Girl dad! Michael Jackson headcanons ╱ fluff + slight angst ╱
Era: intended for dangerous, but any era fits fine
Summary: some headcanons of Michael being a girl dad bc there’s barely any, and I took that personally
Tags: Michael the girldad™, Michael calls the baby “sugar” (bc it’s cute), tooth-rotting fluff (if I do say so myself), slight angst at the beginning & middle, mention of Michael’s childhood trauma, the baby is a cutie, not proof read
Wordcount: 483
Masterlist
Girl dad! Michael who was ecstatic and worried when he found out you were pregnant. On one hand, it had always been a dream of his to have children of his own, but on the other hand, he was worried he couldn’t do. Worried he would turn into his father.
Girl dad! Michael who held his daughter for the first time with the upmost care. Being extra careful not to jostle her when you placed her in his arms. One arm held her firmly but gently to his chest and the other hand carefully held her small hand in his.
Girl dad! Michael who doesn’t want you to push yourself while recovering from labor. He does absolutely everything for you. The dishes, done. Laundry, folded and put away. The baby, fed and down for her nap.
Girl dad! Michael who doesn’t mind when his daughter tugs or yanks at his hair. While you try to gently pry her little hands off the strands, Michael just chuckles. “It’s fine baby, she’s just curious.”
Girl dad! Michael who doesn’t move an inch when his daughter falls asleep on his chest. It doesn’t matter if he’s thirsty, hungry, or what. He will not move until she wakes up.
Girl dad! Michael who can’t stand the sight of his precious daughter crying. Whenever she falls or gets hurt, he immediately rushes over, trying to soothe tears before they can fall.
Girl dad! Michael who dropped everything he was doing when his daughter walked towards him for the first time. Turning around to see the baby girl standing, taking a small step towards him, little arms outstretched, the sight melted his heart.
Girl dad! Michael who is never “too busy” to play with his daughter. He wanted to make his baby girl’s childhood special, he didn’t want to put her through the loneliness he went through as a kid.
Girl dad! Michael who writes songs with her on his lap, bouncing her gently. He asked her what she thought of lyrics and song ideas, even though the only sounds she could muster up sounded like gibberish.
“What do you think of this part, sugar?” Michael said, pointing to the notebook, the baby didn’t even look, her little hands too focused on playing with his hair. “You’re right,” Michael replied. “Needs a bit of work.”
Girl dad! Michael who was secretly hoping that his daughter’s first word would be “daddy.” You and him even made a bet on who she would call out to first. And when she said “daddy” with full confidence, Michael was over the moon.
Girl dad! Michael who watches as his daughter stares at the Thriller and Bad vinyls. She was so confused, why was her daddy’s face on these strange pictures? “Daddy!” She exclaimed, pointing to the vinyls, looking up at Michael for confirmation. “Yes sugar, that’s Daddy.” Michael nodded, patting her head gently.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
a/n: I really enjoyed doing this one, I hope yall like it <3
what? during the filming of michael jackson’s private home movies, michael is shown a heartwarming video of you, giving him a chance to talk intimately about your relationship.
tags. fluff. lots of fluff. established relationship. reader is pregnant with their first child. timeline switches between 2003 (invincible) and 1989 (bad). childhood friends to eventual lovers implied. [name] is used a normal-ish amount, michael refers to reader as 'bunny' (nickname hehe). but there's very little description given for the reader for maximum immersion ッ
word count. 3.5k
notes. my first foray into michael fiction... i typically do mmorpg roleplaying so this is very different for me, but a great writing exercise. i love michael very much and getting to write him is fun! really not my best work ajkfhnak. not proofread!!
please be advised that this is a work of fiction. i do not claim to know the people involved or understand their inner workings. thank you!
IT WAS NO SECRET... that michael jackson was one of the most photographed, most filmed figures in modern history. from press conferences, tours, red carpet appearances, and arms full of coveted awards, even a blurry photo of him beneath a tattered baseball cap and oversized aviators would get a few hundred underneath the table. it was part of the business; soul-suckingly taking bits and pieces of the man in an effort to feed the tabloid beast. unfortunately, the consequence of fame that rising stars commonly fail to account for is that this beast is seldom satiated, equipped with a bottomless appetite fueled by curiosity and shock value.
michael learned this at a young age, the hard way, as a budding boy with enough wisdom to power all of gary, indiana. he looked to the world with open arms, with a kindness and heart for all it could give to him. perhaps it was his fault that he didn’t think of what the world could take away. perhaps it was his fault that the things the world slipped from him were intangible and invisible to the eye: privacy, protection, peace, and innocence. so it meant something when he agreed to a one-hour special of his private videos.
the scene was like any other day to him. the usual onslaught of cameras, crewmen without a name to rattle off to him, producers wanting the perfect commentary of each video he coughed up. michael felt the expectations to be inconsistent with how he truly perceived his memories, encased in amber film frozen in snippets of moments he’d hop into the delorean to go back to. from watching himself on the set of black or white, to his dearest friend elizabeth surprising him with an elephant, the smile that stretched across his face was genuine. it was warm and inviting and extended up to his eyes as they squinted with each laugh.
and even when the room was abuzz with faces most unfamiliar to him, full of life and an ambition to complete this project, the man was still alone, occupying one of many empty velveted theater seats. it felt awkward, but certainly not unfamiliar. he had been here before. he was at home in his solitude.
“alright, michael,” the main producer called out to him, the left side of his headset pushed behind his ear temporarily, “here’s your next video.” the man in question noted the way his blonde hair sprung out like weeds beneath the filming gear, and it brought a grin out of him, one that sat on the cusp of a soft laugh. a young woman behind the producer, no older than a quarter century at best, quickly switched out the tapes, her eyes flickering back and forth to ensure she didn’t break anything.
michael gave an affirming half-nod and a quiet ‘okay’, shifting in his seat rather uncomfortably. he’d been sitting here for some time now and could feel his body branding itself onto the cushion beneath. out of anxiousness or perhaps impatience did he begin tapping his foot. though as the video sprung to life on the projector before him, he couldn’t recall if his heart sank, or if it grew wings and fluttered into his throat.
“oh, i love this one,” michael’s voice lowered to just a hair above a soft whisper, hands clapping together. his eyes told the story much better than words could. they lit up at the sight of a shaky camera pointed downward to the tile of the neverland ranch home…
1989. -
the click of black loafers echoed against the high walls of neverland. sunlight made itself known inside, plastering itself on every surface it could find, the warmth of that july day pressed to permanent memory. towering over a bulky, gray camcorder stood michael, clouded pink button up and all. a sweat bead threatened to manifest on his right temple as diligent hands fidgeted with the tape. “come on now…” he didn’t want to hurt the poor thing, but life was happening outside, slipping by with every second that the camcorder refused to function. his curls hung just perfectly, framing his face in such a way that this frustration was not so easily revealed. but maybe if he just…
thud!
a little nudge of encouragement seemed to do the trick, bringing the temperamental device to life. the lens zoomed into the tile beneath michael, taking a moment to focus. “there we go.”
the backyard was a sight to behold, out of a storybook where princesses and fairies and proud knights came to play. streamers of pink and blue twisted and hung from poles installed just for the occasion. balloons decorated the sky as they poked to the heavens in clusters attached to chairs and tables. the laughter of children was as sweet as song whilst the jacksons and the [surname]’s mingled harmoniously. as evidenced by the smell of the grill, manned by none other than joe jackson, there was no shortage of food. a table nearby, covered with a dainty floral cloth, was but swallowed whole by an overwhelming amount of wrapped gifts, of pink and blue and yellow paper alike. a larger-than-life teddy bear sat slumped beside the presents.
the lens zoomed in again, a bit rough at first, but once it focused, a smile crept onto michael’s face. it creased into the camera, pushing the view upwards.
“…and there’s [name],”
he carried her name as if it were scripture, and gazed upon her with the hope that he’d forget tomorrow, all so he could see her face for the first time again. the video lingered on the woman as she sat in a painted chair adorned with pink and blue balloons, tassels, and frilly things. her hands idly wrapped around her stomach. it protruded from her rest of her body, though from the angle michael was recording from, it proved difficult to see. the dress she chose for that day made her appear almost ethereal; a pale green number whose frilled neckline scooped down past her collarbone, the fabric of layered tulle that moved with each hush of the wind.
her hair had originally meant to be down that day, but janet had so lovingly pinned it back for her in preparation for the heat. michael’s eye, through the camera, continued to persist on her, as if she was the only person there with a worthy story to tell. her gaze seemed to have latched onto her niece. whatever it was she had grabbed from her - a magazine it looked to be - the woman began fanning herself with it, a sigh bordering obnoxious rising and falling from her chest. behind the video, a gentle, low chuckle erupted from the director...
