mila

just a girl who don't play about michael j. jackson 🤍 requests are open !

[king-mila]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝜗ৎ⠀⠀⠀raised on rhythm, inspired by grace⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀.⠀⠀twenty-seven.⠀⠀jackson enthusiast.⠀⠀black.⠀⠀masterlists.⠀⠀bambi's dreamer.⠀⠀maree's muse.⠀⠀𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒓. requests are open. make sure you follow the rules.

𐙚 written by @king-mila © do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

[angelofmikes]

jacksons!michaeljackson x fangirl!reader

synopsis. you gift michael a stuffed animal during one of his chance public appearances.

wc. 470

tags. fluff. flirtatious!michael. flustered!reader. unprompted kiss. hayvenhurst. fall season (if you squint). no y/n. bill bray mention (my father-in-law!). no specified reader complexion/features (besides nails). walt disney's bambi. 1970s (at least 1976, so he's 18+). encino, ca. use of pet name mama (once).

mims yaps. it's about time that i posted something new! sorry it took so long. i'm going through a rough patch w my writing (who am i kidding—life in general actually 😭). anywho, i just recently had this idea and jumped on it immediately. surprised myself that i stuck w it! it was supposed to be a short drabble but evolved a little. it's short though. does this still count as a drabble in tumblr's eyes?

also, for some reason i wrote this with fall in mind... perhaps because i've been thinking about fall a lot today. idk. silk press season. my birthday. school back in session. yk. regardless, enjoyy! and if you would, disregard any errors. probably missed them in my impatience and eagerness to post this. also, i should note that i prefer not giving the reader a specific outfit or features, but i did with this one (just reader's jacket and nails, but still).

Pushing through the flock of fangirls and boys, you advance towards the front. The darkly stained, wooden buttons of your faded, dusty-raspberry-pink corduroy jacket were fastened, keeping close the heat your body exuded. In your manicured hands, a felt plush of Walt Disney’s Bambi is clutched tight, the length of your natural nails digging into the smooth, resistant material.

In front of Hayvenhurst, Michael’s stalling vehicle was surrounded by various individuals—mostly young ladies—the window agape beside the backseat in which he sat. A pale pink, cotton button up covered his torso and arms, tucked into a pair of denim jeans that trailed down to his dress shoes—worn, but polished nonetheless. The first few buttons of his shirt were left undone, his engraved heart locket nestled in the exposed space of smooth, chocolate skin.

As you make it to the forefront, you call out, “Michael! Can I give you something? Please?” His gaze flicks over to you, baby-doll eyes fixed on yours before taking a quick detour up and down the expanse of your figure. “Of course, mama.” He smiles shyly, teeth sinking into the supple flesh of his lower lip, reaching his right arm out. You hand him the Bambi merchandise, fingers brushing one another’s. “I bought it 'cause it reminded me of you, but I wan' you t'have it.” You explain, an instinctive smile seizing your lips.

Your pulse flutters rapidly in the side of your neck, like the wings of the butterflies inhabiting your stomach. You feel your breath shorten as his smile evolves into a grin, his entire face lit up—so much so, that in the eyes of those around him, there's no longer a need for the sun to break from its cloudy concealment. “Oh, thank you! You’re too kind. ‘S very cute—like you.” Michael chuckles, leaning towards you with the plush clutched against his abdomen. “Gimme a kiss?” He queries, though you’re already tilting in to meet him.

You anticipate a mutual kiss on the cheek, but are pleasantly and unbelievably surprised when your lips meet the plush of his in the softest, shortest exchange. You would have lingered, had the other girls not been pulling you back—some jealous, others excited for you. “Be gentle!” He chides them on your behalf, as a chorus of complaints and requests for his affection arise.

“Sorry.” He apologizes for subjecting you to the girls’ enthusiasm with a chortle and equally sheepish grimace, rolling up the window. “‘M sorry I gotta go now, but thanks for tha deer! Disney’s my favorite!” He expresses, quickly adding, “‘N I love your hair!”, before the glass division is fully up.

You stand speechless with an impossibly warm, fuzzy feeling, as Michael’s driver, Bill, pulls off while the singer waves goodbye. The kiss replays in your head as you ponder to yourself, “I jus’ kissed Michael Jackson.”

