Sadpetals

Sad most of the time, fanfics keep me alive, Just a simp.. for.. a few... me- (the list gets longer)

[bellinghambabe]

To all my writer baddies out there, it is I formally @jaafarsbaby and @sadpetalsstuff

Yes I have a new username I have a new hyperfixation.. 😝

Tagging all my fav writers that I remember :

@jkkyks @allthingsfangirl101 @lovergirlcinema @wtvrhappens @oohgeminii .... there's more but I can't remember my the exact user 🥹

[amournocturne]

╰┈➤ “ 𝑀𝒪𝑅𝐸 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝑀𝒪𝑀𝐸𝒩𝒯 ”

.✦ ݁˖ 𝒿ude 𝒷ellingham 𝑥 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹!reader ୨୧

➛ 𝓈ynopsis: england’s dream ends with a heartbreaking 2–1 defeat. some losses linger long after the final whistle. they follow you into quiet corridors, settle in tired eyes, and remind you that one painful night could never define you.

➛ 𝒸ontains: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, post-match vulnerability, emotional intimacy, self-blame, quiet reassurance, supportive reader, emotional jude bellingham, two people who love each other endlessly, physical affection, reader is his comfort person, a single soft kiss, comfort without fixing, post-match heartbreak, jude bellingham needing comfort, healing, disappointment, grief over a loss, being loved through difficult moments.

the final whistle didn’t sound like an ending. it sounded like something being taken away.

for a few seconds, she couldn’t move. she stayed exactly where she was, fingers still curled around the edge of her seat, her eyes fixed on the pitch in front of her as thousands of people around her reacted in completely different ways. there were cheers that felt too loud, voices breaking into celebrations, flags waving, cameras flashing, and yet somehow everything around her felt distant, almost like she was underwater and the entire stadium had become nothing more than a blur of sound and movement.

because she wasn’t looking at the winners. she wasn’t looking at the celebrations. she was looking for him.

jude.

she found him almost immediately. maybe because she always did. even in a crowd of players, even surrounded by cameras and teammates and millions of eyes watching him, she always found him first. and the sight of him made something in her chest tighten. because she knew that expression. she knew the difference between jude being disappointed and jude being hurt. disappointment was the frustration he showed after a mistake, the way he would shake his head and push himself harder, the way he would tell himself to do better next time. this was different. this was the quiet kind of pain. the kind he tried to hide.

he stood there for a moment, hands resting on his hips, his chest rising and falling slowly as he stared across the pitch. and she wondered what he was seeing. what he was feeling. because she knew it wasn’t the stadium. it wasn’t the fans. it wasn’t the moment that everyone else was watching. she knew he was replaying everything. every pass. every chance. every second where he would convince himself that maybe, if he had done something differently, the outcome would have changed.

that was the thing about jude. he never just experienced moments. he carried them.

the cameras moved toward him, searching for a reaction. and she watched him do what he always did. he lifted his head. he composed himself. he gave them the version of jude everyone knew. the professional. the fighter. the player who could stand in front of millions of people and handle pressure most people would never understand.

he shook hands. he showed respect. he walked towards his teammates. he did everything right. but she noticed the things nobody else did. she noticed the way his shoulders stayed tense, like he was physically holding himself together. she noticed the way his fingers curled and released at his sides, a small nervous movement she had seen countless times before. she noticed the way his eyes dropped whenever someone looked at him for too long. like he didn’t want anyone to see how much it hurt.

because that was the part people never understood. they saw a footballer after a loss. she saw the person behind the footballer. they saw the result. she saw the boy who had spent countless hours chasing moments like this. they saw ninety minutes. she saw everything that came before them.

she remembered the nights when he stayed late because he wanted to improve one more thing. the mornings when he woke up exhausted but still showed up. the way he never allowed himself to be satisfied for too long because there was always something else to achieve. she knew how much this meant to him. and maybe that was why watching him walk away from the pitch hurt so much. because she knew he wasn’t thinking about what he had achieved. he was thinking about what he had lost.

when the players finally began leaving the pitch, she stayed. she didn’t rush. she didn’t call his name from across the stadium. she didn’t want to add herself to the noise he had already been surrounded by all night. she knew jude. she knew that when the world was looking at him, he held himself together. but when it was just one person who truly knew him…

that was when he finally allowed himself to feel.

she waited near the tunnel, away from the cameras and the crowd, her heart beating a little faster the closer the footsteps got. and then she saw him. not jude bellingham. not the england player everyone had been watching.

just jude. tired. quiet. carrying a disappointment too heavy for one person.

for a second, their eyes met. and she watched the smallest change happen. it wasn’t dramatic. it wasn’t something anyone else would notice. but she did. the tension in his face softened. his shoulders dropped just slightly. like seeing her reminded him that, for a moment, he didn’t have to be the person everyone expected him to be.

“hey,” she whispered.

and somehow that simple word carried everything she couldn’t say.

i’m here.

i saw you.

i know.

his lips parted slightly, but no words came. and that hurt more than if he had cried. because jude always had something to say. always had a response. always found a way to make things lighter. but tonight, there was nothing. just the silence of someone who had given everything and was still trying to understand why it wasn’t enough.

for a few seconds, he didn’t move. he just looked at her. and she hated how quickly she could read him. because if anyone else had been standing in front of him, they might have believed the same thing everyone else believed. that he was handling it. that he was composed. that he was strong. she knew that the calm expression wasn’t peace. it was control. there was a difference.

jude wasn’t sure if he was allowed to let go yet. because he had spent the entire evening being everything everyone needed him to be. a leader. a teammate. a professional. someone who could walk away from disappointment and still shake hands, still show respect, still stand tall. but with her, he didn’t have to do any of that. with her, he didn’t have to pretend the loss didn’t hurt.

and then he moved. he stepped forward and pulled her into him so quickly, so desperately, that she felt every bit of emotion he had been keeping locked away. his arms wrapped around her tightly, holding her like he was afraid that if he let go, everything he had been trying to keep together would finally fall apart. and she immediately held him back. one hand sliding around his shoulders, the other resting against the back of his head, feeling the way his body slowly started to relax against hers.

this was jude. he was always moving. always pushing. always chasing the next thing. but right now, for the first time all night, he stopped. he stopped fighting the disappointment. he stopped trying to convince himself it didn’t hurt. he stopped carrying the weight of the entire night alone.

she felt him exhale. a long, shaky breath that sounded like it had been trapped inside him since the final whistle. and somehow that hurt her more than seeing him upset. because it meant he had been holding all of that in. all of those thoughts. all of those emotions. all of that pressure. he had carried it through the stadium, through the interviews, through every person who asked him to speak about the loss. and only now, with her, did he finally let himself breathe.

“i’m sorry.” his voice was barely above a whisper against her, so quiet that she almost wondered if he meant for her to hear it at all.

and immediately, her heart tightened. because even now, even here, his first instinct was to apologize. she knew that this wasn’t an apology for losing. it wasn’t an apology because the match didn’t go their way. it was something deeper than that. it was the instinct he had whenever he felt like he had fallen short — the need to take responsibility, to carry the weight, to convince himself that if he had just done more, been better, been enough, maybe the ending would have been different.

even now, standing there with his arms still wrapped around her, still trying to find some kind of comfort after the hardest moment of the night, his first thought wasn’t about himself.

it was an apology. and that broke her heart.

she pulled back slightly. just enough to see his face. his beautiful eyes. they were glossy, carrying the kind of emotion that came from holding too much in for too long, from forcing himself to stay composed when every part of him wanted to break under the weight of it. the kind of look that came from swallowing every feeling back because there had been too many cameras watching, too many people waiting for a reaction, too many expectations resting on his shoulders.

“for what?” her voice was soft. not confused. she already knew the answer. but she wanted him to hear himself say it. she wanted him to realize that he was apologizing for something he should never apologize for.

his eyes lifted to hers. and for a second, she wished she could take away every thought she saw sitting behind them.

“i don’t know.” a small, broken laugh left him, but there was no humor behind it. it was the kind of laugh people gave when they didn’t know what else to do with a feeling that was too heavy.

his eyes dropped again. his fingers tightened slightly around her waist.

“i just…” he stopped. and she watched him struggle. watched him search for the right words, even though there probably weren’t any words big enough to explain what he was feeling.

“it wasn’t enough.” the sentence came out quietly.

and there it was. the thought that had followed him all night. the one he couldn’t escape. she lifted her hand, gently touching his cheek, making him look back at her.

there were still traces of the match written across him — a faint smear of grass along his cheek, tiny marks left behind from a night where he had thrown himself into every challenge, every run, every second he had been given. his hair was slightly messy, falling in a way it normally wouldn’t, his face carrying the tiredness of someone who had spent ninety minutes fighting for something and was now struggling with the fact that fighting had not been enough.

her fingertips brushed over his skin, feeling the warmth beneath them, feeling the way his jaw tensed slightly before slowly relaxing at her touch. she guided his face back toward hers.

“jude.” the way she said his name made him go quiet. not because it was a warning. not because she was correcting him.

because it was love. it was the kind of love that didn’t ask him to be different. it didn’t ask him to stop hurting. it only reminded him that he didn’t have to hurt alone.

“you know what hurts me?”

his eyebrows pulled together slightly, a small crease forming between them.

“what?” his voice was quiet, almost cautious. like he already knew whatever she was going to say would hit somewhere he had been trying not to look.

“that you can stand in front of millions of people and they can see everything you’ve done…” her thumb moved gently across his cheek, brushing away nothing and everything at the same time. “they can see how hard you fought. they can see how much you gave. they can see the player you are. they can see everything you’ve done.”

she paused. her eyes stayed on his.

“but you only see what you didn’t.”

that was the truth. the world saw the player who reached the semi-final. the player who fought. the player who inspired. but he only saw the moments he wished he could change.

“one match doesn’t get to decide who you are.” her voice was barely above a whisper, so soft it almost disappeared between them, yet somehow it was the loudest thing he had heard all night. her thumb continued its slow movement across his cheek, brushing past the faint streak of grass still clinging to his skin.

“one night,” she murmured, her eyes never leaving his, “doesn’t get to erase every early morning you showed up when nobody was watching. every sacrifice. every bruise. every hour you spent becoming the person you are.”

she swallowed around the lump growing in her throat. “it doesn’t get to erase the player everyone believes in…”

her fingers slipped gently to the back of his neck, her thumb grazing the edge of his jaw, grounding him in a way words never could. “…and it could never erase the person i love.”

she smiled sadly, her eyes glistening now too. “because when i look at you, jude… i don’t see a loss.” a small pause settled between them. “i see someone who gave every part of himself until there was nothing left to give.”

her hand cupped his face a little more firmly, almost as if she wanted him to feel every word. “and if you can’t see that tonight…” she leaned forward, resting her forehead against his once more. “…then let me see it for you until you can.”

he didn’t answer. not because he didn’t want to. because he couldn’t.

the words settled somewhere deep inside him, reaching the part of him that had been aching ever since the final whistle. his lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something, but nothing came. there wasn’t anything he could say. because how could he explain the feeling of wanting so badly to believe her while another part of him was still standing on that pitch, replaying every second, every touch of the ball, every decision, wondering if somewhere between the first whistle and the last, he had left something behind?

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. she saw him blink once. then again. a little slower this time. and when he lowered his head, it wasn’t because he couldn’t bear to look at her. it was because the weight behind his eyes had become too much to keep holding there.

he let out a breath so unsteady it almost sounded like it hurt. like it had been trapped inside his chest all night, refusing to leave because letting it go would mean accepting that it was over. his shoulders, tense from the moment the match had ended, finally gave the smallest shake beneath her hands. so small that anyone else would have missed it.

she didn’t. she felt it. she felt the way he leaned into her touch almost without realizing it, his face instinctively settling a fraction further into her palm, searching for the warmth of it as though it were the only thing keeping him anchored.

his eyes slipped closed. not to shut her out. but because, finally, he didn’t have to keep pretending he was strong enough to carry it all on his own. he could simply exist there. with her hands holding his face. with her voice still lingering in the silence between them. with the painful, impossible realization that maybe…

just maybe… she saw him far more gently than he had ever been capable of seeing himself.

she leaned closer. slowly. carefully. not wanting to rush a moment that felt so fragile, so heartbreakingly delicate, like one wrong movement might send him retreating back behind the walls he had spent the entire evening hiding behind. she gave him every chance to pull away. every chance to turn his head, to tell her he wasn’t ready, to keep carrying the weight on his own. but he didn’t. he simply looked at her. his eyes searched hers so quietly that it almost hurt, as though he was looking for something he hadn’t been able to find anywhere else that night. something the scoreboard couldn’t give him. something no teammate, no supporter, no headline could ever offer.

understanding.

forgiveness.

home.

she closed the remaining distance between them, her lips brushing against his with a tenderness that made time seem to slow around them. it wasn’t desperate. it wasn’t meant to steal his thoughts away or convince him that the hurt no longer existed. it wasn’t trying to erase the disappointment still sitting heavily inside his chest. it couldn’t. they both knew that.

instead, it was gentle. patient. the kind that simply whispered,

you’re still here.

you’re still loved.

and nothing—not one result, not one night, not one painful moment—will ever change the way i see you.

for a moment, jude didn’t move. he simply let himself exist inside it. his lips remained against hers, hesitant at first, almost as if he had forgotten what it felt like to receive comfort without needing to earn it. the warmth of her lips. the softness of her touch. the faint, familiar scent that had always managed to calm the parts of him the world never got to see. it wrapped around him so quietly that he hadn’t even realised how desperately he needed it until now.

because everything else about the last few hours had been loud. the roar of the crowd still echoed somewhere in the back of his mind. the celebrations that hadn’t belonged to them. the cameras following every movement. the questions waiting before he’d even had a chance to process what he was feeling. everyone had wanted something from him.

she was simply holding him. loving him. without asking him to be anything other than exactly who he was in that moment. and somehow…

that hurt almost as much as it healed. because after spending the entire evening convincing himself he hadn’t been enough…

she was kissing him as though she couldn’t see a single thing wrong with him.

as though all the parts of himself he struggled to accept were the very ones she held closest.

as though loving him came as naturally as breathing, never once questioning if he was worth it.

and somehow, that reached deeper than any criticism ever could — because she made it impossible for him to keep believing he wasn’t enough.

he broke the kiss gently, drawing back just enough to look at her one more time. the corners of his lips lifted into the faintest smile before he let himself fall forward, resting his head against her shoulder. he didn’t say a word. he only held her, melting into her embrace — as though being close to her was the only thing he needed.

as though the weight he’d been carrying had finally found somewhere safe to rest.

after a long while, he finally lifted his head.

for a moment, neither of them said anything. they simply looked at each other, the silence no longer heavy, but comforting. the corners of her lips curved into the softest smile, and his answered it without hesitation. she reached up, closing what little distance remained between them until their noses brushed softly. he stayed there, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest moment, as though he wanted to hold onto the feeling of her being this close just a little longer.

when he opened them again, she was still looking at him with that same unwavering tenderness. he couldn’t help himself. he closed the distance once more, pressing one last lingering kiss to her forehead before letting his lips rest there for a heartbeat.

“ready?” she asked quietly.

he let out the faintest breath, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“yeah,” he whispered. “let’s go home.”

their hands found each other as naturally as breathing, fingers intertwining. and for once, he wasn’t thinking about what he could have done better, what he could have been, or whether he was enough. they walked out of the empty stadium together, leaving behind the echoes of the night and carrying only what mattered with them.

and maybe that was the thing he had been searching for all along — not someone who would convince him he was perfect, but someone who would remind him he was worthy even when he forgot.

[heartsparasite]

Hiii I love your readings and I was wondering if you could write jobe x reader who's on her periods and is having harsh period pains yk and he's there for her, if you can't it's ok dw ;)

photo is from pinterest and isnt mine

pain

jo. bellingham x reader

period cramps are the worst! good thing jobes here to care for you and make it feel better

taglist (tw) : periods, cramps, jobe bellingham x reader, established relationship, pain

you let out a quiet groan, curling tighter beneath the duvet as another wave of pain spread across your lower stomach. you’d already tried taking painkillers, drinking water, stretching. basically everything people swore by yet none of it was working.

the heating pad sat abandoned on your bedside table as it barely helped anymore and jobe noticed almost immediately. he wandered into the bedroom after getting dressed for training, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before stopping in the doorway. “…bad?”

you only nodded, face buried in your pillow.

he walked over without another word and sat on the edge of the bed. “the heater not helping?”

you shook your head. “doesn’t really do anything.”

he frowned. “thought it usually helped.”

“not today.”

he hated hearing that. he gently brushed a few strands of hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ll stay for a bit.”

you reached for his sleeve instinctively. “i don’t wanna be alone.”

and his heart practically melted. “you won’t be.” he simply climbed into bed beside you, pulling you carefully against his chest. his hand then rested lightly on your stomach, a comforting prescence.

whenever another bad cramp hit, he’d quietly rub slow circles with his thumb.

“it’s okay just breathe…” he’d soothe

you breathed in and then out, listening to his words.

he matched every breath until the pain eased enough for you to relax again.

later, after he’d finished training, he came straight home with your favourite snacks tucked under one arm and a takeaway bag in the other.

“i wasn’t sure what you’d feel like eating,” he admitted.

you looked inside. the bag contained your favourite soup, fresh bread, fruit and, of course, chocolate.

“you bought a lot ”

“you deserve a lot.”

you couldn’t help smiling and he smiled back immediately. “there it is.”

“what?”

“your smile.”

the rest of the evening was calm and slow.

he put on one of your comfort shows, tucked the blanket around both of you, and let you lean however you wanted:

sometimes youd lean your head on his chest, sometimes you lay across his lap and sometimes another cramp would hit so suddenly you’d squeeze his hand without thinking. and he never complained, he’d just squeeze yours back.

hours later, when another particularly painful cramp made tears well in your eyes, you whispered,

“i’m sorry.”

he looked genuinely confused. “for what?”

“i feel like i’m ruining your day.”

his expression softened instantly. “hey.” he lifted your chin gently. “you’re not ruining anything.”

“but-”

“if you’re hurting, i want to be here.” he brushed away the tear with his thumb. “i can’t make the pain disappear.” his voice was quiet. “but i can make sure you don’t go through it alone.”

your lip wobbled. “…that’s unfair.”

he laughed softly. “what is?”

“you’re too sweet.”

“nah.” he kissed your forehead again. “just love you.”

you hid your face in his hoodie, arms wrapping around his waist.

he held you a little tighter. “next month,” he mumbled into your hair, “i’m clearing my schedule.”

you let out a small laugh. “that’s dramatic.”

“don’t care.” another kiss landed on the top of your head. “my girl’s got enough to deal with already.”

~~

© laoiwvq’s work is laoiwvq’s work only and is not free to use!

[heartsparasite]

Hi, can you do one about Jude Bellingham?He was consoling his girlfriend because they beat Mexico in the World Cup. Thank you

pic from pinterest and isnt mine!

wonderwall

your so happy england beat mexico in wc, the sensitive you can stop crying of joy and jude consoles you.

taglist ( tw ) : established relationship, fem!reader, jude bellingham x reader, crying (from reader), pet names (baby etc), sensitive (crybaby in this case) reader, ooc? (idk jude personally but this doesn’t give ‘jude’ vibes)

a.n. WE are all happy that england beat mexico. 2 goals in 2 minutes my goat. england will win wc 🥹 hopefully norway vs england goes well . also wonderwall by oasis is so flipping peak. “maybeeeeee ypur gonna be the one that saves meeeee”

a sea of white shirts jump up from their seats, players crashing into one another as relieved laughter and triumphant shouts echoed around the stadium. jude disappeared beneath a pile of teammates before emerging again with the widest grin you’d ever seen, throwing an arm around one of them as they made their way towards the travelling england supporters.

the fans were already bouncing.

scarves spun above thousands of heads as the players lined up in front of them, applauding every corner of the stand.

then the opening chords of wonderwall rolled around the stadium.

almost instantly, the england fans took over.

~

~

~

“there are many things that i would like to say to you but don’t know how”

the players laughed, some draping their arms over each other’s shoulders as they swayed in front of the supporters. a few sang every word at the top of their lungs, others simply stood there, soaking it all in. jude threw his head back, singing along with a smile so bright it was impossible to look away from him.

“cause maybe, your gonna be the one that saves me.”

your vision blurred, mouthing the unofficial anthem as you watched jude lovingly.

you’d held it together through ninety minutes, through every chance, the 2 goals of jude in the first two minutes and every agonising minute of stoppage time but watching jude sing with the supporters, medal hanging around his neck, completely lost in the moment he’d worked his whole life for was your breaking point.

“and after all.”

a tear slipped down your cheek.

“oh no…” you whispered to yourself, laughing weakly, not now.

another tear followed. then another.

within seconds, your shoulders were shaking as happy sobs escaped you, your hand covering your mouth as you watched him smile towards the england fans.

“your my wonderwall.”

he looked so happy, a big toothy grin practically stuck on his face like every sacrifice, every injury, every hour spent away from home had been worth it.

then, as if he could feel you watching him, jude’s eyes lifted towards the family section and found you immediately, already crying. even from the other side of the barrier, he could tell.

your eyes were glassy, your nose had already gone pink, and you were frantically trying to wipe away tears before anyone noticed with a big happy smile.

he laughed to himself, nudging kane beside him before subtly pointing towards you.

“she’s crying already?” kane laughed.

jude only smiled, unable to take his eyes off you. “ ‘course she is.”’ not an ounce of embarrassment in his voice. only affection, pure and unmistakable affection. “my little crybaby.”

he stayed with the team long enough to applaud the supporters, clapping above his head before tapping the england badge over his heart. he blew a kiss towards the fans, took a few photos with the squad and accepted yet another crushing hug from one of the coaches.

but every few seconds, he looked back at you.

you were still standing there, still crying. still smiling.

he couldn’t get to you fast enough, obviously having to go through the media.

but the moment there was an opening, he jogged towards the barrier.

fans reached out for him as he passed, shouting his name, asking for high fives, congratulating him, but he apologised with a sheepish smile and pointed towards you instead. “sorry, guys, gotta see my girl.”

your heart melted before he’d even reached you. you’d always loved watching him interact with fans. but reading his mouth say that, like as though getting to you was the most important thing in the world, it made another tear roll down your cheek.

you were so happy that england beat mexico.

jude reached the barrier and immediately opened his arms. “come here, baby.”

you didn’t even think, practically stumbling into him.

he caught you with a laugh, wrapping both arms tightly around your waist before pulling you flush against him. the force of the hug almost knocked the air from your lungs. not that you minded. (getting crushed by jude is the dream)

he always hugged you like he hadn’t seen you in months. he wanted to make sure you were really there. to make sure that you were his love only.

you buried your face into his neck, clutching the back of his shirt as another sob escaped.

he just held you.

one hand rubbed slow, comforting circles across your back while the other cradled the back of your head.

“hey…” he murmured, pressing a kiss against your hair. “we won.”

you nodded against him. “i know.”

another kiss. “we’re through.”

another nod. “i know.”

he smiled, feeling your shoulders shake.

“then why’s my baby crying?”

you let out the tiniest laugh between sniffles.“because…” you paused, trying to steady your breathing. “because i’m so happy.” your voice cracking on the last word.

jude’s heart practically burst. he leaned back just enough to look at you.

your mascara had smudged. your eyelashes were clumped together from tears. your cheeks were bright pink and somehow he’d never thought you’d looked more beautiful.

“hi,” he said softly.

you sniffled. “hi.”

“there’s my favourite face.”

“i’m literally crying.”

“i know.” he smiled, brushing a tear away with his thumb.“still my favourite.”

you looked at him for a second before your lip wobbled all over again.

he saw it instantly.

“no…”

you nodded.

“don’t.”

“i’m trying.”

“baby…”

“i really am. you just did so well!” two more tears escaping as you spoke.

jude laughed so warmly that you couldn’t help laughing too.“there they are.”

you groaned, hiding your face back against his shoulder.“stop looking at me.”

“can’t.”

“why?”

“‘cause you’re cute.”

“i’m a mess.”

“you’re my mess. a cute mess too.” he kissed your temple, then your forehead and then the tip of your nose just to hear you giggle.

“see?” he whispered. “there’s my smile.”

you couldn’t help it, being around him always made everything feel lighter. like everything didn’t matter. just him and yoi.

“you looked so happy,” you admitted quietly.

he frowned just slightly.“yeah?”

“when you were singing. it was so cute.”

you glanced back towards the england supporters, who were somehow still belting out wonderwall even though the song had long ended.

“you looked like… i don’t know.” you searched for the words. “like little jude.”

his expression softened completely. he stared at you for a moment and then reached up and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.“that’s because i was thinking about everyone who got me here.”

your eyes searched his, onlt finding admiration.

“my family,”

“my teammates,”

“and you.”

you blinked.“me?”

he smiled like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “especially you.”

you looked at him.“baby…”

“you’ve been there after every loss.” his thumb traced lazy circles over your cheek. “every injury.” he kissed your forehead.“every bad headline.” another kiss landed on your temple “every time i’ve been doubting myself.” he rested his forehead against yours. “you’ve never doubted me.”

you couldn’t stop the tears this time and they spilled over before you even realised. “aww jude don’t say things like that when you know i cry easily..”

jude laughed quietly, shaking his head. “there’s my beautiful crybaby.”

you gave his chest the weakest little shove. “it’s your fault.”

“i know.”

“you keep saying things.”

“good.” he wrapped you back up in his arms before you could complain anymore. “because i’ve got a lifetime’s worth left to tell you.”

you melted into him all over again, your cheek pressed against his chest as his medal rested cool against your arm.

around you, the stadium was still alive.

the fans cheered until their voices cracked, children waved england flags from their parents’ shoulders, his teammates danced together in front of the supporters and camera flashes lit up the pitch yet somehow, wrapped safely in jude’s arms, it all faded into the background.

he absentmindedly played with your hair, running his fingers through it while swaying the two of you ever so slightly.

it was something he always did when you cried. he never rushed or teased you. he just let you feel.

after a minute, he tipped your chin up again. “all done?”

you looked at him. “…no.”

he laughed. “thought so.”

“i’ve got more.”

“how many?”

you considered it seriously. “…at least another ten minutes.”

he grinned. “perfect.”

“why?”

he kissed your forehead once more.“’cause that means i get to hold you for another ten minutes.”

and (if possible) you cried even harder.

~~

© laoiwvq’s work is laoiwvq’s work only and is not free to use!

[bellinghambabe]

Stopp itt i lovee this soo muchhh

[bellinghambabe]

Went down the Jude rabbit hole.... I downloaded his app and he is also my wallpaper

[lovergirlcinema]

Too Much

michael b.jordan x black reader

Summary: In which, a comment by a one of Michael’s close friends leads to your insecurities pooling to the surface, and you can’t help but start pulling back in your relationship. Worried about if you’re too much.

Author’s note: Okay, y’all I feel like I’m bearing my soul here with this fic. I will admit that I am a certified yapper, but not in the way of wanting to have attention on myself, but I genuinely like having conversations with people. And if it’s a topic that I’m passionate about, then I start yapping and not realizing that I’m doing it. Growing up, I was used to people (even family members) making blatant comments to my face about me talking too much or even saying, “Don’t you get tired of all that talking.” Which I will admit caused me a lot of trauma and insecurity with talking in front of others. So this is a fic that I’m writing to all of my girlies who have ever been made to feel like they’re “too much” or that their “yapping is a bad thing.” Please keep being your authentic selves. You are JUST enough. You deserve to be HEARD. You deserve to be listened to. And the right person made just for you won’t ever think those are flaws! Okay, enough of my soap box. I hope y’all enjoy!

You were what most people liked to refer to as a yapper.

You loved a good yap. The art of yap was something that you were skilled in. You practically had a Ph.D in running your mouth. It was something that followed you throughout your entire life. Your mother even swore that once you learned to form words in your toddler stage, you hadn’t stopped talking since. Your mother would sit across you as you played with your toys and babbled away about things that were going on in your child-like world. Though it was often frustrating and tiring hearing you mindlessly chatter, your mother wouldn’t stop you from talking. There’d be the occasional call of your name, but no serious admonishing on your part.

The thing about it was: you weren’t talking to gain attention towards yourself. In fact, it was quite the opposite for you. With you, you loved talking and you loved hearing other people tell their point-of-views about their lives and interests. You had a natural talent of making everyone feel included, or feel like they were safe enough to open up to you. God forbid anyone mention a topic that you were passionate about, you’d go on for hours and hours about the topic, while making sure to still remain respectful to the other person and hear their side.

However, other people weren’t as appreciative of your yapping. They actually found it to be quite annoying and would blatantly tell you so. Growing up, you’d heard numerous family members comment on your habit. You remember one such instance of a family gathering in which you were surrounded by family members. You remember the conversation diverging to movies which began your passionate yapping. You loved movies. They were always a passion of yours and you loved to share any movie knowledge or recommendations with others. During the middle of your talking, one of your uncles interrupted, “I swear every time I see this girl, she’s always running her mouth.”

Immediately, you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach. Your face became flushed in embarrassment and suddenly, it felt like the entire room was watching you. You felt the insecurity began to creep in and slither into your veins. Had you been talking too much? Was everyone annoyed? Of course, they’re annoyed! This is what you always do. 

You talk too much. 

You can’t go one minute without running your mouth. 

