly, like he didn’t want you to feel bad. he paused, his eyes flicking down to your hands still clutching him—his cheeks turned the faintest shade darker.

“…it’s kinda cute though.”

your head snapped up nearly immediately at that.

“what?”

michael’s eyes widened like he instantly regretted saying it out loud.

“n-no, nothing,” he said fast, clearing his throat, looking away.

you stared at him, stunned until you felt yourself smile, despite the absolute chaos happening inside your chest.

he looked back at you again, softer this time.

“come on,” he declares, squeezing your hands gently. “i’m not gonna let you fall.”

you hesitated, still shaky and flustered as you were painfully aware of how close he was, but when he started guiding you forward—slow, careful, patient you followed.

because somehow, with michael holding you like that the rink didn’t feel so scary anymore.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

as soon as your feet made contact with the slippery floor of the rink, you didn’t hesitate to grip onto michael again as you pull yourself flush against him and bury your face into his chest, like if you couldn’t see the rink you couldn’t get hurt.

michael’s chest vibrates under your head as he begins to laugh, peering down at you only to be met with the top of your head.

“hey, hey, hey. you’re fine, i told you, i’m not gonna letting you fall,” he whisper down to me comfortingly.

he guides us to the edge, his hands still steady on you like you were something delicate.

the music echoed around the rink, loud enough to make your heart beat in time with it, and the coloured lights flickered across the polished floor. people skating glided past in a blur—laughing, spinning, moving like they’d been born with wheels on their feet.

you, however, were one wrong move away from meeting the ground in the most humiliating way possible.

michael slowed down as you reached the side of the rink, letting you press closer to the barrier. you immediately reached for it with one hand, gripping it so tightly your knuckles almost turned white.

he glanced at you, amusement still lingering in his eyes.

“you’re holdin’ onto that wall like it owes you money,” he teased softly.

you lifted your head just enough to glare at him, though your expression didn’t hold for long.

“i don’t trust it,” you mumbled.

michael chuckled again, shaking his head. “you don’t trust the wall?”

“i dont trust… anything,” you corrected, looking down at your skates like they were personally plotting against you.

michael’s smile softened. he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping as if it was just for you.

“okay,” he starts, gentle. “we’re not gonna do anything crazy. jus’… little steps. that’s all.”

you nodded slowly, swallowing. michael stepped behind you, careful not to rush, his presence warm and close. you felt him shift, the air changing when he got nearer, suddenly your whole body aware of him.

he reached around you carefully, his hands hovering at your sides for a second—like he wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with it before he rested them lightly on your waist, helping you stay steady.

it wasn’t romantic, not really. but it was michael, and you were nervous, and your heart apparently didn’t know the difference.

“is this okay?” he asked quietly.

you nodded again, a little too fast. “yeah.”

“alright,” he said, sounding pleased. “now don’t look down at your feet.”

you immediately looked down at your feet.

michael let out a small laugh behind you. “you’re lookin’ down.”

“i can’t help it,” you muttered, voice small.

he leaned closer, his chin almost brushing your shoulder. “look forward,” he instructed.

you could feel the warmth of his breath when he talked against your neck. “if you look down, you’ll feel more scared. jus’ trust me.”

you hesitated before you slowly lifted your gaze to the rink ahead. the lights blurred slightly, the world seeming too wide and slippery. michael’s hands stayed firm on your waist, grounding you.

“okay,” he murmured. “now… bend your knees a little.”

you frowned,” why?”

“because if you stand straight, you’ll fall faster,” he explained.

“well, that’s… comforting,” you deadpanned.

michael laughed again, a real laugh this time. “okay but i’m serious. jus’ a little bend.”

you did as he said, knees shaking slightly.

“there you go,” he said softly. “now we’re gonna start with marching.”

“marching? didn’t realise this was military training.”

“mhm,” he hummed. “jus’ lift your feet up one at a time. small steps. like you’re walkin’.”

you tried before your right skate lifted a centimetre before it wobbled and slapped back down, causing you to stiffen instantly. michael’s hands tightened just a little, keeping you balanced.

“good,” he encouraged. “tha’s it. now do it again.”

you lifted the other foot, shaky but slightly better. your movements were slow and awkward, like a baby deer learning to walk. you continued to march forward a few steps, still clinging to the barrier with one hand.

“see?” michael said. “you’re doin’ it.”

you glanced back at him over your shoulder. “uh-huh, barely.”

“but you are,” he insisted, giving you a small smile. he gently nudged your hand away from the wall causing you to panic instantly.

“no, no, no. michael!-“

“hey,” he soothed quickly. “i’m right here. i’m not lettin’ go.”

your hand hovered in the air uselessly, fingers trembling as they wanted to grab the wall again.

michael’s voice lowered, calm and steady. “trust me, okay?”

you didn’t answer, but you didn’t grab the wall again either. his hands moved slightly, one staying at your waist while the other slid down to your forearm, guiding your arm forward.

“now, push off gently. just one foot, then glide.”

you stared ahead like the floor was about to swallow you whole. you pushed with one foot—suddenly you moved. it wasn’t much, barely a glide, but it was enough to make your stomach flip.

your body jolted forward and your arms flailed instinctively. michael reacted immediately, pressing closer behind you, his chest almost against your back now.

he steadied you with ease, voice right by your ear. “hey-hey, you’re okay. you’re fine,” he repeated.

you breathing came out uneven, managing another push, a little stronger this time causing you to glided again.

for a second… it actually felt kind of smooth.

you blinked, surprised, “oh.”

michael chuckled. “y’see? that’s glidin’.”

you gave a small, shaky laugh. “i’m literally terrified.”

“i know,” he said, but his tone was warm, almost proud. “but you’re still doin’ it.”

you continued, pushing gently, then gliding, pushing again with michael staying behind you the whole time, his hands guiding you with a softness that made you feel safe. you could mess up a hundred times and he still wouldn’t get annoyed.

every so often you’d wobble, and every time you did, he caught you before you could even fall, as though he’d already predicted it, like he’d memorised your balance before you even found it yourself.

after a few shaky minutes, you realised something. you weren’t clinging to him as tightly anymore, shoulders not as stiff. your feet still felt weird and nervous, but you weren’t completely helpless.

michel leaned slightly closer, voice low, “you’re getting better,” he urged.

you swallowed, cheeks warm. “i’m only better because you’re holding me.”

he hummed thoughtfully. “well… i can let go for a second if you want.”

you head whipped around, “no.”

michael burst out laughing, his laughter bright and boyish, echoing against the walls.

“you said you wanted to learn!” he teased.

“i do,” you insisted, flustered. “but I don’t want to get hospitalised either!”

“that’s not gonna happen,” he promised, still laughing.

you muttered, “that’s what they all say.”

michael shook his head, grin lingering, and guided you forward again.

“okay,” his voice gentler now. “we’ll go slow. just remember to keep your knees bent, keep your body relaxed, and let the skates do the work, yeah?”

as the music carried on around you, and the lights flickered above, you realised you were actually moving.

not gracefully.

not impressively.

but you were doing it.

and every time you started to slip, michael was right there behind you without fail, steady hands at your waist, keeping you upright like it was the easiest thing in the world.

you didn’t know what was more embarrassing ; the fact that you couldn’t skate, or the fact that being this close to him was making your heart act like it had never experienced a normal emotion before.

michael’s voice came again, soft against your ear, “you’re doin’ so good,” he whispered softly.

you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head, “i feel like a newborn giraffe.”

michael snorted. “a cute newborn giraffe.”

you both froze—a pause hanging in the air.

michael cleared his throat quickly, pretending nothing happened, tightened his grip just slightly as he guided you onward.

“okay,” he said, voice higher now, like he was trying to recover. “now we’re gonna try turnin’.”

your eyes widened in horror. “no, no, no, no,” you begged

“oh yes,” he said, laughing again. “c’mon. you got it, i know y’do.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

forty minutes had now gone by since michael taught you how to skate, and you were beginning to get the hang of it.

you obviously weren’t great… but you weren’t as bad as you were either.

“hey, i’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick. you gonna be okay?” michael asked as he approached behind you, placing his hands lightly on your waist as he moved his mouth close to your ear so you could hear him over the mixture of loud laughs from other skaters and the booming music from the speakers.

“yeah, i should be,” you reply as you look around you for any upcoming people on the rink.

“alright, i’ll be quick. i promise,” he said before gliding over to the exit of the rink.

you continued to, attempt, to glide, before suddenly a large figure appears in front of you abruptly—startling you.

in your attempt to stop to avoid crashing into them, you fall to the floor with a thud, a groan emitting out of you at the harsh clunk.

“shit, i’m so sorry. are you okay?” a deep voice enquired worriedly, immediately reaching out to you and helping you get up from the floor, holding onto your waist steadily and gliding you to the wall—out of everyone’s way.

“i think so…” you question yourself before gazing up at the boy in front of you, his eyes meeting yours with worry.

“i couldn’t stop and suddenly i was flying down the rink into you. i’m really sorry, it’s my first time skating,” he ranted profusely as he tries to explain himself.

you laugh lightly, “you’re alright, it’s my first time too.”

you both talked a little before deciding to skate side by side, holding onto each others arm when someone felt like they were going to fall.

michael comes out of the bathroom, wiping the remaining dampness of his hands onto his jeans. as his gaze scanned around the rink to find you, they landed on you… with him.

he slows, like his body forgets how to move for a second.

the boy is close, too close. leaning in as if he has the right, smiling down at you. you’re laughing at whatever he’s saying, gripping his sleeve when you almost slip.

michael’s fingers twitch at his side, something pressing down on his chest, heavy and uncomfortable, his jaw tightening without meaning to. he watches you stumble slightly, and the boy catching you immediately, hand wrapping around your waist for balance.

michael’s expression darkens. he doesn’t know why, he just knows he hates it.

without thinking, he steps onto the rink again, skates scraping against the slick flooring as he pushes forward. his movements are quick, direct, purposeful—like he’s on a mission. the closer he gets, the louder he can hear your laughter, and the worse that strange feeling in his chest becomes.

