synopsis: after the death of your mother, you're left drowning in grief until a hidden box reveals a devastating secret she'd kept from you.
warnings: child abuse, child neglect, food deprivation, parantal substance abuse, injury and death of a parent, grief, use of y/n (female reader).
word count: 2.27k
a/n: sorry this took so long to update, i really wanted to finish exams! i hope you guys enjoy ♡
You had been raised to be quiet, only to speak when you were spoken to, to be disciplined, and most importantly, to be perfect.
You and your mother weren't close, but you were always together. Long training sessions, almost 13 hours a day, ensuring you were as graceful as you were elegant on ice. And because of that, you were homeschooled. Your mother, of course, being your strictest and only tutor.
There was no space for mistakes.
And when you did make a mistake, your mother would curse at you and shame you. Frequently telling you, “What do you think your father must be feeling now? In a place like heaven, and he’s looking down at a disappointment like you.”
People around you had always told you how they couldn't stand the cold, but you found it quite comforting.
You were surrounded by the cold for nearly 14 years, forced to find comfort within it.
And stepping on the ice made all your thoughts go away; it was a place where you found inner peace.
Which was ironic.
When you were three, your mother coached you for the first time, and you absolutely hated it. Kicking and screaming, eyes filled with tears. You didn't want to! You had been woken too early for your liking and it was cold.
She harshly grabbed you by the shoulders, which silenced your cries instantly and told you that you would get on the ice or you weren't going to have dinner that night.
It was a frequent occurrence, taking your meals away.
She often told you about her figure skating career, and you've seen the old newspaper clippings in photo albums, you both knew she was at the height of her career when she fell pregnant with you.
And as you grew older, things only got worse. Your mother had gotten obsessed with your body, constant weight checks that resulted in her refusing to feed you (if she had even bothered to buy food) if she wasn't happy.
But all that suddenly stopped.
She wasn't around as much, and you didn’t really see her boyfriend anymore, leaving you 20 dollars to get food and you even got a new coach! (but she wasn't as good as your mom, though…) But you loved it, the freedom of it all, although you were feeling a little guilty inside. You still missed your mother.
And when she was home, she was either drunk or high or both. You helped her as much as you could, giving her some coffee and some food, helping her change into fresh clothes and tucking her into bed.
And in those moments, she actually felt like a mother to you. She asked you how your day was, if you finally got your triple axel or if you were doing well in school, all while speaking in a soft voice you never knew she had in her.
So when she didn't come home for 5 days, that's when you actually started getting worried. You usually saw her every 2 days, or when you didn't see her face-to-face, there was either some money on the kitchen counter or one of her shoes lying around. But there was no sign of her.
You took your phone out of your pocket and, with shaky hands, dialled the Gotham police department’s non-emergency number.
Holding the phone to your ear, the rhythmic ring that seemed to drone on forever, did nothing to ease your worries.
“Gotham Police Department, how may I help you?” The woman's monotone voice answered the phone.
“Um, Hi. I was wondering if you guys maybe have my mom in custody? Her name is Catherine Lebedeva.” You struggle even letting the words leave your mouth, your leg shaking in anticipation.
She stayed quiet, but you could hear her typing on her keyboard.
“No, there's no Catherine in our system.” She said, boredom lacing her voice.
Then, you called the hospital, struggling to even breathe properly as the phone rang.
“Gotham General Hospital, how may I help you?” The woman’s cheery voice came through.
“H-hi, is there a Catherine Lebedeva in your hospital?”
“I’ll check for you, baby,” on the other line, she typed on her keyboard as you walked in circles, trying to calm your nerves.
But that didn’t help in the slightest when you heard her stop typing and her breath hitched, “What?”
“Are you family to her?” she started typing again.
“Y-yes, I’m her daughter,”
“I’m so sorry, baby.”
The next few moments are a blur.
You don’t remember getting in a taxi.
Fatal car accident.
You don’t remember walking into the hospital, your legs guiding the way.
Room 33
Your mom's lucky number.
The scene before you was something you’d never wish upon your worst enemy.
Your mom lay in the hospital bed, the white sheets making her look incredibly small.
Her breathing was shallow as a ventilator stuck out of her mouth, trying its best to bring life back into her lungs.
Ropes of dried blood had rushed down from her hairline, covering her face and matting her hair into dark, heavy clumps.
She looked unrecognisable, far from the high standards she held for herself.
Not being able to look at her any further, you turned your head to wipe your teary eyes, then looked around the room.
The bright fluorescent lights blinded your eyes, the sharp smell of antiseptic hitting your nose as the nurses rushed down the hallway outside your mother's room.
“Y/n?” You turned around to see your mothers on again, off-again boyfriend standing in the doorway, his face pale, exhausted even, an abrasion adorning his temple.
“Luca?” You asked in confusion, “What happened? Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Your vision blurred as tears now threatened to spill out of your eyes, but you swallowed them back.
“Let’s talk outside?” He gestured and walked further into the hallway.
“I’m so sorry I didn’t call you Y/n, but every time I pressed on your contact, I-” He shook his head, “I just couldn’t”
He glanced at you, expecting you to say something, but you stayed silent.
You sat on the cold, metal chairs that lined the hallway, and the silence stretched between the two of you until Luca gained the confidence to speak up.
“Your mother and I were driving back from the diner, and um,” he let out a broken laugh. “She insisted she should drive, and there was a drunk driver,”
And that was all you could listen to before tears blurred your vision again.