You’re so annoying and no one wants to be around you.

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes, but you quickly willed them back. Your voice became quieter during the family gathering. You shrunk yourself further and further inside of yourself. The insecurities were swarming around your head like incessant gnats. You quietly manuvered the environment until you left your room and sat in your bedroom until everyone left. That night, you felt your heart beating faster and faster in your chest, as your mind wondered if you were being a nuisance to your family with your talking. 

So you made an executive decision: you just wouldn’t talk at all. 

Problem solved, right? No. Of course not. Any Black household knows that you’re not allowed to be silent without it being a problem for the general consensus. You felt that your plan was righteous and justified. If everyone had a problem with your talking, then you’d cease to do the thing that was burdening them. You could still hear the insecurities float through your mind as another family gathering was planned. 

At the family gathering, you were more aware of your behavior. Quaint. Demure. But most of all, quiet. Though it made you angsty to not be included in the conversations with your family, you figured that this was for the best. You thought you were being subtle in your behavior, but of course, there always had to be someone who noticed. 

You couldn’t recall if it had been an aunt or a cousin, but you remembered the sound of your name being called followed by the question, “Why aren’t you talking?” 

Immediately, you felt a sudden rage boil through you. First, you were being told that you talked too much and that you were annoying. Next, you were being called upon to explain your silence. It felt like you couldn’t win in a losing battle. 

As you grew older, you learned to care less and less about the opinions of others. You didn’t need to justify yourself to them. You had just as much of a right to express your passions, and you wouldn’t let anyone shame you for it. 

The right person, your person, wouldn’t mind your talking at all. In fact, they would find it so endearing that they would love to hear the sound of your voice, and they would find comfort in hearing your words, even if they were mindless rambles. 

At your current age, you were sure that you had found your person. 

Michael Bakari Jordan. 

Sexiest man alive. Certified nerd. 

It was funny how you met Michael. It was a casual day, in a random shop that sold various media forms of anime. Growing up, your love of cinema, translated over to animated movies and cartoons. You respected the art of a good cartoon just as much as any live action movie. People who stated that anime was for kids truly didn’t know what masterpieces they were missing out on. They’d never know the sheer excitement that came from watching Goku turn Super Saiyan for the first time. They’d never experience the heartbreak from watching Tetsuo be consumed by his hatred and rage in Akira, or even feel the binding love that transcends time between Howl and Sophie. 

Naturally, you were in this store on this fated day that you met the man. You casually sipped your iced coffee and browsed through the collections of manga and vintage VHS tapes. Through your excitement with the prospect of purchasing one of these pieces of art, you neglected to watch where you were going, which led to you colliding into solid mass. Your drink splashed partly onto the hoodie of the other person, who reached out to quickly steady you. 

Looking up, your concerned eyes met another set of deep brown ones, “Oh my god! I’m so sorry, I ruined your hoodie!” 

Quickly, you rummaged through your purse and found your stash of napkins. Without thinking, you grabbed the man’s art where the drink had splashed and dabbed the napkin into the soaked fabric. A few minutes passed of you doing this before you realized what you were doing. A blush crept up your neck before you let go of the mystery man’s arm. “I’m sorry. First, I ruin your hoodie and then I started rubbing your arm like some creep.” 

The man in front of you chuckled and shook his head, “You good, ma.” 

As you looked closer into the man’s face, you immediately recognized him more. Groaning and running your hand across your face, “I hope you don’t think that was some weird way of me trying to touch you.”

Michael laughed more at your embarrassed expression, “I mean when you put it like that, it would be a good method. But don’t sweat it, I’ve had way weirder interactions with fans trying to get my attention.” 

“Well, at least, let me pay for the dry cleaning for your hoodie. It’s the least that I could do.” You offered, pointing at the stained hoodie. 

Michael shook his head at you, “Nah, you don’t gotta worry about that. It was an accident anyways. I think it was on me just as much as it was you. I wasn’t paying attention either which means I owe you an apology for making you waste your coffee.”

“It’s okay. I guess we both were just engrossed in the content. We can call it even,” you said reaching your hand out to Michael. Grabbing your hand in his, Michael shook it and smiled at you. Your heart began to beat faster when you took in the man’s deep dimples. You pulled your hand back to not appear thirsty in front of you. 

“It was nice to meet you. I’ll let you get back to your browsing. Sorry again about the hoodie.” You said, turning to continue your journey. You didn’t look back at Michael for a response and started your journey into the 80’s and 90’s section of anime. You picked up a copy of Perfect Blue and smiled to yourself. Michael, on the other hand, was stunned by how quickly his interaction ended with you. He was used to people feening for his attention and hogging it when he finally decided to give it to them. But not you. You had turned away from him and continued with your shopping like he was just another regular guy. He liked it. He liked that in that moment, you treated him like another guy. 

He craved the normality of it all. He was so used to having his every move be analyzed by people. Having fans fawn over your every move was nice, but sometimes, he just craved to have another person just see him as normal. In his eyes, he was a regular guy. Albeit, a man with many box office hits under his belt, but a certified nerd at the end of the day. Gazing over at you from the corner of the store, he saw you intensely locked onto the 80s-90s anime section. Your beautiful face was scrunched in concentration, and he could tell that you were genuinely locked in. 

Carefully crossing the store, he stood next to you and pretended to browse the section. Your fingers carefully slid over the titles until you landed on one and pulled it out with an excited squeal. Michael chuckled and it seemed to be only at that point that you noticed that he was standing there. You made eye contact and smiled at each other. 

“What you got there?” Michael asked, tilting his head to the side to gaze at the title of the movie.

Immediately your eyes lit up as if a spark was ignited. “Perfect Blue. You ever seen it?” You questioned, holding out the tape to Michael. Michael shook your head and you scoffed slightly, “I’m sorry Mr. Naruto hasn’t seen one of the most iconic animated movies of all time?” You both laughed as you waved your hands around to empahsize your point.

“I can’t say that I have. What’s it about?” That simple question alone sent you into an entire lecture about the plot of the movie, along with prominent themes that most people would miss on their first viewing experience. You further elaborated on design choices and colors present in the movie. It was like you were a well of knowledge and your passion for the movie really shone throught. It was only when you realized that you were still rambling while Michael hadn’t said anything. The intense look on his face said that he was completely locked into every word that you were saying.

There was a flare of insecurity that coursed through you, as you wondered if you were embarrassing yourself in front of your celebrity crush. How were you going to give off mysterious and sexy if you continued to ramble?

“Sorry. I get carried away sometimes, especially if it’s a movie that I like,” You said sheepishly. 

“Don’t apologize for that. Ever. It’s cute seeing you get all lit up about your passions, and I can tell you’re actually interested in this and not just on a surface level.” Michael said, staring into your eyes. For a moment, the two of you held eye contact before you broke it.

You handed the VHS tape over to Michael, “You should take it. I think you’ll really like it.” 

As you handed the tapes over to Michael, your hands brushed against one another. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach, and suddenly, you were transported back to the feeling of when you had a crush as a child. 

“I should let you go. I hope you enjoy the movie,” you said, turning to leave again. 

Michael watched as you moved to go to the door. He felt something shift inside of himself, and there was that distinct feeling that he shouldn’t let you go. He felt that if he let you leave out of that door, he’d never get a chance to see you again. Michael wasn’t one for just random chances, but he believed in fate, and he believed that some force had dropped you into his life for a reason. 

He quickly jogged up to you and grabbed your wrist. You turned to him in surprise, “How will I be able to tell you that I liked the movie?” Okay..not his best pickup line, but with you, he felt like he didn’t need some suave pickup line. 

“I guess I didn’t think about it like that. Well, maybe you just post it on your Instagram and thank the random girl who threw her coffee drink on you for the recommendation.” You joked, waving your empty coffee cup around. 

“I could do that, or I could take you to get another cup of coffee, and you give me more anime recommendations. Then, if the coffee goes well, I get your number so that I can tell you just how much I liked the movie.” Michael suggested, searching your eyes. 

Wait.

Was Michael B. Jordan asking you out for coffee and asking for your number?

This must be one of those dreams that you have on a random weekday, and you wake up with a distinct longing in your chest as it dissipates. However, as you came back to the present moment and noted the longing in Michael’s eyes, you concluded that it was all real. 

You nodded your head and flashed him a smile.

Those simple gestures would cement your place in Michael’s life from that day forward.

_____________________________

Over ten months later, you had officially become Michael B. Jordan’s hot nerdy girlfriend. After your initial coffee outing, you and Michael had texted frequently throughout the following weeks. He had sat down to watch Perfect Blue and couldn’t resist the urge to immediately text you to give his review of the movie. 

Next, he recommended a show to you. 

Then you would recommend a show or movie to him. You’d both immediately text the other to debrief on shocking moments or even themes that you noticed. You both were meticulous with your planning and recommendations for each other. 

It had become an official love language between the two of you, even though you weren’t even dating. 

Texts turned into phone calls. Phone calls turned into FaceTimes. FaceTimes turned into dates. Dates into intimacy. Intimacy, in turn, became the foundation for a healthy friendship and relationship. You had never felt more comfortable and safer in a relationship than the one that you crafted with Michael. 

He was your ‘Kari, and you were his Princess. A nickname that came from his favorite animated movie, Princess Mononoke. 

Here was another thing. Michael loved to listen to you talk. He loved to see you get lost in a passionate rant about things that interested you. You were naturally curious and always researching, so it was only natural that you wanted to share your new knowledge with him. He’d sit patiently across from you and give soft ‘mhmms” to show that he was listening, and would even ask follow-up questions. He’d sit there with this sweet, love-struck look on his face as he watched the corners of your eyes crinkle as you spoke. It was always refreshing to hear you speak. 

Any other man would’ve been quick to point out your habit, but Michael had never given you an indication that he was irritated or annoyed with you. He just sat and listened. You could almost cry at the safe space that he had created for you to express yourself freely. 

As with the good, there always comes the bad. 

And your bad just happened to come on a random Wednesday of all the days. 

You often spent a lot of time at Michael’s house rather than your own rented apartment. It wasn’t anything intentional on your part, but you just naturally ended up at Michael’s house. He had practically moved half of your stuff into his house without you noticing. All of your favorite products had their own designated space within his bathroom. He had even unconsciously started to pick up your designated pads and tampons in case you ever started your period over the house. He knew that you preferred to have the thick pads with the wings. (Sorry to all the Thin Mint pads girlies–no shade). Even when he went grocery shopping, he found himself picking up certain products that he knew you liked to eat when you came over. Shoot, Michael had even bought your favorite bonnet that sat permanently in the drawer next to his durag. 

If that wasn’t love, then you didn’t know what was. 

It started on Wednesday, Michael and his homeboy, Jones, were sitting in the game room, playing Call of Duty. You were in the other room, running your mouth with your homegirl. Your laugh could be heard through the crack of the door. You maneuvered past the door and went to grab snacks for Michael and Jones. You did not doubt that they had run through their acquired snacks already. 

As you walked up the stairs, the crack in the door let you in on the conversation that was happening between your man and his friend. You stopped at the door as you heard Jones say your name. 

“Dang man, your girl know she can run her mouth. You don’t ever get tired of all that yapping,” Jones said, continuing to press the buttons of the control, as if he wasn’t insulting you.

It wasn’t Michael’s friend’s comment that bothered you. It was the fact that he didn’t immediately jump in to defend you. It was his response that opened Pandora’s box of your insecurities.

“I mean…yeah man, it can be a little too much at times. But that’s just her personality.” 

Too much.

A little too much.

You felt the tightness enter your chest, and the panic started to overcome your senses. Tears filled your eyes, but you took a deep breath and willed them away. You were not about to be caught crying with Doritos and Dr. Pepper in your hand. 

You composed your expression and knocked on the door. Michael and Jones both looked back at you as you entered the room. 

“Hey baby,” Michael said, leaning over and placing a kiss on your head as you passed him the snacks. 

“Thank you, I swear we ran through the snacks as soon as we started the game,” He said, continuing to press buttons on the controller. Jones quickly thanked you before locking back into the game.

Clearing your throat, you turned back to Michael, “Hey, imma head out. I’ll see you later.” 

Michael quickly turned and looked at you with a frown on his face, “I thought you were staying over tonight.” 

“Umm..I can’t. I forgot that I gotta go run some errands in the morning.” 

Michael frowned at you more, “I can just drive you there.” 

“Nah, it’s good. It’s with the girls anyway.” You lied. Truthfully, you had planned to spend the weekend with him, but the little conversation put a damper on those plans. 

Michael continued to eye you. He felt like there was something off, especially since you wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Okay, well, text me when you get home.” He pulled you down and pressed his lips against yours. Instead of the usual deep kiss that you would give him, you quickly ended the kiss. As you turned to leave, Michael gently grasped your wrist, “You good?” 

Quickly, you nodded. “Alright, I love you, Princess,” Michael said, looking into your eyes.

“Yep, love you too,” You said quickly before turning to leave.

As he turned back to the game, there was something in his intuition that told him that something was off with you. Jones cut his eyes at him, “You and your girl fightin’ or something?”

“Nah, man, she was all good when she came over here,” Michael said, racking his brain for the answer.

“She on her period or somethin'?” 

“Nah, her period won’t be here until next week.” 

Jones pressed the pause button and turned to him, “Nigga you keep track of her periods?”

Michael laughed and nodded his head, “Yeah, man, that’s my girl. I love her. And let’s backtrack on that earlier comment, don’t be talkin about my girl running her mouth. She can talk just as much as she wants to, especially around here. Sure, you may think it’s a lot, but I love that about her. She’s expressing what she’s passionate about, and the fact that she wants to share that with me means the world.” 

Jones nodded, “My bad, man. I didn’t mean it like that, but still, I’m sorry.”

With that, they both returned to their game while Michael’s mind was still preoccupied with figuring out what was wrong with you.

_____________________

After you left Michael’s house, you spiralled. 

Your mind became preoccupied with all of the times that you had rambled around Michael. Had he been pretending all of those times when he listened to you talk? Was he secretly thinking that it was too much the entire time, but just too polite to say it aloud? 

As the thoughts continued to go through your head, you felt the tears from before begin to surface. Before you knew it, sobs radiated through your empty apartment. You stood in the middle of your living room, all alone with your insecurities. 

You moved to your bedroom and picked out a simple, oversized T-Shirt to sleep in. You lay in the middle of the bed and stared aimlessly at the ceiling. You felt your phone buzz beside you and noted Michael’s name on the screen.

Kari

Hey, did you make it home? 

You looked at the screen and locked it again. You didn’t have the energy to pretend that everything was okay, so you turned over and went to sleep.

Your heart felt even heavier as you pondered if you would ever have a moment where you didn’t feel like this. Where you didn’t feel like you were too much.

______________________________

Saturday came and went without Michael hearing your voice. You had responded to his text messages, but even your replies were off. You weren’t texting with the same amount of excitement as before. It was a lot drier. Michael continued to rack his brain for a possible explanation of something that he did, and each time, he came back blank. 

When Sunday came, he made the executive decision to drive over to your apartment. He picked up your favorite flowers, along with your go-to order from the cafe that you liked. He knocked on the door and waited for you to answer.

You answered the door, and to the normal eye, you looked normal. You were still your usual beautiful self, but to Michael, you looked off. He could tell that there was something off in your demeanor, even as he leaned down to kiss you. Closing the door, you grabbed the flowers from his hand while thanking him. You quickly put distance between you and Michael and worked on putting the flowers in a vase. 

You continued to shape the stems to your liking and arranged them in the vase. Throughout this time, you had yet to meet Michael’s eyes. He reached across the island to touch your hand. Finally, you looked up at him, but continued to steel your expression.

“Is everything okay, Princess?” He asked, moving around the island to stand in front of him. 

You nodded stiffly, “Yeah, I’m just not feeling good.” 

Michael’s expression softened as he pulled you closer into his chest. A few tears escaped your eyes, and you were quick to wipe them away. 

“You need me to run out and get anything? Soup? Heating pads? Medicine?” Poor Michael, he just assumed that you not feeling good meant that your period had started earlier than expected. 

“No, can we just sit and watch TV?” You asked in a small voice. 

Michael nodded and guided you to sit down. He pulled you closer to his chest and handed you your coffee to sip. While you watched TV, your body relaxed into Michael’s arms, but your brain continued to run rampant with insecurity.

Michael looked down and noticed you staring off into space. Whatever you were dealing with, it wasn’t just simple menstrual cramps. It was something more, and he was determined to find out. 

In that moment, he wished that he had superpowers so that he could see inside your pretty head and make it all better. 

______________________________

In the following weeks, you and Michael returned somewhat to your normal routine, but there was still something off with your behavior. You spent less and less time at Michael’s house and more at your own apartment. It wouldn’t have been noticeable at first to any random person, but for Michael, he noticed everything.

He noticed how you had slowly started moving your items from his home. Graphic tees that sat next to his were removed one by one. That loud hair dryer that you had brought over 3 years ago was removed from the bathroom. The groceries that he had bought were untouched and unopened. 

The straw that broke the camel’s back and confirmed Michael’s suspicions of you removing your things was that your trusted bonnet no longer sat beside his durag. 

Yeah, something was definitely wrong here. 

His immediate thoughts went to the fact that you were planning to break up with him, but he questioned why. Things were going well between the two of you. Were you seeing something that he wasn’t? He had even been working up the nerve to ask you to move in with him. Had even gone to get an extra copy of his keys to put on a special keychain for you.

But if you were planning to break up with him, had he missed the signs leading up to this? 

He looked over at you sitting across from him on the other couch. You were multitasking between working on a project for work and watching the episodes of Mitchiko and Hatchin, even though you had seen them more than you could count. 

He called your name, and you looked at him in surprise, “Come here for a second.” 

Like a baby deer, you took hesitant footsteps toward him until you were standing in front of you. Sitting up, he ran his hands up your legs until they reached your thighs. He pulled you forward until you were straddling his thighs. He could feel your body begin to tense up, but he rubbed his hands across your body and felt you melt more into his touch.

“What’s going on, Princess? You’ve been quiet lately and more withdrawn. Was it something that I did?” Michael asked, searching your eyes and pleading for an answer. 

You looked at him. Really looked at him and stared deeply into his eyes. You could see concern paint the corners of his irises, yet you still couldn’t bring your lips to tell him. It was as if you said it–told him what you had heard, then it made it real. It made it concrete, and you were terrified of what it meant if you had the conversation. Would he finally tell you all of his true feelings about you and explain that he actually was exhausted at hearing you talk all the time? Would he do that thing where he hinted at wanting to break up, but danced around, actually saying the words?

You were afraid to journey down either of those paths. 

So you lied. Well, only partly.

“No, uh, I’ve just been having a couple of off weeks. You know, bad brain days and all that.” The way you said it, all constricted and stiff, let Michael know that you were only partially telling the truth. Over the course of your ten-month relationship, he had learned to read all of your tells. 

Clearly, there was something wrong that you didn’t want to talk about right now. Michael accepted that he would have to wait a little longer for you to come to him. But for now, he would make sure that you knew that he was there. Patient. Willing. “I know something’s wrong, but I can see that you’re not ready to talk about it. I just need you to know that I love you. Whatever you need, I’m right here for you. Always.”

With that, he pulled you further into his body. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and relaxed your head into his neck. You could smell the faint cologne that he liked to wear throughout the week, and it brought you more comfort than you could express. He clearly loved you–at least that’s what his mouth was saying. 

Maybe you could try to make this work. 

____________________________

A week later, Michael’s family had decided to have a big get-together that would be hosted at his parents’ house. Naturally, you were invited as Michael’s girlfriend. Your relationship with his family had progressed as your relationship with Michael grew. Any time that his family had an event, they naturally expected you to show up alongside Michael. 

Things between you and Michael were still tense, even though you craved for things to return to normal between the two of you. You knew that it was a bit childish for you to not communicate with Michael, but confrontation had never been one of your strong suits. You grew up in a home that treated confrontation or negative emotions as a battlefield. You had learned to suck up your feelings and hide them beneath a poorly painted facade to uphold peace. You always became anxious when it came to having hard conversations, thus you usually tended to avoid them. 

You and Michael were dancing on a delicate line within your relationship. 

Walking up the front door of his parents’ home, Michael opened the door and ushered you in with his hand on your back. The two of you walked in the kitchen and were greeted by his parents. You were all smiles as you hugged his mom and dad. Michael’s father asked him to come help him with grilling. You were left in the kitchen with Michael’s mom, sister, and aunts. 

As he exited the kitchen, Michael noted the natural ease that you had with the women in his family. Maybe you’d be more open to sharing with the women in his family as opposed to him. 

You listened intently to the conversations that were happening around you. Each of the women shared tea and updates from their own lives. Michael’s aunt was telling the story of how she suspected that her neighbor’s wife was cheating on him with their other neighbor. The conversation shifted at multiple points, yet you only added minimal feedback to the conversation. You were trying to be normal, you really were. But there was still the fear and conversation that rang through your mind. If Michael was thinking that you talked too much, then maybe his family felt the same way? 

Unbeknownst to you, Donna Jordan kept a watchful eye on you. 

You were a favorite of hers by far in terms of her son’s girlfriends. Similar to Michael, she liked how passionate you got when you were talking. She had noted your talking, but what she liked about it was that the words that you were saying weren’t empty. Each word always had an intention behind it. You both had bonded over your work as a nurse who specialized in Black women’s health. You were passionate about the overall well-being of black and brown women, especially in a world that treated black women like an afterthought.

It was through her own time of getting to know you that she could easily pick up on the fact that something was wrong with you. You weren’t your useful, lively self. You were quieter and withdrawn. A little too stiff for her liking. 

It just so happened that your eyes met hers, and you gave her a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. 

She would definitely be pulling her son aside to see what was going on.

As the cookout progressed, the food was set out in the kitchen. Naturally, the women in the family, including you, had taken up the duty to fix plates for the children and men. Michael watched as you listened intently to one of his little cousins as they told you everything that they wanted on their plates. He watched the ease with which you naturally adapted to the child’s request and helped them. He imagined what that would look like one day when the two of you had kids of your own. 

After you had made his cousin’s plate, you worked meticulously on making his plate with everything that he liked. Donna watched you as you made her son’s plate and admired the obvious care that you were putting into making it. It was obvious that you loved Michael, but there was still something there.

Sitting next to Michael, you continued to listen to the conversations around you, still with limited feedback of your own. It wasn’t until you heard your own name being called that you looked at one of Michael’s aunts, who was addressing you. “Baby, you’re a nurse, what do you think about all of this that’s going on with the hospitals and women’s reproductive health?”

You placed your fork down, “It’s horrible. I mean, not only does it hurt women all over who are trying to have babies, but it especially affects a lot of black and brown women. So many black women already fight to have their voices heard in the labor and delivery room, but these recent changes just allow more negligent care to happen when black women are delivering their kids.”

You continued your talk, and every person there hung onto every word that you said. Michael seemed more entranced than anyone at the table. It was the most that he had heard you talk in weeks, and he realized that he missed hearing you go on your long rants. God, why had you been keeping your voice from him?

Michael’s uncle, who sat on his right, leaned over, “Aye, nephew, you got you a good one. You might wanna go ahead and marry her.”

‘That’s the plan.’ Michael thought to himself.

____________________

Later, everyone sat in the living room and continued to enjoy each other’s presence. Michael went into the kitchen to check on his mother, who was cutting up slices of pie for everyone. 

“Hey, ma, you need help with anything?” He asked, standing across from her.

Donna shook her head and continued to cut the pie, “Naw, baby, why don’t you sit down for a second? Is there something going on between you and that baby in there? She just seems a little off since she got here today.”

“I was meaning to talk to you about that. I don’t know, ma. It’s been weird between us for a couple of weeks. I asked her about it, but she just keeps saying that it’s nothing. I keep trying to see if it’s something that I did, but so far, I can’t come up with anything.” 

In the living room, you sat next to one of Michael’s cousins and casually talked about how she was doing in college. You could hear the sounds of the younger kids playing and talking with each other. One of the kids, Nala, talked animatedly. Her little hands gestured wildly around her, and it seemed like her words were going a mile a minute. You and a couple of the adults in the room were tuned into her little speech. 

“Lord, that lil girl know she can run her mouth. I hope she grow out of that cause don’t nobody find all of that talking attractive.” Michael’s uncle stated. There were a few sounds of agreement from the other adults in the room, and you felt yourself tense up.

The conversation shifted, but none of the adults noticed that Nala had heard her uncle’s statement. Immediately, you watched as she quieted down and saw her begin to withdraw within herself. She quickly got up, tears filling her tiny eyes, and walked quietly out of the room. None of the adults was aware of the turmoil that the little girl was going through. But you. You saw Nala, and you weren’t going to let her carry that burden alone. 

Standing up, you followed behind Nala and found her sitting in one of the spare rooms in the Jordan household. Slight sobs racked her tiny body, and you felt your heart break for her. Knocking lightly on the door, you stood in the doorframe, “Hi, do you mind if I sit here with you?”

Nala nodded, and you sat next to her on the floor.

She wiped her hands across her face, but tears continued to escape her eyes. “I’m sorry that you heard that. You know, you deserve to talk just as anyone else.”

Nala sniffled, “I’m not trying to be annoying. I just get excited when I’m talking. But everybody keeps saying that I talk too much.”

You nodded your head softly, “I know how you feel. When I was growing up, people used to always tell me that I talked too much. They would make me feel bad for expressing myself, but I want you to know that there’s nothing wrong with you. Your voice is important. It’s a gift. And you know what, somebody out there needs your voice. I’m a nurse, which means I work with many people who are ill. I work with a lot of women who are having new babies, and sometimes they get so scared. But once I start talking to them, they feel better. You’re going to do that one day. Someone out there is going to thank you for speaking.”

Nala hung onto every word that you said. Right there, she made up her mind that she wanted to be just like you. She wanted to use her voice to help others in the world.

“Now, why don’t you tell me all about those Disney princesses that you were talking about earlier. And don’t leave out any details.” 

With that, Nala launched into an animated conversation with you about Disney princesses. That’s where Michael found you. Sitting on the bedroom floor beside Nala, engrossed in an intense conversation. He could tell that both of you were enjoying the conversation. His heart clenched in his chest, and he knew that even more, he wanted to marry you.

By the end of the night, everyone was leaving with their to-go plates in hand. Nala was exiting the house with her parents, but not before she turned back and ran towards you. You bent down so that you could be eye level with her, and immediately, the younger girl launched herself into your arms. She whispered something in your ear–a secret that was only meant for the two of you. 

She gave you one last smile and ran back to her parents. 

Michael placed his arm around you and pulled you close to his side, “So you and Nala best friends?” 

“What? You jealous?” You joked, poking him in his side. You and Michael continued to joke with each other, and his mother watched you two fondly.

She prayed that everything would be okay between the two of you.

__________________________

On Sunday, you were at Michael’s house. 

It was your normal routine between the two of you. You would casually lounge around the house together, enjoying your respective coffees and each other’s company. 

You were working on a creative project on your laptop.

“I’m going to the bathroom. Be right back,” You said, standing and stretching. 

Michael continued to sit at the kitchen table and casually scrolled through his phone. Your laptop dinged, announcing that you had a message. A couple of seconds went by before another ding sounded throughout the kitchen. Michael moved to lock your laptop, but stopped once he noticed that your messages were open. 

Now, he wasn’t one to snoop, and it was all an accident, but he only looked at your computer because he saw his name pop up in your messages with your best friend.

Bestie

So you still haven’t told Mike that you heard him and his homeboy talking about u the other day??

You

No…i always start to say something, but then I stop.

You know how i feel about confrontation

Plus, I’m just scared of what he’s going to say

What if he just finally decides that I’m too much and this isn’t what he wants? 

Bestie

Girl, I promise you’re not too much. You’re perfect. 

Just talk to him and let him know how you’re feeling. If he decides that he can’t handle you, then forget him.You deserved to be loved for every single aspect of you . I’m here if you need me…..or if you want me ball his lips up.

You

Okay ima go talk to him now. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Michael heard the sounds of your footsteps coming down the stairs and quickly moved away from your laptop. You rounded the corner and looked at him, “Hey, baby, can I talk to you?” 

Michael nodded, and you sat across from him.

There was a quick beat of silence in the kitchen. You rubbed your hands around your designated mug that had a home in Michael’s cabinet. “I know that you’ve noticed that I’ve been acting weird lately. I only told you half of the truth when I said that I was having a bad brain week. I have been having a hard time mentally. But…it’s because..well, I heard you and Jones that day. The whole thing about me running my mouth. It wasn’t the fact that Jones said it–I mean I’m used to people commenting on that. But it was you, you said ‘yeah man, it can be too much at times.” 

Sighing, you looked down and felt the anxiety claw beneath your ribs, but you pushed it down. You had to stop being afraid of tip toeing around other peoples’ feelings and sacrificing yours. 

“Quite frankly, Michael, it hurt. Not only did you not correct him, but you agreed. You know how hard it’s been for me with hearing that statement throughout my life. I told you how much it hurt to hear that growing up! I thought that you liked it about me, but you said it was too much.”

You paused, tears of frustration stinging at your eyes, “I’m tired of making myself smaller so that you and everyone else can feel comfortable! Yes, I talk a lot! I like to run my mouth, but you know what? I don’t see that as a flaw. I thought that you didn’t either, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe you aren’t my person at all.”