“michael!” you call, waving slightly.

the boy beside you glances over too, eyes bright with curiosity, like michael is just another background character in whatever moment he thinks he’s having with you.

michael reaches you in seconds, stopping sharply.

“hey,” you greet, still catching your breath. “i didn’t know you were back already.”

michael doesn’t look at you first, he looks at him. his gaze dropping to the boy’s arm where your fingers are still hooked. his eyes flick back up, cold and flat.

the boy, oblivious, grins. “oh, hey man. you’re her friend?”

michael’s grip tightens around the sides of his vest. his mouth twitches, almost like he wants to smile… but it doesn’t happen. instead, he turns to you.

“our hour’s nearly up,” he tells you, voice calm, but edged with something sharp underneath. “we should go.”

you blink. “what? already?”

michael nods once as if the decision has been made by someone more important than both of you.

“yeah.”

the boy chuckles lightly. “damn, time flies. i was just helping her out. she’s actually really good.”

you scoff, playfully. “i am not. i almost ate floor like three times.”

michael’s eyes flick to the boy again. “yet you’re still standing,” he mutters.

the boy laughs again, pushing a hand through his hair. “i’m ethan, by the way.” he guides his attention back toward you, still smiling like he’s got confidence spilling out of his pockets. “you should give me your number. we could come skating again sometime.”

you hesitate, your lips parting like you might actually consider it until michael moves before you even get the chance.

he steps closer, just enough that he’s suddenly between you and ethan, like a wall you didn’t ask for.

“she’s okay,” he glares.

ethan’s smile falters slightly, eyes flicking between you and michael. “uh… alright. i was only asking.”

michael doesn’t respond or explain. he simply reaches for your wrist—firm but not rough and gently tugs at it.

“come on.”

you stumble forward slightly, caught off guard, skates scraping. “michael, wait.”

you glance back at ethan, offering him an awkward, apologetic look. “‘m sorry. it was nice meeting you.”

ethan gives you a small wave, still confused. “yeah… you too.”

michael doesn’t even look back, he just guides you toward the edge of the rink, jaw locked like he’s biting down on something. the second you reach the side and step off, you yank your hand out of his grip.

“what the hell was that?” you snap as you glare at him.

michael turns toward you, blinking as if he forgot you could talk back.

“what was what?”

“oh my God.” You throw your hands up. “don’t play dumb. you literally shut him down like he was some kind of threat.”

michael exhales through his nose, almost scoffing, but it doesn’t sound amused, more irritated.

“i didn’t shut him down.”

“you absolutely did.” you point back toward the rink. “he asked for my number and you cut him off, answering for me.”

michael shrugs, acting casual, but his shoulders are stiff. “so?”

“so?” you repeat, incredulous. “michael, that was so rude.”

his eyes flicker for a second—something unreadable passing through them before he looks away, jaw tightening again.

“he didn’t need your number.”

you stare at him. “and why do you get to decide that?”

michael’s lips part slightly before closing again. he didn’t have an answer that doesn’t sound insane, because the truth is, he doesn’t even know why his body reacted like that. he doesn’t know why seeing you smiling at someone else made his stomach twist, why watching you cling to ethan’s arm felt like someone had grabbed him by the ribs and squeezed.

it was something sour and unfamiliar.

he drags a hand down his face, frustrated with himself more than anyone. “i just… he was annoying.”

you narrow your eyes. “he was being nice.”

michael lets out a humourless laugh. “uh-huh. nice.”

you cross your arms, still glaring at him. “you’re acting weird.”

“am not.”

“you are.”

michael meets your eyes again and for a second, his expression softens, like something in him flickers. a tiny crack in the coldness.

he looks away again, hating the fact he’s even being confronted.

“i… just wanna go,” he mutters.

you don’t budge. “you could’ve just let me handle it.”

michael’s throat bobs as he swallows. he thinks back about the way you were laughing, the way you looked at ethan like you actually enjoyed being around him, and how ethan’s hand touched your waist so easily like it belonged there.

his voice comes out lower this time, more controlled. “i didn’t want him bothering you.”

you blink, thrown off slightly. “bothering me? i wasn’t bothered.”

michael’s eyes flick back to yours, something almost restless in them that he’s trying to shove down.

“well,” he mutters, “i was.”

the words slip out before he can stop them with a beat of silence following it.

you stare at him, confusion swirling across your face. “you were… bothered?”

michael’s whole body goes tense when he realises what he just admitted, even if it doesn’t fully make sense. his pride kicks in immediately, like an alarm going off in his head.

he clears his throat and steps back slightly, shaking his head. “forget it.”

you tilt your head, studying him now, your anger fading into something more curious but michael refuses to meet your eyes. if he does, he might see something there that makes it harder to pretend—harder to lie to himself.

he doesn’t understand why his chest feels tight. why his skin feels too warm under his coat. why the thought of you giving your number to some random guy makes his stomach churn.

he’d never cared before.

so why now?

why you?

michael’s grabs his shoes out of the locker and shoves them into his hands, voice clipped. “come on. let’s go.”

you hesitate, still looking at him like you’re trying to figure him out before you sigh and start untying your skates.

michael turns away, pretending to focus on his own laces, but his mind is spinning. he keeps replaying the image of you with ethan, laughing, holding onto him.

and the worst part?

it isn’t the boy.

it’s the fact you looked happy—and not with him.

he swallows hard, staring down at his skates, brows furrowed like he’s angry at the rink itself because he doesn’t know what this feeling is.

but he knows he doesn’t want to feel it again.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

yous both walk out in silence, not meeting each other’s eyes. your arms were crossed in front of you in a huff at his outburst.

he eventually breaks the silence, “look, i’m sorry okay? i am.”

you glance at him as he’s looking forward. you notice something deep in his eyes, yet you couldn’t place a finger on it.

annoyance?

sadness?

confusion?

you couldn’t tell, but something was there.

your eyebrows furrow at the saddened look appearing across his face—his features, usually gentle and elated now appeared gloomy.

“it’s okay, michael.” you speak, placing your hand delicately on his arm as you look at him with a small smile in an attempt to comfort him.

“i know you, i know you didn’t mean that to hurt anyone.”

he glanced down at you, embarrassed.

“i don’t know what happened, i just… i didn’t like him.”

you give him a half smile before removing you hands from your arm.

the loss of your warm touch left him almost… disappointed? like he wanted you to keep it there forever.

michael continued to stand in silence as yous waited for one of his drivers to pick yous up around the back of the building.

he kept thinking back to the feeling he felt when he say you and ethan together.

it wasn’t a feeling he encountered usually, let alone at all. so it left him wondering, what was so different about you to that you had such of an effect on him in there.

“i enjoy myself today,” you say, looking down at the pavement before playfully nudging yourself into his side to try cheer him up.

“yeah, me too… you still suck at skating though,” he teases to lighten the mood.

“well, you were the teacher so maybe it’s a you thing,” you wink back at him, earning his signature laugh.

(sry idk how to end this but im sure u get the gist😛.)

tags : @wondergotham @kietourhrt @xxxercess @ceeriusly-dumb @melynex @sscrumertt @lov3lylxvender @darkgreengrl @frangiipanii @starliqhtsworld @izluvsyou

! part 1 🤍🪽

[xffthewall]

somewhere in encino ᯽ ݁ ˖

𑣲⋆ summary : you go on a walk to clear your head, happening to run into a boy with the same idea as you, an unexpected bond growing between yous.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jackson five era // pre-off the wall michael jackson x reader

a/n : wrote this at 1am so if it’s cheeks just bare w me i’ll fix it tmr ok. also this is longer than usual so enjoy ig👐🏽

“that’s not a real job.”

“there’s better things to do with your life.”

“you know you have the abilities and intelligence to do something better.”

you’d heard enough.

constant snarky comments thrown at you left, right and centre from your parents purely because you see a future in fashion—what’s so wrong with that?

walking out the front door with a loud slam echoing behind you, you drag your feet down the driveway and into the streets.

did you know where you were going?

no.

but just as long as it was away from your parents, it was good enough for you.

the evening air felt warm but not heavy, the kind of summer night that didn’t want to end. you wandered down the quiet streets of the encino, your steps slow and steady—taking your time to stall the time of your arrival back home.

the houses around you were big, tucked behind trimmed hedges and fancy gates, but still somehow felt lived-in. soft yellow lights glowed from windows, and through a few half-open curtains you could catch little pieces of people’s lives—families gathered around dinner tables, someone leaning over a sink washing dishes, a kid running past with a blur of energy. it was calm in that oddly perfect way, like the whole street was holding its breath.

the trees lining the sidewalk stretched tall and wide, their leaves swaying gently above you like they were whispering secrets to each other. the streetlights flickered on one by one as night approached, washing the pavement in a golden glow and making everything look softer, almost dreamy.

the air smelled expensive, like fresh-cut grass and clean concrete and maybe someone’s flowers blooming behind a fence.

you kept walking, listening to the quiet, until a sudden scurry made you pause. a squirrel darted across the sidewalk like it was late for an appointment, its tiny claws tapping against the pavement before it disappeared up a tree. you watch it, amused, letting out a small laugh without meaning to, watching it disappear into the branches like it owned the place.

abruptly, your gaze is diverted to a figure now beside of you, one you hadn’t seen before now—almost as if he appeared out of no where.

you snapped back in shock, clutching your heart in recovery. staring at him—trying to make sense of what’s just popped up in front on you.

he looked like someone you wouldn’t normally see wandering around this neighbourhood so late, not in a suspicious way but more like he didn’t quite belong in the stillness of it.

he was slim and a taller than you expected, dressed casually in faded blue jeans that sat low on his hips and a soft, a slightly oversized cardigan that hung open at the front and underneath it he wore a plain cotton shirt, nothing flashy, like he’d gone out of his way to look normal. the cardigan sleeves were pushed up to his elbows.

when the streetlight hit his face properly, you couldn’t help staring. his afro was full and perfectly shaped, thick curls framing his face like a halo, his beautiful, dark skin glowing warm under the light. his eyes dark and wide, almost like a deer, with long lashes that made him look softer than any stranger had a right to.