An uncontrollable sob escaped your lips.
‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿
It was the sound of blaring monitors and nurses shuffling around that woke you up.
Taking a moment to adjust to the fluorescent lights and to remember where you were, you sat up in the hospital chair and slowly opened your eyes.
You scanned the room until they landed on your mom. She was now awake, the ventilator out of her mouth, propped up in the hospital bed, her eyes treary as she looked at you.
Scrambling up to your feet, you rushed to her bedside, almost tripping, and took her hands in yours.
“Easy, Dochenka,” she smiled softly despite her eyes being teary and her voice hoarse.
“Are you okay?” you asked softly, rubbing small circles in the palm of her left hand.
“Of course,” she affirmed, but her jaw was tight, and her whole body was stiff.
“Mama,” you gave her an expectant look, but she waved your concern off, insisting that she’d be fine.
After a moment of silence, your mom spoke up despite her strained breathing.
“I want to apologise,”
You looked up from her hands, “Mama, you don’t need to apologise-”
“No,” she cut you off, “The way I treated you was unacceptable, and I wish I could make it up to you, but there is no time left for me.”
“What?” Confusion riddled your body.
“The doctors say that I am dying, and I have decided not to fight anymore,” she said simply, as if this wasn’t the most life-changing news ever, as if there wasn’t anything that could be done so that she could live longer.
“Mama, no,” tears filled your eyes, as you shook your head. “No. You can't just- You can’t go. No, you’re lying”
Her breathing became more ragged, and she held both sides of your face, ignoring the again blaring monitors.
“Underneath my bed is a box, and it will explain everything,” she wiped the ever-flowing tears from your eyes, bringing your head closer to hers and gave you a light kiss on the forehead.
“I’m sorry, Dochenka,” she whispered, “But I know that you will achieve great things and I am already so proud of you.” She smiled softly, closing her eyes as she let out her last breath, her hands falling from your face.
You held her in your arms, trying to shake her awake. “Mama, no- this isn’t funny. You have to wake up now. Please? You have to,”
The monitors finally fell silent, barely leaving you and your mother alone until nurses eventually filtered through the room, gently prying you away from her body.
‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿
The next few days passed by in a blur of guilt and grief.
Barely being able to get out of bed, Luca was so incredibly sweet. He brought you food and water, not that you had much of an appetite, and made sure your figure skating coach and ballet teacher were aware that you wouldn’t be attending practice.
The sky had already turned dark when you woke up, laced with fog so thick you could only see the soft glow of the streetlights outside.
Slowly getting out of bed, your legs shook slightly as you walked out of your room and into the hallway.
The house was dark, the soft hum of the fridge filling the silence.
Looking at your mother's room, you took a deep breath, deciding to finally go in and see what’s inside the box.
Her room smelt faintly like her favourite cherry perfume, messy with clothes and cigarette packets littering the floor.
You closed your eyes for a moment, taking in her scent before shaking your head.
You bent down, reaching underneath her bed to carefully grab the box.
You sat on the bed and took a deep breath before opening the box.
Inside was a letter with your name on the front, another letter with a B on the front and a small velvet box among other things.
Dear Y/n, My only Dochenka,
If you are reading this, I’ve already crossed the bridge to the afterlife.
I’ve seen you grow up from this small, premature baby to the beautiful young girl you are now, and I’m grateful to be your mother.
There are many things I wish I could change while raising you, but I might have realised this far too late, and I could only hope for your forgiveness.
I have also been lying to you.
Your father is not dead.
While he is dead to me, I now understand how selfish that was of me.
His name is Bruce Wyne-
“You’ve got to be kidding me,”
-and if you’d like to get in contact with him, please call my lawyer.
In the velvet box is a necklace that has been in my family for generations.
If you do not wish to wear it, I hope you will still keep it safe.
I’ll forever love you,
Your mama.
You stared at the letter for a few minutes, your mind racing a thousand miles per hour.
Your father isn’t dead. He’s freaking Bruce Wayne.
The billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.
The one that just collects children for fun.
There’s no way you’re gonna contact him, much less stay with him.
But why would your mother lie about that?
Why is he dead to her?
Did he not want to be your father?
But that doesn’t make any sense.
After folding the letter back in its original state and placing it back in the box, you reached for the black velvet box, caressing the material slightly before opening it.
The necklace had a golden link chain, connected to a vintage-style gold metal cap. The cap has swirling, elegant patterns and a fan-shaped motif, right where it meets the base of the necklace.
The base was an iridescent, oval shell that shimmered with silver, green and pink tones. The front of the shell was smooth, whereas the back hid a detailed golden mermaid inside, with long hair and a curved, scaled tail.
The mermaid looked familiar, like something you saw in a dream, and her wavy hair reminded you of your mom.
Smiling softly, you decided to put it on.
As you tried clipping the necklace, a whining moew sounded from your mother's door.
You slightly turned your head, seeing your rescue Bengal cat that Luca gifted you for your birthday last year.
He made his way to you, letting out an irritated meow as you finally finished clipping the necklace in place.
“You must be hungry, huh, Raja?” cooing, you scratched underneath his chin, and he nuzzled his face further into your hand.
You stood up, taking Raja in your arms as you went to the kitchen.
Raja kept nuzzling your leg, demanding attention.
You tried turning your full attention to him, but you couldn’t help but think, your father is alive, and he’s Bruce freaking Wayne.
And somehow, learning your mother lied to you about your father’s death when she once used it against you, hurt almost as much as losing her.