[humannaturess]

Hi! I saw that your request are open. If you are willing, i would love to read a MJ x painter!reader where they maybe met in Gary or Encino, maybe when he used to take walks in the night and they meet and become friends to lovers? She loves to paint all kinds of things, but most of all portraits, so maybe MJ becomes her favorite person to portrait. She could also be selfemployed, so she can accompany him on tours. I'd also love if the fic where how the relationship develops/progresses over the different years/eras. That would literally make my day – wheter you decide to write it or not – thank you so much for providing us with fics! You're wonderful! ꒰ঌ(˶ˆᗜˆ˵)໒꒱

Man in The Canvas — Michael Jackson

featuring: michael jackson x painter!reader. summary: you paint michael in all of his eras. contents: friends to lovers, pure fluff. author's note: my grandpa used to paint so this one hit really close to home. i wanted to make it as perfect as possible so that's why this one took a little longer than expected. i hope you like it. i did have to do some reading on painting and its techniques so bare with me.

People often asked you when you first knew you were in love with Michael.

The truth was, your answer changed depending on the day.

Sometimes you thought it was the first time he smiled at one of your awful jokes. Sometimes it was the first time he looked at one of your paintings with complete awe, as though it belonged in a museum instead of your apartment. And sometimes you believed there wasn't a single moment at all—that it happened gradually.

Love was like a painting. It wasn't created with a single brushstroke, but built layer by layer until, one day, you stepped back and realized the canvas had become something entirely different.

You met Michael before you knew his name.

Encino was quieter after midnight.

The daytime traffic had faded, leaving the streets to the people who couldn't sleep. The glow of porch lights and the silhouettes of tall palm trees gave the neighborhood a peaceful stillness.

You had always preferred those hours. The world felt slower, calmer then. There were no clients asking stupid questions, no neighbors knocking on your door, and no distractions beyond the occasional car drifting through the streets.

It was when you painted best.

You carried a folding stool, your easel, and whatever canvas held your attention that week—a landscape, a rain-softened storefront, or a stranger destined for oil.

The first time you noticed him, he was simply another silhouette walking beneath the streetlights.

He wasn't in any hurry, he never seemed to be.

His hands always stayed tucked inside the pockets of his jacket, his head lowered beneath the brim of a cap, as though he didn't want anyone to see him. Same, you thought.

He didn't walk absentmindedly, though. He noticed the flowers growing through cracked sidewalks, stopped to pet the stray cats and dogs that wandered the neighborhood, and sometimes paused just to watch them.

He looked at the world the way an artist did, with detail and adoration.

You didn't speak for several nights.

There was only quiet recognition. A nod, a small smile.

The first conversation happened because of the rain.

The showers had left the streets glistening, turning the potholes into mirrors that reflected the orange glow of the street lamps. You were working quickly, charcoal racing across your sketchbook, desperate to capture the light before it disappeared.

"It'll be gone in another minute." The voice startled you.

You looked up to find him standing a respectful distance away, looking not at you but at the puddle you had been sketching for the past ten minutes.

"The reflection," he clarified softly. "The water will stay longer than the light."

It was such an oddly beautiful observation that you couldn't help smiling.

"You notice things."

"So do you."

That became the beginning.

No introductions, no names—just two people sharing observations about the ordinary things they find beautiful and entertaining, while most others walk past without noticing them.

Weeks passed before you learned who he was.

You had never asked, and he had never offered. To you, he was simply the young man who wandered the neighborhood late at night and liked asking why you mixed blue into your shadows instead of black.

The truth hit you in the middle of a grocery store. A cashier gasped, customers gathered around him, and someone whispered his name in disbelief.

Michael Jackson.

You watched the scene unfold from a several aisles away, watching the way strangers surround the quiet young man you'd spent weeks discussing color theory with.

He looked uncomfortable—not annoyed, just tired. Even so, he signed everything that was handed to him, ruffled every child's hair, and gave each one a hug.

He noticed you the entire time you stood there. He expected everything to change. Instead, you asked if he still wanted to hear why certain paints made better shadows. The relief that eased his shoulders became one of your favorite things you would ever witness.

Friendship came naturally after that.

He visited your apartment often, delighting in the way paint seemed to live everywhere. It stained your jeans, streaked your hands, dried into your hair, and somehow even your kettle had acquired flecks of color. Michael found it endlessly charming.

He would sit for hours in the old wooden chair beside your easel, reading while you worked. Sometimes he would sing softly as you painted. On other afternoons, the room remained silent except for the gentle tap of brushes against glass jars. He never seemed to mind the quiet. He simply enjoyed the peace and watching you create.