“o-oh, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to startle you, i was just looking at the squirrel,” a soft voice apologises.

“no, no. you’re fine, i just… didn’t see you there,” you laugh, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck.

both of yous look back up to the squirrel, who no longer can be seen—assuming it hid someone beneath the bushes of leaves.

“i-i like your dress,” he murmurs, delivering it quieter than he intended to—fiddling with the hem of his cardigan, holding eye contact with the floor.

you smile, looking down at your dress—a light yellow babydoll dress with a soft, floaty skirt that bounced when you walked. the sleeves short and puffy all in a buttery fabric which was highlighted further in the soft street lights surrounding yous.

“thank you, i made it myself,” you add, your voice soft but proud as you give him a small twirl.

his head lifts slightly at that, like you’d just said something way more interesting than a compliment deserved. the streetlight above catches his face properly now, and you finally get a clearer look at him. his afro is full and neat, like he’d spent time picking it out carefully, and his features are gentle—almost too gentle for someone who looked like he should be more intimidating standing alone at night. and then there was his smile. it wasn’t big or flashy, just small and shy, like he didn’t use it often unless he meant it.

“you… made it?” he repeats, sounding genuinely surprised. “that’s really cool.”

“yeah,” you shrug, suddenly feeling weirdly bashful. “i just like doing stuff like that.”

he nods slowly, his hands still fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie as though he didn’t know what to do with them. there was something nervous about him, but not in an awkward way—more like he was scared of taking up too much space, trying to make himself smaller.

“it suits you,” he says quietly, then pauses like he’s debating whether he should keep talking at all.

“you’re out pretty late,” he acknowledges.

you hum, glancing down the empty street before looking back at him. “i guess, i just… needed air.”

his eyes flicker over you for a moment, like he could tell that wasn’t the full story. not in a nosy way—more in a ‘i understand’ kind of way.

“bad day?” he asks tenderly, his voice careful.

you let out a small laugh, but it doesn’t sound funny. “more like bad parents.”

his eyebrows lift, just a little, and he tilts his head.

“bad parents?”

you hesitate, because it felt ridiculous saying it out loud to a stranger. but for some reason, it didn’t feel hard to talk to him. he looked at you like he wasn’t judging, like he was actually listening.

“they don’t think what i want to do is serious,” you admit, staring at the pavement.

“they keep saying it’s ‘not a real job’. that i’m ‘wasting my time’. how it’s ’just a hobby, not a career’, that i’m ‘too smart to be doing… something like fashion’.”

his expression shifts instantly—like something about that hit a nerve. his lips part slightly, and his eyes soften, almost sad.

he takes a long breath through his nose, and for a second he looks away, staring at the street like he was thinking of something personal.

“that’s… not fair,” he says finally, his voice quieter now.

“they don’t get it,” you mutter. “they act like having aspirations is embarrassing.”

he shakes his head slowly, curls bouncing a little with the movement.

“dreaming isn’t embarrassing,” he says, almost like he’s correcting you. “it’s important.”

he looks at you again, properly—his eyes catching the light of the street and moon. they were dark and warm, like he carried a lot more emotion than he let on.

“if you can make something like that dress,” he gestures vaguely toward you, “then… you’re already doing it. you’re already being what you wanna be.”

your throat tightens a little, and you blink, caught off guard by how comforting it sounded coming from someone you’d met two minutes ago.

you give him a small smile, “you sound like you’ve had to tell yourself that before.”

his face freezes for a second—in such a way that you’d accidentally read him too well. his lips curl into a shy grin and he lets out a soft breathy laugh, almost embarrassed.

“…maybe,” he admits quietly with an exhale.

there’s a pause, the street seeming quieter than before. the trees sway above you both, and somewhere down the road a car passes slowly, the headlights gliding over the pavement like a wave.

he glances at you again, like he’s trying to decide something.

“i’m michael,” he says after a moment, holding out his hand.

you blink at it, then take it. his hand is warm, gentle—his grip careful like he’s afraid of squeezing too hard.

“i’m y/n,” you reply.

“y/n,” he repeats.

it’s strange how softly he says it, like he’s testing how it sounds—reflecting that he likes it.

he lets go of your hand, the silence returning, but this time it isn’t awkward.

“so,” michael starts, rocking slightly on his feet. “do you… go on walks a lot?”

you shrug. “not usually. only when i’m trying not to cry in front of my parents or need space that’s not my bedroom.”

his eyes widen slightly until he looks down again, lips pressing together like he’s holding back a reaction.

“…yeah,” he says quietly. “i get that.”

you tilt your head. “you do?”

he nods, slowly. “sometimes i walk around here too,” he admits, almost like it’s a secret. “just… to get away. to feel normal.”

you squint a little, studying him again. “you live around here?”

“sort of,” he says—the way he answers is vague, like he’s used to hiding details.

“i just like being outside when it’s quiet.”

you smile a little, glancing up at the streetlights. “same.”

michael’s gaze lifts to the sky, and for the first time, he looks genuinely peaceful.

“it’s nicer when nobody’s watching,” he murmurs.

you don’t know why, but something about the way he says it makes your chest ache.

“who’s watching?”

“oh- uh, i perform sometimes…”

he briefly pauses, continuing with a sigh, “a lot. too much.”

“you sing?”

“i mean yeah, since i was really young.”

“alright, give us a sample,” you egg on, offering him a wide grin—your eyes crinkling in the corners, excited to hear him.

“o-oh… no, i can’t,” he smiles timidly down to the pavements, nervousness evident in his gentle voice.

chuckling, you lightly shove his shoulder, nudging him. “i’m only joking, i don’t expect anything. especially if you came out here to escape it.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

an hour had now passed, multiple laps of the neighbourhood taken and numerous conversations exchanged—varying from hobbies, family troubles and future aspirations.

“i really do hope you make it, michael,” you gaze up at him, his eyes meeting with yours with a soft glow to them—almost magnetic.

for a moment, he doesn’t speak. not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because it landed heavier than he expected.

the streetlights above casts a dim glow over his face, softening the sharpness in his expression.

he lets out a breath, almost a that of laugh, quietly.

“yeah,” he murmurs, nodding slightly. “me too.”

his hands shift in his pockets as he keeps walking, his pace slowing as if he’s trying to stretch the moment out, even if he doesn’t fully realise it.

“it’s weird,” he says after a pause. “i talk about it in my head all the time, but actually saying it out loud makes it feel… risky.”

you hum in agreement, the pavement crunching faintly under your shoes.

“but it’s… also kinda freeing,” you add.

michael glances sideways at you, his lips twitching as though he’s trying not to smile.

“yeah.”

there’s a small silence after that—not awkward silence, just the kind that settles when two people have already said enough to understand each other.

michael looks ahead again.

“you really think you’d be good at it?” he asks. “the whole fashion thing, i mean.”

you scoff, almost offended as you playfully glare at him.

“obviously.”

he laughs properly this time, shaking his head.

his laugh made everything around us drown out—time freezing. hearing his laugh felt almost euphoric somehow.

addictive.

“that’s fair. that was a stupid question.”

you bump his arm lightly with your shoulder as you walk, not enough to make him stumble, just enough to make your point.

“it’s not stupid,” you say. “i just… i don’t want to stay stuck. i don’t want my whole life to be small. and i don’t want to prove my parents right.”

michael’s smile fades into something more thoughtful. he nods slowly, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“yeah,” he says. “that’s the exact feeling.”

the two of you reach the corner of the neighbourhood where the houses start to thin out, the road stretching into a quieter lane. the air feels colder here, sharper, and the wind brushes past as if reminding you how late it’s getting.

“my parents are gonna start acting dramatic if i don’t show up soon,” he mutters, rolling his eyes slightly.

you laugh under your breath.

“they seem… intense. especially your father.”

“that’s definitely one word for it.” he pauses, then adds, “they’re not bad people. they just think everything that i do and achieve belongs to them too.”

you glance at him again, your expression softening.

“must be exhausting.”

he shrugs, but it isn’t convincing.

“it is. but…” he hesitates. “i’m tired of pretending i’m fine with it.”

a quiet beat passes.

he turns his head, meeting your eyes again.

“thank you,” he says simply. “for listening. most people just tell me i’m being ungrateful.”

you blink, caught off guard by how honest it sounds.

“well,” you reply, “they’re wrong.”

michael exhales through his nose, his shoulders relaxing as though the words loosened something in him.

“i’m glad i met you,” he says, casual, almost too casual, as if he’s trying to make it sound like nothing.

but it doesn’t—not to you.

you look away quickly, pretending to focus on the road.

“yeah,” you say, voice light. “me too.”

the two of you keep walking, the night settling deeper around the neighbourhood but somehow the air doesn’t feel as cold anymore.

however, your body doesn’t know that.

abruptly, your whole body jolts in a shiver from the cold air regarding the fact you’re in a dress in the night breeze. you tense in an attempt to keep warm, crossing your arms and placing your hands beneath your armpits.

this doesn’t go unnoticed by michael—staring down at you with worry showcased on his features.

without asking nor hesitation, he begins to remove the fleecy cardigan he had around him at placed it gently over your shoulders—adjusting it to make sure it covered your arms.

his fingers grazed your bare arm lightly in doing so, followed a chill running up your spine, but this time it wasn’t from the night’s cold air.

rubbing it off, you peer up at him, a tiny, appreciative smile delivered to him.

“you didn’t have to.”