-
michael, from the theater chair, pointed to the screen. he was growing more and more giddy, like a child who had but brushed knuckles with their crush in the school hallway. “this was nineteen-eighty-nine… just before our first child was born. i felt so sneaky for getting that shot of her,” he shook his head, covering half his face with his hand. there was another grin tugging at his lips, “she hated being filmed, especially then.”
to hear him speak of his children was a privilege. he kept his wife close to him, shielded her as best he could from the ever-hungry public, and he did the same for their kids. to grow up as the child of michael jackson was a unique life to be given, a hand dealt to you with a multitude of thorns. and it was their mother and father that did their best to provide normalcy for them, to prick each thorn off and give them something they themselves never had.
“my kids — my family — they are everything to me. they are in the music i write and are part of my creative process, every step,” sincerity dripped from his voice like sweet nectar off a honeycomb, his body language opening up to the world. “fatherhood is a new journey every day for me. i’m learning things about the kids all the time. they love to read and to play outside and climb the trees, just like i do.”
he pressed on, “and doing it all with her is such a blessing.” a laugh bubbled and broiled from michael at the next shot, “oh, she still teases me for this…
-
“bunny…”
her back was turned to the camera, hands on her hips as she swayed side to side. she and latoya stood next to the pool, watching the kids show off their cannonballs and backflips. the conversation between the two women appeared passionate, well, on latoya’s end. [name] was simply nodding, giving the occasional input here and there, but otherwise resorting to that of a lent ear. as michael approached the duo slowly, it was as if his wife’s newfound motherly instinct had taken form prematurely, her head turning sharply to the camera.
“mike! stop that!” as annoyed as she was, there was nevertheless a smile on her face. her palm almost swallowed the view completely, holes of that day peeking through her fingers. michael’s laugh was all that could be heard as she pushed the camcorder down.
the culprit feigned a hurt pout, “you know i just think you’re pretty.” he readjusted the camera, “‘n’ i want everyone else to see it, too.”
she couldn’t tell if it was the heat of the july afternoon that had begun to pulsate on her cheeks, or the shade of crimson that was, oddly enough, always around when michael put her under the limelight. it had been that way since they were kids, a tale as old as time. he’d muster up the courage to say something sweet, almost too sweet, and she’d turn away and find the ground more interesting.
but it was the way she twisted her mouth from side to side, then keeping it on the left, that told michael all he needed to know. she was never great with receiving compliments, never great with having the attention. all the while, the undisputed king of pop lifted her to new heights. he built a foundation of confidence within her over the course of their lives, doing whatever he could to someday make her see herself the way he did.
the nickname “bunny” came from their childhood, too. her first pet, cautiously gifted to her on her seventh birthday after months of allowance money and beggary had been saved up. michael was the first to meet the lop eared animal. there was something about the young boy and animals, she noticed. there looked to be a language spoken between every one he offered a smile to. thus, he bestowed the title to her after watching the way her nose scrunched up at the smell of her mothers latest gelatin monstrosity.
needless to say, she hated it from the beginning. and it only served to bite her in the behind as time passed, as michael’s brothers picked the nickname up too. even janet and katherine slipped the name a few times, despite both pinky promising never to use it.
she didn’t know exactly when it was that the nickname suddenly changed to her. maybe when she heard michael whisper it to himself absentmindedly, or when he’d begin every letter and every call to her with it. it was something between them that remained consistent for a lifetime, and that was exactly what michael needed.
“you gotta show the gifts!” latoya unceremoniously interrupted the moment, taking it upon herself to turn the camera towards the table. michael’s eyebrows furrowed. his sister certainly had a delicate, heavy-handed touch. “you take it then!” he released his palm from the side handle of the camcorder, hoisting the equipment from his shoulder and onto latoya’s with one fell swoop.
[name] stifled a laugh, giving the woman a poke in the back, “didn’t think it’d be so heavy, huh?”
“oh, whatever!” latoya quickly made her way to the gift table, shooing one or two tiny jackson kids away from the camera’s view.
with the husband and wife left alone, michael made up for lost time in the directors seat, wrapping an arm around her waist and gently guiding her into his embrace. she didn’t fight it, letting her body lean into his side. the temporary feeling of weightlessness brought her bliss, something she hadn’t felt for close to eight months.
a firm kiss was planted onto her forehead, followed by a studious look upon her features. their time spent together had paid off in that words became less and less necessary. there were little long-winded explanations, few moments of true misunderstanding. it was a double edged sword at times, as neither of them could truly hide from one another. which is why…
“you smell like paint,” she blurted out.
michael’s eyebrows shot up, “what’re you talking about?”
“i can smell you,” she brought her hand to his wrist, pulling it up to her nose, “you know what they say about pregnant women.”
“i don’t actuall—“
she finished his sentence, or perhaps cut it short, “they can smell everything, heightened senses and all.” her head tilted to the side, eyes fixed on the curls that framed his face. they somehow stayed tight in the summer heat, “you were in the nursery again.”
“i just wanted to get it done,” michael brought his hands up to surrender, guilty as charged. “what’s the baby going to think when they come into their room and see an unfinished mural?”
[name] failed to suppress her smirk. he was cute when the determination set in, “it’s okay to ask for help, you know.”
“i’m doing it myself, bunny.”
there it was again.
“i want to help you,” she crossed her arms, opting to lean into his body again and peer down at his loafers. the baby shower went on around them, but they hadn’t a clue about it. stuck in their own bubble. “you do everything by yourself.”
michael dug his hooves in the ground, “and i’ll be doing this myself too.” he shifted his body weight a bit, straightening her up and wrapping his hands around her shoulders. “you are doing more than enough, look at you!” doe-eyes gazed upon her. delicate and tender was his stare, boring into every crevice of her skin. she looked just as she did when he first met her, on the steps of her front porch in gary, indiana. and despite wearing a worn expression, she had a light in her eyes none other than michael could conjure.
she threw her head back and let out a tired laugh to the sky. there was one lone cloud up there in the deep blue, and she took note of it, held onto it for the rest of the day. he was still there once she met his eyes again, still holding all the wonder in the world for her.
“you are carrying my child, our child,” michael pushed a stray hair out of her face.
“crazy to think about,” distracted, she poked her attention at the festivities. tito and jermaine had overtaken joe on the grill. katherine and her mother sat at a table alone, closely discussing the family happenings. they had been so engrossed in each other that she had nearly forgotten what everyone was here for. he was excellent at pulling her away from the noise, oftentimes absorbing it for himself just so she could get some quiet. “you know what else is crazy?”
-
from the projector, latoya’s voice could be heard commentating on what the camera captured. the picturesque view taken in by the grainy tape, comparable to that of a painting.
“there’s your mommy,” a slow zoom into [name]’s figure as michael engrossed himself in her presence, rubbing her shoulders. it slowly panned over to him, “and there’s your daddy.”
there was silence from the set, not a peep from michael as latoya brought the past to life. his head tilted oh-so slightly. surprisingly, he hadn’t known about this part of the video.
latoya continued, “they love you very much, and they can’t wait to meet you.”
the producer hesitated, “michael?”
he snapped out of his head, readjusting himself in the chair and smoothing out his jacket. “um, i’m sorry.” he waved his hand, “you can scrap that part. i just, you know, she was so beautiful here.”
he was borderline jealous. latoya had captured his wife so well. “she is beautiful every day, and i’ve known her for many days.” a dry chuckle crawled out of him while something bashful crept in. even years later did the man struggle to put comprehensible sentences together when speaking about her. it could’ve been voodoo magics at play, or just the unexplainable way she made him feel.
“she lived four doors down from me, and our mothers were friends,” the child within him reflected on his face, his cheeks pushing up and out whilst a wide smile emerged. “when i left school for the jackson five she was still there, buggin’ me about the homework they had.”
“i remember her getting me a jump rope one day,” michael continued, “she told me the girls at school made up a routine to ‘abc’! i didn’t know how to feel ‘bout it. that was the first time she brought up anything to do with my music.”
he didn’t look to care that the was rambling on, they’d take out what they needed to from the final cut anyway. “it was like she wanted me to forget about what was happening around me and how fast it was going. i never had a childhood like she did. she must’ve known that…”
was he getting choked up again? surely not. the lump in his throat was telling him otherwise. out of the corner of his eye, the timid girl that had put the tape in watched him carefully. like he was going to break at any moment. but michael pressed on, he knew what happened next. “keep going!” a small hitch in his voice broke the facade of confidence.
-
“what is it?” michael’s face folded into concern, fully prepared for her to say her water broke. but instead, a sly grin was given to him.
“got you!”
an army of children fully broke the tender moment the soon-to-be mother and father shared. supersoakers abound, the camera shook with latoya’s laughter as they ambushed michael with straight-shots to the chest and face. [name] narrowly escaped imminent death by stepping to the side. she couldn’t contain herself either, nearly howling with amusement while michael threw his hands up, doing a poor job of keeping his clothing dry.
