MJ IMAGINES (World with Applehead) ON GOING

Snow in Neverland

1988

It had been two weeks since you and Michael started dating. He had invited you to his house in Neverland, and despite trying to stay composed, a quiet excitement lingered in your chest the entire drive. You arrived earlier than expected and asked one of his maids if he had already returned from the studio; they told you he hadn't yet.

Instead of waiting inside, you decided to take a walk.

It was snowing in California. Soft, steady flakes drifting down like something out of a dream. You wrapped your coat tighter around you, your breath visible in the cold air. You wore a black turtleneck, high-waisted denim pants, and black boots, layered with a long black coat and a red scarf wrapped snugly around your neck. Your gloved hands stayed tucked close to you as you walked.

Everything was blanketed in white—the ground, the trees, even the distant rooftops. It was quiet in a way that made you slow down, as if the world itself had softened. And somehow... you liked it.

You had been walking for a few minutes when a strange feeling settled over you like you weren't alone. You paused. Your eyes scanned the area, but there was no one.

You let out a small breath, brushing the thought away, and continued walking until suddenly, warmth covered your eyes.

A pair of hands. You froze for a split second.

But then... You smiled. That familiar scent. Subtle, warm, and impossible to mistake.

"Okay, Michael," you said softly, a hint of amusement in your voice. "I know it's you."

His hands slowly fell away, and you turned around to face him. There he was, smiling, a little breathless, as if he had been watching you longer than he admitted.

"Hello, Y/N," he said gently. "I thought you were inside."

"I was," you replied, your voice softer now. "But you weren't there yet... and I guess I didn't feel like waiting."

There was something unspoken in the way you looked at him, like the wait didn't matter anymore, now that he was here.

"I'm sorry," he said, his expression shifting slightly. "The studio kept me longer than I expected."

You shook your head, stepping closer without thinking.

"Don't apologize," you murmured, your hands instinctively rising to cup his face. His skin was warm against your cold fingers. "I just got here early."

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek. For a moment, Michael went still.

Then, slowly, a flush spread across his face. He looked down, biting his bottom lip in that quiet, almost shy way that never failed to affect you.

"You're driving me crazy," he admitted, his voice softer now, less teasing, more honest.

You only smiled, a little amused, a little flustered yourself.

"Do you mind if I walk with you?" Michael asked. "I'd like that," you answered.

And just like that, the space between you disappeared.

You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing occasionally, neither of you pulling away. The silence between you wasn't awkward. It felt full. Like there were too many things to say, and yet none of them needed to be spoken.

After a while, the cold started to settle deeper into your body. "Can we sit for a bit?" you asked quietly.

"Of course." You both sat on a nearby bench, the cold seeping through slightly, but neither of you minded.

"Uhm—"

"So—"

You both started at the same time, then laughed softly.

"You go first," he said, watching you with a small smile. You hesitated, then asked, "How's work?"

"It's been good," he said. "Busy. But good." He glanced at you. "What about you?"

You looked down at your hands for a moment. "I think I might get promoted soon," you said, a shy smile forming. "After all this time."

His expression softened immediately. "That's amazing," he said gently. "I'm really proud of you, sweetheart."

The word lingered. You felt it settle somewhere deep in your chest, warm and unfamiliar. You looked away, trying to hide the sudden blush on your face, but he noticed. He always noticed.

A chuckle escaped him, but it wasn't teasing. It was fond. The cold eventually crept in again, more persistent this time. You removed your gloves, rubbing your hands together, your breath warming your fingers in small bursts.

He watched you carefully. Without saying anything, he reached for your hands. You stilled.

His hands were warm, warmer than you expected, as he gently rubbed yours between them, slow and careful, as if you were something fragile. The gesture was simple. But it felt... intimate.

Once your hands warmed slightly, he guided one into his coat pocket, still holding it there.

You didn't pull away. Instead, your fingers curled slightly against his, holding on.

"I hope this helps," he said quietly. You looked at him, your eyes soft.

"It does," you whispered. "I think... I just like holding your hand."

That earned you another blush. His fingers intertwined with yours this time, more certain, more intentional.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" he asked after a moment. You smiled, a little brighter now. "I'd love that."

He leaned in just slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead—brief, but enough to make your heart skip. Inside, everything felt warmer. Softer. Safer.

You both went back inside, and Michael offered to make the hot chocolate, carefully placing marshmallows on top as it mattered. Like you mattered.

When he invited you to his room, you followed without hesitation. The movie played quietly in the background, but neither of you paid much attention. You sat close, closer than before, until eventually, it felt natural to rest against him.

His arm wrapped around you without question. And you fit there as you belonged.

As you both continued to watch the movie, time passed without notice. You felt yourself growing drowsy, your body relaxing more with every second.

"Are you tired?" he asked softly. You shook your head slightly, your voice barely above a whisper.

"No... I'm just comfortable." You tilted your head up to look at him. And everything slowed down again.

His warm brown eyes held yours, and the longer you looked, the harder it became to look away. Slowly, he moved closer. You felt his thumb brush lightly against your lips, tracing them with a kind of quiet wonder. Your breath caught. Then, carefully, almost hesitantly, you both shared your first kiss.

You responded just as gently, your hand resting against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your palm. The kiss deepened slightly- not rushed, not overwhelming, just enough to make your heart ache in the best way.

When you pulled away, your foreheads rested together. Neither of you spoke right away.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice barely steady. "Mr. Jackson."

"I love you more," he replied quietly. "To the moon and back."

And in that moment, wrapped in warmth, in silence, in him, it didn't feel like something temporary. It felt like something you wanted to hold onto for as long as you possibly could.

I don't know about you guys, but this is one of my favorites so far. I could really see Michael doing this to his woman ackkkkkk.