“but i wanted to.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the streets had long since quietened, the neighbourhood settling into its usual night-time stillness. lights from the passing houses glowed dimly behind curtains, and the distant hum of the nearby motorway carried through the cold air.

two hours. two full hours of walking and talking and laughing, circling roads neither of you even cared to memorise, because the destination had stopped mattering a long time ago—only worry about each other and what to talk about next.

and then, finally, your house appeared.

your house.

the one you’d spent half your life desperate to escape from, yet tonight it stood there almost mocking you, because it meant this was the end.

at the gate, your fingers tightening around the edges of the cardigan around you. the windows were dark, but you knew that didn’t mean anything. your parents could sense your freedom from a mile away.

michael stopped beside you, hands in his pockets again, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. he looked up at your house, then back down at you—neither of you spoke.

it was a strange kind of silence. not awkward or empty, just more reluctant.

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry.

“well,” you said, forcing out a laugh that didn’t quite sound like you. “this is me.”

michael nodded once, slowly, as if he didn’t believe it.

“yeah,” he murmured. “figured.”

your eyes met his, the moment holding longer than it should’ve. the streetlight above painted his features in soft gold, catching in his eyes and making them look warmer than they had any right to.

you shifted uncomfortably, suddenly aware of how close he was, his features now noticable—his full lips, the random pimples on his cheeks and forehead that stood nothing against the beauty of his appearance, his nose that slightly widened when he would smile…

“i don’t want it to end,” you admitted, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “this.”

michael’s gaze flickered, something in him tightening at your words. his jaw clenched, not out of anger—out of restraint. as if he was holding back a thousand things he could say, and choosing only one.

he stepped half a pace closer, just enough for you to feel the heat of him in the cold air.

“let me see you again.”

his words weren’t rushed, not nervous. only soft, but firm, almost commanding yet not arrogantly—more in a ‘i’ve decided this and it’s happening’ way.

your heart stuttered, lips parting slightly as if your body needed a second to catch up with your brain.

you blinked.

michael lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little less composed.

“sorry,” he said quickly, voice lower. “that sounded intense.”

“it didn’t,” you reply, maybe a little too fast.

“it didn’t sound intense.”

he studied you for a second, searching your face as if trying to figure out whether you were lying. his mouth twitched.

“okay,” he whispers to himself. “good.”

a breath escaped you, half laugh, half disbelief.

“but… how?” you asked, glancing down the street. “i don’t even know your number.”

michael’s eyebrows raised slightly, and he looked at you as if you’d asked the stupidest question he’d ever heard.

“then give me yours.”

the confidence in his tone made your stomach flip.

you opened your mouth to answer but interrupted by the echoing sound of the front door of your house swinging open.

a bright hallway light spilled out into the night, blinding after the dim streetlamps, a voice followed immediately.

“where were you?!”

your entire body tensed at the voice.

your mother’s silhouette stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly. your father appeared behind her, his face already set in that familiar look of irritation—one that always made you feel twelve years old again.

“you can’t just leave like that!” your mother snapped.

“you didn’t even say where you were going!” your dad added, louder, as if volume made his point more valid.

your stomach dropped, dread crawling up your spine, then you looked back at michael.

and suddenly, none of it mattered.

their voices were distant, blurred into background noise. the only thing that felt real was him standing there, waiting, his expression unreadable but steady.

you took a step back toward the door.

“sorry!” you called quickly, not even meeting your parents’ eyes.

“i’ll explain in a second!”

your mum’s face tightened. “no, you’ll explain now.”

your dad pointed down the hallway. “inside. now.”

you didn’t answer. instead, you turned sharply and bolted inside.

the warmth hit you instantly, but it didn’t comfort you. the house felt suffocating compared to the open air outside. your feet flew across the floor as your parents’ voices rose behind you.

“are you joking?!”

“what is wrong with you?!”

you didn’t care. you hands were already searching the kitchen drawer—moving too fast, too frantic, until your fingers closed around a pen. you gripped it like it was the most important thing you’d ever held.

“don’t run off like that!” your mother shouted, following you into the kitchen. “you think you can just-“

you spun around. “i’ll talk to you later,” you said, breathless.

your mother’s mouth dropped open.

“what did you just say to me?”

but you were already moving.

back through the hallway, past the living room, past the framed family photos that suddenly looked fake and staged and nothing like real life.

you threw the front door open, the cold air slapped your face again—michael still there.

still waiting.

for you.

his hands were in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense, but his eyes lifted the second he saw you—something softening in his expression.

you ran down the path without thinking, straight to him.

he barely had time to react before you reached out and grabbed his hand, tugging it free from his pocket. His palm was warm against your freezing fingers, his hand larger than yours, steady and solid.

his eyes widened slightly, “whoa-“

“give me your hand,” you said quickly.

michael’s lips parted, caught between confusion and amusement.

“my hand is already given,” he argued, but he didn’t pull away.

you rolled your eyes, breathless, and uncapped the pen with your teeth. your fingers trembling as you pressed the tip to his skin.

he stared down at you, the streetlight catching the curve of his cheekbone.

“you’re vandalising me,” he said, half laughing.

“obviously,” you whispered, concentrating.

you wrote your number carefully across the palm of his hand, the ink dark against his skin. it wasn’t perfect—your handwriting slightly shaky, but it was readable. proof that tonight wasn’t something you’d imagined.

when you finished, you capped the pen again and looked up at him.

he was watching you in a way that made your chest tighten.

not hungry or flirty—fascinated. as if he’d found something rare by accident.

“call me tonight,” you whisper gently.

michael’s eyebrows lifted, “tonight?”

“yes,” you replied, almost daring him to say no.

his gaze dropped briefly to the number on his hand. he looked back at you, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“i was going to anyway.”

and without overthinking it—without giving fear the chance to ruin it, you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, his warm skin making contact with your lips.

a faint smell of cold air and aftershave and something uniquely him hit your senses.

when you pulled back, michael stood completely still.

frozen.

his eyes flicked to yours, expression unreadable for a beat. he blinked, his lips parting in a quiet exhale.

“…huh,” he breathed out softly, a small smirk looking down at you.

you smiled, small and quick, as if you were scared the moment might shatter if you held it too long.

“goodnight, michael.”

he watched you, his hand still slightly raised, your number fresh on his skin.

“g‘night,” he replied, still looking at you—an expression with confusion, shock and amusement.

you turned and ran back up the path before you could second guess yourself, before your heart could talk you out of everything.

behind you, you could feel his eyes following you until the door shut.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

your parents were waiting the second you stepped inside.

“care to explain?” your mother snapped, stood with the iconic arms crossed, leant hip.

your dad didn’t speak, but his disappointment filled the hallway like poisonous smoke.

you didn’t answer properly, mumbling something about “walking” and “losing track of time” and “i’m sorry”, but the words felt meaningless.

your mind was already outside again.

already back under the streetlight, replaying the way michael’s voice sounded when he said ‘let me see you again’.

you managed to escape to your room the first chance you got, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it as if you’d just survived something—heart still racing.

you looked down at your hands, as if you expected to see his number there too.

instead, there was nothing.

only the faint warmth where his skin had touched yours.

you crossed the room and collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, the pen still in your pocket.

suddenly, the phone began to ring. your breath caught—freezing.

you grabbed it so fast it nearly slipped out of your hands, your stomach flipping violently.

for a second you just stared at it—frozen, hovering, but not moving it next to your ear.

then you answered.

“hello?”

a pause hung in the air before a voice echoed through the receiver—soft and familiar

“hey there,” michael said.

the way he said it made your chest tighten, as if he’d spoken directly into your ribs.

you smiled into your pillow, trying to hide it from nobody.

“you did call.”

“of course i did,” he replied, and you could hear the faint grin in his tone. “you thought i wouldn’t?”

you rolled onto your back, staring at the dark ceiling, your room suddenly feeling different—less lonely.

“i didn’t know what to think,” you admitted.

michael exhaled, and you could picture him somewhere—maybe in his bedroom, holding his phone with that same calm grip he had on everything else.

“well,” he said, “i called.”

a beat of silence.

you asked quietly, “did i get you in trouble?”

michael laughed under his breath.

“not yet. my mother asked why i was late and i said i got kidnapped.”

you snorted, “and she believed you?”

“no,” he chuckled. “she told me to stop being dramatic. which is rich coming from her.”

you laughed again, the sound coming easier now, and for the first time that night, your shoulders relaxed.

a comfortable silence settled between you—his breathing flowing down the phone, gentle exhales every so often.

then he spoke again, quieter.

“your parents seemed… intense.”

an inaudible sigh escapes your lungs.

“yeah,” you muttered, looking g down at your bed covers under you. “told you so.”

michael didn’t push. he didn’t ask you to explain. he just let the silence sit, as if he understood that some things weren’t ready to be spoken yet.

“your house looked nice.”

you scoffed.

“it’s a prison with fancy wallpaper.”

michael chuckled before another pause occurred.

“i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” you replied, though your voice softened. “i’m used to it.”

he went quiet again.

“you’re not meant to get used to that.”

your throat tightened at the sincerity in his voice, laying your head into your pillow, staring at the wall now, blinking slowly.

“you sound like you care,” you said lightly, trying to tease the seriousness away.

“i do care,” michael replied instantaneously.

zero hesitation, no awkward backtracking—only honesty.

your heart did that stupid thing again, skipping ahead of itself.

“thank you.”

his voice dropped, quieter, gentler.

“i keep thinking about when you kissed my cheek.”

your stomach dropped.

“oh my god,” you whispered, embarrassed, bringing your empty hand up to cover your face in embarrassment. “don’t.”

he laughed softly, “i’m serious, i didn’t expect it.”

“you looked shocked,” you muttered.

“i was,” he admitted. “you just- you did it so confidently. no thoughts, only action.”

you buried your face deeper into your hand.

“i wasn’t confident,” you said, voice muffled. “i was panicking.”

“that’s terrifying. you panic and become fearless.”

you smiled again at his banter, cheeks aching.

“stop,” you groan with a smile.

you didn’t want him to stop.

“i’m not stopping,” he replied.

you could hear the smile in his voice, and it made your heart feel full in a way you weren’t used to.

the conversation kept going with minutes turned into hours.

you talked about nothing and everything—music, his family, the way he hated being treated like a background character in his own life.

you told him about fashion again, about your sketches, about the dream you kept tucked away in the back of your mind because it felt too fragile to say out loud.

he listened.

like it mattered.

he tried to make jokes when he noticed your voice got too heavy.

he went quiet when you needed him to.

at some point, you ended up lying on your back with your phone resting next to your head on the pillow, staring at the shadows on your ceiling.