With that, you felt a huge weight lift off of your shoulders. You had been carrying this fear and pain around for weeks, and it felt nice to finally release it. It didn’t matter what everyone else thought. Your feelings were your only priority at this moment.

Michael watched as you let out a deep breath. Your shoulders visibly relaxed and he realized just how much you had been carrying these past weeks. All of that pain and he was the one that started it. Guilt bloomed at his chest. He should’ve been more careful with his words, especially when it came to you.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked over at Michael, who continued speaking, “I’m so sorry, Princess. You’re right, I should’ve corrected Jones in the moment, and I shouldn’t have said what I said. You have every right to feel that way that you do. I’m sorry that you’ve been having to carry this all alone, and that I’m the reason that you felt that you had to.” 

Michael rounded the table and kneeled in front of you. Your eyes were looking past him and Michael felt crushed at seeing the pain that was there. You had always been someone who wore their emotions on their face, so it was often hard to hide it. He noticed you playing with the rings on your hands–another nervous tick. He grabbed your hands and softly massaged it between his. 

“Can you look at me,” He asked, hoping to catch your gaze. Your eyes finally met and Michael made sure to keep your attention on him, “I love you. I love you so much that I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. Seeing you around my family made me think about our future together. Baby, I want all of that with you. You took time out to sit with Nala, talking about Disney princesses. I couldn’t imagine any other woman that I would want to my wife and the mother of my children. I love hearing you talk. Even if it’s about something small, like that day when you wanted to talk about different clouds and which one was your favorite. I’m not annoyed with hearing you talk. Actually, hearing you go on those lil rambles is the best part of my day. I’m constantly checking my phone to see when you’re coming over, so I can hear what new thing you learned. And, I’m so sorry for making you feel any other way.” 

You played the words over and over in your head. 

A sudden smile overtook your face, “You know that’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk since we’ve been together.”

Michael laughed and pulled you closer to him, “Princess, you’re the only one that I would ever give monologues like that too. If you want me to spend the next days of our lives together showing you how much I love you, then I will. Hell, I’ll send you an-hour long voice note if you want me to baby.” 

The two of you broke into loud laughter. It was a running joke between the two of you because you often liked to send Michael long voice notes about something that was going on. Michael called them your little podcast episodes, and he always kept each one that you sent. He liked to hear your narration for each story and how you would change your voice, depending on who was apart of the story.

“You’d start a podcast for me, Kari?” 

“Princess, I’d start a whole production with 20-episode seasons if you wanted me to,” Michael said. He leaned forward and kissed you deeply. He wanted to convey his love to you, in every sense. He needed you to know how much he cherished you.

“Now can you catch me up on everything that I’ve been missing about you. And don’t leave out any details.” 

Your eyes lit up and with that, you went to yapping, and filling Michael on everything in your world. He sat and listened patiently. And you know what, he never got tired of it. 

He could listen to you for hours.

His little chatterbox. 

His future wife. 

Yeah, he couldn’t wait to spend forever with you.

end.

Nobody:

Michael listening to you yap:

[lovergirlcinema]

His Black Swan

michael b. jordan x black!ballerina!reader

Summary: When a comment by another actor during Oscar’s season drop, the internet and Michael rally behind you to show love and appreciation to your craft. 

Warning(s): SMUT (18+, MDNI), handjob, public sex, sub!Michael. Y’all I wasn’t even planning for this to have a smut scene, but then I kept writing and it came naturally😭. Also, for the person who asked for sub!MBJ, it’s here unintentionally. I hope y’all enjoy ♥️

Michael has never found a woman more fascinating than you. You move through a room as if you’re floating through it. Sometimes, he wonders if you’re some kind of apparition that he’d made up in his mind. 

How was he so blessed to be in the presence of someone with so much grace and talent? 

It was easy to see why you’d already been promoted to principal ballerina at such a young age. The first time that Michael saw you dance, his vision went blurry and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

You moved across the floor in a way that felt inhuman. You commanded the eyes of every single person in the room like it was honor that they were witnessing such greatness. In fact, he felt honored to be there. 

His journey into meeting you started with Sinners.

“I don’t know man. I just want the characters to feel like their own distinct personalities. I want them to talk different. Move different,” Michael explained to Ryan. 

The other man nodded his head in agreement. He and Michael had been working together long enough for him to know how serious Michael was when it came to his craft. 

Ryan thought over Michael’s words and then looked over to Zunzi. “You got any ideas?”

Zingi thought it over before smiling, “Actually I do. Why don’t you go take a few ballet classes?”

Michael and Ryan chuckled lightly as Zinzi rolled her eyes. Ryan looked in Michael’s direction, “That’s actually not a bad idea. I mean, if you think about it. It could teach you how to be light on your feet and working on posture for the characters.”

Truthfully, the idea was brilliant. If anyone knew anything about posture and composure, it was a ballerina. 

“I’ll give it a shot, but do you have any suggestions for a teacher?”

Zinzi nodded before she flashed a picture of you to Michael. Michael had heard of you before. Hell, who hadn’t heard of you. You were making quite the impression on the ballet world with your dancing. 

You were already a principal ballerina at your company and in high demand for other productions when your company wasn’t in season. 

“She does classes on the side that our daughters take. I can text her to set up a meeting. Maybe you can do a few private classes with her to help you with Smoke and Stack,” Zinzi said, while typing down on her phone.

Michael assumed that she was already texting you. After a few moments, Zinzi looks up from her phone, “She said you can come after her class on Thursday to meet her if you have some time that day.”

Michael nod, “Yeah I’m free. Thank you for setting it up.”

Thursday rolls around and Michael finds himself standing in the midst of a ballet studio. He wears a cap over his head to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to himself.

He walks up to the receptionist desk, “Hi, I’m supposed to be meeting Yn Yln here.” 

The receptionist smiles at him, “Of course. She told me to be expecting you. She’ll in room 5A. You can go right down that hall.”

Michael gives her a polite ‘thank you’ before moving to walk down the hall. He peers through most of the glass windows and sees all of the different dancers practicing routines. 

When he gets to room 5A, he peers through the window and immediately spots you. He knocks on the door gently. A few seconds pass before you open the door, “Right on time. I still have a few more minutes with my class but you’re more than welcome to come sit while we finish.”

Michael doesn’t realize that he’s staring at your face until you clear your throat. Heat crawls up the back of his neck as he nods his head and smiles. He follow behind you to sit in the corner while your students’ curious gazes all seem to be on the newcomer. 

As much as he would like to hide it, he knows that they’ve recognized him by this point. 

You clap your hands lightly, drawing the little girls attention to you, “Alright, your performance for Alice in Wonderland will be coming up soon, and there’s still a few tweaks that we need to make. Let’s start from the top.” 

The little girls all take position as you start the music. You walk around the room and watch their forms closely. One little girl appears to struggle when it comes to one of the turns and Michael can see the tears of frustration stinging at her eyes.

It’s apparent that you see it too.

You step closer to the little girl and lean down to whisper in her ear. Michael watches how soft and patient you are with her. You stand and guide her through making the turn. He watches with fascination as the girl’s confidence grows more and more with each passing turn until you’re no longer guiding her.

She gives you a wide smile when she completes the turn on her own. You smile in return before stepping to continue guiding your other students. 

Before Michael knows it, the class is over and the little girls’ parents are filing in to pick them up. A few moms peer his way and their eyes widen in excitement. 

‘Girl is that Michael B. Jordan?’

‘Oooo..is Ms.YN dating him?’

‘Lord, he finer in person! If I wasn’t married, I would be all over him.’

‘Girl married or not! I’d happily throw this cat at him.’

Michael hides his grin behind his hand at the gossip permeating through the room. Soon, all of the parents and their kids filter out of the room, and you close the door. 

You walk over to sit next to Michael and hold out your hand, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m a huge fan of your work.”

“Thank you. I’m a fan of yours as well. Thank you for agreeing to meet me today,” Michael replies.

You nod, “Of course. Now, what is it exactly that I can do for you, Michael?”

His mouth feels dry at the way that his name sounds falling from your lips. “I have a new movie coming up where I play twin brothers, and I want them to both feel physically different. Zinzi suggested taking ballet classes and mentioned you.” 

He pauses for a moment before quickly interjecting, “I’d pay for it. If you’re open to helping me.”

You mull over the proposition for a few moments before nodding, “I’ll help you. Ryan actually mentioned the movie the last time he came to pick the girls up, so I know it’s going to be good. We can start next week if you’re open.” 

Without hesitation, Michael nods. You could’ve told him to start now and he would’ve been down for it. He’s willing to take anything that you give him at this point. 

You stand from the bench, “Well, it was nice meeting you. On Monday, come in workout clothes, as flexible as possible. I’ll also need different dialogues pieces from the scripts or some description of the twins to get a better feel of them. That way I can better plan around your training.”

Michael nods in response, “Okay, I’ll talk to Coog about getting you some pieces. Thank you again. You’re helping me out more than you know.”

A soft laugh leaves your lips, “Don’t mention it. Just be ready for Monday.”

Michael shakes his head before moving to exit the room. He stops as a thought hits him, “Oh, I just realized I don’t have your number.” 

You walk over with your phone in hand. Michael hands his phone to you and you put your phone in before calling yourself to save his number. You hand his phone back with a parting smile and farewell. 

Inside his car, Michael can’t help, but think about how excited he is to start his lessons with you. In fact, he’s so excited that when he gets home, he goes to watch videos of your performances on YouTube. 

He imagines seeing the performances in person and thinks to himself how magical it must be to witness you dance in person. 

With Ryan’s approval, parts of the script are emailed to you. Over the weekend, you analyze the pieces and make notes for the two characters. You’re also intrigued by the notion of seeing Michael transform into Smoke and Stack. 

When Monday comes, Michael moves quicker than any other event that he’s ever done in life. He dresses in a simple t-shirt and shorts combo. In the mirror, he realizes that he’s taking extra care with his appearance.

“Get a grip. She’s just teaching you ballet,” He says to himself in the mirror. 

On the drive over, he’s already going over the possible exercises that you could be planning for him. He laughs softly thinking about you having him twirling around the room. 

He parks his car in the parking lot and enters the building. The receptionist from the previous week smiles at him before ushering him to go back. He finds you in the same room as before, but you’re dressed differently.

You’re wearing a pink leotard with pink tights and pink leg warmers. Your hair is pulled to the top of your head, and Michael can’t help but think how gorgeous you look as the pink compliments the brown of your skin. 

“You’re early.”

Michael shrugs, “My father often told me that being on time is still late.” 

“Let me guess, army brat?” You question, a teasing smile covering your beautiful face. Michael smiles in response and nods. You usher him forward and he closes the door behind him. 

“I reviewed script and wrote down a few notes to help. But first I want you to tell me who Smoke and Stack are in your own words.” 

Michael mulls over your order for a moment. He takes a minute to find the words, “I guess I’ll start with Stack. He’s the more irresponsible one. He’s playful. Always thinking of the next scheme to get him further in life. Whereas Smoke, he’s more quiet. Lethal. He’s watching everyone in the room as soon as he steps in.”

Your inquisitive eyes meet his, “Good. Now which twin do you prefer to start with?”

“Let’s go with Stack. Moving in his skin is a lot more comfortable to me,” Michael answers. 

For him, the role of Stack had come naturally. Though it may not have came off that way to the general public, but Michael has a playful boyishness to himself that many people don’t get to see. 

You guide him into the middle of the room. “We’ll start with some stretching.” You demonstrate the first stretch to Michael and he follows suit. He’s used to stretching before workouts, but he’s never done some of the stretches that you have him doing.

He’s pulling at muscles that he didn’t even know needed to be stretched. From the corner of his eye, he watches the ease at which you stretch. It’s clear that after years of doing this, the exercise is nothing to you. 

“Okay, now I want to see how you normally walk,” You announce after you and Michael finish the stretching exercises. 

As awkward as it is, he obeys your command and walks towards you. You point to the wall and he walks over in the direction. He can see the way that you tilt your head and squint. He wonders what you’re thinking of him. Do you like his walk? 

You stop him, “Your posture is good, kind of hunched over, but I’m assuming that comes from being an army brat. You switch between walking light on your feet and then heavy. I’m assuming the boxing training from Creed did that.”

Michael looks at you in surprise, “You got all of that just from me walking?”

“As a dancer, it’s my job to be mindful of my steps. It’s only natural that I extend the skill to my teaching. Since we’re starting with Stack, I want you to channel some of the character here, even if that means that you have to start talking as the character,” You explain, stepping back from him.

Michael takes a deep breath and mentally goes over the voice exercises in his mind for Stack. You watch with intrigue as he changes his body with smaller movements. 

He turns to face you with a cocky smirk, “How you doin’ baby?”

You chuckle at the nickname, “I’m doing just fine and what about you?”

“I’m mighty fine myself. Even betta’ now that you here,” He answers. 

“Walk towards me,” you order softly. Michael begins his walk towards you and stops when you hold up a hand, “Go back, you need to be light on your feet with Stack. He’s always slinking and slithering through a room.” 

Michael goes back and does the walk again with your notes. Without thinking, he starts circling around you. He smirk, “Pretty girl like you here all alone?” 

“I bet you use that on all the girls. You’re quite the player from what I heard,” you said, playing into the character and watching his body language. 

Michael shakes his head, “Ain’t too many women round here to look at. ‘Sides they ain’t got nothing on you.”

You hold up a finger. You move to stand behind him and place a hand on his stomach, while angling his shoulders, “Keep your posture straight and wide. Stack likes being the center of attention. He’s gonna want people to look at him. Don’t be afraid to move your arms.”

For the next thirty minutes, you and Michael continue to work on his walk for Stack. You teach him more on being light on his feet and he runs more ideas past you for the character. 

You don’t rush him. You’re patient with him in helping him with all of the different quirks of his character. You still give him creative freedom while monitoring what’s best. By the end of the lesson, Michael leaves with more clarity than before. 

He drinks from his water bottle as you both sit on the floor. “I forgot, we never did talk about how much I’ll be paying you. How does $10,000 for the week sound?” 

Your eyes widen, “Michael, that’s way too much. I usually only charge my clients $22.” 

“No, I don’t think it’s too much. You’ve already helped me a lot with the character and I want to make sure that you’re compensated for it. I fly out next week to start filming in Louisiana, so I don’t mind paying you.”

You still appear to be conflicted about taking his money, but then a light bulb pops off in your head, “I’ll take the money if you agree to meet my take one of my beginner classes with my students. They’d love to meet you.”

“Deal.” He holds his hand out to you, which you shake in response. 

The following day, you and Michael work on Stack’s walk more with you teaching him more exercises to help him get into character. 

“Okay, I think I’m ready to become Smoke,” Michael said, standing from his place on the floor. 

Truthfully, from the pieces of the script that you read, Smoke was your favorite twin. You admired his devotion to his brother and his clear love for Annie. 

You come to stand beside Michael and move his shoulders to make them slump slightly. You lean closer to whisper in his ear, “Now, with Smoke. He’s a lot heavier. He has all of this unspoken trauma and burdens resting on his shoulders. Your body language should reflect that. Your footsteps need to be heavier. You need to walk like this man has the weight of the world suffocating him.” 

Michael turns his head and for a moment, you both stare into each other’s eyes. He takes the opportunity to commit all of your features to his memory. He thinks back to the fact that by the end of this week, he won’t see you for a few months.

He wants to remember every thing about you before that time comes. 

“You ready?” You question, continuing to hold eye contact with him. He nods. You step back to create distance between yourselves. 

He mentally gets himself into the headspace for Smoke. He places your words in his head as he begins to feel a sudden weight holding his shoulders down. 

He looks at you quietly and you know that the change has taken place. 

“Which do you prefer? Smoke or Elijah?”

He shrugs, “Either is fine.” 

“I didn’t ask for fine, I asked which you preferred,” You point out. 

“Elijah.”

“Come over to me, Elijah,” You say, beckoning a finger forward. Michael feels and hears the heaviness of his footsteps entering his ears. It physically feels like he’s wearing a weighted vest, but he keeps in mind that the character requires him to be this way. 

When he steps in front of you, you’re both toe to toe as you gaze up at him. Slowly, you move around him and press your fingers to his shoulders. “You’re holding tension here. That’s good. Loosen up a bit. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” 

You think back to the sex scene from the script that he has with Annie. You move closer to Michael and press your body against his. You slide a manicured hand across his torso, feeling his muscle constrict beneath your fingers.

“For this character, you need to identify what areas that he’s holding his trauma. Shoulders yes, but where else? In the scene with Annie, he melts into her touch, so it’s obvious that he’s holding something here. Residual love? Guilt? You need to get to the root of it.” You explain, pressing your fingers lightly into his abdomen.

Michael can’t help the way that his eyes roll back at the feel of your hands on him. He doesn’t think as he pulls your other hand across his torso so that you’re hugging him.  

He closes his eyes and his body feels like liquid. He feels like he could melt beneath your fingers and you’d be there to clean him up. He intertwines his fingers between yours and he doesn’t know why, but he starts trailing your hands up and down his body. 

He moves your fingers up his chest as a deep breath exits his mouth. You watch Michael the entire time. You knew what it was like to get lost in a character and all of the emotions that came with it. 

“What is it that you need, Elijah?” You whisper into his ear. 

Michael bites his lip softly, “I need you to touch me.” 

“Touch you where, baby?”

“Everywhere,” he pleads. His voice is low, almost like a whine. Michael doesn’t even realize that he’s trembling in your hold. 

You trail your fingers across the expanse of his chest before enclosing your fingers around his neck. A whimper leaves Michael’s mouth as you tighten your hand, “You need to be vulnerable, especially when it comes to Annie. This is a character that doesn’t allow himself to be exposed to anyone besides her and his brother. Tap into that.” 

You release his throat as both your hands trail down before stopping at the waistband of his shorts. You lift the hem of his shirt and take your nails across the patch of hair there. “Look at me, Elijah.” 

Michael’s wide and pleading eyes find yours. You can see the tears brimming at his pretty brown eyes. “Please,” He begs.

You nod before sliding your fingers inside his briefs. Michael jumps at the feeling of your fingers running through the course hair surrounding his length. You grasp him in your hand before sliding upwards to collect his pre-cum and use it to begin sliding your hand up and down. 

Michael’s head falls back as he settles more of his weight into your hold. He moans as the pleasure courses through his veins at the feeling of you jerking him off. He moans louder when you focus on his sensitive tip. 

“You’re doing so good, Elijah. You needed this, didn’t you?” 

Michael whimpers and nods as the tears begin cascading down his face. In response, your hand increases in speed as Michael bucks into your hand. 

The first spurt of his cum hits your fingers as he shakes and moans into your hold. You talk him through the orgasm by whispering in his ear. There’s a shattering of colors that erupts beneath Michael’s eyelids. The pleasure feels like someone disconnecting his soul from his body and brought him back. 

He comes down from his high when you remove your wet hand from his boxers. You both look down at his white release coating your fingers. 

Wordlessly, you move to cross the room and wipe your hand off on a nearby towel. Michael stands, dumbstruck in the middle of the studio with his shorts wet from his cum. 

Frankly, he doesn’t know what to say and he’s still not 100% sure that he’s actually in his body. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, though you clearly know he’s not. 

Michael nods, dazed. You grab his hand and lead him to a nearby bench. You take the top from his water bottle and angle it towards his lips. He takes a few sips while staring at you. 

You cup his hands in your hands, “Look at me for a second. You’re okay. We’re okay. Just keep focusing on my voice and come back to me, okay.” 

Absentmindedly, he nods. A few more minutes and his brain finally doesn’t feel like mush anymore. “I’m sorry. That was weird,” Michael said. 

You shake your head, “Nothing weird about it. We all get lost in it sometimes. You good now?”

He shakes his head before standing. 

“I’m sorry if that was crossing any lines for you. I don’t know what came over me and it was out of line. I just don’t want it to come across that I came here just for that,” Michael admits sheepishly. 

“It’s okay, Michael. I know that you didn’t come here for that. But I do want to be sure that we aren’t crossing too many boundaries since you’re technically employing me.”

“I get that…But I like you a lot, and I haven’t felt anything like that before. Not even just the physical, but you’ve unlocked parts of me that I didn’t know were there. Let me take you out to dinner, and if you decide you don’t like me there, I’ll drop it.” 

His bright eyes meet yours. You can read the desperation there and you have to admit that you had started to develop a crush on Michael as well. 

“Fine. One date.” You reply, a smile overtaking your lips. 

Michael smiles back, “This Saturday. I’ll pick you up.”

You haven’t left Michael’s mind since that day at the studio. His mind, body, and soul crave you. It’s like rewired something inside of him, and now he’s insatiable, even if it only means that he gets to look at you. 

He picks you up at seven for your date. At the restaurant, you both sit across from each other as you sip from your wine glass. 

Michael leans forward, “Tell me your story. How’d you get to where you are now?”

“I was really quiet as a kid. Not really interacting with others. My parents wanted me to come out of my shell a bit more and make friends, so they signed me up for ballet lessons. It was fun, and it worked on bringing me out of my shell. I didn’t really consider a professional career in it at first until my teacher pulled my parents and me to the side to say how much faster I was progressing than my classmates. She said that she could see me going far, and she really honed in on shaping my abilities,” you explain, fingers lightly tapping on the table. 

“Is it true that you studied in Ukraine?” Michael asks. He’d taken the time out to do his research about you, but he still preferred to hear it firsthand.

“Yeah, my teacher thought I’d do well in a more challenging environment, so we filled out an application for a ballet school in Ukraine. I had to go audition there, and then I got a scholarship to go full-time. I stayed there and traveled around Europe for a couple of years.”

“What made you come back?”

“Truthfully, I missed home. It was nice being able to travel across the country, but nothing beats home. I applied for my current company, and now I’m here,” You said. 

“It’s inspiring what you do. I’ve only seen some of your performances online, but I can bet money that it’s different seeing you in person,” Michael said, eyes glancing over your face.

“You should come sometime. I have a performance for Swan Lake coming up in about two months. If you’re free from filming, I’ll set you a ticket to the side.”

Michael lights up at the idea of seeing you dance in person. “I’ll be there.”

By the end of the date, Michael doesn’t want to let you go, but he knows that he has a flight to Louisiana early in the morning. He stands toe-to-toe with you in front of your apartment door. He leans down to ghost his lips across yours. He breathes in the scent of your perfume and engrains it into his memory until he can see you again. You brush your lips across his, smearing your lip gloss across his lips. You pull back lightly, and he immediately starts chasing your affection. Michael brings his hand into your hair and crushes his lips to yours. 

You both breathe each other in, passing moans between each other like a conversation. 

You pull back, rubbing your nose with his, “I’ll see you, Michael.”

He nods, “You will.”

He bestows one last lingering kiss on your lips before walking back to his car. Inside the car, he doesn’t stop touching his lips, even as he drives. In fact, he licks the remnants of your gloss from his lips and moans at the taste of you.

It’ll have to be enough for now. 

A month into filming, and everyone can already see the way that Michael fully embodies the role of Smoke and Stack. It’s as if he did some kind of voodoo, and the spirits of the characters are physically ingrained into him.

Michael and Zinzi clock the difference in his movements as he walks. 

They know that it’s all because of you. 

Michael’s relationship with you had only continued to grow. He’d call or text you throughout the day to hear about the aspects of your day. You’d send him different pictures of you during practice or in your costume for Swan Lake. 

He’d flown back out for your performance tonight. You’d sent him the ticket and had him seated closely to the stage. He introduced himself to your parents, who’d already heard a lot about Michael through you. 

Your mom looked down at the huge bouquet of flowers in Michael’s hands. The bouquet consisted of all flowers with varying shades of pink. “I see you’ve picked up on the fact that pink’s her favorite color.” 

Michael smiled sheepishly, “Yeah, she wears a lot of it, so I figured it’d be best to get flowers to reflect that.”

“Good. I like you already,” Your mom said with a soft smile. 

Soon, the lights dimmed, and the performance began. Michael’s intrigued by the story, but most of all, he’s eager to see you. He doesn’t have to wait long when you appear on the stage with all the elegance and grace of a swan. He becomes enraptured with the softness of the makeup on your face and the subtle grace of your movements. Despite all the other dancers being there, Michael only keeps his eyes on you. 

When it’s time for you to transition as The Black Swan, Michael feels the breath leaving his chest. It seems impossible for you to become an entirely separate person, but Michael watches as you fully embody the role. As you turn, the muscles in your back contract as if wings are moving and dying to sprout from the skin. 

In this moment, Michael truly believes that this may be the closest that he’ll ever get to seeing God.

He’ll repent for that later.

After the show concludes, your parents usher him backstage alongside them so that he can see you. Your parents knock on your dressing room door, you open it wearing a pink gown. 

Your dad steps up first to hug you, “You did amazing out there, sweet pea.” 

“My baby is the Swan Queen. We’re so proud of you,” your mom adds, hugging you next. 

A sly smile appears on her face as she steps to the side, “There’s someone that I think is dying to see you.”

Michael appears in the doorway with a bouquet in front of him. You both take a minute to look at each other. 

You step forward and wrap your arms around him. In return, Michael clutches your body closely to his. He breathes in your perfume, and he realizes that he missed your smell more than he realized. 

“You were amazing out there. It was like being transported to another world,” He whispers into your ear.

“Thank you for coming. I know you’re busy with filming,” you said, pulling back from the hug. He places the large bouquet in your hands, “I’m never too busy for you.” 

Your parents watch the interaction with large smiles on their face. Michael looks at you and your family, “Can I take y’all out to dinner?”

Your mom shakes her head, “Thank you for the offer, but why don’t we let you kids have some time to yourselves?” 

They both give you parting kisses and wave at Michael. “You ready or I can give you more time?”

“No, I’m ready.” You reply, grabbing your purse before grasping Michael’s hand in yours. 

Outside the theater, people gawk at seeing you and Michael together so openly. He doesn’t try to hide the fact either. He pulls you closer as the cameras flash brighter and more of the paparazzi yell out your respective names. 

You both have no doubt that you’ll be front page news for The Shade Room and TMZ in only a couple of minutes. Michael ushers you into the car before jogging back to his side.

Soon, you’re both sitting across from each other in a Japanese restaurant that Michael rented out. 

“So, how’s filming? Is it easier for you to step between Smoke and Stack now?” You ask, playing with Michael’s fingers across the table. 

“It is. I feel like I have a better sense of the characters because of you.” He answers. 

You smirk, “As much as I love the praise. It’s not just me. That’s all you too. You understand the characters more than you think you do.” 

A wave of silence falls over you both as you continue intertwining your fingers together. 

Michael runs his fingertips across the tattoo on your wrist. He finally looks up and finds you staring at him, “I’ve been thinking. I know we haven’t known each other that long, but I really like you. I wanna ask if you want to be my girl?”

“I’d really like that.” 

From that point on, you’re his woman, and he’s completely and utterly devoted to you.

When Sinners releases, it’s just as big as you knew it’d be. You’re by Michael’s side the entire time as more and more people flock to him for his performance. On the red carpet, he holds your body close to his as the camera flashes.

He’d dropped the L-word early in your relationship, and he had no regrets about it. 

Award season rolls around, and Michael’s name is on everyone’s lips for the Oscars.

“So, Michael, I’ve heard you mention that you worked with a voice coach, twin consultants, and chakra healers for your role as Smoke and Stack. Is there any other work that you did to prepare for the role?” The interviewer questions. 

“Actually, I did. My girlfriend is a ballet dancer, which is how we met. I wanted Smoke and Stack to walk differently, so Zinzi suggested taking ballet classes. My girlfriend was an essential part of me crafting the characters. Honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without her.”

Not surprisingly, the clip goes viral.

Little did you and Michael know, another clip is about to go viral. One that’s been insulting to you and your craft. 

The next day, when you wake up, you don’t know whose phone is blowing up more: yours or Michael’s. Turns out, it’s yours. 

You open up Instagram and click on the post that everyone is tagging you in. 

Matthew McConaughey and Timothee Chalamet sit across from each other. The younger male smiles jokingly, “And I don’t want to be working in ballet or opera, or you know, things where it’s like keep these things alive, even though it’s like no one cares about it anymore.”

Ouch. 

To further add salt to the wound, the younger man continues laughing about the joke before adding, “I just lost 14 cents in viewership.”

You frown and lock your phone again.

Quite frankly, you’d grown used to people talking down on your profession. Especially elitist little white boys whose parents had kept a silver spoon in their mouths. Michael rolls over and notices you frowning, “What’s wrong?”

You unlock your phone and play the video back for him. Michael’s body tenses, and you can see the way that his nose flares up. He stands up from the bed and grabs his phone. You grab his arm, “What are you planning on doing?”

“Handling it. Releasing a statement. You don’t need some scrawny lil’ white boy talking down on you and your career,” Michael said.

“Well, I mean technically, he didn’t mention my name,” You correct.

Michael shoots you a strict look, “It doesn’t matter if he didn’t say your name or if he said it in ASL. He still disrespected you and what you do. That doesn’t slide with me.”

He holds his phone up to his face before you snatch it out of his hands. The two of you wrestle over the phone until you move across the room to create distance between yourselves. You hold your hand up, “Listen first. I find it absolutely sexy that you want to defend my honor, but the last thing I want to cloud your award season is some scandal. You’re bigger than this, and I’m not able to let anything mess up your moment. Just let me handle it, okay?”