You didn't mind the silence either. It had never frightened either of you. With time, it became another language, your language.

You painted everything. Landscapes, children, elderly couples, wedding portraits—you even painted Louie. Eventually, without ever realizing exactly when it had happened, your favorite subject became Michael.

Not because he was famous, but because he was fascinating. You painted him reading. You painted him laughing so hard his eyes disappeared as he clutched his stomach. You painted him asleep on your couch after the two of you stayed up until dawn talking about God knows what.

He rarely noticed when you sketched, and those became the best portraits. Natural and honest.

By the time Off the Wall was released, everything around him seemed to accelerate. The world had begun paying closer attention. Interviews multiplied, recording sessions stretched late into the night.

Everyone seemed to want a piece of Michael, yet somehow he still found time to disappear into your apartment, escaping into the familiar scent of linseed oil and drying paint. Those evenings became sacred to both of you.

You would work while he hummed unfinished melodies beneath his breath, occasionally asking your opinion on lyrics or rhythms. He never expected you to understand technical musical language. Instead, he asked what colors his songs reminded you of, and you always answered honestly.

Neither of you realized how unusual those conversations were, but you cherished them nonetheless.

Your own career quietly flourished alongside his. Portrait commissions became gallery invitations, and gallery invitations became exhibitions. Art collectors began requesting your work months in advance. You never became wealthy enough to stop working—you never wanted to anyway—but you became successful enough to choose your projects and live comfortably.

Most importantly, you became successful enough to work from anywhere, and that changed everything. Touring wasn't as glamorous as some people made it out to be. People imagined luxury hotels, private planes, and endless excitement.

But the reality looked very different. Early flights. Sleepless nights. Constantly being on the move. Half-finished paintings drying in the strangest places. You traveled with a collapsible easel, a wooden paint box worn smooth from years of use, and dozens of carefully wrapped canvases.

Every hotel room became a temporary studio, and Michael loved watching them transform. Within an hour, expensive suites looked wonderfully lived in. Brushes stood in coffee mugs, drop cloths covered the carpets, and canvases leaned against furniture.

It reminded him of home, no matter what country you found yourselves in.

While he rehearsed, you painted the city from hotel balconies.

When concerts ended, exhausted and exhilarated all at once, he returned to find you still awake beneath a lamp, quietly working.

Those moments became your favorite part of every tour. Not the concerts, not the applause, nor the beautiful cities— but the peaceful hours afterward when the noise disappeared and he could simply exist again.

Sometimes he sat nearby reading, sometimes he watched you paint, and sometimes he'd simply fall asleep on the sofa before saying a single word.

You learned that love often looked like allowing someone to rest.

Then Thriller changed everything.

Fame exploded beyond anything either of you had imagined. Airports became impossible, hotels required security teams, and strangers began creating stories about every friendship, appearance, and photograph.

For the first time, your relationship felt fragile—not because of each other, but because the world had opinions about something that had always belonged only to the two of you.

People assumed you were dating long before you actually were. Magazines made up engagements, while others insisted you were only his employee or someone who painted him for publicity.

But the truth was much simpler. You were just two friends sharing quiet rooms, neither brave enough to admit that friendship had slowly become something more.

It finally happened in Paris.

There was no grand declaration, no big moment. You spent a lovely and peaceful afternoon between performances wandering through museums. Michael barely looked at the famous paintings—he watched you instead.

He watched the way your eyes followed centuries-old brushstrokes and the way you smiled whenever you discovered a beautiful color combination.

That evening, back in the hotel, you began another painting. Of him of course.

"You've painted me hundreds of times." He laughed softly. "I know." You smiled as you worked your brush. "Aren't you tired of my face yet?" You looked up from the canvas. "Nope."

The room fell quiet.

Not awkward, but the kind of silence that arrives when something important has finally reached the surface.

He crossed the room slowly, uncertainty still lingering in his expression—the same uncertainty you'd seen years earlier at the grocery store. As if he still wondered whether anyone could choose him once they truly knew him.

His hand found yours, stained with blue and ochre, and he intertwined his fingers with yours before kissing you gently. You kissed him back, careful not to leave any paint on him. When he pulled away, the relief in his smile said everything.

As though he'd been carrying those feelings alone for years. Perhaps he had as well. You certainly had.

Being together changed surprisingly little.

