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mjsdiana · 24 days

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𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕

Fluff

1989

Los Angeles

Word Count: 4.8k

The distant roar of the crowd outside was a relentless, almost primal force, swelling with each passing second. Their chants and cheers merged into a single, pulsating wave of sound that reverberated through the concrete walls of the stadium. The vibrations traveled down the dimly lit corridor, slithering like tendrils of anticipation under the door of Michael’s dressing room, knocking with a sound that was more felt than heard.

Inside, the room was bathed in a warm, amber glow cast by a series of incandescent bulbs framing the large vanity mirror. The air was thick with the scent of cologne, mingling with the sharp tang of stage makeup and the faint musk of leather. The vanity itself was cluttered with the tools of his trade: brushes of various sizes, compacts of powder, tubes of foundation, and an array of other cosmetics that had become part of his daily ritual. A half-empty glass of water sat to the side, the condensation forming tiny rivulets that ran down its surface, pooling on the wooden tabletop.

Michael stood before the mirror, the reflection of his face half-shadowed by the dim light. He was meticulously fixing his curls, each twist and coil of his hair a deliberate act. The soft whir of the air conditioning unit in the corner barely registered as he concentrated, his fingers nimble and practiced. The curls bounced back into place with each adjustment, a testament to his unwavering focus. Next, his hands moved to his waist, tightening the black leather belt until it sat just right, snug against his hips. The metal buckle gleamed under the lights as he adjusted the straps around his legs, the belts crisscrossing over his thighs with a satisfying snap as each one was secured. The leather creaked slightly with each movement, the sound almost drowned out by the distant echoes of the crowd.

You stood leaning against the far wall, the coolness of the brick seeping through the fabric of your tour jacket, which clung to your body in the slight chill of the room. The jacket bore the symbols of the tour—bold, flashy, a representation of all the sweat, passion, and soul that had gone into the performances. But tonight, that emblem held a new weight. This was the last night, his final show. Michael had confided in you just the night before, in a quiet moment away from the buzz of the crew and the lights, that this tour would be his last. The words had hung in the air between you, a mixture of resignation and relief, their finality striking you with bittersweet force.

Watching him now, as he slipped into the black and silver outfit for the last time, you felt a lump form in your throat. The outfit was iconic—each piece meticulously designed to catch the light just so, the silver accents glinting like stars against the deep, inky black. It had become synonymous with him, a second skin that the world recognized instantly. And now, you were witnessing its final curtain call.

Michael’s gaze caught yours in the mirror, his dark eyes meeting yours with a soft, reassuring smile that barely curved the corners of his lips. It was a smile meant to soothe, to comfort, but you knew him too well—there was a flicker of something else there, hidden beneath the surface. He broke the eye contact, turning his attention back to the mirror as he zipped up the bodysuit. The fabric stretched over his torso, smooth and unyielding, but as he adjusted the plain white T-shirt underneath, a smudge of makeup had already begun to stain the collar. The makeup, applied with such precision to cover the telltale spots of vitiligo that had spread over the years, was a daily battle he fought in silence.

His eyes narrowed in frustration as he noticed the stains, a soft groan escaping his lips. He sighed deeply and retreated behind the dressing screen, the privacy it offered a small comfort in the moment.

“What’s wrong, baby?” you asked, concern threading through your voice as you pushed off the wall. The movement caused your arms to uncross, and the tour jacket shifted slightly, the fabric brushing against your skin. The room felt colder without your posture braced against the chill, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to recapture the warmth.

“This shirt,” he muttered, his voice low and edged with irritation, “it keeps getting stained with my makeup.”

You watched as he unzipped the bodysuit, the sound of the metal teeth separating loud in the quiet room. His hands moved quickly, pulling his arms free from the sleeves with practiced ease. The plain white T-shirt followed, discarded with a flick of his wrist, landing in a crumpled heap on the floor, the fabric already marked by the faint residue of makeup and sweat.

“Did you put the powder on beforehand?” you asked, your tone soft as you stepped closer to the screen. The question was almost rhetorical; you knew the answer before he spoke. “It wouldn’t transfer if you did.”