Tags: First Kiss, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Protective Jason Todd, ? kinda, Reader-Insert, Female Reader-Insert, spiderman kiss, yes I did that cliche, no beta we die like jason, Jason Todd is Built Like A Tank, Mask Stays On, the mask chat stays ON, low-key the kiss is lewd asf, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Masks, Civilian Reader-Insert, Blood and Violence
Summary: He didn’t turn to look at you. “... will I ever see you again?” You find yourself meekly asking.
A ghost of a smile crosses your face. “God, I hope so.” And like that, he was gone. Into the night.
or, spiderman kiss trope..
⊹ ₊ ݁.
You were forced behind him by the red clad individual. You yelped and threw your hands over your head as gunshots keeled into the dark night. You trembled as you descended to the ground– heart pummeling in your temples as you feared what would come next…
Nothing. Nothing came, you peaked behind the armored leg that had been shielding you from the onslaught– muggers. Muggers had come at you on your originally innocent walk home from work. You were done for, for sure– but before hands could find you, a figure built like a fucking tank had jumped from the rooftops. You assailants were fleeing, the gunshots hadn't landed on them from what you could tell, somehow you were relieved.
A strong hand was grabbing you by your bicep and pulling you into a standing position. You breathed heavily against the brick wall, your hands still gripping his jacket.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” A voice crackled through the mic in his helmet. Red Hood. You registered him as the violent vigilante the news painted him to be. But he didn’t seem too bad as he checked you over for any injuries. Despite your lack of answer, he seemed content in finding you uninjured. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and used gentle leather-clad hands to pry his jacket out of your white-knuckled grip.
The lilt in your voice came as the nerves calmed enough for you to find it. “Wait!” You would call after him breathlessly, voice catching roughly in your throat as you watch the dark figure ascend the fire escape. Adrenaline still high, blood still pulsing in your ears, you stumble after him.
In the shadows of the back of the alley, you saw the crimson glint of his helmet as he paused at your urgent tone. Your knees still shaking from the attack you leaned against the wall as you made your way to the fire escape, far over your head.
“You saved me, surely I could do something in return? I don’t have much money but..” You started to scramble for your bag, fingers shaking roughly, either from adrenaline rush or from the chill autumn night. You didn’t care.
“No.” He would say bluntly, causing you to still, leaning his hip on the fire escape railing, his red helm catching the gleam of the moon as he looked down at you. “There is no need.”
You would blink at him, not wanting to take no as an answer, surely there was some sort of hospitality you could offer in… wow he was really staring at you. You were grateful for the darkness because there was a definite heat flushing over your neck while being studied.
“Well…” You would let out a shaky nervous laugh, shifting awkwardly on your feet. “I would've been another Gotham News horror story if it wasn't for you… so… thanks.” You smirk and run a hand across your warm brow, “I really am thankful, could kiss you right now I’m seriously grateful-–.” You flushed at your rambling and quickly looked down at your feet.
“Oh, really?” The masked vigilante definitely had a smirk in his voice as he leaned over the railing, pulling himself over the side with surprising ease for his hulking figure, hooking his legs on the metal until his face was even with yours. He crossed his arms, red helm staring at you– you were sure an eyebrow was raised under the mask. He chuckled, something rough from disuse and husky. “I wouldn’t mind, doll,” your heart leaped at his flirtatious tone, “but you don’t need to offer me anything.”
Your breath had started to slow, but you gapped at the closeness– your breath white and bated in the night chill. You had been joking, of course, but as your eyes flickered across his form dangling in front of you– as you remembered how effortlessly he had taken out your assailants, you found the thought of his lips on yours more appetizing than you would ever admit.
You flashed your tongue across your dry lips, feeling his eyes on them. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t mind.” You reached a shaking finger up to dance across the smooth metal of his mask. Before it made contact, a larger gloved one shot to engulf yours– firm, but gentle enough to not cause you harm.
You were not going to make the effort to take off his mask, but his caution was warranted. You moved your trapped hand to twine your fingers with his own, carefully, tenderly– as if to not spook him. You smiled softly, reaching your other hand to cup the metal helm. The once confident vigilante didn’t have a single word on his lips, stilled and waiting for your next move.
You lean forward, lips parallel to where you could guess his lips probably were under his red mask. Your breath fogged against the metal, your lips parted slightly as you closed the gap. Hand moving to cup his chin, you felt his free hand reach to cup your own. Your lips were shocked at the chill from the metal, but you still pressed your lips into a peck against the mask. You felt the leather of his gloves firm against your chin, his other hand tightening slightly on where you were intertwined. For such a silly and simple gesture, the indirect kiss felt surprisingly… intimate.
After a pregnant pause, you lean back. Your hand on his chin had at some point lowered to his cheek, he was leaning into the touch as if he could feel it through the mask. You gave him a lop-sided grin, looking at him through your eyelashes.
“Was that everything you hoped and dreamed for, Red?”
Another pause, his hand on your chin drifted to the hand you had on his face. He grunted, “No, ma’am.” He would say throatily, voice dropping. He guided the hands both to his chin, you felt a release against his helm, and with some extra urging– you pressed the release.
A sharp hiss as vents opened and you watched as the mask loosened around his lower face. Remembering how strict heroes were with ‘identities’ and such, you were quick to close your eyes. You relied on your other senses instead as your heart hammered in your ears. Gloved hands guided you to the helm again as you realized he wanted you to hold it. You paused, he wanted his identity in the hands of a girl he just met? Not that you planned to reveal him– you considered the weight of this moment.