“hey!” a shriek could be heard from the supersoaker victim just before he took off for the yard, rounding the pool and making for the grass. the kids, jackson and [surname] cousins alike, certainly put up a fight. they kept him on his toes, and soon did michael have no choice but to retreat into the trees.
his body moved swiftly and with ease. the muscle memory of every bend and branch of the tree served to pay off in the end, as he quickly settled into safety from the band of youth down below. panting like a dog, michael’s heart was racing and pumped with adrenaline. “you guys are crazy!”
“come down, mikey!” [name]’s nephew taunted. his watergun was already pointed to the trees, trying to find the popstar amongst the leaves. “we won’t hurt you!” a ripple of giggles ensued at that.
“liar!” he had become quite comfortable up there. no wonder it was one of his favorite places to write songs. nevertheless, he was having fun.
the grass crunched beneath heavier footsteps, a taller shadow joined the cluster of smaller ones, “not even for me?”
michael’s shoulders relaxed instantly. his favorite voice poking above the crowd of loaded supersoakers. if it was any other day, he’d be down in an instant, “that’s not fair!”
“they promised they wouldn’t hurt you,” she called out to him. she was fully under the tree then, her head craned up to him. thinking for a breath, she turned to the kids. her face lit up unexpectedly, “i heard they’re doing cake now. ask jackie.”
“what?!” “no way!” “let’s go!”
the last few shots of the video, before it cut to latoya’s precise viewing of each and every gift, was of the children stampeding their way back to the main area. it was rather trembly and unfocused, the last words a loud demand of, “i want a piece of chocolate cake!”
-
in hindsight, michael should’ve known the kids were plotting his doom from beneath the tree. but he always had a trust in them. hindsight also told him that his wife’s little white lie got jackie in lots of trouble with the little assailants, because the cake was in fact not happening when she said it was.
it had him wiping a tear from his eye in hilarity, “she always knows how to get me out of trouble.”
from the sidelines, the producer raised a hand, “let’s take five, everyone.”
as the crew scattered into their own directions, michael hoisted himself from the seat. he was on a mission, as evidenced by the smile that lingered on his face. “where’s my phone? i’d like to call my wife.”
fin.
concluding notes. again this really wasn't my best work :sob: so i apologize if it's a little weird. i just had this thought in my head and wanted to get it out! i really like the idea of childhood friends to lovers with michael (foreshadowing for later fics)... it's so cute...
The media continues to capitalize on an innocent black man, while all the true criminals are white men in power. Pointing their fingers at everyone but the actual guilty people while profiting off of innuendo and dramatiziced lies. All they have is speculation and controversy, no hard evidence…and they continue to use that for views. The “Michael being a child abuser” allegations have become a business in it itself and I’ll never stop defending him from the greedy systems that just want a paycheck. And FUCK Netflix.
michael had been a fan of yours long before he ever met you.
it started with one movie while he was stuck in a hotel room somewhere in europe. then another. then another. before he knew it, he was asking people if they had seen your latest film and getting weirdly excited whenever your interviews came on television. michael liked that you never seemed prepared for them.
while everyone else in hollywood answered questions like they had practiced in front of a mirror before, you always looked like you just wandered into the conversation by accident. half the time you were laughing at something you had said yourself, so when he spotted you across the ballroom at a charity gala in 1997, he knew exactly who you were.
what surprised him was how normal you looked. you weren’t working the room or posing for photographs. you were sitting with a group of older women from the organizing committee, listening so intently to one of their stories that you didn’t even notice half the celebrities walking past your table. he couldn’t stop glancing over, so later while trying to grab a bottle of water, he nearly walked straight into you.
“oh! i’m so sorry.”
you looked up then immediately giggled.
“michael jackson apologizing to me is crazy.”
his face turned pink so fast it was impressive.
after that, talking to you was easy, easier than it should’ve been. he kept waiting for that awkward moment where the conversation stalled out and one of you had to pretend to be interested in the decorations or something, but it never happened. one topic just kept leading to another.
michael’s secretary came over and reminded him that he was supposed to be speaking with one of the donors, and michael nodded, said he’d be there in five minutes, and twenty minutes later he was still standing exactly where she’d left him.
by the time the night started ending, most of the guests had already gone home. staff members were stacking chairs near the back of the room and collecting abandoned programs from empty tables, and somehow the two of you were still talking. when you finally hugged him goodbye, michael sat in the back of the car afterwards staring out the window like an idiot.
this was an idea that came to me last night and i wrote it so fast, so apologies if there is any mistakes ^-^
given the current climate this pride especially i feel i must mention that i love my trans friends, i stand with trans people in the fight against transphobic legislation and those who would enforce it, and this blog is not a good place for you to be if you do not vibe with that
݁⊹ ( 18+, mdni ) mature!michael x younger gf!reader ❤︎︎
you and michael just got home from attending an event, and you decided to go braless, which michael was very much against.
he couldn’t fathom the thought of people seeing the nipples he so much loves to touch and suck on. the way they pierced through the dress you wore that night, he couldn’t help but try and cover you up any given moment, especially whenever the cameras flashed.
immediately, he lectured you.
“i thought i told you not to wear that.” he said as he kicked off his shoes.
you could help but snicker under your breath because no matter what michael said, you were still gonna do whatever you wanted.
“i know, baby, but the bra didn’t match.” you excused as you slipped off your uncomfortable heels.
“uht-uh.” he pointed at said heels, demanding them back on your feet. “and i don’t care. you think i want the whole world seeing what should be for my eyes only?” he argued.
“look.” you said under a playful laugh in which he turned in your direction before flashing him, your pierced nipples now a fragment of his memory.
he sighed and shook his head. “you’re such a tease..”
“i never said you couldn’t touch.” you smirked as he made his way toward you.
( a/n: ill continue this later on so stay tuned 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 )
Sypnosis: you and Michael attend the after party of the AMAs, but it seems that Diana Ross can't stop throwing herself at him. Thriller era
An~ ngl i have like 13 drafts of js unfinished stories this was lowkey one of them 🫰🏾this isn't proof read.
The club was packed.
Every important person in music seemed to be there, every producer, songwriter, model, and actor. The air smelled like expensive perfume and cigarette smoke.
The two of you usually didn't attend the after parties but after the eight awards Michael won tonight, you couldn't pass a celebratory drink up. You stood next to Michael in the VIP section with your hand wrapped around his arm , while he laughed at something Quincy said.
You gently release your grasp from Michael letting him know that you were going to go get a drink, you turn to him to kiss him on the cheek before making a beeline to the bar
The line at the bar definitely took longer than you expected. Finally getting to the front, you ask the bartender for a sex on the beach.
By the time you had got your drink and started making your way back to Michael , you stomach dropped
Tonight was supposed to be a peaceful night.
It's not like you didn't know about the crush Mike had on her but she didn't have to be in his face like she was the one he was with.
Diana had no decorum.
This was embarrassing, she was in his face. Your man. She's in his face, smiling, laughing and touching him. This just didn't sit right with you.
You silently make you way back next to Michael while sipping your drink. He looked star struck while talking to her. It pissed you off but this wasn't the time of place. Diana finally took the time to look your way.
"Oh , here she is" the smug look she had on her face didn't make the way you felt about her any better.
"Diana , this is my girlfriend (name) and (name) this is Diana" Michael introduced the two of you like you didn't know who each other were.
"Oh I know who she is , I'll see you later Mikey " Diana turned on those worn out heels of hers and walked away.
You genuinely couldn't stand this bitch ,it's like she lived and breathed just to torment you.
"Why was she talking to you" Michael turned towards you with a confused look on his face, Mike couldn't understand the tension between you and Diana.
Though this was the first time you two met in person. Anytime Mike brung one of the other up in conversation nothing nice was ever said.
"She was just being polite, she came up and greeted me baby" the smile on his face calmed you down a little, you knew he meant no harm in speaking to the girl but it still made you feel a way
After a while of sitting with Michael while you nursed your drink, Diana decided to pop up and ruin your night and possibly your image.
She interrupted your conversation. She took a seat next to him not even acknowledging your presence at the table
"Mikey , you know , no matter how old you get , you will forever be my baby" you couldn't help but cringe.
You knew Michael would eat those words up, she really had the nerve to disrespect you in your face, you couldn't help but smile while sipping your drink that should've been long gone.
"Diana.." Michael started before she cut him off.
"Oh Mikey " she said as she patted his thigh, he quite literally shuttered from that. You rolled your eyes and let out a tired breath. You were about to get up until she decided to focus her attention on you. Bad idea for her.
"You know Michael use to tell everybody that he was gonna marry me one day " you knew this , everyone did. She was his silly ass crush.
"Hm I did, but it seems I'm the one with the ring" you smiled at her but it seems that didn't shut her up.
"Nobody really knows him like I do " you practically laughed in her face , she didn't like that. "Oh do you ?" The tone she spoke with wasn't nothing you were fond of.
"Of course, he loves me and you will never feel that because you will never be me"
Oh that set you off , you set your drink down gently.