He bit the inside of his cheek, the familiar gesture bringing a small, knowing smile to your lips. His expression softened, the earlier irritation melting away as he gave you a crooked smirk. “This is why I’m glad I keep you around,” he teased, his voice warm as he brushed past you, the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air as he moved back to the vanity. He unscrewed the lid of the setting powder, dipping the large velvet puff into the container with a practiced hand. The soft patting of the powder against his skin filled the room as he applied it to his neck and chest, his movements deliberate and focused.

You turned toward his bag, rummaging through the neatly packed items until your fingers found another pristine white T-shirt. The fabric was soft between your fingers, crisp and fresh, free from the stains that had marred the first one. With a quick toss, you sent it flying toward him. Michael caught it effortlessly, a small smile playing on his lips as he unfolded the shirt.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured, his voice carrying a note of appreciation as he pulled the shirt over his head, the fabric sliding down to cover his lean torso.

“You’re welcome, hun,” you replied, stepping closer to him, your fingers brushing against his arm as you smoothed down the shirt. The contact was brief, but it sent a spark of warmth through you, grounding you in the moment. “You’re going to be amazing tonight,” you added, your voice filled with quiet confidence.

Michael’s smile widened, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and determination. He tucked the shirt into his black pants, the fabric molding to his frame as he zipped up the silver bodysuit once more. The material hugged his body, accentuating the broadness of his shoulders, the strength in his arms, and the lean lines of his torso. It was a perfect fit, every inch of the outfit crafted to enhance his presence, to make him larger than life on stage.

As he turned to face you, it felt as though the room around you shrank, the walls drawing closer, suffocating the space with the gravity of the moment. The crowd’s cheers outside grew louder, their energy a living, breathing thing that pressed against the door, trying to seep into the quiet intimacy of this room. But in this small, sacred space, it was just the two of you, cocooned in the final, fleeting minutes before the stage would inevitably pull him away.

“I couldn’t do it without you,” he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur that cut through the distant roar of the crowd. As he walked over to you, his presence filled the room, his height and the broadness of his shoulders creating a comforting shadow. You reached out, your hand finding his, but instead of clasping it fully, you let your index fingers intertwine. That slight touch, simple yet profound, sent a wave of calm through you. It was as though that small connection was enough to anchor you both in this moment, making everything feel right in the world.

“I’ll be on the side watching, cheering you on, dancing,” you replied with a smile, your voice laced with a playful confidence that belied the mix of emotions swirling inside you.

Michael stepped in closer, his chest almost brushing against yours as he looked down at you, his eyes softening with affection. “And I’ll look at you every second I can,” he said, his voice tender. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” you said, your voice steady but your heart heavy with the significance of the night. “Even with this being the last and final one.”

Michael reached out, his fingers gently cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed over your skin in slow, tender strokes. His touch was so warm, so familiar, that it felt like a balm to your soul. His skin was smooth, soft like a baby’s kiss, and you leaned into his palm, savoring the comfort he offered. “I’d hate to quit, but… I want to focus more on my acting,” he confessed, his voice a mixture of resolve and uncertainty.

“I know, baby,” you whispered, your eyes searching his. “But your fans are going to miss this, miss you.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes clouded with thought. “I know, but I’m doing this for me,” he said, a hint of stubbornness in his tone.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly as you asked, “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”

He nodded again, this time with more conviction. “Positive. You’re not mad, right?”

You shook your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Never. As long as you’re happy, I’m not mad.”

Relief washed over his face, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was both sweet and filled with unspoken promises. “I’ve got to go,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm against your skin.

“Do what you do,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I’ll be watching.”

His smile deepened, and before he pulled away, he kissed you again, this time deeper, his lips lingering on yours as if trying to imprint the moment into his memory. You inhaled deeply, taking in his scent—a mix of his cologne, the subtle musk of sweat, and something uniquely him that you had come to love after so many years together. It was intoxicating, comforting, and a reminder of all the moments you had shared.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the stillness, jolting you both back to reality. Michael broke the kiss, leaving you both breathless and momentarily disoriented. “We’ve got to go,” he said, his voice laced with the urgency of the moment.