Or maybe the Red Hood just got around a lot.
You decided to not dwell on it.
Gloved hands were back on your face, one on your cheek and the other snaking into your hair. You froze, breath baited as you anticipated what came next– your tongue wetting your lips again in a nervous way. The moment you were prepared for never came, and you shifted your weight nervously. Finally, his rough voice cut into the cool night, hesitant and unsure. The soft request was almost unheard, but you smiled delicately at it when you did.
“May I kiss you? ” He had asked, voice catching as he cleared it awkwardly.
You felt his hand on your chin shake as he waited for your permission. The request was enough to make you want to kiss him more. Briefly, you wondered at how you had gotten into this mess in the first place, but found you were grateful as you closed the gap, not giving yourself time to back out.
The hand he had in your hair quickly tightened as your lips met. The kiss started out chaste and light as you blindly sought his lips. Surface level kisses as you both found your footing. His were chapped and rough against your wetted soft ones. You felt a scar that went ragged from his chin to his cupid’s bow, a smile playing across your mouth as you mapped out his lower half with your lips. He grunted at the awkwardness of your blindness– using the hand holding your jaw he navigated your needy mouth to his own.
He tasted faintly of cigarettes, and, despite his rough persona, he met your lips with a gentleness that made you melt. Caressing your lips like they were fragile and prone to break. It was a hesitant intimacy, he didn’t want to cross any boundaries and it was apparent. You deepened the kiss, hoping to get the point across– you wanted him.
He made a sound you could only describe as a moan against your lips– teeth scraping yours as he pulled you in closer.
You leaned back to catch your breath, only to chuckle as his lips eagerly followed his retreating ones, “Hold on Red, I gotta breathe, babe.” He was so meek about it a second ago. But as you fought the blush, his now wet lips peppered across lips as you panted for air, stubble scratching against your chin. Well, if you passed out from lack of air– perhaps this was a good way to go. You dived back in.
He kissed you hungrily, deep against your lips he was generous with the sounds he voiced. Teeth tender yet ardently played with your bottom lip, his tongue lapping at your own. Like a starved man he devoured your eager lips faithfully. He worshipped your mouth with his own, praising your taste vocally . The tenderness was there, but masked with the hunger of a beast.
At some point, your hands let go of the mask to pull him in deeper from the leather jacket he had on. His tongue danced across yours and you found you didn’t want to let go– maybe you should get mugged more often, if it brought shy heroes to your lips.
His swollen lips pressed a final wet kiss to yours, the eager roughness gone and replaced by the softness from the beginning. Your eyes were still closed as you panted and leaned against his still dangling body, withholding a moan of disappointment as he withdrew from you completely.
His helmet hissed and was back on his face, but you still stayed with your eyes closed, reliving the moment with a blush across your face. You only looked up as you realized the moment himself was already retreating up the fire escape.
“Wait!” You called out to him for the second moment of the night. Breathless and legs shaking for a different reason. You see the red glint as the man paused at your words. He didn’t turn to look at you. “...will I ever see you again?” You find yourself meekly asking.
A soft raspy chuckle left the vigilante, you flickered your eyes down to him adjusting his pants. A ghost of a smile crosses your face. “God, I hope so.” And like that, he was gone. Into the night.
You blinked. And then you blinked again. Wow. You turned and began the walk home, gripping your bag and trying not to freak out at the freaked out session you just had with the dreaded Red Hood. The killer that served justice with his own code, who definitely wasn’t moaning hotly as fuck into your mouth moments prior. What.
You didn’t find yourself as nervous on the walk home, that same smile across your face again– as you noticed a glimmer of red on the roof tops. Ah, so Red was tailing after you on his patrol, keeping an eye on you. Returning you safely home.
As you closed your door behind you, you briefly considered leaving your window unlocked and– you fought that same blush from before. Nope. No you were not going to do that.
Your eyes flickered to your window facing the fire escape, dark thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.
i saw a post earlier about you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love being literally so jason coded and now i cannot stop wanting to write a series where each track is a chapter. and it's just storytelling based on the lyrics. so far i only have the first sentence aka "gotham city never looked so blue" :))
it fits so bittersweetly with a childhood friends to lovers dynamic. reader is just so happy that her jason is back, she wants him back in her life in any capacity he's okay with. and they slowly both fall in love as adults.
but oh, the profoundly sad child he is :( oh the exhausting amount of reassurance he requires but would never voice. he'd rather die inside and feel like an unwanted burden. and how he feels like a puppy left abandoned in a cardboard box in rain whenever you go away :(( but he's so so so in love, sometimes he feels like his heart's going to explode from happiness but the lows, oh my gosh, the lows. and you're such a sweetheart, everyone adores you, the people surrounding you are so cool, and happy and normal and he sticks out like a sore thumb. and he's just so weird, he wants to show up for you, he wants to be a part of your life; but he doesn't want to drive away the people that make you feel so happy with his morbidness.
can we PLEASE NOT NORMALISE STEP SIBLING SMUT GUYS PLEASE WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN
Edit: to people in the comments saying don’t like don’t read, fair enough I don’t but genuinely why do you enjoy reading about incest? Don’t like don’t read? Don’t read my post then 🤷♀️
warnings: fluff, domestic comfort, a tiny bit of angst (he's tired, he's always tired)
word count: ~900
a/n: just a little thing that wouldn't leave my brain. he deserves so much rest and someone who notices. okay bye
it's past two in the morning when you hear the window slide open.
you don't startle anymore. you stopped doing that months ago, somewhere around the time you accepted that this was just him — the scrape of the frame, the soft thud of boots hitting the floor, the careful way he moves through the dark like he's afraid of taking up too much space.
you're still half-awake on the couch, a book open on your chest that you stopped reading an hour ago.