“you still awake?” you heard michael’s voice faintly ask through the neighbouring phone.

“mhm.”

“good.”

you smiled slightly at that.

“why?”

another pause—almost hesitant.

he speaks, quieter than before :

“because i don’t want to stop talking to you.”

your breath caught, flustered at the bluntness of it.

outside your window, the night stretched on, calm and endless. the world felt asleep as if it had given you both permission to exist in your own little space for a while.

you swallowed, voice barely above a whisper.

“me neither.”

you heard michael exhaled softly, almost relieved, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel trapped.

not by your house, by your parents, not by your own fears.

because somewhere on the other end of the line, michael was there—his voice low, steady, and present.

as the hours slipped by, you realised something quietly terrifying.

this wasn’t just a random meeting.

this was the kind of night you’d remember, the kind that changed things, even if neither of you was brave enough to admit it yet.

you stare over at the cardigan hanging off the chair in the corner of your room, feeling it’s strong gaze beaming at you.

his cardigan.

you smile down at yourself, memories from tonight flooding your brain.

and you soon hope to make more.

tags : @wondergotham @kietourhrt @xxxerces @ceeriusly-dumb @melynex @sscrumertt @lov3lylxvender @darkgreengrl @frangiipanii

[xffthewall]

currently whipping up a strangers to friends to lovers story w 70s michael heehehe

[xffthewall]

between takes II — ✦ ݁ ˖

𑣲⋆ summary : two weeks have now passed since your first day, your friendship is blooming with jaafar more with the passing days… but so is something else.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jaafar jackson x makeup artist!reader

a/n : guys should i make this into a slow burn im a sucker for slow burns.

two weeks had somehow managed to fly by in the blink of an eye—two weeks of you and jaafar, two weeks of early call times, half-drunk iced coffees, and the kind of routine that somehow made all the chaos feel normal.

two weeks of him walking into the makeup trailer as if he owned the place, but still pausing for half a second at the door almost like he wasn’t sure what version of himself he was meant to be that day.

two weeks of you learning little things—how he always tapped his fingers against his thigh when he was nervous like his body couldn’t hold still even when he forced his face to. or how he’d pretend he didn’t care what you did with the makeup, but the second you reached for a certain palette, he’d go :

“not that one, that one makes me look like I’ve been crying.”

you would blink.

“it’s… bronzer?”

“well, it’s a very emotional bronzer,” he’d argue seriously.

the first time he said it, you laughed out loud—a real laugh. not the polite “ha-ha” you wouldv’e gave to crew members when they made jokes you didn’t quite understand.

a real laugh.

he looked up at you like he’d won something, and that, it became a thing.

every morning, he’d sit down in the chair, sigh dramatically, and go :

“do your worst.”

you’d respond without even looking up, “i always do.”

jaafar stares at his reflection, squinting.

he questions, “a threat?”

“a promise,” you’d retaliate playfully with a smile small you tried your best to refrain.

that iconic grin would adorn his face, and you’d pretend you didn’t notice how much that grin changed his whole face.

it wasn’t even flirting.

not really.

it was just… something.

it was weird energy that hovered between you two like static.

like if either of you moved too fast, you’d get shocked.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

whilst rummaging around the chaotic tower of beauty blenders, opened foundations, and assaulted eye-shadow palletes, you accidentally dropped your powder, landing right in the middle of his legs like it had planned it.

you both froze, staring down at the white splatter of the powder now painting his clothes.

jaafar stared down at it like it was an alien life form, touching it carefully with two fingers, insepecting it, and muttered whilst looking at you through squinted, interrogating eyes :

“…is this a hate crime?”

you slapped a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from laughing.

“oh shit,” you choked, “i’m so sorry-“

he held his fingers up to you, the white substance covering them, like evidence.

“this is assault.”

“it’s only powder!”

“a powdered weapon.”

you tried brushing it off of him, cheeks burning, while he leaned back in the chair with the most satisfied expression, like he’d just made your entire day.

after that, you started noticing how often he tried to make you laugh.

not in a loud, obnoxious way that would psychically pain people.

not in a “look at me” way.

just little comments. little glances. little moments where his eyes would flick to you like he was checking if you were smiling.

and the worst part?

you were.

sometimes you’d catch him staring while you worked—his gaze following your hands, your brushes, your movements like he was studying you the way you studied his face.

yet once you looked up, he’d look away.

like nothing happened.

like he wasn’t doing that.

the crew was starting to recognize you as a pair too, which was… annoying.

one of the hairstylists had leaned over you last week and whispered, “he only sits still for you.”

you’d scoffed. “that’s not true, sometimes i have to scold him as if he was a toddler to actually comply.”

and, as if on cue, jaafar had immediately shifted in his chair.

you’d placed your hand lightly on his cheek, guiding his face back to center.

“hold still.”

and still he was.

obedient.

the hairstylist raised her eyebrows at you like ‘see?’

you tried not to think about it—trying not to think about the fact that he listened to you in a way he didn’t listen to anyone else—trying not to think about the way his eyes softened when you said his name.

how, the other day, he’d shown up looking exhausted—hoodie up, sunglasses on—even though you were indoors.

“long night?”

he’d shrug.

“survived.”

for once, the joke didn’t land the way he wanted it to—because there was something behind his voice. something heavy.

you paused with the concealer in your hand, studying him.

“you okay?” you enquired, slight concern evident in your voice.

this was the first time you’d seen him in this certain state—and for some reason, you were worried.

jaafar stared at you through the mirror for a moment. then, he nodded.

“yeah,” he whispered quietly, like he was trying to convince himself.

“i’m okay.”

but his fingers were still tapping against his thigh—his body didn’t believe him.

after that, you started noticing the nervous moments more.

the way he’d get quiet before cameras started rolling.

the way he’d stand a little too straight when directors and producers walked into the room, like he was trying to be perfect in a way nobody asked him to be.

the way he’d roll his shoulders back and take a breath before stepping onto set— as though he was bracing himself for impact.

and every time, you wanted to say something. but you didn’t know what.

because you were just his makeup artist.

right?

just the girl who blended his contour and fixed the shine on his forehead.

just the girl who kept his face camera ready.

so why did it feel like you were holding something else together too?

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

today was quieter.

the trailer was warm, the lights blinding and bright, the airs familiar smell of setting spray and coffee.

jaafar sat down in the chair with a slow exhale, leaning back much like his bones were tired.

“morning,” you smile, reaching for your brushes.

he hummed. “mornin’.”

not dramatic. not teasing.

just… calm and almost robotic—emotionless.

but somehow that was worse.

you started with primer, smoothing it over his skin with gentle fingers, trying to ignore the fact that his face was familiar now—too familiar.

you had practically learned the shape of his cheekbones like muscle memory, learned the way his eyebrows lifted when he was amused, learned the little scar from his childhood near his hairline that foundation never fully hid.

you picked up your sponge and tapped under his eye, blending carefully.

jaafar was unusually still.

glancing up at him you noticed he wasn’t looking at himself in the mirror.

he was looking at you.

as if you were the only thing in the room.

you cleared your throat and forced yourself to look back down at your palette—trying to ignore the booming thuds of your heart which echoed in your head that, no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t ignore.

“stop staring, weirdo,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood in an attempt to distract you from the nervous feeling filling your veins.

“i’m not staring.”

“yes you are.”

“i’m observing… observing your way of work.”

you rolled your eyes.

“that’s literally the same thing.”

“it’s not,” he defended him quietly, voice soft, like he was smiling without fully smiling.

leaning gently in to apply concealer along his jawline, your hand steady, he shifted slightly, and you instinctively reached out, placing your fingers on the side of his face to keep him still.

“hold still,” you ordered automatically.

he did.

immediately.

fingertips resting against his cheekbone, warm skin under your touch. the moment stretched longer than it should’ve. longer than necessary.

and then you realized.

he wasn’t looking at your hands—‘observing my actions’.

he was looking at your face.

his eyes were tilted upward, dark and steady, locked onto you like you’d accidentally stepped into something you couldn’t undo.

the trailer suddenly felt too quiet—uncomfortably quiet.

you swallowed, your thumb still pressed lightly against his cheek.

“jaafar,” you murmured, almost a warning, like saying his name might snap the moment in half.

he didn’t move—didn’t blink… just stared up at you like he was trying to figure something out.

similar to if he was trying to memorize you.

quietly, he murmured, “you’re really good at this. at what you do.”

your heart gave the most embarrassing little jump.

trying to play it off, you scoffed as you pulled your hand away.

“yeah, well. it’s my job, you’d hope i was good at it.”

he tilted his head slightly, still watching you.

“but you don’t treat it like a job,” he said.

your brush paused mid-air, not knowing what do to do with itself.

you looked at him again, brows knitting with confusion evident in your face.

“what’s that meant to mean?”

he shrugged like it didn’t matter, but his eyes were still on you.

“like…” he hesitated, then exhaled through his nose, almost amused at himself.

“you look at me like I’m a person, not just the person you’re being paid to work on… not like a mannequin.”

your throat tightened for a second. you hated how that one sentence hit harder than it had any right to. forcing yourself to smile, you reach for your powder.