You nodded, watching as he walked over to grab his jacket, pulling it on and tugging at the edges until it fit snugly against his body. The leather gleamed under the dim lights, a final touch to his iconic ensemble. He twisted the doorknob and paused, turning back to you, his hand outstretched. Without hesitation, you jogged over, your hand slipping into his as you held on tightly, both of you walking down the corridors, flanked by crew members and security.

Michael pulled you closer as you walked, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, drawing you into his side. His lips brushed the top of your head in a soft kiss, and he whispered, “You’re my good luck charm.”

“And you’re mine,” you whispered back, your heart swelling with love and pride.

The noise of the crowd grew louder as you neared the stage, the sound like a tidal wave crashing against the walls, eager to break free. The sea of fans was vast, stretching out into the darkness of the sold-out stadium, their energy palpable even from behind the scenes.

As you reached the edge of the stage, you were gently guided away from Michael, the moment of separation tugging at your heart. He paused, turning back to you one last time, pressing a kiss to your cheek. The warmth of his lips lingered on your skin as he was led away to his spot.

You stood on the side of the stage, your eyes never leaving him as he took his place. A thick fog of smoke began to billow around him and his band members, the heavy mist swirling under the intense lights that flashed and danced across the stage. The booming intro blared through the speakers, shaking the very floor beneath your feet, and the massive screen above came to life with a visual spectacle that was the perfect prelude to the night’s performance.

The crowd’s chant reached a fever pitch, their voices blending into a singular, powerful cry of his name, “Michael! Michael! Michael!” The sound reverberated through the stadium, a tidal wave of adoration crashing against the walls and vibrating in your chest. In that moment, as the fog began to clear and the spotlight found him, you knew you weren’t just watching a performer; you were witnessing the man you loved, the man the world adored, stepping into his final act with all the grace and fire he had.

The show unfolded in an explosion of light and sound. Michael’s energy was electric, like a lightning bolt striking the stage over and over. He moved with a fluidity that defied gravity, each step, each spin a testament to his unparalleled talent. His joy was palpable, radiating out into the audience as he shared the stage with his crew, his makeshift family, every move synchronized in a dance of pure, unfiltered joy.

From time to time, he would glance over at you, his eyes locking with yours, a warm smile tugging at his lips. And each time, you mouthed the words, ‘I love you,’ hoping that the love in those three words could somehow shield him from the emotional crash you knew was coming when the final curtain fell. You knew that as soon as you both returned to the hotel, the weight of this night—his last show, his final tour—would hit him hard, and you braced yourself for that moment.

As the show neared its end, you stood there on the side, tears slipping down your cheeks despite your efforts to hold them back. Michael’s smile was brighter than ever, his eyes twinkling with a mix of happiness and melancholy. You watched as he danced with a group of children on stage, the sight warming your heart. It was moments like these that reminded you why he had been so beloved by so many—the joy he found in sharing his talent, the way he lit up the lives of those around him.

“I love you!” Michael’s voice boomed across the stadium, the words filled with sincerity and gratitude. “Goodnight, everybody!” he called out, waving to the fans before leaving the stage. But you knew it wasn’t over—not just yet.

Moments later, he reappeared, now dressed in all white, his black slacks and signature loafers a striking contrast to the bright stage lights. The first notes of “Man in the Mirror” filled the air, and you felt the emotional weight of the song settle over the stadium. This was it—the last performance, the final moment he would share with his fans from the stage.

Michael’s voice was powerful, filled with raw emotion as he sang. You could see the strain in his face, the way he poured everything into this last song, and it made your heart ache. He spun across the stage, and then fell to his knees, his voice rising to a poignant crescendo. You bit your lip, fighting back more tears as the reality of it all hit you harder than you had expected. Two years on the road with him, two years of watching him give his all, and now it was coming to an end. It burned inside you, the bittersweetness of it all.