"hey," you say.
a pause. like he hadn't expected you.
"hey." his voice is rough around the edges, the way it always is after a long night. you hear him set something down — his gear, probably — and then the lamp clicks on, warm and low, and there he is.
he looks exhausted.
not just tired. exhausted. the kind that lives behind the eyes and doesn't go away after one good night's sleep.
"you waited up," he says. it's not quite a question.
"i fell asleep and then un-fell asleep." you close the book. "how bad was it?"
he rolls his shoulders in that practiced way that means i'm not going to tell you everything but i'm not going to lie to you either.
"manageable," he settles on.
you nod. you've learned not to push. you've also learned that manageable from dick grayson usually means he took three hits he didn't have to take because he was too busy making sure everyone else got out first.
"sit down," you say. "you're doing that thing where you stand in the middle of a room like you're not sure you're allowed to be in it."
something in his face shifts. it always does when you catch him doing that — when you name the thing he thought he was hiding. he moves toward you, and you swing your legs off the couch to make room, and he sits down heavy, like he's been holding himself up by sheer force of will all night and you've just given him permission to stop.
you don't say anything for a minute. neither does he.
then you reach over and push the hair back from his forehead, just gently, just once, and he closes his eyes.
"i keep thinking," he starts.
"you can tell me," you say, "or you don't have to. either one is okay."
he opens his eyes and looks at you. and god, the way dick grayson looks at people — it's a lot, it's always been a lot, like he's trying to memorize you in case you disappear. bruce wayne raised a kid who learned very early that the people he loved had a habit of going away.
you think about that sometimes. how much courage it takes for him to love anything at all.
"i just—" he stops. tries again. "i don't know if i'm doing it right. any of it."
"being nightwing?"
"being this." he gestures vaguely between the two of you, and your heart does something complicated.
"dick."
"i'm serious. i'm gone half the time. i come back and you're asleep on the couch because you stayed up worrying and i can't even—"
"hey." you put your hand over his. "look at me."
he does.
"i'm not staying up because i'm worried," you say. a small lie. a kind one. "i'm staying up because when you come home, i like to be here. that's a choice i make. nobody's making me make it."
he stares at you.
"you're not too much," you say, because you know that's the real question underneath all the other questions. "you're not hard to love. you're actually incredibly easy to love, and i think you've been told otherwise for so long that you don't know what to do with someone who means it."
the silence stretches out, soft and full.
then he leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, and you feel some of the tension go out of his shoulders, slow as a tide going out.
"i mean it," you say, quieter now.
"i know," he says. "i'm starting to."
you stay like that for a while. the lamp hums. somewhere outside a car passes. his breathing evens out.
"come to bed," you say eventually.
"yeah." he doesn't move for another moment, like he's storing this up. then: "yeah, okay."
you turn off the lamp.
in the dark he finds your hand, and he holds it, and you let him.
he's going to be fine, you think.
he already is, mostly.
he just needs someone to keep reminding him.
[reblogs are deeply appreciated. likes are nice but they don't spread the fic 🥺 also if you want to be added to my taglist just let me know]
and friendly reminder that Michael’s doctor LET HIM DIE. he waited to call an ambulance 20 minutes to an hour AFTER Michael was unresponsive. he didn’t die of an overdose or cardiac arrest, he was murdered. even though today is a sad day for a lot of us, for some it’s also a day to be angry. rest in peace.
rest in peace to this beautiful soul. the world didn’t deserve you. let’s all remind ourselves that despite this tragedy, he spent his last day doing what he loved most.
Michael proposes to you while on one of his weekend vacations he loved to take you on. Only this weekend, he chose somewhere special. He told you to dress up, do your nails, etc. Obviously, you suspected what he was going to do, but definitely did not expect him to deliver it the way he did.
Warnings - None! Just fluff (boring ik)
────୨ৎ────
Santa Monica bay has been your favorite place since you were a little girl. When your big sister took you for the first time after both of your parents divorced, you absolutely fell in love with it. It was your one escape from the life you no longer wanted.
Ever since you were in elementary school, you always wished your life was different. You hated switching between your parents house every week, so you opted to stay with your older sister, who you absolutely adored.
She was like a mom to you; always there when you need her. But things change, as they do. She moved away with her family and left you behind. Thankfully, that’s around the time you met Michael.
You were 21 when you started dating the pop star. You were both adventurous and all-loving, which made things perfect. You fell in love, and now you moved in with him. He lived on the more quiet side of California with his brothers and his parents. He said he’d move out when he was ready, but he was still so young; only had one album released at the time.
Things had been tough without your sister, to say the least, but Michael cheered you up. So when he asked if you wanted to go on a little vacation in the upcoming weekend, you practically yelled “Yes!!”
And just like that, you were both driving to a place that was so familiar. You had always told Michael about the stories and memories you and your sister shared growing up, which made him very fond of the bond you had. He booked a hotel not too far from the beach, and booked a seat at an expensive restaurant.