“well,” you began lightly, “don’t get used to it. tomorrow i’m making look like you’ve been dead since 1832.”

he laughed at that—quiet and real.

and just like that, the tension broke…

but not fully.

not really.

because even while he was laughing, his eyes stayed on you.

kind of like he couldn’t stop?

i don’t know.

like something was starting to happen between you two, slow and confusing and dangerous in the most subtle way, and you weren’t sure if you wanted it to stop.

tags : @wondergotham @xxxercess @ceeriusly-dumb @melynex @sscrumertt @lov3lylxvender @kietourhrt

! part 1 🤍🪽

[xffthewall]

between takes — ✦ ݁ ˖

𑣲⋆ summary : it’s your first day on the set of michael as the new makeup artist, running into your new client.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ jaafar jackson x makeup artist!reader

a/n : new series hopefully🤞🏽, and i’m aware this is my 3rd post today i’m procrastinating on studying. also this might be ass i tried second person for the first time……. bare w me

the studio lot looked unreal in the early morning light, like something that wasn’t supposed to exist outside of a movie.

rows of trailers lined up like tiny houses, cables snaking across the pavement, people rushing around with clipboards and walkie-talkies, voices blending into a constant distant hum.

it smelled like coffee, hairspray, and that sharp, metallic scent of equipment warming up, and you were standing right in the middle of it, clutching your kit bag so tightly your knuckles ached.

your first day.

your first day on michael.

the michael biopic.

the kind of production people talked about like it was a legend already, even though it hadn’t finished filming. it was the sort of set where one mistake could haunt you forever, and one good decision could change everything.

you exhaled slowly, trying to steady the fluttering feeling in your chest. nervous didn’t even begin to cover it. it felt like your heartbeat was louder than the entire surrounding commotion of the set.

you adjusted the strap of your bag and started walking, weaving between crew members who looked like they’d been doing this for years. everyone moved like they belonged, born knowing where to go, what to do, how to hold a headset without looking awkward.

you, on the other hand, felt like a guest at a party you weren’t sure you’d been invited to.

a production assistant passed by, barely sparing you a glance, and you caught a glimpse of your reflection in the dark window of a trailer—your expression serious, eyes wide, shoulders tense.

get it together.

this was what you wanted. this was what you’d worked for.

all the late nights, all the unpaid gigs, all the times you’d practiced blending foundation on your own hand until your skin practically begged you to stop.

you weren’t here to be scared, you were here to create and prove your talent.

you finally found it : the makeup trailer. a simple sign taped to the door read ‘MAKEUP & HAIR’, slightly crooked like someone had slapped it on in a hurry.

your stomach flipping, you pushed inside.

instant warmth hit you, thick with the scent of setting spray, perfume, and powder. the trailer was lit by bright vanity bulbs that made everything look sharper, clearer, more real. endless rows of makeup brushes sat in clean cups, palettes stacked neatly beside bottles of foundation and skin prep products.

it was organised chaos—the kind of chaos you understood. chaos you were familiar with which comforted you, only slightly.

you set your bag down on one of the counters and unzipped it carefully, like you were opening something sacred. inside were your essentials : brushes wrapped in a black roll, fresh sponges, creams, alcohol wipes, palettes you’d worn down from overuse.

you started laying them out, one by one, arranging them with the kind of precision you always had when you were nervous.

if you couldn’t control the size of the production or the pressure sitting on your chest, you could at least control the way your products were lined up.

outside, you could still hear the distant noise of the set. someone yelling for a lighting adjustment. someone laughing. the low roll of a cart being pushed across pavement.

you swallowed.

this wasn’t just any movie, this was michael jackson. and you were here to help bring him to life.

your hands paused for a moment as you stared at your brushes.

the thought hit you suddenly, heavy and strange.

someone’s face is going to become history under my hands.

your heart thudded harder somehow.

you reached for your setting spray, mostly just to have something to do, when the trailer door opened behind you.

the sound was soft—a gentle creak but it still made you jump.

you turned quickly, forcing your face into something calm, something professional, even though your pulse immediately spiked again.

a man stepped inside…

tall, slim and dressed in comfortable clothes that still somehow looked put together—a black hoodie, loose pants, sneakers that were definitely expensive. he had a cap on, low over his eyes, and his posture was casual, but there was something about him that made the air in the trailer shift—not dramatically, just in a way like the room knew he was important.

he pulled the cap off as he stepped further in, and that’s when you recognized him.

your brain short-circuited for half a second.

jaafar.

you’d seen him online, of course. everyone had. clips of rehearsals, photos, the way people talked about him like he was either the second coming of something holy or someone they couldn’t wait to tear apart.

he looked different in person—more real. more tired maybe.

his eyes flicked over the trailer, then landed on you—his expression softening instantly like he was relieved.

“hey,” he greeted, voice low, warm. not rushed. not arrogant. just… normal.

he took a small step closer, hands tucked in his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

“you’re new, right?”

you blinked, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were just standing there, staring at him like you’d never seen a human being before.

clearing your throat quickly, “yeah,” you said, and your voice came out steadier than you expected. “first day.”

he smiled—small, but genuine. the kind of smile that made his whole face look softer, like the tension in his jaw loosened for a second.

“welcome to the chaos,” he joked, nodding toward the clutter of products and the bright lights. “it’s… a lot.”

you let out a tiny laugh, more nervous than amused.

“a lot is an understatement.”

that made him grin properly.

he walked over, stopping near one of the mirrors, glancing at your neatly arranged brushes like he actually cared.

“so, you’re the makeup artist?” he asked.

“yeah. well… one of them.” you hesitated, then added, “i’m assigned to you.”

the words felt strange leaving your mouth as it began to sink in.

his eyes flickered, something unreadable passing over his expression. not discomfort, exactly. more like he was processing it.

he nodded slowly.

“good,” he said simply.

you frowned slightly. “good?”

he looked at you again, and for a moment the noise from outside felt far away. like the trailer had become its own world.

“yeah,” he repeated. “good.”

he glanced at the chair in front of the mirror, then back at you.

“i’m jaafar,” he added, holding out his hand like you weren’t already fully aware of that fact.

you almost laughed again, but you reached out and shook it.

his hand was warm and soft, the touch almost feeling electric.

“i know,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

his smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“yeah, i figured,” he chuckled in amusement. “but i’m trying to pretend this is normal.”

you felt something in your chest ease, just a little.

you gave him your name and he repeated it under his breath like he wanted to memorize it, like it mattered.

he sat himself down slowly in the chair, leaning back as if he’d been holding tension in his body for hours and only now remembered he was allowed to breathe.

he looked at his reflection, then at you through the mirror.

“so…” he started, his voice casual, but his eyes weren’t. “how’s your first day going?”

you stared at him for a second—there was something oddly comforting about him being here already, before the cameras, before the crew flooded in, before the pressure could swallow the room whole. like he was just a guy, sitting in a chair, trying not to fall apart.

you exhaled, picking up one of your brushes to give your hands something to do.

“i haven’t messed up yet,” you said.

he chuckled softly. “give it time,” he teased, then paused, his expression shifting into something more serious, more honest.

“just… don’t be scared, okay?” he said quietly. “everyone here is acting like they’ve got it together. but trust me, they don’t.”

you met his eyes in the mirror and for the first time since stepping onto the lot, you believed you might actually survive this… maybe even thrive.

you offered him a small smile, him returning it immediately.

“alright,” you said, reaching for your primer. “let’s start?”

jaafar’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than it needed to.

then he nodded once, a faint smile evident.

“yeah,” he said softly.

tags : @ceeriusly-dumb @wondergotham @xxxercess @melynex @sscrumertt

! part 2 🤍🪽

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late night rentals — part IV 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

𑣲⋆ summary : your visit to michael’s turns into a cosy night of games and ice cream until the tension between you finally starts to feel a little too real.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ post-off the wall // pre-thriller michael x reader

a/n : last part! i want to move into a new story :) i hope yous enjoy

the car feels too quiet for how loud my thoughts are.

tinted windows, dark leather seats, the low hum of the engine—everything outside blurred into streetlights that smear gold across the glass as we move through the night.

i keep glancing down at my hands. michael had said someone would pick me up. like it was nothing. like it was normal.

it wasn’t normal.

the driver doesn’t talk much, just smooth and polite in that way that makes the silence feel intentional.

i press my forehead lightly to the window as we turn, watching the city thin out, buildings giving way to wider roads, trees, night-time darkness that feels heavier somehow.

my stomach begins to do this weird flip between excitement and disbelief, like i might wake up mid-ride and realise i made the whole thing up in my sleep.

then the gates begin to slowly appear, getting closer as we approach. massive and iron. they open slowly, nearly like they’ve been expecting us.

hayenhurt’s quieter than i’d imagined in my head somehow—less loud, more settled.

warm lights spill from the windows, soft and golden against the night, like the house is breathing instead of just sitting there.

the car rolls up the drive and i can’t stop staring, like if i blink i’lll miss something important.

as the driver gets out to open my door i step out, the air feels different immediately—calmer, warmer, like the night has been softened just for this place.

for a second I just stand there, frozen, taking it in.

abruptly i’m interrupted by the clearing of someone’s throat behind me.

startled, i whip my head back to be created by him, michael.

a content grin painting me lips, eyes wrinkling in corners for my joy of finally seeing him again in all his glory.

he’s not dressed like the performer he’s known to be at all—just soft, lazy clothes like he’s been moving through a slow morning that hasn’t ended.

a loose sweatshirt hangs off his frame, sleeves pushed up without much thought, like he forgot to be careful about how he looks.

his hair—dark, thick, and slightly wild, not perfectly styled, falling forward in soft curls that frame his face and shift when he moves.

there’s a quiet kind of beauty to him when up close, not loud or showy, just striking in a way that makes you look twice without meaning to, gazing at him absentmindedly.

his face is gentle and delicate in its perfect structure, with big expressive eyes that seem like they’re always thinking or feeling something just underneath the surface. when he looks at me, it’s direct but soft, like he’s a bit shy about it too.

his skin has a warm brown tone that catches the evening lights in a calm, natural way, not flashy, only glowing slightly under the indoor lights shining out to us.

he stands in front of me carefully, almost as if he’s still deciding how much space he’s allowed to take up.

he let out a quick smile, quick and shy, almost like he didn’t mean to do it—like it slipped out.

“hey there stranger,” he teases as he begins to get closer to me, beaming at me with those deep, thoughtful eyes.

i begin laughing nervously, “hey.”

“i see you made it.”