Begrudingly, Michael huffs and nods his head. You cross the bed to throw your arms around his neck. You press your lips into his, and you can feel the tension leaving his body as his hands move down to your waist. “I love you, Kari.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Like all things on the internet, they blow up and people react. After Timothee’s little rant about the ballet and opera communities, people were enraged—and rightfully so. 

It wasn’t just the fact that he’d mentioned that ballet and operas were dying arts. It was the callous and careless nature of his tone during the interview. 

To add onto it, people were more incensed on your behalf. With Michael being nominated and you being a ballerina, the comments felt like they were shady towards you and Michael. 

However, you weren’t about to let the comments get to you. You’d hold your high and show everyone what greatness looked like. 

As you’re exiting the studio for the day, one of the social media interns, Alanis, comes up to you, “Hey, we’re doing interviews with all of the dancers before the performance. Do you have a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

You and Alanis walk to the middle of studio floor as you take a seat. She sets the camera up in your direction.

“We are here with our lovely principal dancer, yn. How are you today?”

“A little sore, I can’t lie,” you reply with a chuckle. 

Alanis nods, “Of course, you’ve been working hard. For the upcoming show, we’re doing The Rites of Spring, a ballet performance that caused a lot of controversy when it was first released. With you in the lead role, what does it mean to you?”

“I think just as the main character, it means sacrifice and giving yourself over to something that’s much higher than yourself. The dance is jarring and raw, but it’s freeing. I like that we’re giving ourselves the space to be unhinged.”

Alanis continues the interview with you, and you can see a look of unease pass on her face as she stops the video. “My next question was going to be the whole Timothee Chalamet comment thing, but if you’re not comfortable with answering that, then I understand.” 

You shake your head, “No, let’s do it.”

A wide smile covers the girl’s face as she turns the camera back on. “So as everyone in the ballet world knows, there’s been some comments made by Timothee Chalamet in relation to our profession. Any comments?”

“Of course, as someone who’s worked their way up in this industry without any handouts, I think the comments were insensitive and frankly very childish. There are so many women and men who have come before me that have shed blood, tears, and put their soul into creating this art and bringing it to life. For Timothee, whose own mother and sister are ballerinas, to say something like that, it was very telling of his maturity level,” you pause. 

“I’ve heard him say countless times that he’s striving for greatness, yet I think he doesn’t realize that he’s not even at the starting point for it. For someone who is striving to be great, they know that one aspect of that is humility and also not tearing others down. When he learns those core components, then he can have a seat with the big kids. And lastly, he said that he was going to lose 14 cents in viewership. I can guarantee that it’ll be more. There’ll be more people dying for a repeat performance of Swan Lake in 100 years rather than a movie about ping pong.” You end the speech with a gentle smile. 

Behind the camera, Alanis is gobsmacked and she ends the video before she starts snapping her fingers, “Respectfully, you ate him up with that one.”

She posts the videos to the company’s social media page, and as expected, it immediately gains traction.

@ynsbiggestfan: not our girl clocking Timothee’s tea in the most polite tone 🤣

@ynsslipper: it was giving “beautiful gowns” frfr. I’m so weak, but good for her👏🏽😮‍💨

@ynandmichaelfanpage: Chile..Timothee might wanna stay at home for the Oscars💀

The hype from your comments doesn’t die down. In fact, everyone is almost anticipating seeing you by Michael’s side on Oscar’s night. 

Michael is proud of you for the way that you handled the situation, but it still doesn’t decrease his feelings of wanting to protect you. 

You stand in front of him and pick a piece of lint off his suit. Your dress is a deep burgundy with v-cut. You have a matching diamond pendant around your neck—courtesy of Michael. 

“You look so handsome, baby. My Oscar winner.”

Michael smiles shyly, “Possible Oscar winner.”

You can see the nerves swirling in his eyes and you clock the way that he’s already preparing himself to be disappointed. Your manicured hands come up to cup his face, “They’d be idiotic not to give you this award. Baby out of everyone in that category, you deserve it. You poured yourself into those characters. You’re always my winner.”

Michael’s eyes glisten as he sniffles softly. You lean in and press your lips against his. When you pull back, you both lay your foreheads against each other. Michael speaks first, “I love you baby. I owe this to you too.”

“I love you too, Kari. Now let’s go before we have you late.” 

At the ceremony, you, Michael, and his family all pose together. You move to give them an opportunity to only pose together before Donna pulls you back into the picture.

“You’re family, darling. You deserve to be here just as much as we do,” She whispers to you before kissing your cheek. The cameras flash more at seeing the display of affection. 

Inside the venue, you’re all ushered to your seats. 

“I’m sorry, but there’s only one other seat beside Michael,” the girl announces. 

“I’ll be up there with your dad and your siblings,” you tell Michael, capturing his lips in another kiss. 

He squeezes your hands in his before you’re off to your seat. The ceremony goes on with many jokes being made about Timothee’s comments. You know that if you were sitting at the front, the camera would no doubt pan in your direction. 

Finally, the moment arrives. 

The announcement for Best Actor. You can hear your heart thudding inside your chest as you hold Jamila’s hands. Adrien Brody steps up to the microphone, “And the Oscar goes to…..Michael B. Jordan.”

The entire venue erupts into screams as the camera focuses on Michael. You can see the utter disbelief on his face as he hugs his mother. 

Tears of joy stream down your face as you record the moment.

Michael begins his speech by thanking all of the cast and crew for Sinners, along with shouting out his family.

“Lastly, I’d like to dedicate this award to my beautiful partner. This award is hers just as much as it’s mine. She helped me to shape the characters and I’ll forever be grateful for her. But most of all, I’d like to commend her for her grace, dedication, and talent. Baby, you’re a shining star in this world and what you do, as a dancer and as an artist, matters. I hope you never lose that light. I love you so much, and I can’t wait to share this with you.” Michael ends the speech with a smile before exiting the stage. 

You sniffle loudly at the speech. 

After the ceremony, you rush forward to greet Michael with a passionate kiss. Camera capture the moment and they zoom in as you and Michael exchange, “I love you’s.” The moment is further cemented as he presses you into his side as he gets his name engraved into the Oscar. 

It’s a night that’ll forever be talked about for years to come.

End.

[bellinghambabe]

This might be like top 3 fav bakari fics, i always go back to reread

[spookysanta]

Oscar. (MBJ)

Summary: After tonight’s major win, he just needs a second. Alone. With you. That’s the real prize.

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x Black!Reader

WARNINGS: none

yes i went overboard who cares

The night of the Academy Awards didn’t feel real, but rather, like something suspended in time, the room sheathed in gold and velvet and light, the kind of night people spent their entire lives chasing.

The theater glowed, both in glitz and glam. Rows of stars draped in couture, the orchestra humming softly beneath the tension, cameras sweeping across faces that had mastered composure.

But at Michael’s seat, his composure had already started slipping. His hand hadn’t left yours since they announced the category. Your fingers were threaded together tightly in his lap, his thumb dragging slow, absentminded circles over your skin… not to comfort you, but to ground himself.

On his other side, his mom sat upright, eyes locked on the stage, lips pressed together in a thin line like she was holding everything in. Khalid leaned forward, elbows on his knees. Jamila had her hands clasped together beneath her chin.

Nobody dared to breathe, to blink.

“And the Oscar for Best Actor goes to…”

Then came unbearable, stretched-thin silence.

“…Michael B. Jordan.”

The room erupted into applause, a thunderous standing ovation that seemed to shake the entire theater. People were already on their feet, clapping, shouting, but at your row, time stuttered.

You gasped in shock. Michael didn’t move, and for a split second, he just stared at the stage like he hadn’t processed the words. “Baby,” you whispered, your voice shaking, gripping his hand tighter. “Baby, get up.”

His mom grabbed his arm. “Go,” she said, already crying. “Go!”

Michael turned to you, eyes already glassy.

“Go,” you repeated, pushing lightly at his shoulder. “Go.”

He leaned in without thinking, pressing a quick, trembling kiss to your lips, and then stood. The applause only grew louder as he made his way down the aisle. He looked… stunned. Like every step was happening before he could catch up to it.

People reached out to shake his hand, to clap him on the back, to pull him into quick hugs, and he accepted it all in a daze — smiling, nodding, blinking rapidly like he was trying not to lose it before he even made it to the stage.

But the moment he stepped up and that gold statue was placed in his hands, you could tell, then, that it finally hit him.

The shift from it being just an idea to finally being a reality manifested physically. His shoulders dropped slightly, his jaw tightened, and he looked down at the Oscar like it might disappear if he blinked too long.

The room quieted as he stepped up to the microphone.

He exhaled deeply, his breath coming out as a broken laugh, soft and breathless, that meant he was already overwhelmed. “Man…” he murmured, shaking his head, the audience laughed gently with him.

“I-” He paused, swallowing hard. “I had a whole speech. I really did. But I’m not even gonna pretend like I remember it right now.”

His voice cracked just slightly on the last word.

You pressed your hand to your mouth, feeling the lump forming in your throat.

He looked out over the audience, blinking quickly. “First off… thank you to the Academy.”

He nodded, trying to gather himself. “To my cast, the crew, Ryan, my director …y’all trusted me to be a part of something special. And I don’t take that lightly.”

His voice steadied a little as he continued, thanking his collaborators, mentors, the people who helped shape him into the actor standing on that stage.

He looked down at the Oscar again, and his composure slipped. “I grew up loving movies,” he said quietly. “Like… really loving them. Sitting in front of the TV, watching performances that made me feel like… maybe I could do this one day.” His voice wavered. “And to be standing here now…”

He stopped to gather himself, letting out a shaky breath. You could see the labored rise and fall of his chest, as if he were losing a battle between his composure and his emotions.

Then he nodded once, like he was pulling himself back together. “My family,” he said, voice softer now. “My parents, my siblings.”

The camera cut to them, his mother crying alongside you. “Thank you for everything. For believing in me before there was anything to believe in. For every sacrifice you made that I didn’t understand until I got older.”

Applause rippled through the room again.

He paused again, longer this time, his eyes scanning the audience until they found you. And everything about him softened: the tension left his shoulders, his nerves melted into something warmer and steady. “…I gotta take a second to appreciate my lady.”

The room exploded with cheers and whistles and roaring applause that doubled in volume.

Your face flushed instantly, your hands flying to your cheeks as the camera cut to you. You shook your head..

Michael just smiled in that quiet, knowing way. “Y’all,” he said, chuckling softly as the noise settled. “That woman right there…”

He looked at you again and suddenly, it didn’t feel like there were thousands of people watching. It felt like he was just talking to you.

“She’s been my anchor through all of this. She’s seen every version of me. The confident one, the frustrated one, the one that don’t know what the hell he’s doing half the time…But she never lets me sit in that doubt too long.”

He shook his head, smiling to himself. “She reminds me who I am when I forget. She reminds me what matters when everything starts moving too fast. And she loves me in a way that makes me want to be better every single day. And I don’t think I’d be standing here tonight without that.”

A collective awww moved through the audience. Michael laughed softly, rubbing his jaw. He lifted the Oscar slightly, eyes boring into yours. “This right here, baby?” he said. “This is ours.”

The room erupted again, in cheers, clapping, people standing.

The second Michael stepped off the stage, the noise swallowed him whole. Congratulations flying from every direction, hands clapping his shoulders, voices overlapping. Camera flashes popped, assistants moved quickly, and publicists hovered just close enough to redirect but not interrupt.

Through all of it, Michael smiled… nodded… thanked people. But there was a delay to him now, his brain processing half a second behind everything. Like his body was there, but his mind hadn’t caught up yet.

Ryan stayed glued to his side, a steady hand on his back, a quiet presence in the chaos. “I got him,” Ryan murmured more than once to people trying to pull Michael in different directions. “Just give him a second.”

Michael nodded absentmindedly at something someone said (truthfully, he didn’t even hear it), his grip tightening around the award in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

“Where is she?” he asked suddenly, ignoring the surrounding bombardment.

Ryan leaned in. “She’s coming around from the front. They’re bringing her back.”

Michael exhaled, but it didn’t really settle anything. He ran a hand over his face.

“You good?” Ryan asked, studying him carefully.

“Yeah.” Michael said automatically, his voice was thin.

Ryan didn’t argue; he just stayed close. “Just breathe, bro,” he said quietly, patting him on the shoulder. “We did it.”

Michael let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I don’t-” He shook his head. “I don’t even feel like I’m here right now.”

“I know,” Ryan said. “I feel like that’s normal.”

It certainly didn’t feel normal. It felt like everything at once. It felt like pride, relief, and gratitude … combined with something heavier. Something that had been building for years finally letting go all at once.

“Hey—”

Michael turned at the sound of your voice. And there you were: moving toward him, eyes still glossy, dress catching against the backstage lighting as you closed the distance between you.

Everything else faded instantly.

“Hey,” you breathed again.

He didn’t even think. He just stepped into you, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other still holding his award, pulling you in like he needed to confirm you were real.

You wrapped your arms around him just as quickly. “You did it,” you whispered into his chest.

He exhaled shakily against your hair. “I did it.”

Ryan watched for a second, then gave a small nod to himself. “Aight,” he muttered. “He’s good.”

Though he stepped back, giving you both space, he still stayed close enough to keep things moving. “You wanna do press now or—”

Michael pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were red, pupils dilated and dancing across your face. He wasn’t just emotional.

He was completely overwhelmed.

He glanced back at Ryan, then back at you. “Can we—” He swallowed. “Can we go somewhere private for a second?”

Ryan didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I got you.”

He turned immediately, flagging down Michael’s publicist, Paula, speaking low and quick. Within seconds, you and Michael were being guided down a quieter hallway away from the noise, away from the cameras, away from everything.

You were led to a small room. The door clicked shut behind you, and the second it did, Michael broke. Not loudly at first, but just a sharp inhale. A tremor in his shoulders.

Then he turned into you fully, like something in him finally gave out.

His arms wrapped around you tighter this time, the award pressed awkwardly between you for a second before he shifted it, dropping it gently onto a nearby table without even looking before he buried his face in your neck.

All six-foot-something of him folding into you like he’d been holding himself upright on sheer will alone. The first sob hit your shoulder.

Your heart dropped. “Hey—” you whispered immediately, one hand sliding up the back of his neck, the other pressing between his shoulder blades. “Hey, baby—”

He shook his head against you, trying to catch his breath, but it only made it worse. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your skin, voice thick. “I don’t— I don’t know why—”

“Don’t apologize,” you said softly, holding him tighter. “Don’t you dare apologize.”

He exhaled, but it came out shaky. “I just—” His grip on you tightened. “I’ve been holding that in for so long.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t think—” He cut himself off, another breath hitching. “I didn’t know if it was ever gonna happen.”

Your chest ached, cradling the back of his head, fingernails scratching the nape of his neck, pressing a kiss to his temple. “But you did it,” you murmured. “You really did it.”

He nodded faintly against you. “I kept telling myself I was good,” he admitted quietly. “Like… if it didn’t happen, I was still good. I had everything I needed.”

“You do.”

“But I wanted it,” he said, voice cracking again. “I wanted this so bad.”

“I know you did,” you whispered.

He let out another shaky breath, his face still tucked into your neck, his body heavy against yours in a way that told you he wasn’t trying to hold himself up anymore.

You felt it all in him: the joy, the relief, the exhaustion. Years of pressure finally releasing all at once.

“You scared me,” you admitted softly after a moment, your hand still moving slowly, rubbing soothing circles along his back. “You don’t… you don’t cry like this.”

He let out a quiet, almost embarrassed huff against your skin. “Yeah,” he muttered. “I know.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

His eyes were glassy, lashes damp, cheeks flushed.

“Talk to me,” you said gently.

He searched your face for a second, like he needed to ground himself again.Then he leaned his forehead against yours. “I’m just—” He choked out. “I’m so happy.”

“And I’m so tired,” he added, voice softer now. “I didn’t realize how tired I was.”

Your expression softened instantly. “I bet you are.”

He let out a small, breathy laugh. “And I just needed you,” he admitted.

“Well, I’m right here.” You smiled softly, brushing your thumb under his eye. “I’m always gonna be right here.”

“I know.” He leaned back into you again, quieter this time. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, his face tucked back into your neck like that was the only place he wanted to be right now.

Your fingers moving gently, scratching his scalp, your cheek pressed against his temple. “You’re okay,” you whispered.

He nodded against you.

“I got you,” you added softly. “Y’know that, right?”

Another nod.

The room had gone quiet after that, the air feeling like a pause button had been pressed on the rest of the world, muffling the distant chaos backstage, dulling the noise of voices and footsteps beyond the door until it was nothing more than a faint hum.

Michael hadn’t let go of you right away. Even after his breathing started to even out, even after the tears slowed. He stayed close, arms wrapped around you, forehead tucked into your shoulder like he wasn’t ready to separate just yet.

You leaned back just enough to look at him.

The intensity in his eyes had softened, the sharp edge of it was replaced with something quieter.

“You ready to go back out there?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked at you, then shook his head. “…Not yet.”

Your expression softened immediately. “Okay.”

Soon enough, you found yourselves seated on the floor, having guided him down with you until your back rested against the wall, the cool surface grounding against your shoulders. The fabric of your dress settled around you as you adjusted your legs.

He followed without resistance until he was stretched out beside you, turning just enough to rest his head in your lap like it was instinct, like that was exactly where he needed to be.

You let out a soft breath, your hand immediately finding his hair again, fingers continuing their slow, absentminded scratches.

He stared up at the ceiling, not moving, letting out a sniffle every now and then.

You watched the gears in his head turning. You chose not to interrupt it.

His phone had another agenda, buzzing suddenly in his pocket. Then again. And again. A constant vibration against his thigh.

Michael didn’t move, but let it keep going.

You glanced down, then reached gently into his pocket to pull the phone out. The screen lit up instantly with missed calls, texts stacking on top of each other, and notifications flooding in faster than they could be read. You pressed and held the side button, shutting it off.

Michael’s brow furrowed slightly as he glanced at you. “…What are you doing?” he asked, voice still a little rough.

You shrugged lightly, like it was obvious. “If they need you badly enough,” you said calmly, setting the phone beside you, “they’ll call me.”

Your hand returned to his hair without hesitation. “For now,” you added softly, “let’s just be here.”

He stared at you for a second, his expression melted. “…Okay,” he murmured. His gaze drifted back up.

You could see it on his face: the way his mind was still moving, still trying to catch up to everything that had just happened. You tilted your head slightly, watching him. “So… what now?” you nudged gently.

He huffed softly, a quiet, almost disbelieving breath. “…I have no idea.”

You smiled. “Well…” you said, lightly tracing your fingers along his hairline, grounding him again. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

He sniffed, turning his head slightly into your hand. His throat worked as he cleared the lingering tightness from earlier. “…Yeah,” he said, voice still a little thick. “Yeah, I like that idea.”

“Not just any celebration,” a small smile tugging at your lips. “Somewhere worth visiting.”

He glanced up at you — and there it was. The flicker of him coming back. “Where?” he asked.

“How about Tokyo?”

That did it. A real smile formed, soft at first, but unmistakable.

You watched it spread across his face as recognition settled in.

“…I like that idea,” he said quietly.

Of course he did. You knew he would.

“There’s a new restaurant out there I’ve been wanting to try,” he added, voice steadier now. “I think you’ll like it.”

You smiled down at him. “Yeah?”

He nodded slightly, eyes still on you. “You’d love it.” He shifted just a little closer, one hand coming to rest against your thigh, thumb brushing absentmindedly back and forth like he needed the contact.

You kept your hand in his hair, smoothing it back gently.

Michael’s breathing had finally evened out, his weight resting fully into your lap, one hand lazily draped over your leg while your fingers traced slow patterns.

Then your phone buzzed.

You glanced down.

Ryan.

You didn’t even have to say anything before Michael’s eyes flicked to the screen, then immediately back to you. “Don’t answer it,” he said, quick but not panicked.

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Tell him I went home,” he added, already settling back into your lap like he was doubling down on the decision. “Or… I don’t know. Tell him I’m taking a shit or something.”

You blinked at him, laughing. “Michael.”

“I’m serious,” he mumbled, eyes closing. “I just need—” he gestured vaguely with his hand, like the word moment was too much effort. “This.”

Your expression softened. But you answered anyway, quietly stepping just slightly into that middle ground between respecting him and not completely ignoring reality. “Hey,” you said softly.

Ryan didn’t waste time. “Yeah, hey,” he replied, voice low but urgent in that controlled way. “Michael good?”

You glanced down at him.

He was listening, one eye open.

“He’s good,” you said gently. “Just… decompressing.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Ryan said. “Listen — his family’s looking for him. And Paula lined up a couple interviews. I told everybody he needed a minute, so they not rushing him, but it’s strongly encouraged for him to … move swift.”

You hummed softly. “I’ll bring him out in a bit.”

“Aight,” Ryan said. “No pressure, just don’t disappear completely.”

“I got you.”

You hung up.

Michael was already looking at you. “…What he say?”

You tilted your head. “Your family’s looking for you. And Paula has interviews lined up.”

He groaned, then let out a long exhale, dragging a hand over his face.

You smiled, brushing your fingers lightly across his temple. “Just a few more minutes,” you murmured. “And then we’ll go, okay?”

He nodded. “…Yeah.”

Silence loomed again, but much lighter now.

“So… does this mean we’re moving?” you ask playfully after a moment.

His brows furrowed immediately. “…Huh?”

“You’re an Oscar winner now,” you said matter-of-factly. “Today’s price ain’t yesterday’s price. We'll need a bigger house.”

He blinked at you. “You serious right now?”

“Oh, I’m very serious,” you nodded. “We need space for all the other awards you’re gonna get.”

He snorted. “You’re dumb.”

“I’m not!” you insisted, trying not to smile, shoving at his shoulder. “You’re a hot commodity now. Even though I knew that already.”

He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “The house got seven bedrooms already,” he said. “You need more space?”

You shrugged lightly. “I don’t.”

You leaned down slightly, lowering your voice like you were letting him in on an important secret.

“But your other Oscars will.”

He laughed for real this time, full and warm, deep from his chest. The kind of laugh that told you he was finally coming back to himself.

You smiled down at him, soft and proud and completely in love, then bent forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Then another. And another.

“…Also,” you added casually against his skin, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “Will the Oscar have a seat at the wedding?”

He paused, actually thinking about it. “…Yes.”

You smiled with a hum in agreement. “Agreed. I also think...” you shifted slightly, “...it’s time to go get hammered.”

He laughed again, shaking his head. He pushed himself up slowly, then reached for your hands, helping you to your feet.

The second you were upright, you didn’t let go. You pulled him back into you, peppering kisses across his cheeks.

“…I didn’t tell you how beautiful you looked tonight, did I?” he murmured as you kissed him.

You raised a brow. “You did,” you said. “Frequently. And loudly.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “Well, I’m sayin’ it again.”

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “You do,” he said softly. “You look absolutely radiant.”

Your breath caught.

“Like…” he paused, eyes flicking between yours, something deeper settling there now. “Like my future wife.”

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[wtvrhappens]

⟢ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑰𝑺𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑪𝑬

pairing: jaafar jackson x reader (brother’s best friend) summary: for years, y/n has only known jaafar jackson as the person in the stories. the brother who was always filming. the brother who was always travelling. the brother who always seemed to leave right before she arrived. meanwhile, jaafar has spent years hearing about jermajesty's best friend, the girl who somehow became part of the family without sharing their last name. when they finally meet, neither of them expects a single afternoon to change anything. they're wrong. word count: 4,773 an: had this idea when I was randomly listening to 'best friend’s brother' from victorious lol maybe a part 2?

If someone had told Y/N three years ago that one of her closest friends would end up being a Jackson, she probably would have laughed in their face.

Not because she had anything against the family, on the contrary, she was a fan of them. It just simply would have sounded ridiculous.

The first time she met Jermajesty, he had been sitting in the back row of a university classroom, half asleep and completely uninterested in whatever presentation their professor was giving. She remembered that much clearly. She also remembered arriving late that morning, rushing through the door with an iced coffee in one hand and her laptop tucked awkwardly under her arm, already embarrassed before the day had properly started. The room had been nearly full by then, forcing her to take the only empty seat she could find, which happened to be next to him.

Unfortunately, her entrance only became more humiliating from there.

The strap of her bag caught on the leg of a chair. She stumbled. The coffee tipped forward. Several drops splashed across the desk.

Including directly onto the notebook of the stranger sitting beside her.

For one horrible second, the entire room seemed to freeze.

Y/N remembered staring at the mess in complete horror, mentally preparing herself for an awkward apology and what would undoubtedly be a very uncomfortable semester.

Instead, the guy beside her looked down at the coffee staining his notes, then up at her.

'So,' he said casually, 'is this your way of marking territory?'

The laugh escaped before she could stop it.

That had been the beginning.

Looking back, Y/N couldn't pinpoint exactly when the friendship had become important. There had never been a specific moment. No dramatic event. No life-changing conversation. It happened gradually, settling into her life so naturally that she hardly noticed it happening at all. One day they were simply classmates exchanging notes before exams. A few months later they were spending entire afternoons together between lectures. Then came late-night phone calls, shared meals, study sessions that somehow turned into hours of talking about everything except studying, and eventually the kind of friendship where neither person needed a reason to reach out anymore.

Jermajesty became part of her daily routine before she even realized it.

There were days when they exchanged dozens of messages without thinking about it. Days when he was the first person she called after receiving good news. Days when he sat with her through disappointments she didn't want to talk about with anyone else. Their friendship had always been easy in that way. Comfortable. Neither of them needed to perform around the other.

That was probably why she had been so annoyed when she discovered he had conveniently forgotten to mention one very important detail about himself.

She still remembered the exact moment.

They had been sitting outside the university cafeteria during their second year, sharing fries and complaining about an assignment due later that week. The conversation had been completely normal until another student walked past and casually asked Jermajesty whether he was attending a family event for the Jacksons that weekend.

The Jacksons.

Y/N had blinked.

Then blinked again.

Then slowly turned toward him.

'JacksonS?'

Jermajesty had looked up from his phone. 'Yeah?'

She narrowed her eyes.

'Jackson as in…thee Jackson?'

'Yeah.'

The answer had come far too quickly. Y/N stared at him in disbelief.

'You are a Jackson?'

He shrugged. 'Technically.'

'Technically?'

'What?'

'Since when? You never told me that.'

'Since…forever? You never asked.' He said with a chuckle.

To this day, she hated that response.

Mostly because it was impossible to argue with.

Meeting his family had happened a few months later. Y/N had spent almost a week debating whether she should accept the invitation. She wasn't nervous about meeting people. She was nervous about feeling out of place. Family gatherings had always felt deeply personal to her. The idea of walking into someone else's family celebration made her feel like she would be intruding somehow.

The reality couldn't have been more different.

She had barely stepped through the front door before being welcomed inside.

Nobody treated her like a stranger.

Nobody made her feel as though she didn't belong there.

The atmosphere surprised her. There was laughter everywhere. Conversations happening over one another. Music playing somewhere in the background. Relatives moving from room to room. The house felt alive in a way that immediately put her at ease.

The second visit was easier.

The third felt normal.

By the fourth, someone had already sent her into the kitchen to grab plates.

By the fifth, she was helping clean up after dinner.

Eventually the invitations stopped feeling formal and started feeling expected.

Somewhere along the way, Y/N stopped being Jermajesty's friend who occasionally visited and became a familiar face everyone recognized.

The transition happened so naturally that she never noticed exactly when it occurred. Jermajesty often joked accusing her of stealing his family to which Y/N always reminded him that his family had made the choice willingly.

The only exception to all of this was Jaafar.

Over three years of friendship, dozens of family gatherings, countless visits and somehow she had never met him.

At first, she assumed it was coincidence and after a while, it became a running joke.

Every visit came with a different explanation.

Jaafar was filming.

Jaafar was rehearsing.

Jaafar was travelling.

Jaafar had work.

Jaafar had left twenty minutes ago.

Jaafar would be there next time.

Eventually Y/N started referring to him as a myth. A celebrity version of Bigfoot. Because everybody swore he existed, everybody claimed to have seen him. Yet somehow she always missed him.

Which was why, as she drove toward Jermajesty's birthday party that afternoon, balancing a gift bag on the passenger seat beside her, she had absolutely no reason to think the day would be any different from all the others.

As far as she knew, she was heading to another family gathering.

Another birthday.

Another afternoon surrounded by people she genuinely loved and appreciated.

The Jackson house was already buzzing with activity by the time Y/N pulled into the street.

She shouldn't have been surprised. After years of knowing Jermajesty, she had learned that no Jackson family gathering ever stayed small for very long. A birthday dinner somehow became twenty people. Twenty people somehow became forty. Relatives appeared from nowhere. Family friends arrived with extra food. Children multiplied the moment nobody was paying attention. The entire thing always unfolded with a kind of organized chaos that somehow worked despite looking completely unplanned from the outside.

Even before stepping out of her car, she could hear music floating from the backyard. The bass carried faintly through the afternoon air, blending with distant laughter and conversations she couldn't quite make out. A few cars were already parked along both sides of the street, forcing her to squeeze into a spot farther away than she would have liked. Grabbing the gift bag from the passenger seat, she made her way toward the house, smiling to herself when she noticed the front door standing wide open.

That was another thing she had grown used to.