"Baby , how about we just leave " leave ? Oh now he wanted to leave because his two loves were disagreeing with each other. You weren't going anywhere now.
"Be you ? Me ? Want to be you ? A old ass bitch preying on young men? Interesting " you looked her dead in her eye. She was backing down and neither were you.
People nearby started to slowdown their conversations. They lived for drama. Especially this, the king of pops girlfriend arguing with his lifetime crush.
Michael put his hands over his face.
"I'm just saying it's always gonna be me "
And with that comment you watched all of your patience fly out the window. You stood up and she did too.
By this time a crowd had already been formed, watching the two of you. "Can we all just stop, this is very awkward " you almost listened to your boyfriend until you felt a pair of hands shove you.
You turned around and shoved her back. Michael was terrified at this point. But the situation was beyond that
You were about to handle this old ass bitch
She grabbed your arm and before she could do anything else you hit her hard enough to make her think straight. The crowd around the two of you grew and Micheal couldn't see you guys anymore
You grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her down, with her kicking, screaming and swinging at you it just made you more angry than you already were. The couple of hits she got on you weren't worth nothing
At this point you had the both of you on the floor with you on top of her, the punches you were throwing at her were genuinely nerve wracking to some of the people surrounding you. You didn't stop till you seen blood leaking from her.
You stood up once more and took her by the hair again and dragged her in front of the bar , picking up an empty glass you felt a pair of hand grab you from behind.
"(NAME) PLEASE STOP, LETS JUST GO" Michael sounded terrified, you let go of her hair and dropped the cup back onto the bar. You turned around and walked past him. He took a look at Diana "uhh she'll be okay " and quickly turned to follow you
The crowd ate all of that up , you knew it'd be front page news by tonight. But that didn't matter you were pissed she thought she had a one up on you.
Michael followed you outside to the small balcony. Your arms were crossed as you sat down in the chair out there. He sat beside you. The silence was taking over the both of you , until he spoke.
"I'm sorry " you looked at him calmly, "what are you sorry for " Micheal looked at you.
"For letting her disrespect you infront of me , she shouldn't have said those things to you " at this point you didn't care about any of that. You laughed
"It's fine Mike , she just needed to see her where her place was"
a/n: This is really short and rushed so I'm sorry if its awful
You had just arrived at the studio to see Michael on his break. He’d been working on stuff for Thriller all day, and you promised him that you'd come see him.
You walked into the room, and your eyes immediately found Michael. You smiled when you saw him. But the minute you saw his sweater, your smile widened.
He had on the most precious pink Mickey Mouse sweater. He had a flannel underneath it that matched perfectly. What topped it off was his little bow tie.
Michael hurried over to you, a big smile on his face. He wrapped his arms around your waist, your arms going around his neck. “Hi, pretty girl,” He said before he kissed your cheek.
When you pulled away, you couldn't help but admire his outfit up close. “Oh baby, look at your sweater!” You cooed. Michael ducked his head, smiling shyly at your affection. Your hands moved to his bow tie, gently touching it. “Your little bow tie.” You poked out your bottom lip in awe.
He looked adorable, and you couldn't get enough of it. He hid his face in your neck, but you still felt him smile against your neck. “Aw, baby, don’t be shy; you look so cute!” You smiled as you ran your hands through his curls. He lifted his face, looking at you with a sweet smile.
You cupped one side of his face in your hand and kissed him gently. He smiled against your lips before kissing you back.
michael never fails to mention you at the end of his award speeches.
michael jackson x femreader
short and sweet one !!!
FEBRUARY 28, 1984 - 26TH ANNUAL GRAMMY AWARDS.
the shrine auditorium feels like it’s breathing around you, warm and golden and alive, but nothing in the room shines the way he does. michael walks beside you with that quiet, almost shy confidence, his sequined jacket catching every light like it was made to be seen, but his hand stays wrapped around yours like he needs the reminder that you’re here. he keeps leaning down, his big sunglasses brushing your cheek, whispering little things that make your stomach flip, “you okay, baby?” and “you look so beautiful.”, and even though the world is watching him, he keeps watching you, like you’re the only thing grounding him in all this noise.
album of the year — thriller
the second they announce thriller as album of the year, you grab michael's arm so fast he actually jumps a little in his seat. his eyes go huge and round and he just stares at the stage like maybe he heard wrong. then he slowly turns toward you with the most stunned expression you've ever seen. "oh no..." he whispers under his breath, already getting shy. not because he won, but because suddenly all those people are looking at him. you immediately start smiling at him, reaching for both of his hands. "michael, go!" you whisper excitedly. he ducks his head with a small laugh and squeezes your hands once before standing. while the audience applauds, he gives you one last nervous glance over his shoulder before making his way up there. at the microphone he smiles shyly and looks down for a second. "wow... thank you..." he laughs softly and rubs the back of his neck. "i... um..." the audience gives a few affectionate laughs while he smiles and looks down again. "thank you to quincy and everyone who worked on this album." then his eyes lift and immediately search the audience until they land on you. his entire face softens. "and..." he gets shy all over again, smiling into the microphone. "my lady's out there tonight..." he glances down with a little grin. "thank you for smiling at me. it helps."
best male rock vocal performance — beat it
michael barely sits down before his name is called again and he physically freezes. absolutely freezes. slowly, very slowly, he turns his head toward you with complete disbelief all over his face. "baby..." he whispers, eyes wide. "again?" you immediately clap and grab his shoulders excitedly while laughing. meanwhile michael just hides part of his face behind his gloved hand for a second because now people are cheering for him again and he suddenly looks so adorably overwhelmed. before standing he leans close. "you're making me nervous." he whispers with a shy smile. when he gets to the microphone, he laughs quietly and looks down immediately. "thank you so much..." he smiles into the floor for a second before looking up. "wow..." he shifts his weight shyly. "and..." there's already laughter because everyone notices now. michael laughs too and covers his smile briefly. "my lady..." he glances toward you quickly then away. "she looks more excited than me tonight."
record of the year — beat it
you’re practically laughing and tearing up at the same time now, and michael notices immediately when he sits back down. he leans closer, his voice soft and amused. "you’re going to run out of emotions before this night is over." he says gently, and you nudge him while still smiling through tears. when his name is called again, he exhales like he’s bracing himself, then stands, smoothing his jacket nervously. at the microphone, he takes a longer pause this time, visibly thinking before he speaks. "i never imagined this song would reach this many people in this way. it started as something very simple... a message about not letting fear control you." he looks down for a second, then continues. "i think we all face moments where we have to decide whether we shrink back or step forward, and this song was my way of stepping forward." he looks up, shy but sincere. "and i want to thank everyone who listened, who understood it, and who made it something bigger than me." then his expression softens even more. "and to my lady here tonight who has been reminding me, without saying anything, that confidence doesn’t always mean being loud. sometimes it just means having someone beside you who believes in you quietly." he smiles faintly, eyes flicking to you before he quickly looks away again, almost embarrassed by how honest he’s being.
best male pop vocal performance — thriller
he sits beside you again, shoulders slightly hunched like he’s still shy about all of it, then leans in just a little. "this is getting a little overwhelming..." he admits softly. you laugh and brush his arm and he smiles before heading back up. at the microphone, he looks more composed but still gentle. "thank you... this album has meant a lot to me personally." he pauses. "it’s about imagination, joy, and finding your voice." his eyes flicker down, then up again. "and i want to thank my woman again who has been making this whole experience feel less like a stage and more like home in a strange way." he gives a shy smile. "my brightest face in the crowd."
producer of the year (non-classical)
by now the audience is smiling before he even reaches the mic. michael notices and gets shy again, laughing under his breath as he adjusts the microphone. "i think you all are starting to expect what i’m going to say..." he says softly, making the room laugh. "thank you to quincy jones, who has taught me so much about trust and creativity." he pauses. "and to everyone who worked on this project, thank you for your patience and your brilliance." his gaze lifts toward you for a second and laughs. "my lady who’s been sitting out there like she’s trying to convince me i deserve this... you’ve done more for me tonight than you probably realize."
best recording for children — e.t. the extra-terrestrial
he comes back to you briefly and lets out a soft breath, leaning just slightly like he needs a moment to reset. "i think my brain is slowly turning into glitter." he whispers, making you laugh. at the stage, he smiles gently now, a little calmer. "thank you so much. this project reminded me that imagination is something we should never really grow out of." he pauses. "because it makes life a lot more interesting." he smiles faintly. "and you already know who, i love you i hope you’re not tired of hearing your name yet because i’m not tired of saying it”, and the whole audience laughs with him while you melt into your seat.
best engineered recording (non-classical) — thriller
he looks down for a second, collecting himself before speaking. "i want to sincerely thank the engineers and technical team for their incredible work on this album." he nods. "they brought precision and life to something that began as imagination." then he pauses, smiling to himself again then pointing towards you. "my girl, thank you for everything."