As the final notes of the song echoed through the stadium, Michael’s voice was the only sound you could hear, powerful and resonant. He gave it everything he had, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand memories, a thousand goodbyes. You watched as he fell back to his knees, his sweat-drenched face glowing under the lights. You wanted to rush out there, to be by his side, but your own emotions held you in place, your body frozen by the intensity of the moment.

Michael hopped around the stage in circles, sweat glistening on his face and neck, his energy seemingly endless. And then, as the final chord of “Man in the Mirror” played out, he spoke into the microphone with a deep, resonant voice, “Make that change.”

The stadium lights dimmed, casting everything in shadows. Michael hugged his crew members one by one, thanking each of them with a sincerity that spoke volumes. His name was being chanted again, both by the crowd and his crew, a final tribute to the man who had given them all so much.

He bent down, picking up a bouquet of roses that had been left on the stage, the deep red petals stark against the darkness. He held them gently, as if they were a symbol of everything this night had meant to him, and then walked to the other side of the stage, preparing for the encore of “Man in the Mirror.”

“I love you!” he called out one last time, his voice echoing across the vast space before he turned and walked off the stage. His steps were steady, purposeful, as he made his way toward you, his hand reaching out to yours.

You took his hand, your fingers interlacing with his, and the two of you walked down the ramp and back into the dimly lit corridor. The noise of the stadium faded away, replaced by the soft echoes of your footsteps and the muffled voices of the crew.

Michael pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. Your tears, no longer held back, flowed freely as he held you, his own tears threatening to spill over. “Thank you,” he whispered in your ear, his voice thick with emotion. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as he wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumb. “I love you so much. I don’t know what I’d do without you pushing me harder and harder.”

You smiled up at him, your hand cupping his face. “I love you more,” you whispered, pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss. Your tears mingled with his, a silent testament to everything you had been through together. When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless, your emotions swirling between you in a way that words could never fully capture.

“Come on… let’s go home,” he whispered, his voice gentle as he took your hand once more. The two of you continued down the corridor, but Michael kept getting stopped by interviews. Each time he was asked if this was truly his last show, his answer was a simple, heartfelt yes, even as the emotions began to catch up with him.

Finally, you were both escorted to the waiting limo. Michael slid inside, and you followed, the door closing behind you with a soft thud. The interior was dark, offering a momentary reprieve from the intensity of the evening. As the limo pulled away from the stadium, the flashing lights from outside briefly illuminated the space before fading into the night.

“I hate it, but I’ll miss it,” Michael admitted, his voice tinged with sadness as he stared out the window.

You reached over, taking his hand and holding it tightly. “I know,” you said softly, your voice filled with understanding. “But I have some better news.”

Michael turned to you, a curious expression on his face as he raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked, his tone cautious but hopeful.

You reached into your back pocket, pulling out a small white box tied with a pink and blue ribbon. “Open it,” you urged, handing it to him with a smile.

Michael glanced at you, then down at the box, his fingers carefully untying the ribbon. He removed the lid, his eyes widening as he saw the contents inside—a black-and-white ultrasound photo and a positive pregnancy test. For a moment, he just stared at them, his expression unreadable as he processed the news.

Then, slowly, a warm smile spread across his face, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He picked up the ultrasound photo, his thumb gently brushing over the image, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and disbelief. “We’re having a baby?” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion.

You nodded, your own tears spilling over as you reached out to take his hand. “Yes,” you whispered back, your heart swelling with joy as you watched the realization dawn on him.

Michael’s smile grew even wider, his eyes brimming with a joy that seemed to radiate from him, filling the entire limo with a warmth that wrapped around you like a blanket. He took the ultrasound photo in his hands, staring at it as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Carefully, he placed it back in the box, his hand trembling slightly with emotion. Then he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as tender as it was full of promise. His other hand found its way to your stomach, resting there gently, as if he were already protecting the tiny life growing inside you.

“This… this is the best news I could ever get,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes searching yours for reassurance, for confirmation that this beautiful moment was real. The love in his gaze made your heart swell, and you knew that this was the beginning of something extraordinary.