Nobody knocked anymore.

At least nobody in the family.

People simply walked in.

The first time she had visited years ago, she had stood awkwardly on the porch for nearly five minutes trying to gather enough courage to ring the doorbell. Now she barely made it halfway up the driveway before the door flew open.

'Well, look who decided to finally show up.'

Jermajesty's voice carried across the front steps and Y/N immediately rolled her eyes.

'Hello to you too, birthday boy.'

'What took you so long?'

'What took me so long?' she repeated. 'I've been driving for twenty minutes.'

'You could've driven faster.'

'That's illegal.'

'It's a birthday.'

'That doesn't make it legal.'

Jermajesty grinned before stealing the gift bag directly from her hand and hugging her.

Some friendships changed over the years but theirs never really had. The teasing had remained exactly the same since university.

Before Y/N could continue arguing, a familiar high-pitched voice suddenly echoed from somewhere deeper inside the house.

'Nini!'

A smile spread across her face instantly.

She barely had enough time to turn around before a small figure came running through the hallway at full speed. Abu Bakr appeared a second later, tiny legs moving as quickly as they possibly could as he charged straight toward her. The little boy practically launched himself at her knees, forcing her to crouch down just in time to catch him.

'There you are,' she laughed, wrapping her arms around him.

'Nini came!'

'Yeah, Nini came.'

The nickname had followed her for nearly a year now.

Nobody really remembered when it started. When Abu Bakr had first begun talking, he struggled with pronouncing her name properly. After several attempts that sounded nothing alike, he eventually settled on 'Nini' and stubbornly refused to call her anything else. Every correction failed. Every attempt to teach him her real name ended with him repeating 'Nini' even louder than before. Eventually everyone surrendered.

Now half the family used it too.

Abu Bakr pulled back just enough to examine her face.

'You late.'

Y/N gasped dramatically.

'Excuse you?'

'You little bit late.'

Jermajesty immediately burst out laughing.

'I'm not late.'

'You late.' Abu Bakr nodded with the confidence of someone delivering undeniable facts.

Y/N couldn't even argue anymore.

The kid was too cute.

She stood up and lifted him onto her hip with the ease of someone who had done it dozens of times before. Abu Bakr immediately settled there, making himself comfortable as he absentmindedly reached for one of the bracelets around her wrist. The movement was so familiar that neither of them thought twice about it.

Their friendship had been unexpected from the beginning.

The first few times she visited, Abu Bakr had treated her with deep suspicion. He watched her from across rooms. Refused to answer questions. Occasionally hid behind family members whenever she tried speaking to him. Then one afternoon she accidentally built what was possibly the ugliest Lego tower ever created. The structure had leaned sideways before collapsing entirely. Abu Bakr stared at the disaster for several seconds before announcing, in complete seriousness, that it looked 'ugly.'

After that, they became inseparable.

Now he followed her around whenever she visited.

The moment she entered the house, he claimed her attention for the rest of the day.

The backyard was where most people had gathered. Strings of lights hung overhead despite the sun still shining brightly above them. Several long tables had been arranged across the patio, covered with food that would probably continue growing throughout the afternoon as more relatives arrived carrying dishes. Music played softly from speakers near the house while conversations overlapped from every direction. Some people sat together beneath umbrellas. Others stood around talking. Children darted between adults, occasionally stopping long enough to steal snacks before disappearing again.

The atmosphere felt familiar.

Comfortable.

Warm.

Y/N found herself relaxing almost immediately.

This was exactly why she enjoyed coming here because nobody expected anything from her, nobody cared whether she looked perfect or said the right thing.

She could simply exist.

Over time, the family had stopped treating her like Jermajesty's best friend and started treating her like someone who belonged. The difference was subtle, but she felt it every time she visited. Nobody introduced her anymore. Nobody asked who she was. Family members greeted her the same way they greeted each other.

She wasn't just a guest anymore.

After spending nearly half an hour moving between conversations and greetings, Y/N eventually settled into a chair beside Jermajesty near the back of the yard. Abu Bakr immediately climbed into the seat next to her before changing his mind and crawling directly into her lap instead.

Jermajesty shook his head.

'I don't know why I bother.'

'You sound jealous.'

'I am jealous, my little brother prefers my best friend.'

Abu Bakr didn't even acknowledge him.

Instead, he held up a small toy truck.

'Nini, look.'

'I am looking.'

'My truck.'

'That's a very nice truck.'

'It go fast.' The little boy nodded seriously.

Y/N matched his seriousness.

'That sounds dangerous.'

Abu Bakr seemed pleased by that answer.

The conversation drifted naturally after that. Relatives came and went. Stories were shared. Old memories resurfaced. At one point Jermaine was halfway through telling a story about something that had happened years ago when his attention suddenly shifted toward the entrance of the backyard.

His entire face lit up.

'Ah!'

The interruption caught everyone's attention.

'There he is!'

Several people turned.

Y/N followed their gaze.

A man had just entered through the side gate.

Jaafar. 

At first, she only recognized him from photographs she had seen online over the years, and the ones Jermajesty shared wit her from the family album. The family talked about him often enough that she already felt vaguely familiar with the idea of Jaafar despite never actually meeting him. Three years of near misses had created an oddly strange situation where she knew stories about him before knowing him.

The backyard seemed to brighten with energy as soon as he arrived.

People stood to greet him.

Several relatives immediately pulled him into conversations before he had even taken more than a few steps.

Y/N watched quietly from her chair.

After hearing his name for so long, curiosity was natural.

He moved through the crowd slowly, greeting people one at a time. Hugs. Handshakes. Quick conversations. The ease with which he navigated the gathering immediately told her everything she needed to know. He wasn't arriving as a celebrity. He wasn't arriving as the lead actor from a major film.

He was arriving as a son. A brother. A nephew.

Family.

As he drew closer, Y/N found herself noticing details she couldn't see from a distance. The tiredness lingering around his eyes. The relaxed way he carried himself. The curls. The easy confidence.

And then he smiled.

That was the first thing that truly stood out to her.

Not his appearance.

Not the fact that she already knew who he was.

The smile.

It transformed his entire face. The kind of smile that reached his eyes before it reached his mouth. The kind of smile that made other people smile back without realizing it.

For a brief moment, Y/N understood why everyone seemed so immediately drawn to him.

Beside her, Jermajesty stood from his chair.

'Finally.'

Jaafar laughed at whatever his brother said in response.

A few moments later, he reached their section of the backyard. Only then did Jermajesty seem to remember that the two of them had somehow never crossed paths before.

'Oh, right.' A grin immediately spread across his face. 'You guys haven't met.'

Y/N stood as well.

For the first time, Jaafar's attention shifted fully toward her.

'This is Y/N,' Jermajesty said. 'My best friend.'

The title wasn't new. He had introduced her that way for years yet hearing it always made her smile. Jermajesty then looked at her.

'And this is my brother, Jaafar.'

Finally.

After three years of hearing stories.

After three years of somehow missing each other.

The introduction happened in the simplest way possible. Jaafar extended his hand first.

'Nice to meet you.'

His voice was soft, calm and friendly, just like the rest of the Jacksons. Y/N accepted the handshake.

'Nice to meet you too.'

The exchange lasted only a few seconds.

Just a handshake. A greeting. Two strangers finally putting faces to names they had both heard countless times before.

Yet as they pulled apart, Y/N found herself thinking that meeting Jaafar felt strangely similar to finally meeting someone she'd heard about for years. Not unfamiliar exactly. Just new. Like opening the last chapter of a story everyone else had already been reading.

And judging by the amused look Jermajesty was trying very hard to hide, he was far more entertained by the introduction than either of them were.

The introduction should have been the end of it or at least that was what Y/N expected.

People were constantly arriving and leaving at Jackson family gatherings, conversations splitting and merging every few minutes as relatives moved around the backyard. Jaafar had only just arrived himself. There were still family members greeting him from across the yard, cousins trying to pull him into conversations, and several people who clearly hadn't had the chance to say hello yet. Y/N assumed he would disappear into the crowd almost immediately. It would have been the normal thing to do.

Instead, after speaking with a few relatives and exchanging greetings with people nearby, he eventually found his way back toward the table where she and Jermajesty were sitting.

The realization caught her slightly off guard.

Over the years, Y/N had become fairly good at reading social situations. She knew when conversations were driven by politeness and when they were driven by genuine interest. Family gatherings were full of both. There were always those brief interactions where people exchanged a few pleasant words before moving on to the next person. Nobody thought twice about it.

This didn't feel like that.

Not yet, anyway.

Jaafar settled into one of the empty chairs nearby while another conversation unfolded around them, and somehow the two of them ended up speaking again. The transition happened so naturally that neither seemed particularly aware of it. One topic became another. One story led into a second. Every answer somehow opened the door to another question.

The strangest part was how easy it felt.

For years, Y/N had heard stories about Jaafar without ever meeting him. Not intentionally. It was simply impossible to be friends with Jermajesty and not hear his brother's name occasionally appear in conversation. There were updates about filming schedules, travel plans, funny family stories, birthdays he couldn't attend, holidays he arrived late for. Over time, she had developed a vague picture of who he was without ever realizing it. Now, sitting across from him for the first time, she found herself quietly comparing the real person to the version she had built from years of secondhand information.

The real version was far more relaxed than she expected, funnier too, that became obvious fairly quickly.

'You know,' she said eventually, leaning back in her chair as a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, 'I think I'm mostly just relieved.'

Jaafar looked up from the drink in his hand. 'Relieved?'

'Yeah.'

'Why?'

Y/N laughed softly. 'That you're real.'

His smile appeared again. 'I had a feeling this was coming.'

'Oh come on, you can't blame me.' She gestured toward him dramatically. 'For three years I've been hearing the same thing every time I come over.'

Jaafar already looked amused as she continued.

'Jaafar's filming.'

A finger lifted.

'Jaafar's rehearsing.'

Another.

'Jaafar's travelling.'

Another.

'Jaafar just left.'

Y/N pointed at him. 'At some point I genuinely started wondering if everyone was lying.'

'They weren't.'

'See? That’s exactly what a myth would say.'

The laugh that escaped him this time was louder and for reasons she couldn't explain, Y/N found herself smiling back automatically.

Across the backyard, Jermajesty immediately noticed. He had actually tried to leave them alone for a while. Tried being the important word. The effort lasted less than twenty minutes.

Now he sat several tables away beside Randy Jr., pretending to pay attention to a completely unrelated conversation while very obviously keeping track of whatever was happening between his best friend and his brother.

'You need help.' Randy didn't even bother hiding his amusement.

Jermajesty looked offended.

'Why?'

'You've been staring for ten minutes.'

'I haven't.'

'You absolutely have.'

'I was looking around.'

'At them.'

'At the backyard.'

'Which part?'

Jermajesty hesitated. 'The...grass.'

Randy laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink.

The truth was that Jermajesty couldn't help finding the situation entertaining. For years, Y/N and Jaafar had existed in the same orbit without ever crossing paths. It had become something of a running joke within the family. Every time Y/N visited, Jaafar happened to be elsewhere. Every time Jaafar stopped by, Y/N had already left. The timing became so ridiculous that even family members started commenting on it.

Yet now that they had finally met, both of them seemed surprisingly comfortable, as if they had skipped past the awkward stranger stage entirely.

Meanwhile, Jaafar found himself making a similar observation.

The longer the conversation continued, the more he understood why Y/N's name came up so often.

The realization became impossible to ignore once he started paying attention. She knew everybody. Not just their names. The actual relationships. The stories. The inside jokes. Family members greeted her without hesitation. Conversations picked up where they had apparently left off weeks earlier. Nobody treated her like a visitor.

At one point an aunt walked past and handed Y/N a plate to carry inside without even asking. Y/N accepted it automatically. Neither seemed to think anything of it.

That small moment somehow told Jaafar more than any explanation could. She belonged here.

The thought lingered in the back of his mind longer than expected.

Hours passed faster than either of them realized.

The sun slowly disappeared beyond the rooftops, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold before darkness settled over the neighborhood. The string lights hanging above the backyard gradually became the primary source of light, casting a warm glow across conversations that showed no signs of ending anytime soon. Music continued playing softly somewhere behind them. More food appeared. Someone started telling old family stories. Laughter erupted every few minutes from different parts of the yard.

It wasn't until Y/N glanced at her phone that she realized how late it had become.

The expression on her face immediately changed. 'Oh, wow.'

'What?'

She turned the screen toward herself again.

'I didn't realize it was this late.'

The statement seemed simple enough yet for a second, Jaafar felt oddly disappointed and the realization surprised him.

Eventually, the familiar ritual of goodbyes began.

It took significantly longer than it should have.

Jackson family gatherings made leaving almost impossible. Every goodbye turned into another conversation. Every conversation led to another hug. Every hug somehow delayed departure by another ten minutes.

By the time Y/N finally made it to the front of the house, she felt like she had already said goodbye at least six separate times.

She was searching through her purse for her car keys when footsteps approached beside her.

Looking up, she found Jaafar standing there.

'I'll walk you out.'

The offer felt natural. The sort of thing anyone in the family might have done. Even so, Y/N smiled.

Together they made their way down the driveway while the sounds of the party faded behind them. The evening air had cooled considerably since sunset, carrying the distant hum of traffic and occasional bursts of laughter from the backyard.

'I had fun talking to you today.'

The honesty of the statement caught Y/N slightly off guard.

She glanced toward him.

A smile appeared almost immediately.

'I had fun too.'

A brief pause followed.

Then she laughed.

'Although I still think you might be a myth.'

Jaafar groaned. 'You're never letting that go, are you?'

'Absolutely not.'

'Good to know.'

They reached her car.

For a second neither moved.

Then Y/N unlocked the driver's door.

'Well.'

'Well.' She smiled. 'It was nice finally meeting you.'

Jaafar returned the smile effortlessly.

'Likewise.'

'Hopefully it won’t take another three years to meet again.' She said chucking. 

'Oh, I will make sure it won’t happen.' He looked down at her while smiling. 

A few moments later she was pulling away from the curb, taillights disappearing into the darkness beyond the street.

Jaafar stood there a little longer than necessary before turning back toward the house. Jermajesty spotted him almost immediately. The grin on his face was a warning sign and Jaafar knew it.

'So.'

There it was.

Jaafar sighed. 'So.'

Jermajesty's smile widened and Jaafar already regretted sitting down.

Yet despite himself, despite knowing exactly what reaction he was about to receive, he found his thoughts drifting back toward Y/N anyway. Toward the stories she had told. The way she laughed. The fact that somehow she had become part of his family's life years before he ever met her.

'She is…very nice.'

'Right? Told ya.' 

'...Tell me more about her.' 

Jermajesty looked like Christmas had arrived early and practically sat up straighter in his chair. 

And somewhere deep down, Jaafar realized he had just made a very serious mistake. Because judging by the look on his brother's face, he wasn't going to hear the end of this anytime soon.

The drive home gave him too much time to think.

The roads were quieter now, most of the traffic having disappeared hours earlier. Music played softly through the speakers, but his attention barely registered it. Instead, pieces of the afternoon kept replaying in his head. Small moments. Random comments. Fragments of conversations that should have been forgettable but somehow weren't.

It was strange.

He had met her only a few hours ago.

Yet somehow she no longer felt like a stranger.

Meanwhile, several miles away, Y/N was experiencing a similar problem.

She had changed into an oversized T-shirt nearly twenty minutes ago. Her makeup was gone. Her hair was tied into a messy bun balanced somewhere on top of her head. She was curled up beneath her blankets, scrolling aimlessly through social media while half-watching a show she wasn't really paying attention to.

The day should have been over.

Instead, her phone suddenly vibrated beside her.

The screen lit up.

Jermajesty 🥳

you make it home?

She typed back:

Y/N

yes mother

The reply came almost instantly.

Jermajesty 🥳

good good

so

what did you think of jaafar?

Y/N immediately groaned and dropped her head back against the pillow.

Of course.

Of course this was where the conversation was going.

She should have seen it coming.

The introduction had happened hours ago, yet apparently that was enough to send Jermajesty into full matchmaking mode.n Not that she thought he was actually trying to set them up.

After staring at the screen for a moment, she finally replied.

Y/N

he seems nice

The answer lasted on the screen for approximately two seconds before another message arrived.

Jermajesty 🥳

damn, that’s it?

Y/N laughed despite herself.

Y/N

what do you want me to say?

Jermajesty 🥳

idk

you guys talked for like three hours

Y/N

we did not talk for three hours

Jermajesty 🥳

2 hours and 47 minutes

Y/N stared at the screen.

Then:

Y/N

why do you know that

Jermajesty 🥳

don't worry about it

Y/N

i hate you

Jermajesty 🥳

❤️

She immediately threw her phone onto the mattress beside her.

This idiot.

A smile still appeared anyway.

After a few minutes, she reached over, locked the screen, and set the phone on her nightstand. The room was quiet now. The only sound came from the television still playing softly in the background.

Slowly, her thoughts drifted back toward the afternoon.

Toward conversations beneath string lights.

Toward easy laughter.

Toward dark eyes and an annoyingly nice smile.

The realization made her groan into her pillow and this was exactly why she didn't want to entertain Jermajesty's questions. The last thing she needed was encouragement.

A few moments later, her phone lit up again.

One final message.

Y/N almost ignored it.

With a sigh, she reached for the device.

The notification preview showed only three words.

Jermajesty 🥳

he's asking questions

Y/N blinked.

Then sat upright.

Y/N

what does that mean

No answer.

She waited.

Nothing.

Another minute passed.

Still nothing.

Y/N

jermajesty jackson

Silence.

Y/N

JER!!!!

Nothing.

The message remained on delivered and somehow that was worse because now her curiosity had been planted. Now she wanted to know.

And somewhere across the city, completely unaware of the chaos he had just caused, Jermajesty was laughing his head off.

[bellinghambabe]

BESTFRIEND'S BROTHER?!! SAYY LESSS!! Oh my god I could not put this down and now I am late for work hahahahah

[jkkyks]

Uncle Michael

Content : The biopic got released, it’s the most successful movie worldwide but how will that affect you and Jaafar?

Jaafar Jackson x reader (angst x drama)

The apartment had been quiet for hours.

Too quiet.

The only light left on was the small lamp beside the couch where you’d been pretending to watch TV for the last hour, curled beneath a blanket with your phone resting beside you.

The episode ended twenty minutes ago.

You never changed it.

Your screen lights up again.

Not him.

Just another notification buried between headlines about your man or his recent interview or your friend’s group texting.

Eventually, without even thinking about it, you clicked to watch his latest interview.

Jaafar appears on the screen almost immediately.

Perfect posture.

Perfect smile.

Perfect answer.

“What does it feel like portraying your uncle Michael Jackson?”

Your chest tightens softly.

Because every interviewer asks him the same things now.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

“How does it feel to be your uncle?”

“How much pressure are you under?”

“What would Michael think of your performance?”

“How do you handle the criticism?”

The comments underneath the clip didn’t even help.

He sounds just like him.

He’ll never be Michael.

His smile looks just like Michael.

Michael would’ve been proud.

He looks exhausted.

That last one lingers in your head.

Because it’s true.

Maybe nobody else notices the tiny differences lately, but you do.

The slight delay before he answers questions now.

The tightness in his jaw.

The way his smile fades the second cameras stop rolling.

You glance down at your messages again.

Did you eat yet?

Sent — 7:42 P.M.

Unread.

The word sits there like it’s been ignored on purpose, even though you know that’s not true.

Still, your chest tightens in a way you don’t fully know what to do with.

Because it isn’t just that he didn’t reply.

It’s that you kept checking anyway. Because he usually replies, even on the busiest days, even back when he was still shooting, he always found a moment to check on you.

You told yourself you wouldn’t wait up this time.

You really did.

But at 11 p.m. you were reheating dinner anyway, standing in the kitchen convincing yourself it made sense to just eat later with him.

At midnight, you gave up pretending and turned the stove off, letting the food cool down while you stood there too long doing nothing.

Now it sits untouched in the kitchen while another interview autoplayes quietly from the TV.

And the worst part is that you know he’s trying.

You know he is.

But lately it feels like the entire world gets more of him than you do.

Reposting stories about the biopic, staying active online, showing up everywhere, while your messages sit unanswered, like you’ve quietly slipped out of the part of his life where he remembers to come back to you.

Outside, headlights flash briefly across the apartment windows.

Your heart lifts automatically.

Then drops when the car keeps driving.

Not him.

Again.

You sink deeper into the couch with a tired sigh, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself just as the sound of keys finally rattles at the front door.

It’s almost 2 A.M.

And the second Jaafar walks in, your heart aches instantly.

He looks exhausted.

Black hoodie, curls messy from constantly dragging his hands through them, eyes dull with exhaustion while his phone keeps vibrating nonstop in his hand every few seconds.

Jaafar barely even seems like himself lately.

And the worst part is that you miss him while he’s standing right in front of you.

“Hey baby,” he murmurs tiredly while locking the door behind him.

“Hey.”

He tosses his keys onto the counter and exhales deeply, rubbing both hands down his face.

You hesitate then quietly, “Did you even see my texts today?”

His shoulders tense immediately.

“Baby…” he sighs. “Today was insane.”

“You said that yesterday too.”

“I know.”

You stare down at your hands, hesitating.

“But …you were online.”

The room goes still. Jaafar looks up instantly.

“Oh my God.”

“No, I’m serious,” you say before you can stop yourself. “I feel like I barely exist to you.”

His jaw tightens hard.

“You think I don’t know that?”

The sudden sharpness in his voice catches you off guard.

“What?”

“Every single person around me wants something from me right now.”

“I’m not people, Jaafar.”

“I KNOW THAT.”

His voice echoes through the apartment.

Silence slams down immediately afterward.

Your chest tightens. Because he never yells at you.

Ever.

But now he’s pacing through the living room like he physically can’t stay still, hands trembling slightly while he drags them through his curls again.

“I wake up every day terrified I ruined my uncle’s legacy!” he snaps suddenly.

And the entire fight changes.

Just like that.

You freeze.

Jaafar laughs once, but it sounds horrible. Breathless. Panicked.

“They analyze every little thing I do,” he says, voice uneven now. “The way I talk, the way I move, whether I smile enough, whether I sound enough like him—”

“Jaafar I-”

“No, because everywhere I go lately…” His voice cracks sharply. “They want Michael from me.”

The sentence hits like a punch.

And suddenly he just keeps talking like the words have been trapped inside him for months.

“I can’t do one interview without them asking about him.” His breathing starts turning uneven. “Every question is about him. Every headline is about him. Every comment is comparing me to him.”

His eyes are glossy now.

Actually glossy.

“And if I mess this up?” he whispers. “If I don’t do him justice? I won’t forgive myself for it.”

Your anger dissolves instantly.

“The world forgets that I loved him too….maybe more than any of them. He was my goddamn uncle. And I’m doing this for him but...” His breathing turns uneven.

“Jaafar…”

“I don’t even know how to be myself anymore lately..”

His voice breaks completely this time.

And then he finally falls apart.

Right there in the middle of the living room.

He turns away from you suddenly, both hands covering his face while his breathing goes shaky and uneven.

Like he physically cannot hold himself together anymore.

Your heart shatters and you cross the room immediately.

“Hey, hey—”

But the second you touch his arm, he breaks harder.

A choked sound leaves him as he bends forward slightly, shoulders shaking while he tries and fails to catch his breath.

And suddenly you realize how long he’s been holding this in.

How long he’s been suffocating underneath all this pressure while pretending he was okay.

“Baby,” you whisper desperately, grabbing his face gently. “Look at me.”

His eyes are red when he finally does.

Completely overwhelmed.

“I’m so tired,” he admits brokenly.

That sentence nearly destroys you.

Not physically tired.

Soul tired.

You pull him against you instantly, and Jaafar clings to you so tightly it almost hurts.

Like you’re the only thing keeping him standing right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says shakily against your shoulder. “I know I’ve been distant, I know I have, I just—”

His voice cracks again.

“I can’t escape it anymore.”

You rub your hands up and down his back slowly while he struggles to breathe evenly.

“It’s okay,” you whisper.

“No, it’s not.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, tears sitting visibly in his eyes now. “You shouldn’t have to beg for my attention because I’m too lost in my own head to be here with you.”

Your own eyes sting immediately.

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty.”

“I know.” His voice is tiny now. “I know.”

For a second he just looks at you, then he asked quietly, “You know what scares me?”

“What?”

“The fact that when I walked in tonight…” His voice shakes again. “And felt like am losing you.”

God.

That completely breaks you.

Because that’s what you were trying to fight for.

And he noticed.

“I miss you,” you whisper finally.

The look on his face crumbles instantly.

“I miss you too,” he admits softly. “So much.”

Then after a pause, “I think I forgot that you’re supposed to be the place I rest at.” His eyes lower. “Not another thing I panic about failing.”

You cup his face carefully.

“You’re not failing me.”

“But I am failing myself.” His voice cracks again. “I don’t know who I am lately outside of this movie.”

Your chest aches so badly you can barely breathe.

He laughs weakly through tears.

“Everywhere I go, they want Michael from me.”

This time the sentence sounds smaller.

Sad instead of angry.

And you realize how terrified he really is beneath all this pressure.

So you pull him back into your arms again immediately.

And this time he fully melts into you.

No pretending.

No holding it together.

Just Jaafar quietly crying against your shoulder while you hold him in the middle of your apartment at 2 a.m.

You kiss his curls softly.

“You know you don’t have to be him with me, right?”

His grip on you tightens instantly.

“You’re allowed to just be Jaafar here.”

A shaky breath leaves him.

And for the first time all night, some of the tension leaves his body.

“You’re my favorite place,” he whispers.

Tears burn your eyes immediately.

You pull back enough to kiss him softly.

But this time he kisses you back like he needed it.

One hand slides shakily into your hair while the other settles against your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s barely any space left between you.

Not desperate.

Just aching.

Like he’s trying to remember what safety feels like through you.

Your fingers curl into the front of his hoodie while his forehead presses against yours between kisses, his breathing finally slowing little by little.

“I missed this,” he whispers against your lips.

“You have me,” you whisper back immediately. “Even on the bad days.”

His eyes close for a second like the words physically hit him.

Then he kisses you again.

Softer this time.

Longer.

And when you pull back slightly, you notice his shoulders aren’t as tense anymore.

The trembling in his hands has eased.

“You didn’t eat, did you?” he asks quietly after a moment.

You blink.

Jaafar sighs softly, thumb brushing underneath your eye.

“Baby…”

“You didn’t either.”

A tiny tired smile finally appears on his face for the first time tonight.

“Come here.”

He takes your hand and leads you into the kitchen.

The food is cold by now, but neither of you care.

At almost three in the morning, the two of you stand side by side reheating dinner in complete silence while Jaafar keeps one arm wrapped around your waist the entire time like he physically cannot let go of you yet.

And honestly?

You don’t want him to.

At one point while waiting for the microwave, he suddenly pulls you against his chest again without warning.

“What?” you laugh softly.

“Nothing.”

His voice comes out muffled against your hair.

Then quieter, “I just need to hold you for a second.”

So you tilt your head up and kiss him once more.

Small.

Sleepy.

Full of love.

And Jaafar looks at you afterward like you’ve just given him something he thought he lost.

Later that night, curled together in bed with your fingers running slowly through his curls while he lays half-asleep against your chest, his hand lazily tracing shapes against your waist beneath your shirt, the apartment finally feels quiet in a good way again.

Safe.

His breathing evens out slowly.

And just before sleep fully pulls him under, Jaafar murmurs softly, “Thank you for reminding me that I’m still Jaafar.”

You press a kiss against his forehead.

“Always.”

A/N : this one shot been on my mind when I watched his interviews on youtube. Hopefully you all enjoyed that. MUAH💋

🏷️ : @kymb-10 @heartbreakylian @thinklikeky @mama-2001 @woonhak4prez @kylottin10 @luloati @auriuex @a-dal7490 @seelmo @wondergotham @cherryberry444 @ilocuras24

[bellinghambabe]

Stop it.. This made me bawl....I pray that he doesn't feel like this in real life. He just looks so exausted... This was absolutely beautiful my lovee

[aliienorr]

First Christmas 🎄

Just a shy and lonely Off the Wall era MJ accidentally gets invited to spend Christmas with a girl and her family after she catches him staring at her decorations outside.

Soft fluff, awkward Michael and him finally getting to feel like a normal boy for once <3

5k+ words

This is actually the first time I’ve really written something like this, so it might not be perfect

I’m still learning and I’ll probably improve with time, so be nice pls <3

The neighborhood was glowing, every house on the street seemed alive in its own way with warm yellow lights spilling through windows, Christmas music drifting faintly into the cold air, families moving around behind curtains like scenes from a movie Michael had spent his whole life watching from the outside.

He walked slowly beneath the strings of lights hanging over the sidewalks, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat.

He should have been elsewhere tonight, like at the studio or at home. Anywhere but wandering alone in his neighborhood on Christmas Eve.

But the closer the holidays got, the more difficult it became to ignore the silent pain that reigned somewhere deep in his chest.

People talk about Christmas as if it were magic, with childhood memories, family traditions, staying up too late to decorate trees and fall asleep on sofas while old movies were playing in the background.

Michael had been hearing people talk about these things for years, smiling softly while listening as if he understood.

But honestly he didn’t do it, Christmas has always been something distant. Something that other families have done.