best rhythm & blues song — billie jean
by the time they announce it, the whole room feels like it already knows what’s about to happen. michael sits beside you for a moment completely still, then lets out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like he’s been gently cornered by fate all night and has finally stopped resisting it. he looks at you for a long second, eyes soft and shy in that way he gets when he’s overwhelmed but trying to stay composed. "i think if they call my name again, i’m going to start apologizing before i even stand up." he whispers, making you laugh as you squeeze his hand. he doesn’t let go this time. when his name is announced, he exhales slowly, like he’s accepting the inevitable, then stands with that same gentle shyness, smoothing his jacket out of habit even though his hands are slightly unsteady. the applause feels endless, but he moves through it quietly, almost humbly, like he’s still surprised anyone is cheering at all.
at the microphone, he doesn’t speak immediately. he just stands there for a moment, looking out at the audience with a kind of quiet disbelief that slowly turns into gratitude. then he bows his head slightly, smiles, and finally speaks, voice soft and thoughtful. "thank you so much... truly. i want to start by saying how deeply grateful i am for music itself, for the way it allows us to tell stories that don’t always fit into words on their own." he pauses, choosing his thoughts carefully, still shy but more present now. "this song, billie jean, was a story about perception, responsibility, and how quickly something can grow beyond the person who created it. and i think what i’ve learned most from it is how important it is to stay grounded in truth, even when the world around it becomes loud."
he glances down for a second, smiling faintly to himself like he can’t quite believe he’s still standing there, then looks back up with a softer expression. "i want to thank everyone who worked on this record, everyone who listened to it, and everyone who understood it in their own way. that kind of connection is something i’ll never take for granted." his voice gets quieter, more personal. "and i also want to say something i think i’ve been circling around all night without meaning to." a few people in the audience laugh softly, already anticipating it, and he lets out a small shy breath of laughter too, like he’s caught himself.
he shakes his head gently, smiling. "i’ve been mentioning someone in the audience after almost every speech tonight..." he pauses again, this time more openly embarrassed but in a warm, affectionate way. "and i think it’s because i’ve realized something important." his gaze slowly finds you in the crowd, and everything in him softens, like the noise of the room fades just a little. "she’s not just someone i’m grateful to see here tonight... she’s the reason i’ve been able to stand up here at all without feeling like i’m going to disappear under the lights."
his smile turns shy again, but it’s brighter now, more certain. "she’s been my calm when everything else felt too big. my reminder that i don’t have to perform confidence to actually feel safe in a moment like this. just knowing she’s there... looking at me like i’m already enough... it changes everything."
he laughs softly, almost under his breath, shaking his head like he still can’t believe he’s saying it out loud in front of everyone. "i think i’ve tried all night to avoid calling attention to it, but it keeps coming back to the same thing..." he pauses, voice gentler now, full of warmth. "she’s my reason for not overthinking every step I’ve taken up here tonight. my reason for not running off stage the moment the applause starts."
his eyes linger on you for a moment longer, and the shyness in him returns in the sweetest way, like he suddenly remembers how many people are listening, but he doesn’t pull away from the feeling. instead, he just smiles a little wider, softer. "and if i’m being completely honest... she’s the reason tonight has felt less like something i had to survive... and more like something i get to remember."
the room is warm with applause, but he seems quieter now, like he’s finished saying the most important part and everything else can just exist around it. when he finally walks back to you after the eighth win, he doesn’t even try to hide how shy he is anymore. he just sits down beside you, still smiling, still a little overwhelmed, and gently takes your hand like it’s the only steady thing left in the world.
"i meant it..." he says softly, almost like he’s still surprised he said it at all. then he gives a small, bashful smile, eyes warm. "you really are my reason for getting through all of that without falling apart."
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
you walk out toward the car with the biggest, brightest grin on your face, still buzzing from everything, your hand wrapped around michael’s arm like you’re not planning on letting go anytime soon, while he walks slightly close beside you, giggling under his breath in that shy, overwhelmed way, still holding all eight grammys carefully in both arms like he’s trying not to drop a single piece of the night, and every step makes him glance down at the awards, then back at you, like he still can’t believe any of it is real, especially you, and the second you hit the lights outside the paparazzi explode into flashes and shouting, cameras going wild as they catch him mid laugh, mid blush, full of eight red lipstick marks and still trying to stay composed while failing completely, and he gets even shyer, ducking his head a little but not letting go of you either, letting you guide him through it as he whispers, half laughing, "they’re going to zoom in on my face, i know they are..." while you just laugh and squeeze his arm tighter, proud and glowing, and he keeps walking anyway, smiling like he can’t stop himself, shy but happy, surrounded by chaos and cameras and eight awards and somehow still looking like the softest version of himself just because you’re right there beside him.
⊱ Mature!michael who puts you before anything. The second he gets a call saying you need or want something, he drops whatever he’s doing and comes straight to you. No hesitation, no excuses—you always come first.
⊱ Mature!michael who doesn’t play games in a relationship. No pettiness, no silent treatment, no going to bed angry, and definitely no playing hard to get. He knows what he wants, and he knows healthy relationships require effort, honesty, and communication.
⊱ Mature!michael who hates arguing over the phone or while you’re apart. If there’s a problem, he wants to talk about it face-to-face. He values communication and prefers getting straight to the point rather than letting issues drag on.
⊱ Mature!michael who believes in giving 100%. He doesn’t think all the responsibility should fall on the woman. He helps around the house, takes care of you when you’re sick, and makes sure you’re never carrying everything on your own.
⊱ Mature!michael who gives you his full attention whenever you’re together. He listens carefully when you talk, remembers the little details, and always pays attention to your needs. Especially in public, he’s constantly checking to make sure you’re comfortable and doing okay.
⊱ Mature!michael who gets a little possessive at times. He’s been in the industry long enough to know exactly how people can be. If you’re wearing a dress that turns heads, he notices every glance sent your way. Not because he’s insecure—he trusts you completely—but because he knows how others think. He’ll casually pull you a little closer, rest a hand on your waist, or lean down to whisper something that leaves you trying not to smile for the rest of the evening.
⊱ Mature!michael who spoils you endlessly. Anything you want, it’s yours. Every time you walk into a store, he’s already asking, “See anything you like?” with his arm wrapped around you. He rarely looks at the price tag; if it makes you happy, that’s enough for him.
⊱ Mature!michael who carries extra things for you without being asked. Your bag starts feeling heavy? Somehow it’s already over his shoulder. Your jacket is bothering you? He’s holding it. You don’t even realize he’s doing it half the time.
⊱ Mature!michael who always keeps a hand on you in public. A hand on your lower back while guiding you through crowds, his fingers intertwined with yours, or an arm draped around your shoulders. It’s never controlling—it just makes him feel better knowing you’re close.
⊱ Mature!michael who always reminds you to take care of yourself. “Did you eat today?” “Did you get enough sleep?” “Did you take your medicine?” It becomes a running joke because he asks so often, but secretly you love knowing someone cares that much.
⊱ if anyone wants a nsfw version, I can definitely do that!
*through gritted teeth* the world is GOOD. people are kind. Humans are NOT inherently selfish. you will make it through this year. recovery is possible. people you don't know yet will love you. You are going to do things you can't even imagine right now. You are going to read a rlly good book. You are going to eat some rlly good food. You are going to experience joy again. Things can get better. Situations can change. You can choose to be kinder. The world can change for the better.
Warnings: kissing, fem!reader, down bad Michael, set in the summer of 1975.
A/N: I swear these were supposed to be headcanons..
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ꜜ♡⃕ needy.ᐟMichael who doesn't easily take no for an answer
Hushed whispers and Michaels eager pacing, were the only audible sounds coming from your bedroom. You sat at the edge of your bed. Hands nervously picking at your nails.
"No way! This is trouble."
His pacing comes to a stop, walking over, ever so carefully. As if to not scare you away.
"I promise this'll all work out fine." he murmured, slowly grabbing a hold of your shaky hands.
Falling to his knees in front of you.
He was so close now, his sharp floral scent flowing to your nostrils.
Why'd he have to make it so hard?
"I don't care if bill doesn't approve, I wanna give you all my lovin', Is that so bad?"
"Mickey.." you whisper, flustered at the thought of something real. Not just the teasing from the Jackson brothers, nor the yearning glances you've convinced yourself to mean nothing.
But something, wholeheartedly real.
A strained groan fell from his throat "I know, I know. But I just can't help it no more.." Impulsively holding onto your face. stroking your cheek, as you lean into the palm of his hand. "Ion wanna help it."
Your lack of protest gave him the confidence to lean in, Feeling his soft lips brush yours, sent goosebumps to your skin, you shove the need for him down,
the guilt overbearing.
You leaned away hesitantly. Regret washed over Michael's face. the thought of losing you, scared him more than ignoring the love burning in his chest. "I'm- I'm sorry. Gosh I'm sorry- just tell me to stop. Please tell me to stop, so I can get over this... get over you." His voice cracked,
so whiney.