You smiled softly, reaching up to caress his cheek, your thumb tracing the lines of his face as you looked into his deep brown eyes. “I wanted to end the night on a good note,” you said, your voice tender, filled with the affection you felt for him. “To give you something to look forward to down the line.” You paused, letting the words sink in, watching as the realization of what this meant began to dawn on him. “I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now,” you admitted, your heart beating faster with the intensity of the moment.

Michael’s brow furrowed in curiosity, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to process what you were saying. “How far along are you?” he asked, his voice a mixture of wonder and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite grasp the reality of it all.

“Eight weeks,” you replied with a smile, your voice tinged with excitement and a little bit of nervousness. The words hung in the air between you, full of promise and the hope of new beginnings, of a future that you could finally see taking shape.

His eyes widened in surprise, and for a moment, he was silent, just staring at you as if he were seeing you for the first time. “And you’ve kept it hidden this long without telling me?” He shook his head with a playful grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “No wonder you’ve been sick. You had me thinking it was the food, but really, we’re having our first baby.” There was a note of awe in his voice, as if he were still trying to wrap his mind around the idea.

You nodded, your smile growing wider as you watched the emotions play across his face. “I couldn’t resist, but now you know,” you said, the relief of finally sharing your secret washing over you. “We’re starting our family, Michael. Something we’ve both wanted for so long.”

Michael’s smile softened, his gaze becoming more intense as he brushed his nose against yours, the closeness making your breath catch in your throat. “How could this night get any better?” he whispered, his voice low and filled with so much love that it made your heart ache.

You shrugged lightly, leaning in even closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the familiar scent of him surrounding you. “We can always have more down the line,” you teased, your voice playful, though the words were filled with a truth that you both understood. The future was wide open, and the possibilities were endless.

Michael chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I love you, girl,” he murmured, his words filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat, the intensity of his gaze making you feel like you were the only person in the world.

You closed your eyes, savoring the moment, letting yourself be fully present in the love that surrounded you. “I love you more, handsome,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible as you leaned your forehead against his, your hand tightening around his as if to anchor yourself to the moment, to the love you shared.

Michael’s hand rested on your stomach, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth as he stared out the window, lost in thought. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered after a while, his voice filled with wonder. “We’re going to be parents.” He turned to look at you, his eyes shining with tears, and you could see the mix of emotions swirling in their depths—happiness, excitement, fear, and above all, love.

You nodded, tears welling up in your own eyes as you reached up to wipe away the single tear that had escaped down his cheek. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s going to be a big change, but I know we can do it. Together.”

Michael smiled, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, deeper, as if he were trying to pour all of his love into that one kiss. When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other’s as you shared a quiet moment of connection.

“I’m going to be the best dad I can be,” Michael said softly, his voice filled with determination. “I want our child to grow up knowing how much they’re loved, how much they’re wanted.”

“And they will,” you replied, your voice filled with conviction. “We’re going to give them the best life, full of love and happiness. They’re going to have everything they need, and more.”

Michael smiled, his hand slipping into yours as he squeezed it gently. “Thank you,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. “For this, for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You smiled back, your heart swelling with love for the man sitting beside you. “I love you, Michael,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you leaned in to kiss him again, your lips brushing softly against his.

“I love you more,” he whispered back, his voice filled with so much love that it made your heart ache. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you as the limo continued its journey through the city, the two of you lost in your own little world, dreaming of the future that was now within your grasp.

As the limo sped through the streets, the lights of Los Angeles flickering outside the windows like distant stars, you leaned your head on Michael’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your hand. The ride home was long, but neither of you cared. The world outside the limo seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you, cocooned in your own little world of love and hope.

The future stretched out before you, full of possibilities and new beginnings, and as you rested your head on Michael’s shoulder, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, stronger and more in love than ever before. The journey ahead was uncertain, but with Michael by your side, you knew that everything would be okay. You were ready to start this new chapter, to build the family you had always dreamed of, and as the limo carried you both home, you couldn’t help but feel that the best was yet to come.

#michael jackson #badera #fluff #imagine #oneshot #mjj #writing #wattpad

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