“oh really? would’ve never guessed.”

he rolls his eyes playfully at the banter, “so… whatcha wanna do?” he shrugs shyly.

i look off into the distance in thought, trying to think of an activity that would occupy us for a while.

uninticipatedly, i feel the delicate grip of someone’s hand in mine before being hurried to the side of the house.

eyes furrowed in confusion, i look up at him to be greeted with the back of his head—his black gentle curls gazing at me.

“where are you taking me?”

“you’ll see.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

sinking my fingers into the deep layer of his fur coat, the thick fleece keeping my fingers warm from the cold draught from the night air.

“wow, he’s beautiful, this is louie?” i whisper in an attempt of not disturb the peaceful creature.

i’m met with a stretch of an empty silence, turning around to make sure he was still there my eyes are immediately met with his, staring at me already.

i could feel my chest tightening, someone physically feeling my cheeks beginning to bloom into a deep unmistakable rose.

snapping my head away in a mix of nervousness and embarrassment, i begin to occupy myself again with the llama, “oh louie, you’re too precious, aren’t you boy?” i coo before placing a soft kissing in the middle of his ears before ruffling it a little bit.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

we’re now sat in michael’s bedroom, as i sit myself comfortable on the edge of his king sized bed, black silk bedding adorning it, i looked around his bedroom—although now in his 20s his bedroom still resembled boyhood, and i like that.

as my eyes investigate the room i’m met with a shelf full of games.

pointing at it, i squeal—nearly child-like.

“you have twister?”

in a state of confusion, bewilderment and bafflement he attempts to match his eye to where i was pointing, him too looking at the slightly damaged box.

“oh, yeah… no one plays it with me though, they think they’re too grown,” he states timidly, eyes looking at the floor with a doleful look on his face.

furrowing my eyebrows at him, i poke him playfully in an attempt to cheer him up.

“i don’t think i’m too old. no one’s too old for anything i believe.”

look up, his face, almost immediately, picks up into a cheery expression—his eyes crinkling in the corners, radiating a warmth i didn’t realise was possible and his smile forcing his cheeks upwards, making him dimples pop in the cutest way it can.

he’s quick to pick the box up from the shelf and throws it on the floor, hurriedly taking out the map and flapping it out onto the floor as if it could disappear in his hands in the next second.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

“okay, left hand green,” he orders as i struggle to manoeuvre around the mat, contorting in a manner i didn’t even realise was achievable with me.

the atmosphere in the room was perfect. the quiet yet peaceful music playing from michael’s record player echoing around the bedroom, the light orange glow from the lamp next to his bed illuminating the room, the exchanged laughter from me and michael when one of us fell on top of the other. i never would want this to end.

“right foot yellow,” michael declares to me, way too seriously for someone who’s bent like a pretzel in a children’s game.

I try to follow the order—I really do.

my body attempts some dramatic olympic-level twist situation, but my foot betrays me instantly.

one second I’m balanced, the next…

everything happens in a half-second blur.

i land with a soft thump right on top of him—a beat of silence left in the room.

laughter begins spills out of me so hard i can’t even breathe properly, my forehead dropping against his shoulder while he’s laughing underneath me like i’ve just personally ruined his dignity in the funniest way possible.

“okay—okay—this is cheating,” he manages between laughs, voice slightly muffled.

“i didn’t cheat,” i proclaim. “gravity attacked me personally.”

“gravity had an issue with you specifically.”

we’re still laughing when I finally push myself up slightly, hands braced on the mat either side of him.

his hair is, somehow, even messier now, curls sticking up like he’s been electrically charged.

for a second, neither of us move.

the room feels warmer than it did before. the lamp glow softens everything, like the edges of the world are a little blurred. even the record playing in the background sounds quieter, like it knows to give this moment space.

michael looks up at me, still smiling, breath slightly uneven from laughing.

“rematch?” he asks.

i shake my head quickly. “absolutely not. i value my spine.” i say, giving him a playful shove

that gets another laugh out of him.

god that laugh.

eventually we untangle ourselves from the twister disaster zone and collapse onto the edge of his bed like we’ve just survived something life-threatening. the mat is still half-spread across the floor, abandoned in defeat.

there’s a comfortable silence for a moment—a silence that doesn’t feel the need to be filled.

michael begins sits up a bit, rubbing the back of his neck.

“ice cream?” he suggests, like it’s the most obvious solution to everything in life.

i perk up immediately.

“now you’re speaking my language.”

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

the kitchen is quieter than upstairs. it’s one of those big, softly lit spaces that feels expensive without trying to show off. warm light spills over the counters, reflecting off clean surfaces.

michael opens the freezer, pulling out a tub and holding it up like he’s inspecting it carefully with a raised eyebrow.

he turns to me, “strawberry or chocolate?”

“both,” i reply instantly.

he shoots me a look.

“that’s not an answer.”

“it is if you believe in yourself.”

he snorts, grabbing two spoons anyway like he’s already accepted i’m impossible.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

we end up sat against the kitchen island; eating straight from the tub greedily, passing it back and forth without thinking.

at some point, i catch him watching me again. not in a heavy way. just quiet. almost like he’s thinking something he hasn’t decided how to say yet.

“what?” i ask, narrowing my eyes.

he shrugs a little. “nothing. just… you’re loud.”

i blink.

“excuse me?”

“not like—annoying loud,” he saves himself quickly, laughing a bit.

“like… you make things feel less quiet. if that makes sense.”

i pause, spoon halfway to my mouth.

“that’s a… weird compliment.”

“i think it’s the best kind,” he says, like it’s obvious.

there’s a beat where neither of us speaks, just the soft hum of the fridge and the distant ticking of a clock somewhere in the house.

i look down at the ice cream, suddenly a bit more aware of my heartbeat than i want to be.

“have you always lived in places like this?” i ask, trying to steer it somewhere safer.

he leans back against the counter. “depends what you mean.”

“like… big houses. houses with mysterious gates that open like they’re in a fantasy movie.”

he laughs, looking down at the floor with a brief pause.

“no. this one’s just… the current situation.”

“that’s very vague.”

“that’s my specialty.”

i roll my eyes with a smile.

another pause settles in, but it’s not awkward, only full. as if there’s too much being thought and not enough words being chosen carefully enough to speak it all.

“you know earlier,” he begins, a bit slower now, “when i said i’m glad you came…”

i glance up.

he’s not joking now. not teasing. just honest in a way that feels a bit more serious than the rest of the night.

“i meant it,” he finishes.

my fingers tighten slightly around the spoon.

“oh,” i say, softly.

because i don’t trust myself to sit in silence that too long, i add, “well, yeah. i didn’t come all the way out here just to eat your emotional support ice cream alone… but i’m glad i came too—that you invited me.”

that gets a small smile out of him again, but it’s different now—less playful, more quiet.

he looks at me for a moment longer than usual. like he’s deciding something.

he takes a small step closer in between my legs as i’m proper on the kitchen island.

not rushed. not dramatic. only careful.

for a second, everything feels like it slows down in that annoying way where i become hyper-aware of every tiny sound—the fridge hum, the spoon tapping the tub, my own breathing acting like it suddenly matters too much.

michael opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else… then stops.

his eyes flick down for a moment, then back up to mine.

his large hand emerges to cup the side of my cheek, his dark eyes staring deeply into mine, clearly in thought.

my breath hitches at the sudden meet of our skin, his soft skin placed gently over the side of my face as if i was a museum monument—admiration evident in his expression.

heart beating loudly, echoing through my body, stomach tightening into a nervous nausea i absentmindedly find my gaze meeting his lips… those soft, delicate lips. so perfect yet missing something.

with realising, we both begin to lean in—slowly and anticipatingly.

everything feels weirdly too loud and too quiet at the same time—like the air itself has changed.

there’s this strange awareness of him that wasn’t there before. the way he’s suddenly not just “michael jackson,” but just michael in a way that makes my thoughts stall for half a second too long, like my brain forgets what it was doing when he looks at me.

i notice he’s not meeting my eyes properly. not at first. it’s like he keeps trying and failing, glancing away the moment it gets too intense, like he’s worried he’ll give something away just by looking too long.

his usual shyness feels sharper now, more fragile somehow, like it’s holding something important behind it.

my chest begins feels tight in a way that isn’t uncomfortable, just overwhelming. like i’m standing too close to something i didn’t realise mattered this much.

there’s a pause where neither of us says anything, but it doesn’t feel empty. it feels full and heavy in a soft way. every passing second is carrying a meaning it hasn’t decided how to say out loud yet.

his hand twitches slightly at his sides as he doesn’t know what to do with it, nervousness clearly flowing out of him.

realising this isn’t going to be getting anywhere at the rate it’s at, i grab my hands onto the sides of his face before pulling him in to meet his lips with mine—maybe a little too roughly with the large gasp that came out of him.

however, almost immediately, michael immediately melts in my touch, comfortably situating himself in between my legs on the counter, moving his hands to my hips, pulling me closer to him—chests touching.

his lips were just as soft as i’d imagine whilst looking at them, delicately dancing with mine—naturally in sync, like we were made for each other.

the kiss wasn’t anything rough or lustful, rather tender and soft, giving the impression as if we don’t want to hurt each other, trying to be careful.

as he pulled away, my lips are met with an empty, lacking feeling which earned a disapproving frown from me.

michael chuckles at the expression before tucking an estranged hair behind my hair gingerly, his fingers lingering before reaching over to the previously abandoned tub of ice cream beside us.

then he slides the ice cream back toward me slightly. “more?”

and just like that, the moment shifts again—back into something easier, something warm, something that doesn’t need to be named yet.