That was it. You couldn't deny yourself anymore. Pressing a tender kiss to his lips. he shifts into you, trailing his hands from your face, to the curve of your chest, and onto your hips.
"My pretty girl" Michael praises, hand resting at the low of your waist. "you don't know what you do to me." Only quiet whines escaped your mouth, buzzing with excitement at his words.
"You're mine now."
ꜜ♡⃕ smitten.ᐟMichael who overly spoils you. despite trying not to be obvious, he could never deny his girl.
"Mickeyyyy" you purred, holding up a game of twister. "Can we get this one too?" You questioned softly, although already putting said game into the cart.
"You already picked out 5 bored gam-"
Jermaine was quickly cut off.
"Of course we can." Michael blurted, interrupting Jermaine's brainless remark.
"Oh I see, my little brother's all smitten by the young lady." Jermaine chuckles, along with Jackie and Tito.
Michael couldn't help the blush creeping onto his cheeks, no way to defend himself.
"You're all annoying" you state, trying not to sink into the floor.
ꜜ♡⃕ Sneaky.ᐟclingy.ᐟ Michael who can't help but love the adrenaline of getting caught.
Makeout session in his room? He'll leave the door cracked, just enough for anyone to walk by and see exactly how close in "friendship" y'all are.
Always sneaking you away from the others, trying not to be suspicious.
You and Michael sat at the edge of the pool, legs halfway in, Cooling you down from the bright summer sun. Latoya and rebbie yelling at the boys to not get their hair wet.
"Why wear a bathing suit if you ain't gonna get in?" Randy questions innocently.
"Oh shush ran" rebbie groaned wishing she had more sisters than brothers.
Hayvenhurst, encino. Was chaotic, around this time the most.
Always some argument or gossip between the Jackson's, something gliding over your head, barely missing your face.
You loved it.
Michael looks over at you, more than once, thinking how different it'd be if they knew. maybe he'd be holding your hand, telling you how much he adored having you over, his girl. Sitting with him by the pool mindlessly.
Reading his mind, You push a wet curl out of his face
"are you thinking too hard again, Mickey?" You whisper teasingly, adding to his anguish. Michael doesn't respond, instead pushes himself up off the floor, walking towards the sliding doors, before turning to you.
"Applehead, could you help me with something in the kitchen?" the corner of his lip is already lifting into something far from innocent.
You wonder what he'll pull out of his sleeve, Slyly following him inside and towards the kitchen.
"Are you alright?" before you could ask again, his hands were already on you. Guiding you back until you hit the kitchen island, causing A shriek to escape you.
"Michael! Are you crazy?" He shushed you with his lips, you could feel him smile against you, soft giggles in-between even softer kisses. tangling your hands in his dripping curls, slowly forgetting how out in the open you both were.
Your movements are turning more, and more passionate, the smell of chlorine, surrounding you, and the marble island cold against your lower back.
"Don't you hate it?" He asked after each kiss, You almost missed what he said, too occupied to listen. "Hm?" Humming a question, he stops his movements, "I mean, don't you wish we could do this with everyone around?"
"Everyone is around" you state, looking around at the very open kitchen, with a big family like Michaels, anyone could walk by at any second.
He frowns at your sarcasm "ya know what i mean." His slender hands never leave your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles over your stomach.
"Angel face, you wouldn't be this confident around the others." He looks truly offended by that, you laugh at his attempt to convince you he's not the shy Michael you've grown to love.
"I'm quite the lady's man, ya know!" He
exclaimed
"oh really?"
"Yes! Well no, you know what I mean, if I could- no, when I can. I'll kiss you anytime and anywhere!"
Your laugh was cut off by footsteps approaching, voices getting louder and louder each step, Eyes widening at the familiar voice of your father.
Michael pushes off of you, quickly grabbing a paper towel, suddenly focused on cleaning a stubborn spot on the counter, his ears have turned completely red. Hands slightly shaky,
Oh yes, mister confident.
ꜜ♡⃕ Sneaky.ᐟclingy.ᐟ Michael who disspite the many times you've almost been caught, he'll never learn.
You had dragged your father to take Michael and you to the store, your mind set on buying way too much junk food,
"it's not a fun sleepover if you wake without a stomach ache, of course!" You blurted, stepping into the car,
Great convincing.
Michael and you both sat on a window seat,
Comfortable silence filled the car, before Michael decided he couldn't wait any longer.
Scooting closer to you every 10 seconds,
You pretend not to notice. That is, until his thigh was touching yours, he intertwines his fingers with the hand resting on your thigh.
You pray your father is as oblivious as you think he is, because you don't want to push Michael off, and you don't.
Michael looks up, making sure bill isn't glancing at the rear-view mirror, with a clear view shot of
the handholding going on with his daughter.
He's too busy driving to notice anything,
he thought, giving his focus back to you.
"Michael. Joseph. Jackson, get your paws off my daughter."
This definitely wasn't the store trip you had planned.
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First time writing fiction, probably not the best, But this blog is for shytz n gigglez.ᐟ
Content : it’s very common for best friends to be lovers but is this the case here?
Jaafar Jackson x Reader
Previous Part
The first two weeks, Jaafar convinced himself it was temporary.
You were both stubborn and emotional
He told himself you just needed space.
Then your name slowly disappeared from everything.
No random Instagram stories. No reposts. No dumb little tweets at three in the morning. No pictures from dinners with friends. No appearances in anybody else’s posts either.
At first he only noticed because he was looking for you, then other people started noticing too.
“You talked to Y/N lately?” one of your mutual friends asked casually one night.
Jaafar tried to sound normal.
“Nah. Why?”
“She’s been weird.”
One of the girls joined the conversation, “yeah, she bailed on girls’ night two times, she never misses them.”
Paris added a detail while chewing on her fries,“I saw her a week ago with her new boyfriend at this club, I wasn’t able to talk to her because of him.”
Boyfriend.
The word alone made something bitter settle in his chest, because of course you moved on.
Why wouldn’t you?
He was the one who told you confessing his feelings was a mistake.
He had replayed that night so many times he practically knew every second by memory now.
The sound of your car door. The look on your face. The way you never turned around when he sped off.
God, he hated himself for that part most.
Trying to hurt you back because his ego got bruised.
By week three, he had typed your name into his messages more times than he could count.
You okay?
Delete.
Can we talk?
Delete.
I’m sorry.
Delete.
Every draft felt selfish.
Like reopening something he was the one who destroyed.
So he stayed quiet and the silence between you grew into something ugly.
~A month has passed~
It was 3:09 a.m. when his phone rang.
Jaafar had been half asleep on the couch, TV still flickering low in the background, when your name lit up his screen.
For a second he genuinely thought he was dreaming.
He stared at it too long before finally answering.
“Hello?”
Shaky breathing.
His entire body went rigid instantly.
“Y/N?”
Your voice finally came out small, “Can you pick me up?”
Every nerve in his body lit up.
“Where are you?”
You gave him an address he didn’t recognize.
He was already grabbing his keys before you even finished speaking.
“What happened?”
“I don’t wanna stay here.”
That was all it took.
“Stay on the phone with me.”
“No— it’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” he snapped immediately, panic slipping through before he could control it. Softer this time, “Please. Stay on the phone.”
You went quiet again but didn’t hang up.
And that scared him more.
The drive felt endless, every worst-case scenario possible kept flashing through his head.
Why were you whispering?
Why did you sound exhausted?
Are you at Adam’s house?
By the time he pulled up outside the apartment complex, his heart was beating so hard it physically hurt.
Then he saw you, and his entire world collapsed.
You were sitting on the curb outside the building in an oversized black hoodie, knees pulled slightly to your chest while you gripped your phone tightly in one hand. The sleeves covered most of your fingers as you kept wiping at your tears like you were frustrated they wouldn’t stop falling.
You looked terrified.
Jaafar stopped breathing.Actually stopped.
Something hot and violent exploded in his chest so fast it almost made him dizzy.
He parked so badly he barely remembered turning the engine off before running out.
“Y/N.”
Your head lifted immediately at the sound of his voice.
And the second you saw him, your entire face changed.
Not relief exactly, like your body had finally stopped holding itself together.
Jaafar reached you in seconds.
“What the fuck happened?” he asked, voice rougher than he intended.
You shook your head quickly.
“Can we just go before he wakes up and realizes I am not here?”
His eyes dropped to your wrist.
Finger-shaped bruise.
His stomach turned so violently he thought he might actually throw up.
“Did he do that to you?”
You looked away and that was enough answer.
Jaafar felt rage crawl up his spine so fast his vision blurred for a second.
“Which floor is his apartment ?”
“Jaafar.”
“Which floor ?!?” he repeated harsher.
You grabbed his wrist immediately.
And the second he felt how cold & shaky your hands were, the anger cracked.
His eyes snapped back to your face properly then and for the first time he noticed the split skin near your lower lip.
Everything inside him dropped.
“Oh my god…”
His words came out broken and you looked embarrassed suddenly.