You still painted and he still wandered when he couldn't sleep. You still spent long afternoons in comfortable silence. The difference was the ease between you—hands finding each other, goodbyes becoming forehead kisses, and hotel rooms feeling like home because you were together.

During the Bad era, you watched him become more confident yet more guarded. The world demanded perfection, but your paintings became the opposite.

You painted him after rehearsals with messy hair and tired eyes, barefoot and laughing until tears filled his eyes, asleep beneath blankets in quiet moments no one else ever saw. You painted every version of him the world never knew. Those portraits belonged only to the two of you.

Years passed. Albums were released, tours crossed continents, and your own career flourished alongside his. Collectors celebrated your work, exhibitions traveled the world, and Michael jokingly called them your own tours. Eventually, your name became known beside his.

Still, the one thing that never change was the subject: Michael.

Not because he was famous, but because he remained the person you wanted to understand most. You painted every version of him—wiser, tired, joyful.

The only thing that changed? You were now Mrs. Jackson. You had the privilege of continuing your career alongside your husband's, sharing in each other's successes while still remaining your own person.

Eventually, while organizing old canvases, Michael found your first sketchbook. The pages had yellowed, the charcoal had faded, but there he was: a figure beneath a streetlamp.

His cap, his oversized jacket, his hands tucked into his pockets.

He stared at the drawing for a very long time.

"You drew me before we were friends." His eyes found yours. "I know." You smiled, your hand resting gently over your pregnant belly. "You never told me."

"I didn't think it mattered."

"It mattered enough to keep."

"I keep everything." You smiled again.

He turned page after page.

Hundreds of portraits. Thousands of sketches. Every hairstyle, every era, every smile. An entire lifetime preserved in pigment and paper.

Not one of them showed stadiums or crowds.

Not one captured awards, headlines, or sold-out tours. Instead, they showed him in the quiet moments—watering plants, reading by windows, holding cups of tea. They showed the man you knew, the version of him few others ever got to see.

"I spent so much of my life wondering if people only loved the idea of me." He closed the sketchbook gently and looked at you, tears glistening in his eyes.

You rose from the couch and crossed the room to him, your hands resting softly against his face.

"I never painted the idea." He leaned into your touch. "I painted the man who stopped to admire puddles. The man who still got nervous when someone called him handsome."

Michael laughed softly, his hands resting on your pregnant belly as he gently caressed it.

Outside, rain began tapping softly against the windows, almost exactly as it had the night you first met. Without another word, you walked together to the window. He wrapped his arms around you again, and you rested your head against his chest.

Years continued to pass. Your family grew, albums became classics, and tours eventually ended. The one thing that never changed was the way canvases filled the walls of every home you shared.

And somewhere, tucked safely inside the oldest sketchbook you owned, would always remain the very first drawing of the young man walking through Encino after midnight—completely unaware that he would become the masterpiece you would spend the rest of your life painting and the love of your life.

taglist: @youluvyanni @winterosco @escapefromrealitylol @ruesredjacket @4ppl3h34d @tinydreamerpillar @delictezz @heartsforamari19 @sugarrushbell @bangchanunofficial @swavydadon @nayykura @plan3tch1ld @unseenleylinesecret @niyahctrl @animegamerfox @raefoxiegirl @applehead-luvr @a-motherfcking-fish @michaelsgirlie @sebbysbaby @helalokithor @poetsprey @60fspp @kryka83 @ilov3tosle3p @bladeeisjesus @umibug @erynnnn @lauren7050 @onegoodperson @trvpstarxvl @alexablanc @superlegend216 @gravenoirr @heyitsm4di @heartstofiiveunknownn @soimightlikeoldmen69 @cherrishkissed @bambijackson @kisscoqueen @ghazalbambi @aristoleyaferrarii @michaeljacksonlover25 @solelypyt @no1sdolli3 @blameditontheboogie @spiderhook @ghazalbambi @jaafarl

if you want to be added or removed, let me know <3

[humannaturess]

*stares with big blue unsettling eyes*

hello..... im the weirdo with weird request/blurb… so we know Jermain had a baby at 67 (HAAHH SSIIIIXX SEEEVEEN), maybe you can make a cracky blrub or text how the kids reacted, or how jermajesty came back whining that there is going to be another whiny thing like nugget, and nugget is just confused how the hell father is gonna have another child when he's so old and leave HER behind as his youngest favourit baby. step(kinda sort of they are i think???) kids can be included too, but only if you feel like it, because i can imagine randy jr just side with jerthing and cry whine with him while Genevieve is so done with this multiplying family

　　　　　　　　　"You're a senior citizen"

Jermajesty knew something was wrong the moment your father called everyone into the living room at ten on a Saturday morning. Family meetings were never good, especially the spontaneous ones at your father's house.