! part 1, part 2, part 3 🤍🪽

tags : @wondergotham @xxxercess @softtwilight @jaafarsbaby @ceeriusly-dumb

[xffthewall]

late night rentals — part III 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

𑣲⋆ summary : emptiness fills the apartment, memories flooding in from the emptiness, a call is made and an special invitation is made.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ post-off the wall // pre-thriller michael x reader

a week had now passed since we last seen each other.

pacing back and forth, the small creaks of my apartment’s floorboard beneath me, but blocked out by the race of my endless thoughts.

do i call him?

am i getting the wrong idea? it’s been a week and i haven’t heard anything from him—what if that’s a sign?

again, i find myself glancing back at the cat hair-covered sofa we sat on, his dent he left in the pillow still somewhat slightly visible.

sighing to myself, i wander to my closet—throwing on a random selection of a blue, oversized, cotton hoodie i found in the back corner of the mountain of fabric in the small room and red shorts as i prepare for my trip back to the movie rental store.

i need to clear my head—movies clear my head.

hurriedly snatching the VHS tape that lay isolated in the floor beside the television,

i peer down at it—memories flooding like a broken dam, staring at the VHS tape in my hands, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like plastic anymore—it feels heavy… heavy with the remembrance of the eventful night.

my mind drifts without permission, that night feeling weirdly alive in my head, like it’s replaying on a loop.

standing there staring down at the VHS tape of ‘the shining’, the cover creased and glossy under the dimly lit apartment lights. i can almost hear the old laughter again, the stupid jokes thrown around during the movie, the way we tried acting brave right before the scary parts. remembering the sharp gasp when a jumpscare hit, michael yelping, then both of us laughing way too loudly afterwards like it was embarrassing to be scared.

and for a second, the quiet of the apartment feels way too empty.

finally making it to the small store, tucked in the corner of a street in downtown LA, a little bit of me hoped to see him, that grey hoodie, those deep, mesmerising, warm eyes. the ones that felt safe.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

at last, i made it back to my apartment—alone this time. no laughter, no excited michael rambling about my cat… just silence.

exhaling loudly, i stroll over to the VHS player—carefully clicking it into the compartment and greeted with a whirr from the tv.

no michael, no jokes, screams, laughter. just myself—and i don’t like it.

the lonely emptiness of the apartment echoed loudly on the walls.

i couldn’t bare it.

ushering over to the bedside table i seize the crumpled note left inside the top drawer and pace swiftly to the phone—dialling the string of numbers as if my life depended on it. the loud, eager clicks of the dial buttons filling the room.

i stab the buttons aggressively, the plastic keys clicking sharply under my fingers. each number spits out a cold electronic tone—quick beeps that sound impatient, like the phone can feel how desperate i am. my grip tightens around the receiver as i punch in the last digit.

there’s a brief pause, yet it feels hours long—then a soft click as the line catches. the ringing starts immediately, loud and hollow, filling up the quiet night like it owns the room. it’s slower than I want, dragging on and echoing in my ears until it starts to feel like he’s ignoring me on purpose.

one ring… two… three… four…

then the sound shifts—another click, and a faint hiss creeps into the line, like an old tape waking up. a familiar recorded voice crackles through the speaker, slightly warped and distant.

“hey, you’ve reached michael. i’m not home right now but please a message after the beep.”

the beep that follows is sharp and shrill, slicing through my chest.

BEEEEEP.

i freeze for half a second, staring at the phone like i’m not even sure what i’m supposed to do, then my voice spills out anyway—too fast, too breathless—caught by the whirring tape as i try to leave him something he’ll actually listen to.

“o-oh… hey. it’s me, y/n? from last saturday, at the rental?”

why am i questioning myself?

“uhhh… i was only wonder if you’d maybe want to go out again soon? i had fun and i’m pretty sure you did too… a-at least i hope so, i think so?”

this is so embarrassing.

“anyways, uhm… call me back? i was just thinking about that night now i’m watching a movie myself and it just feels…”

i pause.

“it feels empty, like it’s lacking something: someone.”

why am i telling him this?

“so, yeah. call me back… please.”

great. that was great. now i look like a lunatic who’s chasing after someone who i don’t even know wants to meet again.

maybe it was a one time thing.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ —

an hour passed although it felt like a whole day, staring blankly at the movie, yet not paying attention.

thoughts, still, racing through my head and embarrassment seething through my veins at the idea that he’d probably listened to it by now and just didn’t care to phone back—uninterested.

i pull my hands up to my face, groaning loudly into them, disrupting pickles who was sat beside me—gazing down at her whilst shaking my head in my own disapproval.

“he doesn’t care, does he? he probably just wants it to be a one time thing and that’s that,” i grumble to her, almost like i was expecting to actually get an answer from her.

as i open my mouth to get another complaint out, i’m interrupted by the loud echoing ring of the phone beside me.

springing out of my seat on the sofa, i latch down on the phone—picking the handset speedily off the body of the phone.

greeted with a friendly, soft ‘hello?’ my heart begins to race, pounding so hard it almost began to make my head hurt.

“uh, hey!” i burst into the phone, squeezing my eyes shut in agitation of my over the top greeting.

he laughs, “hey, i heard you’re message…”

yay, great, he heard it…

“yeah, i’m sorry if i came off too much. i was just sat here and i couldn’t help but remember our movie night, it’s been so quiet,” i laugh lightly.

there’s a short silence on the line, the kind that feels louder than any noise in the room. i hear him breathing—soft and careful, like he’s thinking too hard about what to say next.

michael chuckles again, quieter this time. “no… it wasn’t too much.” his voice drops a little, like he’s embarrassed to admit it.

“i liked it.”

i blink, staring at the tv in front of me as if it might explain what to do with that sentence. my fingers tighten around the receiver.

“you… did?” i ask, and my voice comes out smaller than I mean it to.

“yeah,” he says, almost immediately, like he doesn’t want me to doubt it.

he hesitates, and i can practically hear him swallowing his nerves. “i’ve been thinking about that night too. a lot.”

my stomach flips, warm and stupid, and i let out another laugh—soft, disbelieving.

“you’re lying.”

“i’m not,” he protests, still it’s so gentle it makes my chest ache.

“it was fun. i… i don’t really get nights like that.”

the words hang between us for a second, and suddenly the quiet doesn’t feel empty anymore.

it feels full.

i press the receiver closer, “me neither.”

another pause.

he speaks again, hesitant, like he’s stepping onto thin ice.

“so… you’re just sitting there?” he asks.

“yeah,” I murmur, glancing around the dim room.

“i went to rental store again, and now that i’m hear watching a film again, it just feels empty.”

“texas chainsaw massacre?” he enquires, a smile in his voice.

“mhm,” i reply.

“i don’t know why I picked it up, i nearly shit myself the last time i watched this”

he laughs softly. “you always do that.”

“i do not.”

“you do,” he insists, still laughing a little, and the sound makes my heart feel lighter.

“you act tough, and then you jump at everything.”

i scoff, nevertheless, smiling now, “not true and that’s not fair, plus you’re not better!”

“the shining wasn’t that terrifying,” he claims, but he sounds like he’s teasing.

“oh please,” I say. “you literally screamed at least twice and not counting when my cat touched your foot!”

there’s a sharp inhale on the other end, like i caught him off guard, and then he lets out a quiet, embarrassed laugh.

“i did not scream.”

“you did,” i affirm, leaning against the side of the sofa, “and then you tried to pretend you didn’t.”

michael goes silent for a second, and i can almost picture him shaking his head, probably biting his lip the way shy people do when they don’t want to admit they’re smiling.

“…okay,” he finally admits, voice low.

“maybe i did. just a little.”

i laugh properly now, and it comes out warmer than before.

“see? i knew it.”

he laughs too, and for a moment it feels like we’re back there again—lights off, movie playing, both of us trying not to get scared, pretending we’re not enjoying each other’s company too much.

then his voice softens.

“i’m glad you called,” he says.

suddenly my stomach drops again, because it sounds too honest.

“i—” i start, then stop, my throat tightening, “i didn’t think you’d pick up.”

he pauses. “i almost didn’t.”

my heart stutters.

“why?” i question in a whisper.

he exhales, slow and nervous, “because… i didn’t want to sound stupid.”

that makes me go quiet.

“michael,” i say, my voice gentler now, “you don’t sound stupid.”

he doesn’t respond straight away, but the silence feels different. less awkward. more… careful.

then he speaks, barely above a murmur.

“…do you wanna come over sometime?”

he goes quiet after he says it, like he can’t believe the words actually left his mouth. i can hear a faint shuffle on the other end of the line, like he’s moved the phone closer, or maybe he’s pacing.

my heart is still hammering, but it’s not panic anymore. it’s something warm. something stupid.

“i mean…” he adds quickly, voice softer now, almost embarrassed. “if you wanted to. you don’t have to. i just- i thought it’d be nice.”

i swallow, staring down at the curled phone cord like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. “no,” i say, too fast. forcing myself to breathe and try again, calmer. “yeah… i want to.”

there’s a pause, and then i hear him laugh—quiet and relieved, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.

“but,” i add, trying to sound casual even though i’m absolutely failing, “only if your family isn’t around.”

he laughs again, a little louder this time. “yeah, i get that.”

his voice drops, almost conspiratorial, like we’re planning something secret. “okay… um… how about… when they’re out? like, maybe in a few days. i’ll call you.”

“okay,” i whisper, and my cheeks feel hot even though he can’t see me, “hayvenhurst. when it’s quiet.”

“yeah,” he agrees, and the way he says it makes my stomach flip, like he’s smiling while he talks, like he’s already imagining it.

neither of us hangs up straight away. the silence sits between us, but it isn’t awkward now—it’s soft, comfortable. we’re both just listening, making sure the other one is still there.

i can hear his breathing, steady and close, and it hits me how much i missed his voice. how much i didn’t even realise i’d missed it until now.

“i’m glad you called,” he says again, quieter.

i smile to myself, resting my head against the pillow on the sofa.

“me too.”

another small pause.

“goodnight, y/n,” he murmurs, like he doesn’t really want to let go of the moment.

“goodnight, michael,” I reply, my voice gentle, almost shy.

when the line finally clicks dead and the silence returns, it doesn’t feel empty anymore. it feels like something’s started, like a secret tucked away in the dark—warm, exciting, and waiting for the next time he calls.

! part 1 , part 2 , part 4 🤍🪽

tags : @wondergotham @jaafarsbaby @softtwilight @xxxercess