Like you hated that he was seeing you like this.
That nearly killed him more than the bruises.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered.
His eyebrows pulled together immediately.
“Like what?”
“Like you feel bad for me.”
Jaafar looked at you for a long second like he couldn’t even process hearing that.
Then very quietly mumbled, “I feel like I’m gonna kill somebody.”
Your face crumpled a little at that and suddenly he understood.
This whole month and disappearing, he understood all of it now.
The realization made him feel physically sick.
You swayed slightly where you stood and his hand moved to your waist on instinct.
Like he was afraid too much pressure would hurt you.
“Hey,” he said immediately, softer now. “Hey, look at me.”
You wouldn’t, your eyes stayed fixed somewhere near his chest instead.
And then he heard it, the tiny hitch in your breathing right before someone cries.
His chest genuinely hurt.
“Y/N…”
That was it.
You broke, not loudly or dramatically , just one shattered inhale before tears finally spilled down your face like you were exhausted from holding them in.
Jaafar pulled you into him instantly without hesitation.
And the second your body collided with his, you started crying harder.
“Oh my God,” he whispered, one hand against the back of your head. “Oh my God…”
You hid your face in his chest like you were ashamed of crying.
Meanwhile Jaafar felt like he was seconds away from falling apart himself.
Because the only thing repeating in his head was:
I left her.
I left her angry.
I let her walk away.
I let her think she was alone.
And now someone else had hurt you in ways he couldn’t even fix.
Jaafar got you into the passenger seat carefully, like even the smallest movement might hurt you.
You kept apologizing for things that didn’t need apologies.
“For calling so late.”
“Sorry.”
“I know you were sleeping.”
Every single one made his chest tighten harder.
“Stop saying sorry,” he muttered quietly as he pulled your seatbelt across you.
Your hands flinched away from him the second his hand brushed near your wrist.
Tiny movement but Jaafar noticed.
His hand paused for half a second before he finished clicking the seatbelt into place.
You immediately pulled your sleeve lower over the bruise like you hadn’t even realized you did it.
The car went quiet.
Jaafar leaned back into his seat slowly, eyes on the road ahead now, but his jaw had tightened.
“You don’t have to do that with me,” he said after a moment, voice low.
You frowned slightly. “Do what?”
He finally looked over at you then.
“Flinch.”
Your eyes flickered toward him for half a second, and it felt like safety had become something you had to measure now.
That realization nearly made him sick.
He started driving without asking where you wanted to go.
Your apartment was obviously not an option.
And he knew there was no way in hell he was leaving you alone tonight.
The city was quiet at this hour, streetlights flashing across your face every few seconds.
Jaafar kept glancing at you every red light like he was checking you were still there.
You sat curled slightly toward the window, arms wrapped around yourself again, too quiet that scared him too.
“You need a hospital?” he asked finally.
Immediate panic crossed your face.
“No.”
“Y/N—”
“I said no.”
Your voice cracked halfway through it.
He tightened his jaw but nodded once.
But he mentally noted every bruise he could see anyway.
When the car stopped at another red light, he looked over again.
Your lower lip was worse up close.
Jaafar gripped the steering wheel harder.
“You were gonna stay with him tonight?” he asked suddenly.
You went still.
“No.”
“You called me before or after you left?”
Silence. “During.”
His head turned sharply, “What?”
You stared down at your hands.
“He took my phone earlier.” Your voice sounded distant now. “I waited until he fell asleep.”
Jaafar felt actual rage pulse through him.
“He put his hands on you and took your phone?”
You didn’t answer immediately.
Your fingers twisted together in your lap instead.
Jaafar’s stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
The city lights moved across your face while you stared down at your hands like you hated even talking about it.
“I told him I didn’t want to.”
Jaafar’s grip on the steering wheel tightened instantly.
Your voice sounded far away now, “He got annoyed.”
“Then angry.”
Jaafar didn’t say a word.
“I tried to leave it alone at first,” you continued softly. “But he kept pushing and I said I wasn’t ready and—”
Your throat tightened slightly.
“And when I tried to move away from the kiss he grabbed my wrist.”
Something dangerous flashed across Jaafar’s face.
“He said I was embarrassing him.”
You laughed once weakly like you still couldn’t believe it yourself.
“And I pushed him because he wouldn’t let go.”
The car went completely silent.
“And then it just…”
You swallowed hard.
“…got aggressive.”
Jaafar saw red.
“I told him I wanted to end things,” you said quietly. “He took my phone after that and went to sleep with it so I couldn’t call anyone or leave.”
Jaafar’s grip on the steering wheel tightened instantly.
You kept your eyes down. “I just waited until he fell asleep and took it back while I was leaving.”
A small laugh left you then, nervous more than anything. “So… technically I escaped.”
The sound hit him wrong.
His jaw locked hard enough to hurt as he stared ahead at the road, saying nothing for a second.
Because all he could picture was you stuck there trying to get out while some guy decided he had the right to stop you.
His fingers flexed tighter around the wheel.
“Jaafar…”
“I’m okay,” he lied immediately.
But his voice sounded terrifyingly calm now, and somehow that was worse.
The light turned green, he started driving again.
After a minute, your voice came out barely audible.
“I didn’t know who else to call.”
“You never have to wonder if you can call me.”
You looked at him then, for the first time tonight. His eyes stayed on the road but his expression had softened completely now.
The anger was still there underneath it, simmering violently, but around you he handled it carefully.
Like he was terrified of making this worse.
Your voice came out fragile.
“I thought you hated me.”
His head snapped toward you so fast it startled you.
“Hated you?”
You blinked at him silently.
Jaafar looked genuinely horrified.
“Y/N, I hated myself.”
The words filled the car heavily.
“I said something cruel because my ego got hurt and then I doubled down and drove away like an asshole.” His grip tightened on the wheel again. “I’ve regretted it every single day since.”
You stared at him quietly.
The sincerity in his voice hurt worse somehow.
“I kept thinking you moved on,” he admitted. “And I told myself I should leave you alone because maybe that’s what you wanted.”
You laughed softly then.But it sounded tired and broken.
“That’s funny.”
His eyebrows pulled together.
“What?”
“I spent the whole month thinking you didn’t care enough to come after me.”
Because he had wanted to. God, he almost did a hundred times.
But pride and fear kept winning.
And now sitting beside you, bruised, exhausted, shrinking into yourself, he realized how badly he’d misread everything.
He parked outside his place a few minutes later.
You looked confused immediately.
“Jaafar—”
“You’re staying with me tonight.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
Your shoulders tensed.
“I don’t want to be a problem.”
His expression changed instantly at that, like the sentence genuinely offended him.
“You think this,” he gestured toward you helplessly, “is a problem to me?”
You looked away again.
That answer alone told him enough.
Somewhere along the line, somebody had made you start apologizing for existing.
Jaafar turned fully toward you then.
“Look at me.”
Slowly, you did.
And his chest nearly caved in again because your eyes looked terrified of being too much.
He spoke carefully now.
“You could call me at four in the morning from the middle of nowhere and I’d still come get you.” His voice lowered. “You understand me?”
Your eyes immediately filled again.
Jaafar exhaled shakily through his nose the second he saw it.
“Don’t cry,” he whispered instinctively.
That made one tear slip down your face anyway.
“Sorry—”
“There you go apologizing again.”
Despite everything, the corner of his mouth twitched faintly.
And somehow that tiny expression — soft and familiar and him — almost hurt more than the kindness.
Because it felt like finally breathing after a month underwater.
Jaafar reached over slowly, giving you enough time to pull away if you wanted.
You didn’t.
His thumb brushed carefully beneath your eye, wiping the tear away.
Then his gaze dropped briefly to your split lower lip.
His entire face hardened again.
“Did he ever do that before tonight?”
Your silence answered too quickly.
Jaafar closed his eyes for one second.
Just one.
Like he was trying to physically control himself.
When he opened them again, his voice was terrifyingly calm.
“I am gonna kill him.”
You froze immediately.
“No.”
Jaafar stared at you like he thought he misheard.
“Y/N—”
“No.” Your voice came out firmer this time despite how tired you sounded. “Please.”
His jaw tightened instantly.
“That guy put his hands on you.”
“I know.”
“So why are you protecting him?”
“I’m not protecting him,” you snapped quietly, exhaustion cracking through the words. “I’m protecting myself.”
That made him pause.
You looked down at your hands.
“If my family finds out…” You swallowed hard. “It becomes a thing. Everyone gets involved. Questions, opinions, pity— I can’t do that right now.”
Jaafar stayed silent.
“And if my friends know,” you continued more quietly, “then everybody knows eventually.”
Your eyes flickered toward him finally.
“I want it to look like a normal break up, please don’t tell anyone. Not my family. Not mutual friends. Nobody.”
He looked torn apart by the request.
Because every instinct in him wanted to expose the guy publicly.
Wanted someone to answer for what happened to you.
But you were sitting here asking for control over at least one thing.