Around 7pm on a hot summer night, Michael took you for a walk along the shore. You hummed softly as your toes sunk into the wet sand.
This was your place. and he knew that.
You looked out along the ocean, now dimly sparkling as the sun set behind the waves. Michael tugged your hand gently.
“Lovely,
He said so softly, you could barely hear him. He looked nervous, but excited at the same time. He stopped infront of you.
Your heart started racing, looking at him as he slowly got onto one knee infront of you. You felt your throat tighten and your eyes watering, threatening to burst.
“I love you. I love you more than anyone i’ve ever loved before. You hold a very special place in my heart that nothing else could fill but you. I took you here because the love you share deserves to be shown back to you; and that’s what I hope to do for the rest of our lives.”
You felt your heart physically expand with love in your chest. His curly hair was being blown softly by the wind, his soft and nervous smile painted his face so beautifully.
“I love you, (Name) Will you marry me?”
You immediately start sobbing, nodding as tears flowed down your cheeks. You stick your hand out for him to slide the gorgeous ring on your finger. He doesn’t even fully stand up before you jump into his arms, holding him as tightly as you could.
You open your eyes to see a person walking down the boardwalk and onto the beach; your older sister walking with a smile on her face. You gasp in shock, running to her and hugging her.
Michael laughed, watching his beautiful girl cry in happiness.
────୨ৎ────
Later that night at the hotel, you couldn’t stop talking about the day. How beautiful the weather was, the ring, oh goodness the ring and how perfect it was! And your sister, and how amazed she was with everything Michael had done for her.
She sat down beside him, looking at him as she started to tear up again. “I can’t thank you enough..”
He cut her off. “I love you. You do not have to thank me for anything.”
“I can’t wait to marry you” You sob as you hug him tightly.
pairing: jaafar jackson x fem!reader, slow burn, right person-wrong time, wedding!au
summary: At her best friend's extravagant five-day Pakistani wedding, Y/N wasn't expecting to find a connection of her own. But when she meets Jaafar, an up-and-coming actor escaping the pressures of his everyday life, an unexpected friendship begins to bloom—until a hidden truth changes everything.
word count: 2.9k
a/n: given the opportunity to express the beauty of Pakistani culture (esp wedding culture), I will take it every time. I’m Pakistani-American, so it’s a great way to introduce this world to people who aren’t familiar with it. That said, the wedding details I’m writing about are based on my personal experiences with Pakistani weddings and don’t reflect everyone's way of doing things. I just wanted to write about one of my favorite seasons with one of my favorite guys hehe. I hope you enjoy it!
Tonight started out as another evening for Y/N. Leaving her design studio, she undid the umbrella after seeing the drizzle paint her office windows. Parka-clad, she got to her car and drove a short 10 minutes to her apartment. She stopped at her mailbox inside the complex and greeted the neighbors she always catches in the hallway, with tired eyes but a wide smile. She set the mail down on her dining table, kicked off her boots, and trudged to her bathroom to shower and change into a comfortable pair of pajamas. Everything until this point was routine.
She stood in her kitchen now, deciding between heating up the leftover broccoli soup she had made earlier that week or calling in takeout from the Chinese place down the street, when her eyes met the large pile of mail on her table. Shutting her eyes, throwing her head back, and letting out a large groan, she makes her way to the intimidating mountain of paper, sitting in front of it. She started organizing it into smaller, more manageable piles: bills, promotional letters for candidates running for office, and other pieces of mail that she’d likely read over once and toss out, the occasional coupons for a discounted dental cleaning, and her hands stopped when her gaze landed on several beige envelopes, with her name written intricately on the fronts. “These must be Arzoo’s wedding cards,” she thinks aloud.
Arzoo, her best friend in the whole world, was someone she met when she was just in high school. After her father’s passing, Y/N and her mother moved to a new neighborhood, which meant she had to switch schools. Then she met Arzoo in one of her classes, and when they discovered the similarities in their schedules, they became inseparable. It was no surprise that when it came time to select colleges, the two girls chose to apply to the same schools. It was even better when they both got into the same school, albeit for different fields of study. Arzoo went for education, and Y/N for architecture.
It was during their sophomore year of schooling that Y/N received the tragic call that her mother was brutally injured in a car crash. Just a few days later, Y/N was all alone. This became a very dark time in her life: not only was she an only child, but they didn’t have much family- some people did reach out after hearing about her mother’s passing, but everyone was so busy in their lives, they never carved out time to actually see if Y/N was doing okay.
But the light at the end of that tunnel was Arzoo and her family. They were affluent, so much so that with the help of the lawyers, they were able to cover the rest of Y/N’s college funding. She was eternally grateful to them, and they would only say one thing, “you were our daughter’s pride and joy for many years, that makes you family now- and family doesn’t say thank you. You’re our daughter, just like Arzoo.”
They had quickly assimilated Y/N into their family events: Arzoo was Pakistani, and that meant that their holidays, weddings, or just a random weekend brunch could consist of many people. Not only did she mesh well with this newfound family, but she also taught her everything and anything about Pakistani culture. Slowly, family photos that Y/N used to take for them started including her, and that was how Y/N morphed into becoming an honorary member of Arzoo’s family.