And at twenty-one years old standing in the middle of a quiet street with snow clinging slightly to the edges of the sidewalk, he realized that part of him still wanted it anyway.

He really wanted it, not the celebrity, not the crowds screaming even though he loved his fans.

He just wanted that.

His steps slowed down when he arrived at a house near the end of the street, it looked almost unreal.

They were colorful lights wrapped around the porch railings shining softly against the snow. A huge Christmas tree stood by the front window filled with ornaments and garlands that sparkled every time someone walked past it inside.

Michael watched a little too long.

Laughter spilled through the open front door for half a second before it closed again and something about the sound made his chest tighten unexpectedly.

He wondered what it felt like to grow up with noise like that.

To have sisters and brothers pulling you into snowball fights and parents yelling from the kitchen. Friends showing up unannounced because they knew they were welcome.

He tried to imagine himself as a little boy in a house like this and the image hurt more than he expected.

“Um…”

Michael blinked out of his thoughts and he saw two girls standing in the front yard now.

The younger one was bundled in a bright red coat, snow clinging to her boots while she stared at him with absolutely no subtlety. The older girl, probably around his age looked nervous.

“Lily, you can’t just stare at people” she whispered harshly to her little sister.

“But he’s been standing there forever.”

Michael looked down immediately suddenly embarrassed.

“Sorry” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to be weird or anything.” His voice came out softer than intended, almost swallowed by the cold air.

The older girl looked at him.

There was something strangely sad about him despite the gentle smile on his face. Like he’d been caught longing for something he wasn’t supposed to have.

“It’s okay” she said carefully. “You just looked a little lost.”

Michael laughed softly at that, though it barely sounded like a laugh at all.

“Maybe I am.”

For a second nobody said anything.

Snowflakes drifted lazily between them. Somewhere down the street children were yelling over a snowball fight.

Then the little girl suddenly stepped closer.

“Do you wanna help us build the snowman?”

Michael looked genuinely startled.

“Me?”

“Yeah.” She pointed at the half-finished snowman beside them. “He looks ugly.”

The older girl groaned. “Lily-”

But before she could apologize again Michael laughed.

A real laugh this time. Warm and bright and surprised enough that it caught even him off guard.

And somehow standing there beneath the Christmas lights with snow melting slowly into his curls, he looked younger all of a sudden.

Just a lonely boy being asked to play for the first time in a very, very long while.

“I’m freezing” Lily complained dramatically after another failed attempt at fixing the snowman’s lopsided head.

She stepped back to examine it, frowned deeply then pointed an accusing finger at Michael.

“You made him ugly.”

Michael looked genuinely offended for half a second before laughing softly under his breath.

“I think he had problems before I got here.”

“Nope. It was definitely you.”

Her older sister rolled her eyes fondly as Lily huffed and brushed snow off her mittens.

“I’m going inside. Mom made gingerbread cookies and I deserve at least four for suffering through this.”

“You already had five!”

“Exactly. and i need more.”

Before either of them could answer, she spin around and sprinted toward the house, nearly slipping across the icy porch. The front door swung open, warm light spilling briefly into the yard before disappearing again behind her.

And suddenly it was quiet, the kind that only seemed to exist on winter nights.

Snow drifted slowly from the dark sky settling over the sidewalks and rooftops while distant Christmas music floated faintly through the neighborhood. Somewhere farther down the street people were laughing loudly enough for the sound to carry through the cold air.

Michael stood beside the half-finished snowman with his hands tucked into his coat pockets staring at the glowing lights wrapped around the porch railing.

He looked calmer now that Lily was gone but quieter too.

Like her presence had distracted him from his own thoughts for a little while.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” she teased gently, mostly to ease the strange nervousness she could still feel radiating off him.

He glanced at her, visibly caught off guard by the question before smiling shyly.

“I do sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Depends who I’m around.”

His voice was soft and almost careful, and she noticed he still avoided holding eye contact for too long. He kept looking away toward the lights, toward the snowman, toward the windows of her house glowing gold against the dark street.

He seemed lonely.

And somehow that felt far more important than the fame.

Michael noticed the way she kept talking to him naturally, like he was just another guy from the neighborhood standing in her front yard on Christmas Eve.

There was no expectation in her eyes, just warmth and kindness and it made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

Because God he’d wanted this for soo long.

Not the screaming crowds or the attention people swore he should be grateful for.

He just wanted to stand outside in the cold talking about nothing important with somebody who saw him as a person before anything else. Somebody who didn’t look at him like a star. Somebody who laughed at his terrible snowman skills and didn’t seem to care who he was.

For years he had watched other people his age form friendships so easily, had watched them move through life without constantly wondering whether they were loved for themselves or for the name attached to them.

And standing here now beneath glowing Christmas lights, he realized how badly some part of him had always wished for a normal life.

A normal childhood, friends.

Memories that didn’t involve stages and cameras and pressure.

The thought sat heavily in his chest while snowflakes melted quietly into his curls.

“You okay?” she asked softly after noticing how distant he’d gotten.

Michael blinked, pulled abruptly back into the moment.

“Yeah” he murmured quickly, though his smile this time looked smaller. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

His gaze drifted once more toward the house behind her, toward the silhouettes moving warmly through the windows.

“Your family seems really nice.”

“They are” she said with a small laugh. “A little insane sometimes, but nice.”

Michael smiled at that. A real smile this time, soft enough to make him look almost boyish.

For a second neither of them spoke.

Then slowly, Michael shifted his weight backward and glanced down the street behind him.

“I should probably head home.”

Something about the way he said it made her chest tighten unexpectedly.

Like he already sounded disappointed before even leaving.

“Oh.”

He nodded lightly, hands curling deeper into his sleeves against the cold.

“I just wanted to thank you before I go.”

She frowned a little. “For helping ruin the snowman?”

A quiet laugh escaped him.

“For this moment.”

The humor faded from his expression after that, replaced by something softer. More vulnerable.

“I know it probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to you, but…” He hesitated briefly, eyes lowering toward the snow beneath his shoes. “I’ve never really done this before.”

“Done what?”

“All that things.”

The word left his mouth carefully, almost embarrassed.

“I mean..” His voice softened further. “I’ve never stood outside making snowmen or listened to Christmas music coming from somebody’s house or…“

He laughed quietly to himself, though there was sadness hidden inside it.

“I don’t know. I guess I never really had that kind of childhood.”

The honesty in his voice hurt to hear.

Michael looked back up at her then, smiling gently despite it all.

“But it was really nice.”

His eyes flickered toward the glowing lights one last time.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

Something inside her heart cracked completely at that.

The fact that this tiny moment, just standing in front of somebody else’s house while snow fell around him and trying to fix a snowman meant so much to him made her chest ache unbearably.

Before she could think twice, she blurted out “Wait here.”

Michael looked startled. “What?”

But she was already hurrying toward the front door before he could say anything else.

He stood frozen near the sidewalk while she disappeared inside the house, the warm light swallowing her instantly. Through the windows he could see her talking rapidly to her parents in the kitchen while Lily bounced excitedly beside her.

Michael’s stomach tightened immediately.

Maybe he’d made things awkward. Maybe she regretted talking to him. Maybe her parents were upset she’d been outside alone with some strange man lingering around their yard on Christmas Eve.

He almost convinced himself to leave before she came back.

But then the front door flew open again.

She ran back down the porch steps breathlessly, snow crunching beneath her boots as she hurried toward him with the brightest smile he’d seen all night.

“They said yes.”

Michael stared at her in confusion.

“Yes to what?”

“To you coming tomorrow.”

He blinked slowly.

“For Christmas,” she clarified softly. “Dinner, presents, watching movies.. all of it.”

For a moment, he just looked at her completely speechless.

She watched every emotion cross his face all at once confusion, disbelief, hope so sudden it almost looked painful.

“You mean that?” he whispered finally.

“Of course I mean it.”

He laughed shakily under his breath, overwhelmed in a way he clearly didn’t know how to hide. His eyes had gone glassy beneath the porch lights, and for a second he looked younger than twenty-one.

Nobody had ever invited him into something so normal before.

Not because he was famous.

Not because he was useful.

Just because they wanted him there.

“Okay” he said quietly, almost breathlessly.

Then he smiled.

And she thought she had never seen anyone look so genuinely happy over something so simple.

Later that night, Michael walked slowly back down the snowy street toward his house with his hands pressed tightly against his sleeves, trying helplessly to contain the warmth blooming inside his chest.

The neighborhood looked different now. Softer somehow.

He could still hear her laughter in his head. Still picture the lights glowing around her porch.

Halfway home, emotion overwhelmed him so suddenly he had to stop walking.

He stood there alone beneath a flickering streetlamp, tears slipping silently down his cold cheeks while he laughed quietly at himself under his breath.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt wanted somewhere without needing to earn it first.

And the feeling was almost unbearable in its gentleness.

By the time he finally reached home, he already knew he wanted to bring them something tomorrow.

Something thoughtful. Something that could somehow express the gratitude sitting far too heavily inside his heart for words alone.

Meanwhile, only a few streets away, she and Lily were bundled in ridiculous Christmas sweaters while wandering through crowded little shops together, debating chocolates and books and warm winter gifts.

“Do you think he likes reading?” Lily asked seriously while holding up a mystery novel.

The girl smiled to herself.

Somehow, she thought he probably liked anything that made him feel understood.

The front door closed softly behind him.

The warmth of his house hit Michael immediately but it didn’t feel the same tonight.

He stood there for a moment in the hallway, still carrying the cold on his coat.

“Michael?”

He looked up.

Bill was standing here, arms crossed clearly waiting.

“Where have you been?”

Michael hesitated, then slowly stepped further inside taking off his gloves like he wasn’t fully present.

“I was just walking” he said quietly.

Bill raised an eyebrow. “Walking where?”

Michael looked down at his hands.

“Around the neighborhood.”

“For that long?”

“Humm yes.”

Bill stared at him for a second longer, then his expression softened slightly when he noticed something was off. Michael wasn’t just tired. He looked different, quieter.

“Alright” Bill said more gently. “Sit down.”

Michael did, slowly sinking into the couch as if his body had finally caught up with his emotions.

“What happened?”

Silence stretched for a moment. Then Michael let out a small breath, almost like he’d been holding it all night.

“I met someone. She is Kind.”

Bill blinked. “Okay…”

Michael rubbed a hand over his face, embarrassed by how difficult it was to explain something so simple.

“She lives in the neighborhood.”

“And?”

“She invited me to Christmas.”

That made Bill pause completely.

“She what?”

Michael gave a small, almost helpless shrug.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do” he admitted.

Bill looked at him for a long moment, then sighed, sitting down across from him.

“Mikey” he said more softly, “Christmas is just… people. Being together. Eating too much food. Giving each other things that don’t matter that much but feel like they do.”

“That’s it?” Michael looked up slowly.

“That’s it.”

A faint smile appeared on Michael’s face, uncertain but growing.

“Then what am I supposed to bring?”

Bill thought for a second, then shrugged.

“Gifts. Something simple. Chocolate. Games. Flowers.”

Michael repeated it quietly, almost to himself

Bill nodded. “Exactly.”

Michael leaned back into the couch, staring up at the ceiling. And for the first time that night his chest didn’t feel heavy anymore.

That night sleep came slowly.

Michael lay in bed staring at the dim light coming through the curtains, replaying everything in his head over and over again thinking about the snow, the laughter, her voice saying you can come tomorrow.

It didn’t feel real, and yet it was the first thing in a long time that made him fall asleep smiling.

The next morning he woke up too early.

Not because he was tired but because his mind wouldn’t stop moving.

He sat up immediately already thinking. Already worrying and already excited.

“You’re awake early Mike” Bill said when he found him in the kitchen.

Michael was half-dressed, hair still messy, holding a list he had clearly written too carefully.

“I don’t know what I’m doing” he admitted.

Bill glanced at the list. “Games. Chocolate. Flowers. That’s what we say yesterday.”

“What if it’s bad?”

“It’s not bad.”

Michael hesitated. “What if they don’t like it?”

Bill chuckled lightly. “Mike, everybody like chocolate and games. ”

That helped a little, but not enough to stop the nervous energy in his chest.

The shops were loud, warm and crowded with last-minute Christmas chaos.

Michael moved through carefully, almost overwhelmed by how normal everything felt. People arguing over gift wrapping, children pointing at decorations, music everywhere.

Bill stayed close guiding him when he hesitated too long in front of shelves.

“Pick something” Bill said.

“What if I pick the wrong game?”

“There is no wrong game.”

Michael picked one anyway, then put it back, then picked it again.

“This one?”

“That one.”

He added chocolate next, then stood frozen in the flower section.

“Flowers are hard” he whispered.

Bill smirked. “They’re literally flowers.”

Michael chose them carefully anyway, as if they mattered more than anything else in the store.

By the time they were done, his arms were full and his nerves were worse than ever.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say when I get there” he admitted on the drive back.

Bill glanced at him. “Just be yourself.”

Michael let out a quiet laugh. “That doesn’t help.”

“You’re gonna be okay.”

When the car stopped in front of the house, Michael’s stomach tightened immediately.

He could already hear faint voices inside. Smell something sweet. See the same lights from last night, only brighter in daylight.

“You fine?” Bill said calmly.

Michael nodded, though it didn’t feel like he believed it.

Then the front door opened and she ran out.

“You came!”

The words hit him harder than he expected.

Before he could even respond Lily came barreling behind her, nearly crashing into his legs.

“YOU BROUGHT PRESENTS?!”

Michael laughed instantly, tension breaking all at once.

“I… I tried.”

“Lily! He came, that’s the most important.” the girl said softer.

Michael looked at her, and for a second forgot how to be nervous.

“Hi,” he said simply.

“Hi,” she replied smiling.

Inside, the house was exactly what it sounded like from the outside.

Her parents greeted him like he was expected. Like he belonged there.

“So you’re the friend,” her mother said kindly.

Michael blinked. “Friend?”

“Yeah that’s what she told us.”

The girl shrugged innocently ”What else was I supposed to say?”

Michael laughed under his breath, something loosening in his chest.

The day blurred into something he didn’t think he’d ever get to experience properly.

They were sitting around the living room watching Christmas movies with too many blankets. Laughing over burnt cookies.

Lily stealing chocolate and getting caught every five minutes.

“She’s a professional thief,” Michael whispered at one point.

“She’s eight,” the girl whispered back.

“Exactly.”

At some point, someone put music on and Michael instinctively started moving to it without thinking, making Lily scream “HE CAN DANCE!” like it was the greatest discovery of her life.

He went red immediately. “It’s not that serious—”

“IT IS.”

When gifts were exchanged Michael looked almost overwhelmed again.

He watched them open his carefully chosen things. The game, the chocolate, the flowers, he was holding his breath like he was waiting to be told he did it wrong.

But they smiled.

“It’s perfect Michael thank you,” she said softly.

“Okay!” Lily announced loudly, crawling toward the tree. “Now it’s Michael’s turn.”

Michael immediately looked alarmed.

“Mine?”

“Yes, yours,” she said like it was obvious.

The room laughed softly, but Michael only smiled shyly and lowered his eyes for a second, visibly trying to hide how much it affected him.

Her mother reached toward the tree first and handed him a small wrapped box with a gentle smile.

“This one’s from us.”

Michael accepted it so carefully it almost hurt to watch, like he was afraid of doing something wrong.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything,” he murmured immediately.

“Open it,” her father said warmly from the couch.

Michael glanced around the room once before slowly peeling back the wrapping paper, trying not to destroy it too badly. Lily groaned dramatically watching him.

“You unwrap presents like an old man.”

“I’m trying to be careful!”

“Rip it!”

His laugh came out soft and surprised again, and for a second he looked younger than he had all night.

When the paper finally fell away, Michael blinked down at the box in confusion before opening it carefully.

Inside was a thick knitted scarf, dark red with little stitched stars along the ends.

His fingers froze against the fabric.

“My wife made it,” her father explained gently.

Michael stared at the scarf for a long moment without speaking.

Then he touched it again, slower this time like he was trying to process the fact that somebody had sat down and made something specifically for him.

“You made this?” he asked quietly, looking toward her mother.

She smiled softly. “Of course.”

Michael swallowed hard enough for her to notice.

“Nobody’s ever…”

He stopped himself before finishing the sentence, eyes lowering quickly back to the scarf in his lap.

Nobody’s ever made me something before.

The words hung there anyway, unfinished but understood by everyone in the room.

“Do you like it?” Lily asked impatiently.

Michael looked up so quickly it almost startled them.

“I love it.”

His voice cracked slightly around the last word.

He immediately laughed under his breath afterward, embarrassed by his own emotions, and rubbed quickly beneath one eye before anybody could pretend to notice.

But she noticed, of course she did.

She watched him hold the scarf carefully against himself for another second before Lily suddenly shoved another gift directly into his hands.

“This one’s mine.”

Michael blinked. “You got me another one?”

“Open it.”

He obeyed this time a little faster, smiling despite himself while tearing through the wrapping paper more confidently under Lily’s intense supervision.

Inside was a box of chocolates covered in ridiculous Christmas drawings and a tiny handmade ornament shaped like a star.

A crooked star.

“That’s you” Lily informed him proudly.

Michael stared at it. “Why?”

“Because you looked sad yesterday.”

The entire room went quiet.

Lily continued innocently and completely unaware of the effect her words had.

“But stars make things less dark, so…” She shrugged. “Now you can hang it on your tree.”

Michael’s face crumpled so subtly most people wouldn’t have noticed it.

He looked down immediately, blinking hard while turning the little ornament carefully between his fingers.

Nobody rushed him, nobody laughed.

The room just stayed patient around him while he silently tried to hold himself together over a child’s handmade gift.

“Thank you,” he whispered eventually.

Lily grinned proudly. “You’re welcome.”

Then finally, her turn came.

She reached beside the couch quietly and held out a small rectangular package wrapped in gold paper.

Michael looked at her uncertainly before taking it carefully from her hands.

“I didn’t really know what to get you,” she admitted softly.

“You already invited me here.”

“Still.”

Michael looked down at the gift resting in his lap for a moment before opening it slowly.

Inside was a soft cream-colored sweater with tiny embroidered snowflakes near the sleeves… and beneath it, a book.

His expression shifted immediately at the sight of it.

“Peter Pan,” he murmured quietly almost to himself.

“ I thought maybe you would like it..”

She trailed off when she saw his face properly.

Michael looked overwhelmed. Completely overwhelmed.

His fingers rested lightly over the cover of the book while something unbearably tender moved across his expression.

“Michael?” she asked softly.

He looked up quickly, eyes visibly glossy again.

“Sorry,” he whispered immediately, laughing shakily at himself. “I just…”

He stopped because his voice was betraying him too much to finish properly.

The room stayed quiet.

Michael looked back down at the gifts in his hands and smiled in a way she knew she would remember for the rest of her life.

Like somebody who had spent years convincing himself he didn’t need softness suddenly being handed more of it than he knew how to carry.

“This is the first and the nicest Christmas I’ve ever had,” he admitted quietly.

Then after a tiny pause, voice even softer

“Thank you for letting me be part of it.”

Dinner came later someone passed him food before he even had to ask. Someone else made him laugh mid-bite and Lily insisted he try everything twice.

“You’re part of the family now,” her father joked at one point.

And Mike froze slightly at that then smiled.

“Thank you” he said quietly.

When night finally settled and the house grew softer they ended up back in the living room, wrapped in blankets again, a Christmas movie playing in the background no one was really watching anymore.

Michael leaned back against the couch exhausted in the best way possible.

For once, he wasn’t thinking about stages or schedules or expectations.

Just this, people around him laughter and happiness.

“You’re very quiet,” she said softly beside him.

He glanced at her.

“I’m just… happy,” he admitted.

The simplicity of it made her smile.

“Good,” she said.

Michael looked back at the room, and for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t feel like Michael Jackson.

He just feel like Michael, and that somehow, was everything.

The house had finally quieted down.

Not completely, not in the way empty houses were quiet but in that soft and warm way that comes after a long day of laughter, food, and too many voices overlapping at once.

The Christmas tree still glowed faintly in the living room casting golden light through the curtains. Somewhere inside, Lily had fallen asleep on the couch mid-movie, and her parents were clearing plates in the kitchen with tired smiles.

“I’ll be right back,” she murmured after another round of laughter from the living room, standing up from the couch and brushing cookie crumbs from her sweater. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Michael smiled softly as she disappeared down the hallway, but once the room quieted again, he found himself glancing toward her parents with something more thoughtful lingering behind his expression.

Michael didn’t really want to leave.

He realized that painfully while slipping his coat back on that for the first time in a very long time, going home felt lonelier than staying.

“You heading out?” her father asked gently from the living room.

Michael nodded a little.

“I should probably let you all rest.”

“You survived Lily for an entire day,” her mother laughed softly while drying her hands with a towel. “That deserves respect.”

“I heard that,” Lily mumbled sleepily.

The room laughed quietly, and Michael felt warmth bloom in his chest all over again at how easy it had become to laugh with them.

God he didn’t want this feeling to end.

He lingered awkwardly near the doorway for another second afterward, fingers tightening slightly around the scarf folded over his arm.

Then slowly, his expression softened into something more serious.

“Can I…” He hesitated briefly. “Can I say something?”

Her parents immediately gave him their full attention and suddenly Michael looked nervous.

“I just wanted to thank you,” he said quietly.

His eyes drifted around the room while he searched for the right words.

“For letting me stay here today.”

her mother smiled softly. “Michael—”

But he shook his head quickly, like he needed to say it properly before he lost the courage.

“No, I mean it.”

His voice grew quieter after that. More honest.

“I don’t think you realize what this meant to me.”

The room fell completely silent.

Michael lowered his eyes briefly, visibly embarrassed by how emotional he was becoming again, but he kept going anyway.

“I’ve spent most of my life around people,” he admitted softly. “But not… like this.”

He glanced back up slowly.

“Today felt real.”

Something in her mother’s expression immediately broke at those words.

Michael laughed faintly under his breath afterward, almost apologetically.

“I know that probably sounds stupid.”

“No,” her father said gently. “It doesn’t.”

Michael swallowed hard.

“I just…” His voice cracked slightly before he steadied it again. “I’ve never had a Christmas before.”

The sincerity in his voice hurt to hear because he wasn’t fishing for reassurance.

He truly meant it.

Her mother crossed the room before he could retreat back into himself too much and placed a hand gently against his arm.

“Michael,” she said softly, “you never have to earn being welcomed somewhere.”

Michael looked down immediately at the words visibly overwhelmed by how naturally it had been said.

Like she meant it, like he belonged there enough for tenderness to come naturally.

“And besides,” her father added with a warm smile, “you made our daughter happier than we’ve seen her in months, so I think we should be thanking you too.”

Michael’s face flushed instantly.

“Oh- no, I didn’t- ”

her mother laughed softly “You’re blushing.”

“I am not.”

“Michael.”

He hid his face slightly behind the scarf in defeat while her parents laughed quietly.

And standing there in the middle of their warm living room surrounded by soft and blinking Christmas lights, Michael felt something settle deep inside his chest that he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for his entire life.

Home.

Michael carefully gathered the gifts back into his arms, holding the scarf and book almost protectively against his chest while he slipped his shoes back on near the door.

“Thank you again,” he said softly, looking toward her parents with that same shy sincerity that had been in his voice all evening. “Really. For everything.”

Her mother smiled warmly. “You’re welcome here anytime, sweetheart.”

Michael visibly softened at that, lowering his eyes with a small, almost bashful smile.

“Drive safe,” her father added jokingly before remembering Michael literally lived three streets away. “Or… walk safe, I guess.”

Michael laughed quietly. “I’ll try my best.”

He glanced once toward the hallway where she still hadn’t returned from the bathroom, hesitating for a second before looking back at them.

“I’m just gonna wait outside for her,” he murmured. “I wanna say goodbye.”

Her mother’s smile turned immediately knowing.

Michael noticed and nearly tripped over his own gifts in embarrassment.

“I just- before I leave-”

“Mhmm,” her father hummed innocently.

Michael’s face turned red almost instantly as he escaped onto the porch while Lily’s exhausted laughter followed him from the couch.

The cold air hit him gently this time, nothing like the loneliness of the night before. It felt more like a pause than an absence.

He sat down on the front porch steps carefully, like he wasn’t fully sure he was allowed to be there and rested his elbows on his knees.

A few seconds later he heard the door open again behind him.

She didn’t say anything at first. She just sat down beside him close enough that their shoulders almost touched, and pulled her sweater tighter around herself against the cold.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The neighborhood was quiet now. Snow falling slower. Lights still blinking softly across the street like the world was breathing more gently.

Michael stared at his hands.

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say,” he admitted quietly.

His voice sounded smaller outside like this. More honest.

“Today was…” He paused, swallowing. “It was a lot.”

She turned slightly toward him. “In a good way?”

He gave a small nod. “Yeah. In a good way.”

Another silence followed, but this one felt heavier.

Like something in him had been holding on all day and was starting to loosen now that everything was quiet again.

He let out a shaky breath and looked away toward the street.

“I never thought I could have such a good time ” he said softly.

“Why?”

He hesitated searching for the right words.

“I was always made to believe that it wasn’t right ”

His voice broke slightly on the last word, and that was enough.

He pressed his lips together quickly, trying to stop it, but the emotion had already built too much inside him.

“Sorry,” he whispered immediately.

But she shook her head.

“Don’t be.”

And before he could overthink it, she shifted closer and gently wrapped her arms around him.

It wasn’t sudden or overwhelming. Just warm and careful. Like she was giving him space to decide if he wanted to stay or pull away.

Michael froze at first, his whole body went rigid the way it always did when someone touched him unexpectedly like his mind needed a moment to catch up to the idea that he was safe.

Then slowly almost hesitantly he leaned in.

His head lowered until it rested against her shoulder and that small movement alone seemed to undo something inside him completely.

He exhaled shakily and this time he didn’t stop the tears.

They weren’t loud or dramatic, just quiet and tired like they’d been waiting a long time for permission to exist.

“I always thought…” he began, then stopped again, voice trembling.

She didn’t rush him.

Just stayed there, holding him gently.

“I always thought I’d have more of this,” he continued after a moment. “Friends. Normal things. Growing up like other people.”

A soft breath escaped him, almost like a laugh that didn’t know how to form properly.

“But I didn’t.”

The words weren’t bitter. Just honest.

“And I didn’t even realize how much I wanted it until tonight.”

Her grip on him tightened slightly, just enough to reassure him without saying anything.

“You have it now,” she said softly.

Michael stayed still for a moment longer, as if trying to believe that sentence could be real.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “I guess I do.”

They sat like that for a while the world quiet around them, snow drifting lazily past the porch light.

Eventually Michael pulled back slightly, rubbing at his face quickly like he was embarrassed to have cried in front of her.

“Sorry,” he said again, softer this time.

“Stop apologizing,” she replied immediately, lightly nudging him. “You’re allowed to feel things, you know.”

That made him laugh a little through his remaining tears.

“I’m not very good at it.”

“I noticed.”

He smiled properly then, real and small and tired in the best way.

The silence returned again, but this time it felt different. Not heavy. Just… ending.

Michael glanced toward the street leading back to his house.

“I should probably go,” he said quietly.

She nodded, but didn’t look sad about it. Just understanding.

He stood slowly, brushing snow off his sleeves, then hesitated.

Like there was something still stuck in his chest he didn’t know how to say out loud.

“Hey,” she said gently, noticing.

He looked at her.

“If you ever need someone,” she continued, “I’m here. Okay? Like… actually here.”

Michael blinked, something soft flickering in his expression.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Michael stepped closer without thinking too much about it, then paused like he was suddenly aware of everything again

But this time he didn’t step back.

Instead, very gently he leaned forward and pressed a quick shy kiss to her cheek.

it was soft, almost hesitant like he was testing courage he didn’t know he had.

When he pulled away his face was already red.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

And before she could even fully process it, he turned and started walking down the snowy street toward home.

Except this time, he wasn’t sad.

Halfway down the road, he laughed to himself with his breath visible in the cold air and started walking in little excited steps with a big smile on his face

He held the gifts tighter under his arm like they were something precious, glancing back once at the glowing house behind him.

And that night was probably the best of his life, he fell asleep with a smile on his lip and tears of happiness in his eyes.

Also, let me know if you’d want a part 2 maybe?? I could focus a bit more on the girl’s feelings or expand the story more. And if you have any feedback at all, like if I should change the writing style or write in first/second person instead, I’d honestly love to hear it :)))

[bellinghambabe]

This made me cry~ like actual actual tears, while at work.. honey.. this is beautiful the nights where he would walk just looking for someone to talk to... ugh stop it I am wreckedd

[multifandomposts-blog]

No Comment — Chapter One

Michael Jackson x Black!Reader

Warnings: swearing, paparazzi harassment, age gap discourse, media pressure, chaotic behavior, protective reader, fluff/humor

Tags: michael jackson x reader, black reader, protective reader, chaotic reader, funny reader, media trained michael, public relationship, paparazzi, interview gone wrong, crack treated seriously, fluff, series potential, 90s michael jackson

Taglist: @simply-lovley44 @cocomilaa @blcknebula

inspired by this post @callmeoncette

The flashing cameras almost blinded you the second the two of you stepped out of the black SUV.

“Michael! Michael over here!”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Michael, is the relationship getting serious?”