And he understood that.
After a long silence, he nodded once.
“Okay.”
You looked surprised by how quickly he agreed.
Jaafar leaned back against the seat with a slow exhale through his nose.
“But if he ever comes near you again,” he said quietly, dangerously calm, “I’m not promising I’ll stay reasonable.”
His apartment felt different tonight.
Softer somehow.
Or maybe it was just because you were here again after a month of silence.
Jaafar handed you one of his hoodies while avoiding looking too directly at the bruises on your wrist or lips.
“It’s clean,” he muttered.
You nodded softly and disappeared into the bathroom.
The second the door closed, Jaafar dragged both hands down his face.
Then he stood there in the middle of the kitchen staring at nothing.
Because now that the panic had settled slightly, guilt was hitting him in waves.
You had been disappearing right in front of everyone and he hadn’t pushed harder.
He kept thinking about your voice on the phone.
Something in his chest twisted painfully.
The shower turned on in the other room.
Jaafar moved automatically after that.
He opened cabinets.
Started boiling water.
Pulled out whatever food he had.
You always liked simple comfort food after bad days.
Not fancy, just warm stuff.
Which somehow made the ache in his chest worse.
When you finally came out of the bathroom, the first thing you noticed was the smell.
You stopped in the hallway slightly confused.
Jaafar looked up from the kitchen immediately.
And for a second he genuinely forgot how to breathe.
You were drowning in his oversized dark hoodie, sleeves covering most of your hands, hair still damp from the shower.
And somehow the sight hit him so hard it physically hurt.
Not just because you looked absolutely attractive than any other woman he has ever saw without trying, but also because you looked safe.
His eyes instantly flickered toward your legs, checking for more bruises before he caught himself.
“Sorry,” he muttered quickly, looking away.
Your eyebrows pulled together faintly.
“For what?”
He shook his head.
“Nothing.”
You walked closer slowly.
“What are you making?”
“Spaghetti…” A pause, “With nuggets and fries.”
Despite everything, your face softened slightly.
“You remember.”
“Course I do.”
The answer came too fast.Too naturally.
The silence after it felt heavier than it should’ve.
So Jaafar cleared his throat and turned back toward the stove.
“You should eat come on.”
You nodded quietly and climbed onto one of the kitchen stools.
For the first time all night, things became still.
Not awkward exactly.
Just fragile.
You watched him move around the kitchen silently.
Sleeves pushed up his forearms, focused expression.
Checking on you every few seconds without making it obvious.
Like he was scared if he looked away too long you’d disappear again.
And honestly?
That almost made you cry again.
Later, you sat beside him on the couch with a blanket over your legs while Stitch, your comfort Disney movie played quietly across the screen.
You hadn’t even asked for it, Jaafar just knows.
The lamp beside the couch cast a soft golden light across the room while the TV flickered in front of you both.
Your bowl sat empty on the coffee table.
You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the first bite.
Now warmth sat in your stomach for the first time in weeks.
The kind that makes your body unclench slowly without permission.
Jaafar noticed when you went quiet halfway through eating.
His head turned immediately.
“You okay?”
You nodded too fast.
“Mhm.”
But your eyes had gone shiny again.
And suddenly you realized why.
Because this entire night had been so gentle.
The way he kept giving you space without pulling away emotionally.
You felt safe.
Safe enough that your body didn’t know what to do with it.
You stared down at your lap quickly before the tears could fall.
Jaafar’s expression softened instantly.
“Hey.”
You shook your head immediately.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re definitely not fine.”
A tiny laugh escaped you through your nose at that.
And God, hearing you laugh again after a month nearly shattered him.
The movie kept playing quietly in the background.
Neither of you watched it anymore.
You sat curled into the couch while Jaafar sat beside you, arm stretched along the back cushions behind your head.
Always careful tonight.
Then after a long silence, he looked over at you, ad softly patted his chest.
No words, just a Come here motion , which made your heart actually hurt.
Because there was something unbearably tender about the way he did it.
You hesitated only a second before moving.
The moment you leaned into him, Jaafar wrapped his arms around you carefully like he’d been holding himself back from doing it all night.
One hand slid into your damp hair and the other settled against your back.
And the second your head rested against his chest, you heard it.
His heartbeat.
Your eyes closed instantly.
“You scared me,” he admitted quietly above your head.
The confession made your throat tighten.
“I know.”
“No,” he whispered, holding you a little tighter. “You really scared me.”
Silence settled after that.
Heavy with everything neither of you knew how to say yet.
Then you tilted your head up slightly.
Jaafar looked down at you immediately, too close.
Your breath caught softly.
His eyes flickered once to your mouth before returning to your eyes like he was trying not to.
“You should sleep,” he murmured.
But neither of you moved.
The movie played forgotten in the background.
His hand still resting warm against your back.
And suddenly the space between you felt impossible.
Jaafar’s gaze dropped again to split on ur lower lip.
His expression tightened slightly.
“You’re hurt,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding himself not to cross a line.
But your hand moved before you could overthink it and touched his jaw softly.
And that completely ruined whatever self-control he had left.
The breath he exhaled actually shook.
“Y/N…”
You kissed him first, softly.
But the second your mouth touched his, Jaafar made this quiet broken whimper against you like he’d been starving for it.
His hand slid gently to the side of your face instantly.
He kissed you back slowly at first. Almost hesitant.
Like he was terrified of hurting you.
Then emotion cracked through him all at once.
Relief.Regret.Want.Fear.Love.
A whole month of missing you poured into that kiss so hard it nearly knocked the air from his lungs.
And when you melted against him instead of pulling away, Jaafar kissed you deeper with a softness that hurt more than roughness ever could.
Because there was nothing careless about it.Nothing selfish.
Just him holding your face like something precious while kissing you like he finally understood how close he came to losing you.
Jaafar pulled away only far enough to breathe.
But even then, his forehead stayed pressed against yours like he physically couldn’t make himself go farther.
Your fingers were still curled lightly against his jaw.
His hand still holding your face carefully, thumb brushing your cheek in slow absent movements.
And the look in his eyes nearly undid you.
Not lust.Just overwhelming love.
The kind that looked terrifying in its depth.
“Jaafar…”
His eyes searched your face instantly.
“You okay?” he whispered.
The fact he asked that now — after kissing you like his heart was breaking open — made your chest ache so badly you almost started crying again.
You nodded once and something in him softened completely at the sight.
His hand slid carefully into your hair again before he leaned forward and pressed the gentlest kiss imaginable against your forehead.
Then another near your temple.
“You know what killed me the most?” he murmured quietly.
Your brows pulled together slightly.
“What?”
“That you thought you were alone.” The words settled heavily between you.
Jaafar looked at you for a long second before his expression shifted into something quieter.
“You’re never alone again.”
Because he didn’t say it dramatically.
Didn’t say it like a promise people break.
He said it like something already decided inside him.
Your eyes filled immediately and he exhaled a tiny helpless laugh through his nose when he noticed.
“There you go,” he whispered affectionately with a small smile. “C’mere…”
He pulled you closer until you were practically folded into his chest again, your cheek against his heartbeat while his arms wrapped around you protectively.
Like there wasn’t a force on earth that could drag you away from him now.
The movie still played softly in the background.
But inside his apartment everything felt warm and still.
Jaafar rested his chin lightly against the top of your head and closed his eyes for a second.
Then very quietly, so soft you almost thought you imagined it, he whispered against your hair,
“There she is…”
His fingers tightened gently around you.
“My girl, mine.”
Finally Home.
A/N : I AM SO INLOVE WITH THEM UGH, hopefully that fixed what I did in the last part🤭
thinking about !m.jackson x !fashiondesigner reader meeting since you were hired to help create the iconic outfit that he would wear to the white house in 1990, where he was honored as the "artist of the decade" to celebrate his global success.
when you were in your studio, you spent the majority of your time sketching the design and making adjustments to his jacket, while michael sat in the corner watching you work. michael was involved in the entire process of creating his iconic jacket. he would give his input on where he wanted the buttons, what shade of red he wanted, and where the pins should go.
the more time michael spent at your studio, the more he kept finding reasons to come back just to hang out with you. what started as meetings about the jacket turned into conversations that lasted way longer than they needed be. sometimes he'd show up before you were expecting him, and other times he'd linger around after everything was done just to keep talking to you. you weren't complaining either.
michael eventually started to catch feelings. he loved seeing how excited you got when talking about your designs and could listen to you explain every little detail for hours and hours on end.
after the outfit was finished and he attended the event, he refused to work with anyone else. he loved your work and always wanted you involved whenever he needed something designed.
kiku notes: this outfit is literally soooo beautiful and i needed to write a little something about it (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ
while they're on my mind, thinking about michael getting distracted constantly by nanny wearing jeans almost every single day. the way they fit around your curves and especially annunciate your ass when you bend down to pick up a toy has him tipping his head down, looking past his lashes and biting his bottom lip at the view.
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