When Y/N got the job offer from a large interior design firm in Seattle, she was hesitant to move from her hometown of Atlanta, away from the comfort of her daily life, away from her well-established community, and most importantly, Arzoo and her family. However, Arzoo and her parents were insistent that Y/N must take the job. She was getting the chance of a lifetime to move ahead in her career. “This is huge, Y/N,” she remembered her saying. She was scared of big changes- who wasn’t? With the support of Arzoo, she ended up accepting the position, and just a few weeks later, she was welcomed into Seattle by a wonderful team. The job was great in the beginning, but Y/N had a habit of being a perfectionist, which cost her a lot of peace, and things that she wanted to enjoy became clouded by pressure to be seamless.
It was during her transition into working in Seattle that Arzoo mentioned to Y/N on a phone call that she’d met Saad: a friend of a friend, at someone’s wedding. Arzoo was gushing over the fact that the moment was perfect in terms of Bollywood standards. It still makes Y/N laugh when she thinks about it. Fast forward a couple of months, and Arzoo called again, saying she’s getting engaged. While the timeline was faster than Y/N had imagined, she knew how Arzoo and her family were. When Arzoo had her heart set on something, she’d pursue it as fast as she could: Y/N had gotten to speak to Saad over the phone a couple of times, and when she did, she couldn’t really see anyone complement Arzoo quite as well.
Unfortunately, the engagement coincided with a really big job for a big client in town. As much as Y/N wanted to make it, her supervisor left her no wiggle room. Y/N felt incredibly guilty, crying to Arzoo on the phone. “I’m so sorry, Arzoo, but I can’t make it. I feel awful.”
Arzoo consoled her, her voice blaring on the speaker phone. “Don’t you dare apologize! I understand completely! Listen, as soon as I have the wedding dates confirmed, I’ll send them to you so you can book that week off.” Absolutely, that’s the best way to make it up to her, Y/N thought. “Your wish is my command, Ms. Bride,” Y/N laughed sadly into the phone.
Fast forward to the present day: Y/N knew of the dates before these invitations arrived. She’d taken the liberty of putting in her PTO for that week- her supervisor, who’d noted how hard she’d been working, signed off on it without hesitation. “Take it easy, okay, Y/N? You’ve been at it hard since you got here. Give yourself a well-deserved break,” he’d told her, and she shot him a grateful smile, “thank you, I definitely will!” She picked up your phone to call Arzoo, and on the first ring, she picked up. “Hello?”
“Arzoo! Your wedding invites are here! I haven’t opened them yet,” Y/N set her phone down on the table and turned on the speaker. She starts to open up the wax seal, revealing a dark green and gold-patterned card that matches the interior of the envelope beautifully. “How does it look? We never kept any of the invites, so I don’t remember if they’re navy blue or green!” Her voice blared from the phone, and you laughed. “It’s green, and absolutely stunning!”
Arzoo squeals, “I’m so excited that you’ll be here for the whole week! We’re going to have a blast! Okay, did you go shopping for clothes already? Don’t buy the outfit for the mehndi, I have yours here! You know the wedding’s two weeks away, right?”
“Don’t worry, Arzoo. I’ve gotten everything taken care of. I’ve got some places here in Seattle I’m going to shop at, so I’m set. I don’t want you to stress out over this; you’ve got a million other things to go after. I’m so excited to see you again, and this is going to be so much fun,” Y/N remembers the many conversations she and Arzoo had about the amount of detail put into Pakistani weddings. When Arzoo’s cousins or her brother were getting married too, Y/N naturally became a part of these weddings, and with Arzoo’s help at the time, she learned about all the different events, the types of clothes to wear, and was a part of some of the choreographed dances (even with her two left feet, she pulled it off).
Arzoo’s deep exhale is heard from the other end of the line, “I’m so excited, but I’m kind of nervous. This is a big thing, Y/N. I just want everything to go smoothly.” Y/N hears the pout in her voice and begins to console her, “and it will. You just need to think about having a good time. Everyone else will take care of anything, okay?” Arzoo giggles, “You always know what to say. And hey, who knows, maybe one of Saad’s friends is single? I’d wish that in a heartbeat if it meant you’d stop going on those weird dates with the guys from the dating apps.”
“Arzoo.”
“What? Then, you can have your own meet-cute! Can’t I wish good on my best friend?”
Y/N rolls her eyes and laughs, and her eyes fall on the clock on the wall. “Okay, I’m gonna let you go, Arzoo. Don’t worry about me or my outfits or anything, you’ve trained me well enough to know what to get.”
“Alright, sweets. Send me your itinerary and Baba, and I will be there to pick you up. I love you, I’ll talk to you soon!” With that, Arzoo disconnected the call. Stomach growling,
Y/N considers opting for the broccoli soup. After all, if she’s going wedding shopping, she is going to need to budget for these extravagant outfits.
Somewhere in Encino, Jaafar stood in a room lined with mirrors, breathing hard after another run-through of a dance sequence. The furniture had long since been pushed to the edges to make room for rehearsals, and despite spending hours on the choreography, he still wasn't satisfied.
Playing Michael Jackson in the upcoming biopic Michael came with enough pressure on its own. Being Michael's nephew only magnified it. The good news was that the movie was about 90% finished, and now that he was at the tail end of production, he had something to look forward to: Saad’s wedding. Saad and Jaafar knew each other for many years, being introduced to one another through mutual friends.
He’d been around Pakistani people before; in fact, some of his closest friends were Pakistani. He’d had his share of exposure to the culture, but to be a part of a wedding, regardless of background, was always something he enjoyed. Could he have said the same thing about his own situation? That’s where the page went blank.