“Y/N! Y/N!”

Michael’s hand tightened around yours immediately, thumb rubbing softly against your skin in that quiet way he always did whenever crowds got overwhelming.

“You okay?” he murmured softly.

You looked over at him in disbelief.

“Am I okay? Baby, are you okay? They yellin’ like zoo animals.”

Michael physically had to bite back a smile.

“Baby”

“No, because why are they barking at us?”

The interview host standing near the carpet entrance laughed awkwardly before quickly straightening up when Michael looked over.

Michael lowered his head slightly, curls falling near his face as he tried to compose himself.

“C’mon,” he whispered, gently guiding you forward.

The relationship had gone public barely three weeks ago, and the media had been losing their minds ever since.

Not because Michael Jackson had a girlfriend.

But because you were absolutely terrible at public relations.

You didn’t smile politely at rude questions.

You didn’t dodge disrespect.

And you definitely didn’t care about Hollywood etiquette.

Which explained why Michael’s publicist currently looked like she was five seconds away from cardiac arrest.

The interviewer smiled brightly as cameras zoomed in.

“It’s wonderful to have you both here tonight.”

“Thank you,” Michael answered sweetly.

You nodded. “Appreciate it.”

The interviewer turned toward Michael first.

“So Michael, your fans have been very curious about this relationship. It’s definitely surprised a lot of people.”

Michael smiled politely. Calm. Practiced.

“Well, I’m very happy,” he said gently. “She’s very special to me.”

Then the interviewer looked at you.

“And what’s it like dating the biggest star in the world?”

You shrugged.

“He steals my food.”

Michael looked scandalized.

“I do not steal your food.”

“Yes you do.”

“I ask for it.”

“You ask after it’s already halfway gone micheal.”

The interviewer laughed softly.

Michael covered part of his face, already embarrassed.

Then the interviewer made the mistake.

“So…” she started carefully, “there’s obviously been conversation online about your age and maturity level compared to Michael’s. Some people think you may not fully understand the pressure that comes with being with someone like him.”

Michael’s smile dropped instantly.

You felt his hand squeeze yours once.

Warning, begging even...

Please don’t.

“Uh,” Michael started softly, “I don’t really think...”

“And some critics,” the interviewer continued, “have questioned whether you’re prepared for this kind of public relationship.”

Michael inhaled slowly.

“Baby,” he whispered under his breath.

Too late.

You blinked at the woman.

“What kinda stupid-ass question is that?”

The entire audience and crew went silent.

Michael froze beside you.

The interviewer stared.

Cameras zoomed in on you so fast it was almost violent.

You frowned.

“No seriously. How are you qualified to have this job if that’s what you ask people?”

“baby” Michael whispered, horrified.

“I’m serious,” you continued. “Y’all get paid to be weird and disrespectful on television and then act shocked when somebody says something back.”

The interviewer looked absolutely stunned.

“Well, I...”

“And another thing,” you cut in. “Every interview this man does, somebody feels comfortable disrespecting him as long as they smile while doing it.”

Michael looked down at the floor, shoulders already shaking slightly.

“You ask rude questions, pry into his personal life, make slick comments, then try to hide behind professionalism when people call it out. It’s weird.”

The interviewer opened and closed her mouth for a second.

“And now suddenly I’m immature because I’m not sitting here pretending that question wasn’t rude?”

“Baby,” Michael mumbled weakly, “you can’t say that on television.”

“Yes I can.”

“No you can’t.”

“Yes I can and I will.”

“And honestly,” you continued, “half the interviews he does feel less like interviews and more like y’all trying to see how uncomfortable you can make him before he reacts.”

Michael physically turned away now, trying to hide the fact that he was laughing.

The interviewer awkwardly cleared her throat.

“S-So Michael… about the question I asked earlier...”

“What she said,” Michael answered immediately.

The interviewer stared at him in disbelief.

Michael finally looked back over at you with the brightest grin you’d seen all night.

--------

By the time the two of you finally made it inside the venue, the tension from the interview had completely shifted.

Mostly because Michael could not stop laughing.

“You embarrassed me,” he whispered as the two of you walked through the hallway toward the backstage area.

You looked at him incredulously.

“I embarrassed you?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, still smiling. “You attacked that poor woman.”

“She attacked you first.”

Michael shook his head, curls bouncing slightly.

“You called her stupid on live television.”

“I said the question was stupid.”

“That is not better.”

You crossed your arms dramatically.

“Well maybe she should stop asking dumb questions then.”

Michael tried to stay serious for about three seconds before another laugh escaped him.

“There you go again,” he mumbled.

“Oh, don’t do that,” you said, pointing at him. “Don’t act so pleased with me now after sitting there acting all shocked.”

“I was shocked!”

“You were laughing!”

“I was trying not to!”

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.

“You liked it.”

Michael immediately looked away.

Which told you everything.

Your mouth dropped open.

“Oh my God, you DID like it.”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Michael covered part of his face with one hand, already smiling again.

“You should’ve seen your publicist’s face,” you continued. “That lady looked like she was about to pass out.”

“She probably was.”

“Well maybe next time they’ll stop asking you weird questions.”

Michael slowed down slightly then.

The teasing expression on his face softened into something else, something softer.

Something genuine.

“You really don’t like when people disrespect me, huh?”

You looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“No. I don’t.”

For a second, Michael just stared at you.

Then he smiled again.

this time

Smaller

“…I like that.”

Turn this into a series

yes

no

Only one more chapter

Other option/comment

Voting ended onMay 14

[bellinghambabe]

THIS WAS PERFECT!! GOD! It felt like drinking COLD COLD Coca-cola (Pepsi can go F themselves, never liked them anyway) in a chilled cup with ice and a stripey straww... More please 😚😚😚😚😚😚

[wtvrhappens]

OFF THE RECORD ─ jaafar jackson

pairing: jaafar jackson x journalist!reader warnings: slow burn. mutual pining. yearning. emotional tension. celebrity au. journalist reader. soft angst. eventual smut (?). use of y/n. word count: 3,917

“nothing about this felt professional anymore.”

one. the interview

⭑

The morning of the interview arrived wrapped in the kind of gray Manhattan light that made everything look cinematic without meaning to. From the enormous windows of Y/N’s hotel room, the city looked softened around the edges, buildings disappearing into pale clouds while traffic below moved in glittering ribbons of rainwater and headlights. It was barely eight in the morning, yet her phone had already been vibrating relentlessly against the marble kitchen counter for the last twenty minutes, notifications stacking over one another faster than she could read them. Emails from producers. Last-minute scheduling updates. A reminder from her manager to avoid discussing the more invasive tabloid rumors surrounding the production. Her publicist sending three separate texts reminding her that this interview would trend no matter what happened, so she needed to ‘lean into warmth.'

Y/N stood barefoot in the middle of her kitchen holding a coffee mug between both hands, staring absently at the steam curling upward while her laptop remained open beside her, paused midway through a compilation video titled Jaafar Jackson becoming Michael Jackson for ten minutes straight. Someone online had uploaded it only two nights ago after the movie came out, and despite herself, she had watched it more than once since then, though she would sooner throw herself into the Hudson than admit that out loud.

It wasn’t even attraction. Not yet, anyway. At least that was what she kept telling herself.

She simply found him interesting.

There was something unusually restrained about him in every clip she had seen during the press rollout so far, especially compared to the rest of the cast. Most actors promoting major films eventually developed a rhythm during interviews, a sort of polished ease that came from repeating the same stories often enough for them to lose emotional weight. Y/N had spent years around celebrities and could recognize media training almost instantly: the calculated pauses, the rehearsed vulnerability, the charming anecdote strategically designed to go viral in thirty second clips on TikTok.

Jaafar did not seem polished in that way. Careful, yes. Guarded, definitely.

But not artificial.

And maybe that was what had unsettled her curiosity enough to keep thinking about him over the last two weeks. Every time a journalist asked him something personal, there was always this brief flicker across his face beforehand, as though he genuinely considered the answer instead of reaching automatically for something media-friendly. It made him feel strangely human inside a machine built specifically to flatten humanity into digestible soundbites.

Y/N hated that she had noticed that.

‘Oh God,’ she muttered quietly to herself, finally shutting the laptop. ‘Get a grip.’

The apartment remained silent around her except for distant rain tapping gently against the windows.

Normally, interview days never affected her like this. She had built an entire career on composure, on making famous people comfortable enough to forget cameras existed while simultaneously revealing almost nothing about herself in return. It was a balancing act she had mastered years ago, one that transformed her from another internet influencer with a microphone into someone respected by actors, musicians, directors, people who notoriously hated interviews but requested her specifically because she listened differently than others did.

That was the irony of her job.

Millions of people watched her every week, yet almost nobody actually knew her.

They knew the curated version: intelligent questions, effortless beauty, dry humor delivered with perfect timing. They knew the girl who sat across from Oscar winners looking impossibly calm beneath studio lighting. What they did not know was that she spent the night before every important interview overthinking every possible question until three in the morning. They did not know she replayed awkward moments in her head for weeks afterward or that she secretly worried her success depended entirely on people continuing to find her charming.

And lately, exhaustion had begun creeping beneath the polished exterior she wore so convincingly online.

Not burnout exactly. Just loneliness with expensive lighting.

She exhaled slowly before finally pulling herself away from the kitchen counter and walking toward her bedroom, where clothing options had already been laid neatly across the bed by her stylist earlier that morning. Most of them leaned predictably glamorous: structured blazers, fitted dresses, sharp silhouettes designed to photograph beautifully during press coverage.

Instead, her eyes drifted immediately toward something softer.

Cream silk blouse.

Dark tailored trousers.

Gold jewelry delicate enough not to distract on camera.

Professional without trying too hard and elegant without looking calculated.

As she changed, her mind wandered unwillingly back toward the interview packet sitting on her vanity table, filled with production notes and cast information she had already memorized days ago. Nia Long portraying Katherine Jackson. Colman Domingo portraying Joseph Jackson. Juliano Valdi as young Michael. And Jaafar carrying the impossible task of portraying one of the most scrutinized human beings to ever exist while simultaneously being emotionally connected to him in real life.

That alone fascinated her.

Actors disappeared into roles all the time. That was their job.

But what did it feel like to disappear into someone your family still loved personally?

The thought lingered unpleasantly in her chest while she adjusted the sleeves of her blouse in the mirror.

By the time her car arrived downstairs, the rain had slowed into a fine silver mist coating the city in reflective haze. Her driver greeted her warmly while she slid into the backseat, immediately greeted by another flood of notifications lighting up her phone screen. Instagram mentions. Fans posting excitedly about the upcoming interview. Speculation threads already dissecting the Michael press tour frame by frame like forensic investigators.

The studio lot buzzed with familiar chaos when she arrived an hour later, production assistants weaving rapidly between equipment while publicists hovered nearby clutching coffees and clipboards with equal desperation. The entire building carried that particular energy unique to major entertainment productions: expensive stress hidden beneath perfect lighting.

The second Y/N stepped inside, people began greeting her instantly.

‘Morning!’

‘You ready for the big one?’

‘My girlfriend is obsessed with your interviews, by the way.’

She smiled automatically through every interaction, slipping effortlessly into the public-facing version of herself that years of media training had perfected. Calm posture. Warm eye contact. Easy laughter at the appropriate moments. Nobody looking at her would have guessed she had spent part of the morning irrationally nervous about meeting a man she technically already knew plenty about through research alone.

A production assistant guided her toward the set while speaking rapidly. ‘Okay, so we’re doing group interview first, then maybe individual clips depending on timing. They’re running a little behind because another junket went over schedule, but everyone’s already here.’

Y/N nodded absentmindedly while stepping onto the soundstage.

The set itself looked stunning. Warm amber lighting spilled across cream-colored furniture arranged carefully beneath subtle gold accents, the atmosphere elegant enough to feel cinematic without becoming artificial. Cameras surrounded the seating area from multiple angles while crew members adjusted microphones and lighting levels with intense concentration.

And then she saw them.

The cast stood near the far side of the studio speaking quietly among themselves while makeup artists floated nearby making last-minute touch-ups. Nia Long looked graceful even in stillness, carrying herself with the kind of effortless confidence that made elegance appear instinctual. Colman Domingo, whom she had interviewed a couple of times before and befriended him, radiated charisma so naturally that people around him seemed brighter by association, one hand moving animatedly while he spoke.

Then there was Jaafar.

For a brief moment, Y/N simply observed him unnoticed.

He stood slightly apart from the others, not awkwardly, not isolated, just quieter somehow. One hand rested loosely against the back of a chair while someone from production spoke to him, and even from across the room, there was something remarkably restrained about his body language, as though he remained constantly aware of how visible he had become over the last year and still hadn’t fully adjusted to it.

He was taller than she expected.

Softer-looking, too.

Not soft physically. There was obvious structure beneath the sharp tailoring of his dark clothing, broad shoulders emphasized by the fitted jacket hugging his frame. But his face carried a kind of thoughtfulness cameras had not entirely captured in interviews she’d watched before. A stillness that felt genuine instead of performative.

As though sensing her attention somehow, Jaafar looked up.

And there it was.

The first moment.

Not dramatic enough for movies. No thunder cracking overhead, no instant orchestral swell. Just his eyes meeting hers across the studio floor and lingering long enough for something quiet and strange to settle low in her stomach before either of them could stop it.

Y/N had spent years being looked at professionally. By actors. By executives. By fans recognizing her in airports and restaurants. She knew the difference between attention and observation.

Jaafar observed.

It lasted maybe three seconds before Colman noticed her standing there and immediately broke the tension entirely.

‘Well,’ he announced warmly while opening his arms, ‘there she is. The only interviewer alive capable of making grown actors confess their childhood trauma on camera.’

The crew laughed.

The moment shattered.

Y/N smiled despite herself while stepping forward to hug him briefly. ‘Please. You people do that voluntarily.’

‘Not true,’ Colman replied dramatically. ‘You create a false sense of security first.’

Nia greeted her next with immediate warmth, touching her arm affectionately while complimenting her blouse. Juliano followed shyly afterward, visibly nervous in the way younger actors often became during major press tours.

Then Jaafar stepped closer.

Up close, he somehow seemed even quieter than before.

‘Hi,’ Y/N said softly.

'Hi, I’m Jaafar, nice to meet you.’ He said shaking her hand softly, as if she would break

His voice caught her off guard instantly. Lower than expected. Calm in a way that felt grounding rather than rehearsed.

‘Y/N, nice to meet you,’ you smiled warmly. 

Their handshake should have been ordinary.

Professional.

Forgettable.

Instead, Y/N became suddenly aware of ridiculous details she should not have noticed at all, like the faint silver rings resting against his fingers or the way his grip tightened slightly at the very end before letting go, hesitant somehow, like neither of them had intended for the contact to last even that extra second.

Which was absurd.

Completely absurd.

She pulled her hand back smoothly before her brain could embarrass her further.

Everyone settled into their seats soon afterward while crew members rushed around making final adjustments to lighting and microphones. Colman filled the room easily with conversation, teasing Juliano until the younger actor finally relaxed enough to laugh properly, while Nia answered questions from producers with patient elegance.

Meanwhile, Y/N found herself becoming increasingly aware of Jaafar sitting beside her.

Not because he demanded attention.

Because he didn’t.

Most rising actors during massive press tours compensated for nervousness by performing confidence loudly. Jaafar did the opposite. He listened carefully when others spoke. Looked directly at whoever was talking. Smiled quietly instead of trying to dominate conversations. There was something deeply unguarded about the effort he made to put other people at ease while visibly carrying pressure himself.

It intrigued her more than it should have.

‘Rolling in thirty seconds,’ someone called from behind the cameras.

The room shifted instantly into professional mode.

Crew members moved aside.

Conversations faded.

Studio lights brightened overhead.

Y/N crossed one leg neatly over the other while adjusting the cue cards resting in her lap, her posture settling automatically into practiced elegance as cameras prepared to roll. Beside her, Jaafar exhaled slowly enough that she almost missed it.

Almost.

Then the cameras started.

And like always, the transformation happened immediately.

Her voice became smoother. Warmer. Confident in that effortless way audiences loved dissecting online afterward.

‘Today,’ she began with an easy smile directed toward the cameras, ‘I’m sitting down with the incredible cast of Michael, one of the most anticipated films in recent years…’

The interview unfolded beautifully at first. Questions flowed naturally between the cast as they discussed preparation processes, emotional responsibility, favorite moments on set. Nia spoke with thoughtful grace about portraying Katherine Jackson’s strength beneath public scrutiny. Colman answered with magnetic storytelling instincts that made everyone around him laugh effortlessly. Juliano’s sincerity charmed the crew almost immediately.

And Jaafar? Y/N noticed him becoming more comfortable gradually throughout the conversation, though not in the way she expected.

He didn’t become louder.

He became more honest.

Every answer seemed carefully considered before spoken aloud, his fingers occasionally brushing against the rings on his hand while thinking through certain questions. At one point, while discussing the emotional intensity of filming, Y/N asked gently whether there had ever been a moment where the reality of portraying Michael stopped feeling like performance and started feeling personal.

The atmosphere shifted almost immediately afterward.

Not dramatically. Subtly.

Like everyone in the room sensed the question had landed somewhere deeper than expected.

Jaafar looked downward briefly before answering, his expression softening into something more introspective than media-trained.

‘Yeah,’ he admitted quietly. ‘More than once.’

The room remained completely silent around him.

‘There were days during filming where I’d suddenly stop thinking about the technical side of acting altogether,’ he continued slowly, gaze lifting toward her again. ‘And instead I’d think about who he actually was to my family. To people who loved him. To the world. To me.’ He paused briefly, almost searching for the right wording. ‘That responsibility never really leaves your mind.’

Y/N watched him carefully while he spoke.

Because there it was again.

That carefulness.

Not fear.

Love.

Love heavy enough to make someone handle every word gently.

The interview continued after that, though something delicate had shifted permanently beneath the surface of it. 

Y/N felt it every time she glanced in Jaafar’s direction afterward.

Not distraction exactly. She was far too experienced for that. Years of interviewing people beneath bright studio lights had trained her to maintain focus under almost any circumstance, and outwardly, nothing about her composure changed. Her smile remained easy. Her posture relaxed. Her questions continued flowing naturally from one topic to the next with the same thoughtful rhythm her audience loved her for.

But internally, awareness had settled itself somewhere beneath her ribs and refused to leave.

Because now she knew what his honesty sounded like.

And unfortunately, it was becoming difficult to stop listening for it.

The conversation gradually lightened after the heavier moments passed. Colman told an absurd behind the scenes story involving an accidentally broken prop and an assistant director nearly having a heart attack over it, earning laughter from the entire room, including Jaafar, whose smile arrived slower than the others but somehow lingered longer once it appeared. Nia spoke beautifully about the emotional atmosphere on set during certain family scenes, and Juliano relaxed enough by the end of the interview to joke shyly about how intimidating it had initially been stepping into such a legendary story.

Through all of it, Y/N remained hyperaware of tiny things she absolutely should not have been noticing.

The way Jaafar leaned forward slightly whenever someone else was speaking seriously, like listening itself required his full attention. The way his thumb absentmindedly brushed against the silver ring on his finger while thinking through answers. The fact his laugh was quieter off-camera than on it, less performative somehow, as though he still had not entirely adjusted to being observed this constantly.

And worst of all, the increasingly dangerous realization that he seemed just as aware of her.

Every time she redirected a question toward another cast member, she could feel his attention lingering anyway. Not invasive. Not arrogant. Just…steady. Careful in the same way the rest of him seemed careful.

Once or twice, she caught him looking at her before she had spoken at all, as though anticipating what she might ask next.

It unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.

Because interviews were supposed to feel controlled.

This no longer did.

By the time the producer finally called cut, the atmosphere on set had softened into something noticeably warmer than when they had first arrived. Crew members relaxed visibly behind the cameras while someone near the lighting equipment muttered, 'That was really good,’ under their breath to another producer.

The red recording lights switched off.

For a brief second, nobody moved.

Then the room exhaled all at once.

‘See?’ Colman announced dramatically while removing his microphone pack. ‘I told you she’d have us discussing our inner emotional landscapes by the end of this.’

Y/N laughed softly while gathering her cue cards together. ‘You were all easy to talk to. That’s not my fault.’

‘No, seriously,’ Nia added, turning toward her with genuine warmth. ‘Those were beautiful questions.’

Something about hearing that from her specifically made Y/N smile a little more sincerely than before. ‘Thank you. I feel like people are approaching this project very carefully, and I wanted the conversation to reflect that.’

‘It did,’ Nia said simply.

Nearby, Juliano nodded quickly in agreement. ‘Honestly, that was probably the least nervous I’ve been all week.’

‘That’s because she tricks people into feeling safe,’ Colman interrupted.

‘I’m starting to think you’re accusing me of crimes.’

‘I am.’

The crew laughed again.

The atmosphere afterward became pleasantly chaotic in the way sets often did once filming wrapped. Publicists stepped back in. Makeup artists hovered nearby with tissues and powder compacts. Producers congratulated each other quietly while assistants began reorganizing equipment around the studio.

Y/N stood from her chair slowly, smoothing her blouse instinctively while thanking different crew members around her. She was accustomed to this part of the job too, the gentle comedown after interviews ended, where everyone briefly returned from performance into ordinary humanity again.

Usually, this was the point where actors left quickly for their next press obligation.

Instead, the cast lingered.

Colman remained beside her for several minutes talking animatedly about an upcoming theater project while Nia complimented the atmosphere of the interview again, mentioning how refreshing it felt compared to more invasive press circuits lately. Even Juliano stayed long enough to thank her shyly once more before his publicist finally ushered him toward the exit.

And through all of it, Y/N could feel Jaafar nearby without directly looking at him.

The awareness was becoming ridiculous now.

She caught fragments of his voice occasionally while he spoke quietly with someone from production across the room, low and calm beneath the surrounding noise of the studio. Once, while laughing softly at something Colman said, she glanced up instinctively and found Jaafar already looking at her from several feet away.

Not intensely but attentively, like he was still listening.

Her chest tightened unexpectedly.

Professionalism, she reminded herself firmly.

This was professionalism.

Eventually, the room began emptying for real. One by one, people drifted toward the exits until only scattered crew members remained behind dismantling equipment beneath the warm studio lighting. Y/N finally crouched beside her chair to gather the rest of her belongings, slipping loose cue cards into her tote bag while her phone buzzed repeatedly with incoming notifications she ignored completely.

Her producer was probably already texting about engagement numbers.

She didn’t particularly care right now.

As she reached for her water bottle near the floor, the strange sensation of being watched settled over her again. Not unpleasantly. Not heavily. Just present.

Y/N straightened slowly.

Most of the cast had already left the set.

But Jaafar hadn’t. He had returned.

He stood several feet away near the edge of the stage, hands resting loosely in the pockets of his jacket while the last few crew members moved around behind him. Without the pressure of cameras actively recording him, he somehow looked younger. Less composed around the edges. The kind of exhaustion people carried after spending hours being perceived.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The silence wasn’t awkward.

If anything, it felt oddly suspended, like the final few seconds of a song before the music completely fades out.

Then Jaafar took a step closer.

‘Hey,’ he said quietly.

Y/N looked up at him fully, smiling. ‘Hey.’

His expression softened slightly, though he still looked almost thoughtful about something.

‘I just wanted to say…’ He paused briefly, one hand leaving his pocket to adjust the rings against his fingers absentmindedly. 'That was probably one of the best interviews I’ve done.'

Something warm moved unexpectedly through her chest.

‘Oh,’ she said before she could stop herself. 'Thank you.'

'I mean it.' His voice remained calm, but there was something deeply sincere about the way he said it that made her stomach tighten faintly. 'Most people ask questions about Michael like they already decided what answers they want beforehand.' He held her gaze for a second longer. 'You didn’t.'

The studio suddenly felt too quiet.

Y/N swallowed carefully, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing now.

‘Well,' she said softly, 'I figured you’ve probably had enough of people trying to tell you what your own experience is supposed to feel like.'

For the briefest moment, something unreadable crossed his face.

Surprise maybe. Or recognition.

Whatever it was, it made the air between them feel strangely fragile.

‘Yeah,’ he admitted after a second, his voice quieter now. ‘Exactly.'

Neither of them looked away immediately afterward.

And Y/N hated how aware she became of every tiny detail in the silence that followed. The studio lights reflecting faintly against the silver rings on his fingers. The exhaustion resting subtly beneath his expression. The fact he smelled faintly like sandalwood, vanilla and clean laundry when he stood this close.

Dangerous details.

The kind people accidentally carried home with them.

Somewhere behind them, a crew member wheeled equipment loudly across the floor, breaking the moment apart just enough for reality to settle back in.

Jaafar stepped back slightly then, almost like he had only just remembered where they were.

‘I should probably go,' he said.

But neither of them moved right away.

Then finally, slowly, he smiled.

Not the practiced smile he had given cameras earlier.

Something smaller.

Realer.

'Hopefully I’ll see you again,' he said.

And maybe it was the exhaustion of the day, or the strange softness lingering in the nearly empty studio, or maybe it was simply the way he was looking at her like the answer mattered more than it should have, but Y/N felt her heartbeat stumble very slightly against her ribs before she answered.

'Yeah,” she said quietly. 'Maybe you will.'

Jaafar held her gaze for one final second before turning toward the exit at last, disappearing gradually beneath the warm gold lights of the studio corridor until she could no longer see him anymore.

But somehow, even after he was gone, the feeling of him remained.

And much later that night, long after the interview clips had already started circulating across the internet like wildfire, and long after strangers began building entire narratives out of glances that had lasted only seconds, Y/N would find herself standing in the quiet of her hotel room with the city glowing faintly beyond the windows, replaying not the questions she asked or the answers she received, but the way he had looked at her for just a fraction too long before speaking, as if something in her question had reached him in a place most people never managed to.

[bellinghambabe]

Oh my god!!!!!!! Please this was sooo soo beautiful! What a fun read 🥹🥹 i didn't want it to end

[jaafargf]

Singer reader x Jaafar Jackson

You're not angry. Just irritated. Filming days have never been your favourite. You're in this industry because you love to make music, you've been blessed with a gift as your mother used to say. You wanted your music to reach people and to make them feel something. But everything must come with a price. And the price you unfortunately have to pay is in the form of music videos. The long hours in hair and makeup, the performing in front of the cameras just wasn't your thing. If you had it your way, you'd be a faceless artist who never made stupid music videos, but the record label you're signed to seems to think that a pretty face like yours would be wasted if you didn't have any "real" promotion.

"Can we get started soon. Please" you say out loud, to nobody in particular.

"Actually," your manager starts, "the actor only just got here". She glances past you towards the entrance.

You release a short breath through your nose, visibly frustrated but trying not to look bratty.

"Okay" is all you say.

"Im really sorry," a males voice starts behind you, "traffic was super bad, I didn't mean to be late."

You spin round to be met with the surprisingly warm eyes of Jaafar Jackson, the actor your manager had hired to feature as your love interest in the music video of you new single "dangerous woman".

"It's okay, I'm Y/n, it's nice to meet you." You think a polite approach would be best, so you extend your arm toward him.

"Hi y/n, I'm Jaafar. It's nice to meet you", Jaafar says with a small smile. He reciprocates the action, and takes your manicured hand in his and gives it a small squeeze. Your tummy flutters at the way your name rolls off his tongue, you focus your eyes on his face. He looks nervous, you think. You'd seen the 'Michael' movie a few days ago, attended the premiere even, and he definitely didn't cross you as the shy type. But, you'd be lying if you said you didn't have a small fangirl crush on him. But as you're working together, you've decided to try and stay as professional as possible.

"You're a really great actor, I saw the Micheal movie and you really did great. Micheal has been my favourite artist since forever, my music is definitely inspired by him" you babble, instantly embarrassed by your fan-girling.

"Thank you, y/n that means alot coming from someone as talented as you. Your music is great, you have a beautiful voice" Jaafar tells you softly. He has this look in his eye. Like he really means it.

"Thank you so much,' your smile widens "I really appreciate you being here," you tell him, "music videos aren't really my thing".

Jaafar definitely didn't expect that, or any of this. You're not at all who he thought you would be. You're not confident or at all cocky, but quiet and reserved. The way your team presents you to the media is not who you really are.

His head cocks to the side, eyebrows furrowed. "Really? Why's that?" He asks, curiosity present on his face.

"Well I'm just really awkward to be honest, I get infront of the cameras and don't know what to do with myself" you explain with a giggle.

He laughs at this. "That's cute," he accidentally speaks out loud. "It's okay, I can help you through it." Jaafar suggests.

You meekly look away, feeling heat creep up your cheeks and decide you just want to start already. The anticipation is making you more nervous.

You head back into your dressing room to remove your robe and have some final hair and makeup touch-ups while Jaafar changes into his clothes for the video (or lack of).

You return back from your dressing room into the shooting room where you find Jaafar (shirtless) waiting on the set for you. The set consists of a large bed topped with a mess of fluffy pillows and silk-sheets. Dark lighting and steam engulfs you as you walk towards where Jaafar is sat at the end of the bed. You're dressed in lacy black lingerie, with your curly hair messily thrown up and heavy makeup enhancing your soft features. Since you're now 21, your manager decided that a more mature concept for this video would do amazingly with fans.

