𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐈𝐭: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝗼𝐧 𝐈𝗺𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

Beat at His Own Game

This is a fluff chapter inspired by Michael Jackson's Private Home Movies.

Neverland Valley Ranch, May 1992

*Third Person POV*

The scorching hot rays from the sun shone down on your brown skin as you stepped out the back door unto the patio, heating up in seconds. The sky was the perfect shade of blue, and though the clouds were moving at a steady rate, any sort of breeze was yet to be felt on your burning skin. You could already feel yourself start to perspire, muttering curses every time the sun shone in your eyes.

You were in search of Michael, Mac, and Janet, hoping to convince either of the latter to team up with you against Michael since you knew they'd both always wanted to drench him during one of these fights.

After bidding Michael's younger cousins farewell you had decided to come join in on the fun, maybe throwing a water balloon or two in the process. A strong want to beat Michael's cocky ass at his own game coursed through your veins, which was the main reason you went outside in the first place.

"I'm the king of water balloon fights, girl! You could never beat me," he had teased earlier, sticking his tongue out and doing an adorable, yet very taunting, dance. He shimmied, shook, and spun all over the room while he asserted himself and his skills over you. "I've never gotten wet once during a water balloon fight. No one can ever top that."

"Mike, I could easily beat you in my sleep. Matter of fact I did."

"Dreams don't count silly."

You scoffed before attempting to put his ego on layaway, "I'm going to annihilate you, plain and simple. Someone needs to put your ass in check, and that someone is me."

"Nope, I'm too good to get beat," he said while looking up in a sort-of-secretive way, quickly glancing back after he caught his mistake like he didn't want you to notice. He giggled slightly while doing so, making you wonder what was soooo funny.

Curiosity got the best of you, and your eyes averted from Michael's sparkling ones to whatever he was looking at.

There stood bright-eyed Macaulay Culkin with his classic look: a mischievous grin and a devious glint to his eyes. He was behind the bars of the railing that looked over the main room, holding a huge bucket.

You were to soon find out the contents that were inside because seconds later, ice-cold water tumbled out. You would've moved, but shock got the best of you, and you were too stunned to speak or move as your impending doom awaited.

SPLASH.

A screech came from you as the water hit your skin, instantly cooling you off from the heat that once plagued your body, but replaced it with a new sensation. You were drenched, head to toe, and most importantly, freezing, especially with the AC blasting from what felt like every angle.

Your hair had a negative fate as well. The puff you had it in had shrunk up, and you knew once you finished detangling, the process would leave you with a headache. "As if he hadn't already gotten on my nerves today..." you thought, shivering and glaring at your Wicked Witch of the West ass husband.

"I'll kill you both!" You yelled out, water dripping all over the hardwood floor from your clothes and hair. Michael ran out the door, his loud laughter flooding your ears, echoing throughout the house and somewhat lessening your sour mood. Mac followed suit, also not being able to contain his giggles, high-fiving Michael on the patio.

****

"Michael? Janet? Mac?" You yelled out, smoothing out your dry clothes while wondering where your husband and friends had run off to.