Jaafar and his longtime partner of 10 years, Maddie, were engaged. While the beginning of the time they spent together was nothing short of a fairytale, as time went on and they got closer and closer, the natural question that arose inside many people’s minds when they met Jaafar and Maddie was, ‘When are you putting a ring on it, Jaafar?’ At first, his eyes would go wide, and he’d bashfully laugh off the comment, while Maddie would laugh along with him, saying ‘all in due time’ as a response. Over time, though, the latter part would change into a shrug, then a curious look from Maddie. Almost like she was waiting for his answer to that question. So, one day, he did it: he proposed. And she said yes.
Since the beginning of filming Michael, Jaafar had taken it upon himself to be the best and, honestly, only candidate the producers and director saw fit to play his uncle to a tee. Due to this immense pressure, Jaafar would practice for hours at a time, singing, dancing, making sure he got the mannerisms down just right. The result of this was a tired Jaafar making his way home for the night, running on fumes and feet blistered from the constant strenuous dances. This put Jaafar in a rocky place with Maddie; while she took on the task of arranging most of the wedding planning to take the load off of Jaafar’s shoulders, there were several moments where her attempts at making him feel included were beginning to burn him out further. Moments where he just wanted a moment of peace to himself after a long day would shatter when Maddie came in, discussing all the things she’d worked on that day, and asking what he thought.
At first, Jaafar would conjure up enough energy to still offer some form of an opinion, but if there was something that they happened to disagree on, Maddie would either silently move on to the next subtopic or try to convince him that what she was thinking worked better. He learned quickly that maybe silence to her questions was a smoother way for him to get that moment of quiet that he wanted to unwind after a long day.
This wasn’t fair to Maddie, he knew that. She brought up her frustrations with him many times these past couple of months, where arguments led to Jaafar opting to sleep on the couch and Maddie in the bedroom with the door shut. Eventually, in the morning, she’d wake up to a coffee pot with a sticky note that said ‘sorry’ next to it. That’s all the interactions they’d been having recently. Jaafar doesn’t remember the last time he and Maddie did something fun, couple-y, where the two of them could come back to where they once were. That was because of the demanding work schedule he had, and right now his main priority was to finish the movie, no matter what lengths he needed to go.
Today had been just like any other for Jaafar, too. He came home in the early hours of the morning and once again found Maddie asleep on the couch of his shared apartment, the TV playing some odd commercials like they normally do during this time. At the sound of the door and the keys hitting the counter, Maddie blinked her eyes, rubbing them, then stretched her arms out. “Hey,” she started, yawning while she reached for her laptop. Jaafar tiredly mumbled back, “Hey.”
“How was the shoot today?”
Jaafar shrugged, tucking his shoes into a corner, running a hand through his curls. “It was good. I did the whole Beat It routine; we shot it today. I think that’s the last big dance sequence we have in the movie.” Maddie turned to face him, setting the laptop down to give him a couple of claps. “Good for you! I knew you could do it!” He heard the encouragement in her voice, which caused him to give her a small smile. “Thank you. I’m so tired, though. I think I’m just gonna shower and go to bed.” Maddie’s smile faltered. “Are you not going to eat dinner?”
“No, I had a quick bite after shooting with some of the crew.” It was true- to celebrate the end of the dance sequences, some of the dancers invited Jaafar out for dinner. He didn’t want to turn them down- it was quite the opposite, actually. He hadn’t spent much time with the team outside of training, practicing, and shooting the movie. It was a nice change.
“I was hoping we could talk a little about the wedding,” Maddie started, reaching for her laptop again, and Jaafar fell silent. Like most nights as of recent, the last thing he wanted was to occupy himself with wedding stuff. “I’m sure whatever you’ve decided will be fine,” Jaafar says under his breath, but Maddie does hear him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just… too tired to think about this right now,” Jaafar’s eyes fell on the envelope addressed to him, and curiously, he picked it up and began to open it. “Just go ahead and choose something, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Maddie scoffed, “I’m not getting married alone, Jaafar. Your input is just as important as mine.” Jaafar doesn’t realize that he’s not listening because he’s focused on the wedding invites that have come out of the envelope addressed to him: it’s for Saad’s wedding. Jaafar didn’t know his friendship with Saad would escalate to the point where he’d be invited to his wedding, but that’s the kind of genuine person Saad was. He should call him and thank him for the invite, but should he go?
“Jaafar! Are you even listening?” Maddie’s voice rings him out of his thoughts. “Huh, yeah, sorry.” Maddie sighed, pinching her nose bridge. “Just go, I’ll talk to you about it later.” Jaafar felt like part of him should’ve fought it out, let Maddie talk about it a little more. But a bigger part of him was ready to call it quits for the night. With a small nod, averting his gaze, he walked away, with Maddie quietly following his movement into the bedroom.
After showering and getting into bed, Jaafar was turned over to one side, still thinking about the wedding invitation. If he was invited, was Maddie also coming? If he offered her to join him, she’d come in a heartbeat. As scary as it sounded, Jaafar was flirting with the idea of maybe not asking her to come. How would Maddie react to that?
Maddie came into the room, heading to freshen up before getting under the covers, next to Jaafar. “Good night, babe,” Maddie tells him, and Jaafar is not asleep yet. He feels it’s the next step to turn and offer her a good night peck, so he does-, but he’s painfully aware of how performative it feels, and he falls asleep with a frown on his face.
everybody too focused on acting righteous that they didn’t even notice that we have Jermajesty crumbs during the making of Michael…oh but i noticed😋 that’s MY dada