You climb into bed next to Jaafar, avoiding eye contact completely as you wait for directions from you manager. You play nervously with your knee high lace stockings and pick at your fingernails next to Jaafar. He picks up on your body language and decides to break the silence.

"Hey," he moves closer to you. "You okay?"

You look up at him, not realising how close he now was.

"Im okay, I guess. Just nervous. This is my third music video and I've never done a concept this...mature before." You say, voice cracking and lips pouting.

"I get that, it will be okay, I promise. If you want we can run through it first to make you feel more comfortable?" He places his hand on your exposed shoulder, thumb caressing your soft skin.

"That would be great, thank you".

Jaafar guides you through the movements, hands gently rubbing up and down your body, just like how he will during filming. You're singing your new song to him softly in his ear as you straddle his lap, arms thrown lazily round his neck.

"Yeah, just like that," he assures you. 'How'd that feel?"

"It felt...good." You move off his lap and back onto the edge of the bed, ready to start filming.

"Action!" The director shouts, as your song starts blasting through the speakers.

You start at the bottom off the bed, lip-syncing the start of dangerous woman, Jaafar off camera. As the song progresses, you're now sensually crawling towards Jaafar who is waiting for you at the top of the bed. Eye contact is heavy as you continue to lipsync the song. Your hips are swaying and Jaafar is biting his lip, anticipating the next move. The second chorus starts and you're back on his lap. legs placed on either side of his. He reaches his arms out to touch you, hands wrapping round your waist and pulling you towards him. You lower your hips so you're now completely flush against him. You continue to mouth the lyrics while his hands find the curve of your ass, cupping round you and gently rocking you back and fourth. The both of you are completely lost in the moment, you forget that there is a camera crew watching you. You're literally grinding on Jaafar Jacksons very much hard dick infront of like 10 people. But you don't care. Neither does he. If the video turns out good then why does it matter.

The guitar solo starts, so you no longer need to lip-sync. Jaafar takes this opportunity to place his hand on the back on your neck and gently pull your face towards his, eyes burning into yours. His gaze flickers down to your glossy lips before he closes the gap between you. His mouth presses onto yours, nobody dares to say a word. The kiss deepens, tongues mingling, lips dancing. He continues to rock you gently against him, still not caring that there is people watching. Just in time for the guitar solo to end, the kiss breaks and you resume back to lip syncing. You slowly move off him and face the camera, finishing off the song.

The lights dim and the music fades out completely.

"Cut!" booms the director.

The whole room applauds the both of you.

"That was amazing y/n!" your manager tells you. "I've never seen you that into a music video before!"

You take a second to process what just happened, turning around to face Jaafar who is panting on the bed, a pillow over his lap in attempt to hide his raging hard cock. You both just stare at each other. Eyes wide, mouths opened.

What the fuck just happened.

eeeeeeee I hope this is okay, thank you to everyone who interacts with me <33333

[bellinghambabe]

I keep going back to this fic once in a while because oh my goodness me, getting carried away because you just can't help it is the hottest thing evverrrrr

[bellinghambabe]

To all my favourite writers~~~ I am @sadpetalsstuff if you couldn't tag me it's because I changed my user 🥹

[bellinghambabe]

STOPPP IT!! His Smile and teefs are so pretttyyyyy!!! He got that from his uncle fo sho 😏

[kingofpopmj]

You Play With Me, You Play With Fire

Summary: After fifty-five sold out stadium shows across the country, the Victory Tour is coming to a close. The Jackson family comes together to celebrate, little did they know the fireworks wouldn’t be the only explosion that night.

Pairing: Michael Jackson & Reader!

Warning: CURSING, FLASHBACKS, MENTIONS OF ABUSE AND FLUFF

Notes: I wrote this story set in the world of Conscious Decision, however, it can be read on its own. This was so much fun to create. I hope you enjoy!

The Hayvenhurst Estate buzzed with excitement. The Victory Tour is officially over and there are only two people who knew it truly was the end. Michael and Y/N remained beside one another, it’s the only way he could keep his anxiety leveled. He’s only able to function with her. Especially tonight, he needed her more than ever.

Y/N had come up with the idea to have a private celebratory dinner before the concert. She went all out, obsessively planning every little detail and with the help of Michael’s mother and sisters, it turned out better than she imagined.

The dinner table was full of love, laughter and appreciation of being together and of course the delicious meal before them.

Michael leans over, kissing Y/N on the cheek, “Thank you. This is… Minnie, this is beautiful.”

“Anything for you.” She caught Marlon side eyeing her, a teasing smirk forming at the edge of his lip, forcing her to add, “And, your brothers.”

“This is an incredible spread. Sorry fellas, I’m not dancing tonight. Go on without me. I’m eating until I can’t walk.” Jackie laughed, loading his plate with more mashed potatoes.

“Michael’s better half threw down in the kitchen, once again. We were in charge of decorations.” Latoya explained, taking a bite of a homemade honey butter roll.

“Uh-huh… Y’all really went all out.” Randy stared at the singular balloon floating in the corner.

“Yeah, it looks like a whole new house.” Michael rolled his eyes, “I thought I took a wrong turn.”

“We broke the helium tank…” Janet muttered with a frown.

“We?” Rebbie shook her head, “You, girl, you.”

“We made the banner! And, look! We got a new tablecloth, streamers and confetti.” Janet grabbed a handful and threw it in the air.

“It looks great. Thank you for doing all of this for us.” Jermaine winked, then, snatched the gravy boat from Jackie, nearly emptying it all over his own plate.

“I can’t wait for dessert! What did you beautiful ladies make?” Tito grinned, rubbing his hands together.

“Our lovely Y/N put together a bakery.” Janet sang, biting into her extra spicy chicken wings.

“Oh! I love when Y/N bakes! What are we having?” Tito shifted in his seat, staring at Y/N and waiting for an answer. Rather impatiently.

“I made a chocolate peanut butter fudge cake, double chocolate chip cookies, a lemon raspberry cheesecake, salted caramel cupcakes, some cinnamon rolls, an apple pie, brownies, oh, and a few flavors of ice cream…” she noticed how quiet it got, how all eyes were concentrated on her along with a ripple of silly smiles, “What? What is it?”

“That’s all?” Marlon said sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air.

“Girl, is there anything you didn’t bake?” Latoya joked.

“I couldn’t decide… so…” Y/N giggled, her hands up to hide her blush, “I made everything I could think of…” she adding, peeking through her fingers.

“Were you planning to feed all of Los Angeles?” Jermaine laughed, “She single handedly bought out all the nearest grocery stores of flour and sugar.”

“Girl, as of this moment, you are officially appointed as the one and only, Jackson family baker.” Jackie gave her a thumbs up.

“You gotta get her that new name Mike…” Marlon mumbled, although, everyone heard it, they chose not to add on. In order to save their brother the embarrassment.

“Lay off my girl, ya buttheads.” Michael waved them off. “She’s excited for us. Y’all should count yourselves lucky. Baking is her love language, so if she bakes for you, know you are loved.”

“Awwww!” Rebbie cheered, “She loves us guys!”

“Aww! Does this mean you’ll be my valentine?” Marlon teased, hand over his heart.

“You guys! She’s got a special place in her heart just for us.” Randy continued, wiping away a fake tear. “Oh, she probably writes about us in her diary!”

“I feel so loved! And, after dessert I’m gonna feel so comatose.” Tito chimed in.

“Y’all are annoying.” Y/N crossed her arms, looking away from them and biting back a laugh.

“You can’t get annoyed by people you love.” Jermaine tossed a crunched up napkin at her. “And, judging by how full this table is, you love us like crazy!”

“We love you right back.” Jackie added.

“Yes, we do.” Janet smiled, blowing a kiss, which Y/N theatrically caught and shoved in her pocket.

“You hear that?” Tito teased, his hand squeezing Joesph’s shoulder. “You love apple pie.”

“So what? It don’t take no talent to bake a damn pie.” Joesph spat, shaking off his son’s hand.

“What’s with all the hostility?” Rebbie asked, annoyed with his behavior.

“I ain’t rolling out no red carpet for this girl.”

“Y/N.” Michael growled across the table, “Her name is Y/N.”

“Whatever.” Joesph threw down his fork, the sound of metal hitting the glass plate echoed and everyone’s mood immediately sifted. They looked defeated. As always, Joesph had to ruin any special occasion. It was his expertise.

“She’s been around our entire lives. You know her name.” Michael hissed, “You know her name and choose to act like you don’t. She doesn’t deserve your anger.”

“Keep talking back and you’ll see real anger!” He shouted back.

“You’re always angry.” Michael raised his voice, “You always take it out on me. Whatever. You’re not going to do it to her.”

The idea of Michael giving Joesph an order sent a chill down the table. He became a whole new person with Y/N, the person he truly was and that made his siblings proud.

And, of course, fearful. Fearful of what this newfound confidence will unlock in Joesph.

“I’m not one of those big shot doctors at that fancy hospital you work at. You can’t bat your little eyes and color me impressed.” Joesph snarled, surprisingly overlooking Michael words and fixing his glare on Y/N.

“Joesph.” Katherine scolded, wanting desperately to enjoy this night with her family, without any drama.

“I won’t be won over by a pretty smile and some kind words. Are you listening to me girl!” His fist crashed against the table, followed by a heavy uncomfortable silence. “I’m not dumb like my son. You give him a minute of your attention and he’s putty in your hands. Not. Me.” There it was. He made sure to insult his son and his lifelong best friend in one breath.

“Mr. Jackson—”

“Joesph. You’ll call me Joesph.”

“Joesph, the insinuation that I’ve accomplished what I have because of my looks is completely wrong. Not only is it offensive, it’s arrogant. It’s like saying, the only reason you have all of this is because you rode your children’s coattails all the way to the promise land.” His eyes widened, and she smiled big, raising the fluted glass to her lips and taking a sip, “However, I suppose one of those insinuations is actually true. So, Joesph, would you say you’re making an arm and a leg off your sons this time around or, is it two arms and two legs? I know how passionate you are about fudging numbers.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to—”

“I’m talking to you.” Her voice steady, “Look at you. A nice new car in the driveway. Tell me, I’d love to know, which one of your children’s bank accounts did you dip into for your shiny new accessory?”

“You will respect me in this house! My house! How dare you come in here and say those false words to my face. Have you no decency?”

“Respect goes both ways.” She shrugged, “Since you claim to be a man all about his facts. Let me help you get your facts right. This is Michael’s house and he’s been kind enough to allow you to live here.”

“I don’t need to respect you! You’re a girl that my son can and will replace in a week. I don’t even need to learn your name. You ain’t special.” He laughed bitterly, “And, you definitely ain’t special to him. My boy has girls fainting over him, he has an endless supply of honeys to choose from. You ain’t all that.” Michael straightened up, staring daggers at Joesph. You are special.

Everyone knows that. You are it.

“I’m a grown woman, not a girl and for the last time, my name is Y/N.”

“I don’t care little girl! I’m not one of your patients! I’m not going to bow down or hang on your every word just because you wear a white coat!”

“And, I am not one of your children. You cannot intimidate or beat me into blind obedience.” No one dared move a muscle after those words were heard.

“W— What did you just say to me?”

“You’re nothing. You’re weak. You’re not a man. A real man wouldn’t need to resort to violence to be heard. A real man wouldn’t need to use his fists to build up the facade he’s actually worthy of being respected. The truth is, the only way you feel important is by putting your children down. They are good, in spite of you, they have beautiful hearts. They are daily reminders of everything you’ll never be and you can’t stand it— you can’t handle that they persevered and survived you. Jealousy is an ugly thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

There was no telling Joesph’s next move, but no one felt afraid for Y/N. There wasn’t a trace of fear on her face.

It was brilliant.

“You stupid little— You are trash! Trash! I want you out of my house! Now!” He roared. “Out!”

“She’s not going anywhere.” Katherine cut in.

“Have you not heard what this worthless little bitch has said to me! This pathetic piece of trash!” He shouted, picking up his plate and throwing it across the dining room.

“Insult me all you want. I’ll happily be the target of your aggression tonight. Everyone deserves a long overdue break from your juvenile tantrums.” Y/N crossed her arms, the siblings looked on, impressed at how unfazed she seemed.

“Excuse me?” Joesph rose from his seat, now, staring down at her. She exhaled, removing the napkin from her lap, folding and placing it on the table. The family watched closely as Y/N confidently pushed her chair back, standing to meet Joesph’s eye.

“Joseph, did you really not hear me or are you simply upset that I won’t back down to you?” She tilted her head, “If you’ve got such a strong desire to hear it again… I’ll repeat myself. I’ll even write it down, so you never forget it.” She finished with a smile.

“I heard you the first time.”

“Good.”

They stared at each other, until Joseph flicked his hand stiffly as if to say this conversation was beneath him. Then, stomped off, followed by the front door slamming and with that everyone could breathe again.

“I’m sorry.” Y/N said to Michael, her hand on his cheek. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No. No. No. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He grabbed her hand, kissing it gently.

“We ain’t mad at ya.” Jackie said and all the siblings nodded along. “You handle business. As always.”

“It’s entertaining as hell too.” Randy giggled, giddy as ever. “She’s feisty.”

“One of these days, you gotta teach us how you do that!” Latoya emphasized, “He’s scared of you. Ever since we were kids, she’s always had his number.” She snapped her fingers, with a silly expression on her face.

“Who knew, a doctor, a baker and a boxer all in one.” Marlon smirked, “I didn’t even know that existed.”

“Come on, my lil gangsta.” Janet skipped over, wrapping her arm around Y/N’s shoulder. “Let’s go get dessert ready.”

“I’ll help you.” Michael stood from his seat, following Y/N and sister into the kitchen. Once they were gone, everyone shared not so subtle glances, before bursting out into various levels of howling.

“Mark my words. Michael is going to marry her.” Tito said, “Shoot. I ain’t mad. The lady can tear it up in the kitchen. She holds her own with Joesph. She’s meant to be a Jackson.”

“Boy, no one here was debating that.” Randy rolled his eyes, “We’ve been saying that since… well since forever. He is goo goo over her. Always has been.”

“Yeah, she’s a good one.” Marlon smiled, “She’s perfect for him. How much longer is he gonna drag his feet? I don’t get it.”

“You know how Michael is. He’s plotting, I know him. When it comes to her, he’s confident and deliberate. He’ll get her locked down when the time is right. My little brother is smart.” Jackie complemented.

“There’s no way she doesn’t have guys all over her though, she works in a hospital, surrounded by handsome doctors and bold patients… you think she has a boyfriend?” Jermaine questions, “That would crush Mike.”

“She doesn’t have no boyfriend.” Katherine interrupted, “Quit talking crazy.”

“Mama, you gossiping with us?” Latoya wiggled her shoulders.

“That girl is all about Michael. You’re blind if you can’t see that.” Katherine said.

“Yeah, they’re in love. We all know that, I mean everyone but them.” Rebbie giggled, holding her hands up in frustration.

“Maybe we should give them a nudge.” Tito suggested, “You know, discreetly…”

“Now, as much as I am tired of watching those two love sick fools trip over each other, there will be no nudging. It’s best to let these things fall into place the way God intended.” Katherine smiled, “I trust it’ll happen. And, I’ll be happy to say I witnessed it come together. Y/N is my bonus daughter, I know that in my heart.”

As they travelled through the halls backstage at Dodger Stadium, Michael kept a close eye on Y/N. He knew how difficult tonight would be, but made peace with the possibility of his family shunning him. It’s a risk he’s willing to take. He wasn’t afraid because she was on his team, they were a team— a damn good one. He’s accepted the notion that she was the only one who genuinely, selflessly and completely had his back. If she was still by his side he’d be okay, in fact, he’d be better than okay.

The pair reached his dressing room, rushing inside and closing the door. Finally, the air was lighter and the space calmer and quiet. Y/N didn’t waste a second, unpacking Michael’s necessities and arranging them the way he liked.

He knew he had to get dressed, but he couldn’t resist admiring her. She makes everything so magical. It made it impossible to look away.

So, he changed right there, no hiding. The perfect view of her gave him a boldness he didn’t know was possible. Why not soak it in?

Y/N looked over everything once more, to ensure that everything Michael needed was there. Then, she collapsed onto the couch, her elbow sunk into the armrest and her chin in the palm of her hand. She quietly doted over Michael buttoning his shirt. Her eyes followed as he settled in front of the mirror. He’s so focused on getting his curls to fall perfectly that he doesn’t notice her eyes on him yet. If he knew, the only thing on her mind was how handsome he is, he’d probably combust. He starts to touch up his makeup. The sponge dances across his cheek and it was then his eyes found hers. Although, no one sees the small things, he does— and he hates it. He instantly feels hot and in need of a hiding place, pretending to look for something, he begins rummaging through an empty toiletry bag.

“Michael.” She was beside him without a second thought, the captivating scent of her perfume already calming him.

“Y/N…”

“You are beautiful.”

“The makeup only does so much.” He said, turning away. “It’s getting worse… my skin… I— I don’t know how long I have until the makeup doesn’t work anymore.”

“You don’t need it. I know the vitiligo makes you feel vulnerable, but you are so loved. Michael, I need you to look at me.” She took ahold of his hand.

“I can’t…”

“Michael, please.”

He turned to face her, his eyes focused on the ground. His hands were trembling and his breath unsteady.

“Mickey.” Her palms soft against his skin as she gently raised his head up. “God creates beauty, don’t you agree?”

“Yes.”

“And, he created you…” she booped his nose with a smile, “What does that tell you?”

“I don’t know…” he tried to shrug her off, but she didn’t let him.

“You know. Michael, say it. It’s true, you just need to believe it.”

“God… creates beauty.” His voice so soft.

“And…”

“He created me.”

“Yes, he did. Let’s hear it again.” The pads of her thumbs tenderly caressing the rosiness spreading through his cheeks.

“God creates beauty. He created me.” Michael leaned in, resting his forehead against hers, “I am beautiful. I am Gods creation and he creates beauty. I am beautiful.”

“That’s right.”

“Our whole lives, you’ve always known exactly what to say, exactly what I need to hear at the perfect time.” He faced the mirror again, much happier with his reflection, “You know, sometimes I think you know me better than I know myself.”

“Oh, I definitely do.”

“We’ve always had that, even as kids, we just got each other.” He took a step in her direction, his hands attached to her hips like a magnet. “There are times, it feels like were connected… we could be in different states, shoot, even on different continents and I know what you were feeling… I could feel it, feel you.”

“I know. It gets intense at times.” She felt bashful, leaning her head on his shoulder, fiddling with the bedazzled details of his jacket. “Makes it feel like we’re the only two people on Earth… no one else—”

“No one else understands me the way you do.” Michael sighed, effortlessly finishing Y/N’s thought.

“That’s what I was going to say.” She laughed against his chest, tilting her head up only to see him already smiling back at her.

“I know.”

It was the first chords of Shake Your Body that snapped Michael back to reality. The thousands of smiling faces, the screams that morphed into one loud booming. He’d all but left his body for the entirety of the show, but now is the moment, his moment. One minute the countdown to showtime was being announced, the next it was almost over.

“You’re going to be incredible. You always are.” She smiled up at him, that smile that made him feel like he could fly. A delicate kiss to each of his cheeks, covering him with good luck.

“I think I’ll need to take you with me.” He chuckled nervously, holding her hand with all his might.

“You can do this. I’m with you.” It was tradition, she’d watch from backstage, the right side to be exact. “You know where to find me.”

“I can do this. If I get lost I’ll look to you. That always calms me down.” He pulled her in close, “I can do this. I have my Minnie.”

“You have me Mickey. You have me.” She tilted her head upward to look at him. They fell under one another’s gaze.

“I— I seriously love you.” Michael professed, his voice raw, leaving a trail of goosebumps across her body.

“I love you, seriously.” She responded with such emotion he felt weak in the knees, her arms around his waist the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Mike!” Marlon yelled, eyebrow arched and arms crossed, “Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes. Our pre-show rituals.”

“Our? How cute!”

“What do you want, you schmuck?”

“It’s showtime.” He drummed his hands on the table, “Don’t you worry, I’ll hold his hand while we’re out there. Keep it warm for you darling.” He threw his arms around his brother, trying to land a kiss on his cheek.

“You crazy goon. Get off me” Michael cackled, pushing him away. “Let’s go.” His hand outstretched in her direction as Marlon went on, rambling about someone stealing his hair gel. Michael could do that, do just about anything all while giving his undivided attention to Y/N. Truthfully, it was second nature. A reflex, his body always accounted for her.

“Let’s do this.” Marlon couldn’t contain the joy he felt walking behind Michael and Y/N. They were exactly what one another needed. He could feel it. The sight of their intertwined hands made him look forward to the future.

Especially, their future.

His little brother had a future, it was bright and full of everything he’d always dreamt of.

55,000 thousand people filled Dodger Stadium, each of the brothers took in this feeling. All, but one. Michael was pacing the stage, finally he brought the microphone to his lips, tucking his hand in his pocket. Yet, he couldn’t get the words out.

Y/N saw the panic on his face, hopping off the case she was sitting on. He felt it immediately, his eyes following in the direction his heart was tugging him toward.

There she is.

A sweet smile gracing her face, he felt it again. Strength.

His eyes focused on his lady, his Minnie, who made him feel worthy and special.

A flirty wink with her name on it. She giggled, blowing a kiss back, helping him find his voice again.

Finally, he spoke.

"I'd like to say... this is our last and final tour... I think this is our farewell tour. You've all been wonderful. It's been a long 20 years. And we love you all".

Michael’s unexpected announcement didn’t stop the screams from the crowd. His brothers stepped forward, connecting hands and taking their final bow. They share a long group hug, the flash of cameras mimicking that of lightning. It was truly a sight to see. The Jacksons wave goodnight, heading towards the stage exits. Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon and Randy disappearing behind the left curtain and Michael behind the right. It wasn’t planned to leave in separate directions, but it seemed like another statement in itself. Michael followed Y/N like she was his North Star, closing the distance between them in record time. He takes hold of her, clutching her against his chest as he moved them deeper backstage. No doubt wanting to get out of there. She knew, holding him tightly and moving her feet in sync with his.

There was shouting getting closer, Michael’s grip tightening around his best friend, anticipating for what was about to happen. He wanted to shield her from it— he had to.

“Who the hell do you think you are!” Joesph barked, running ahead to block the exit. “You better look at me boy! Look me in the eye you little shit!”

“Joe, it’s over.” Bill stepped in between the father and son. “Let’s not make a scene.”

“Be a man! You’re pathetic! I made you! You are nothing! Always have been, always will be! For once in your miserable life, be a man and—”

“Enough!” Y/N interrupted, “That’s enough!” Her hand protectively placed on Michael’s chest as she glared at his father.

“You!” Joesph shifted his focus, his wicked finger pointed in her face. “This is your fault! You turned him against his family! You manipulative money hungry little bitch!” He attempted to step closer. “You’re poison! I knew you were rotten! You want to ruin our family! You—”

“You! You are the poison!” Michael shouted, everything came to a halt. He pushed his father’s hand away from Y/N’s face. “Y/N supports my decisions, she does not make them for me. She is family. My family. She isn’t going anywhere. She’s not intimidated by you and neither am I. You can’t control me anymore— never again. I’m not gonna allow you to brainwash me into walking away from the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He stepped closer, placing Y/N behind him and Bill stood close at his side. “I’m done being used. You bullied me into being your cash cow, you thought I’d never stand up for myself. I wish it didn’t take so long, but I am done. You hear me? I am done! You accept this or you don’t either way it’s happening. And, if you ever speak to my girl like that again, I promise it’ll be the last you ever see of me.”

Joesph stood dumbfounded, staggered steps backward until his shoulder hit the wall. He was speechless, for once. They didn’t expect or wait for a response, they didn’t even spare him a glance. Michael extended a protective arm around his girl, she felt a gentle squeeze against her hip as he guided her away from this mess.

Bill got them to the car quickly and unscathed. Michael and Y/N’s hands tied together the entire time, however, he chose not to bring attention to it.

The car ride was silent, but pleasant. Before he knew it the kids had drifted off, exactly like when they actually were kids. Michael leaning against the interior of the door and Y/N snuggled up into his side.

He couldn’t help but watch over them proudly. They’d really grown up, his silly little kids, now adults. He wouldn’t change a thing— they turned out to be everything he knew they’d live up to and more. He felt so blessed to have been there every step of the way.

Michael stirred slightly, squinting as he tried to figure out where he was.

“Get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we’re home.” Bill whispered.

Michael tilted his head, “You ever sleep? You’re like The Terminator.”

“Oh, hush.”

“Can we stop for burgers and shakes?” Michael grinned, releasing Y/N’s hand and adjusting his arm around her waist. Michael’s back to the cushion, holding her against his chest like she was the most delicate thing he’d ever laid his eyes on.

“That’s a good idea. I could eat.”

“I’m starving.” His fingers ran through Y/N’s hair as she slept peacefully. He’s so natural with her. He can be a person with her. He can be himself.

“Sleeping beauty here held her own.” Bill had been holding in a laugh all night. “We outta start calling her Princess Punch.”

“Yeah, what can I say, she knows how to take care of business.” Michael kissed the top of her head, his eyes fluttering shut, but still awake.

“She’s a gem.”

“She’s a diamond.” Michael corrected.

“Mhm. You better be planning to give her one sometime soon.”

“What makes you think I haven’t already?” Michael shot back with heavy cheekiness and a smug look on his face.

“Go to sleep, ya rascal. I’ll wake you both for food.” They laughed as Michael got comfortable, soon the sound of his gentle snores filled the backseat.

Bill studied their faces, even in deep slumber, the love between them was undeniable. He was so happy for his boy, for both of them. Suddenly, a chuckle sounded from his mouth, recalling the first time he experienced these two together.

It was magic.

“Come on. We can’t be late little man.” Bill announced, pacing the living room carpet of the Jackson house.

“We’re coming!” Michael’s little voice called back, followed by a jumble of scrambling noises.

Bill had learned not to question the ‘we.’ Michael was always bringing along his little pet friends. They brought him great comfort, which was more than okay with his chosen protector. So, when the young musician descended the stairs with a bright eyed girl on his tail, Bill was just the tiniest bit surprised.

“Hi! I’m Y/N.” The young girl spoke, her hand extended towards Bill, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Hello, you can call me Bill.” He shook her hand, taken aback with how independent she seemed. It was a hell of a first impression to say the least.

“Alright, we’re ready!” Michael held his arm out, allowing Y/N to walk ahead of him.

“Woah, woah, hold on now.” The two kids looked at one another confused, “Are Joesph and Y/N’s parents aware she’ll be joining us today?” Bill locked the front door and walked down the path with both kids skipping around him.

“Of course. I’m Michael’s best friend.” Y/N replied like it was something he should’ve known. “Where he goes, I go.”

“And, where she goes, I go.” Michael explained, “She’s my entourage.”

“Is that right?” Bill beamed, this boy was always full of surprises. They stood on the sidewalk to continue the conversation.

“The news called me a rising star. That’s a small step away from celebrity. I need to surround myself with people that will keep me grounded.” Michael spoke like it was common sense. “That’s where Y/N comes in!”

“Exactly, I knew him before the fame, so he can trust me. I’ll make sure that no one takes advantage of him or tries to get close to him for the wrong reasons.” Y/N nodded, crossing her arms.

“That’s sweet. However, I believe that’s my job.” Bill held the door open, helping them to load their backpacks into the car.

“I suppose, but he’s my best friend. Fame, it can change people. I don’t want them to change my Michael.” There was more tied between those words, but Bill couldn’t quite understand it just yet.

He made his way to the driver’s side in time to catch the most important part.

“Don’t worry Minnie. I ain’t changing.” Michael held his pinky out for her— a pinky promise to seal the deal. They buckled in, flipping through their comic books as the car started moving.

“Mickey! Look!” She screeched, holding the comic she was reading up to him. They both cried out laughing uncontrollably.

After an hour, the backseat fell silent and Bill could finally hear the radio again. He peeked through the rearview mirror, his two little passengers had drifted off to sleep. Michael was sprawled out on top of an oversized teddy bear, Y/N curled up into his side and of course, their hands were clasped together.

Bill chuckled lowly, at that age, every friendship feels like it’s going to last a lifetime. You don’t know that you’ll make new friends all the time. Some friends will grow with you, some won’t and you see them less and less. Eventually, you move on. You bounce back a lot faster as a kid.

But, he had this feeling.

And, it was stronger than a hunch, he could feel it, these two were special.

Michael was glowing. He was truly happy. That didn’t happen. Ever. The way he was expected to carry so much on his shoulders. He dealt with so much pressure and pain. Bill always had trouble understanding how he did it all. He’s so young, but no matter how much was taken from him he was still kind. He never got the chance to be a kid, to be himself— without judgment.

He deserved to have someone who embraced who he is. He really is such an amazing kid.

He had found that with this sensational little lady.

She helped him to be a kid, instead of staring at him or poking fun at him. She knew how great he was and appreciated him. Hell, she even wanted to tag along as his entourage just to protect him.

This young lady, she’s his escape. And, she was determined to be there for her best friend by any means necessary.

That made one fact very clear.

They were going to grow up together. They were going to be inseparable in every era of their lives.

Y/N was going to be around for a lifetime.

[bellinghambabe]

THIS WAS BEAUUUTIFUL OMG! I feel so refreshed with girlie pop going off on Joe like that ooo wee