Jaafar was pretending to pay attention as he scrolled through his phone. Genevieve, who'd come over for the weekend, scratched absentmindedly at her head, already getting impatient because she was hungry. Randy Jr. was sprawled across the couch, waiting for whatever this mysterious family meeting was about, as you wandered in with a bowl of cereal in hand. You'd been too hungry to wait, so you figured a little snack couldn't hurt.

The fact that your period was coming definitely wasn't helping either. You were absolutely starving, and that bowl of cereal was the only thing keeping you from picking a fight with your twin.

"I have some news," your dad said with a smile. "Mady's pregnant. You're all going to have another sibling!"

You froze mid-chew.

The room fell completely silent. Jermajesty stared at your dad, blinking once.

"Dad." He paused, staring at him in disbelief. "You're sixty-seven." Your dad nodded calmly. "I am." Jermajesty's eyes went wide. "SIXTY-SEVEN!" He looked like he was on the verge of fainting. "You're a senior citizen!"

"I know." He rolled his eyes. "And I'm barely a senior citizen, boy."

"AND YOU'RE HAVING ANOTHER BABY?" He looked around the room, trying to find someone to back him up. "DOES NOBODY ELSE THINK THIS IS INSANE?"

"I mean, when you say it out loud..." Jaafar shrugged, already trying not to laugh. "Oh, brother." Genevieve dropped her face into her hand. "it's like seeing Randy all over again losing it over mom being pregnant with Jaafar."

"You already have enough children, that you know of! And we already have one whiny little thing running around!"Jermajesty pointed accusingly at your father before turning and pointing directly at you.

"Excuse me?" You looked up from your cereal, clearly offended.

"You heard me."

Before you could argue back, you suddenly frowned.

"Wait." Everyone looked at you. "How are you having another baby?"

"What?" Your dad looked at you. "I know how babies happen, Jermaine," you clarified, looking at your dad dead in the eye. "I mean... you're sixty-seven."

"Nugget." Genevieve tried not to laugh.

"No, because I thought I was the baby!"

"You still are."

"I'M LITERALLY NOT." Your eyes immediately started watering, the hormones getting the better of you. Jermajesty instantly nodded, as if his point had been proven. "See? She's devastated." He pointed at you before moving over to sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a comforting hug.

"I've been replaced!" You quickly set your bowl down before covering your face, trying to hide the sudden wave of emotions taking over. Jermajesty immediately stopped, his dramatic expression dropping as he noticed your tears.

"Oh." He blinked, caught completely off guard. "Wait, you're actually upset?" The teasing tone vanished from his voice as he moved closer, suddenly unsure what to do.

"Hormones."

"Makes sense."

"I'd also like to complain." Randy Jr. walked over to stand beside the two of you before raising his hand. "What are you complaining about?" Genevieve asked. "I don't know, he upset Nugget and she gets revengeful when she's hormonal."

"The youngest division stands united." Jermajesty threw an arm around Jaafar, keeping the other around your shoulders, making Jaafar snort. "Give it a few years."

Everyone looked at him.

"Guess who's getting asked to babysit." your dad smiled.

The three of you turned to look at your father at the exact same time.

"Absolutely not."

"Ask Uncle Michael," you said, picking up your spoon again and returning to your cereal before it became soggy. "Absolutely not. He's the reason you're like that." Your dad waved a finger at you, shaking his head.

"Hater's gonna hate."

taglist: @youluvyanni @winterosco @escapefromrealitylol @ruesredjacket @4ppl3h34d @tinydreamerpillar @delictezz @heartsforamari19 @sugarrushbell @bangchanunofficial @swavydadon @nayykura @plan3tch1ld @unseenleylinesecret @niyahctrl @animegamerfox @raefoxiegirl @applehead-luvr @a-motherfcking-fish @michaelsgirlie @sebbysbaby @helalokithor @poetsprey @60fspp @kryka83 @ilov3tosle3p @bladeeisjesus @umibug @erynnnn @lauren7050 @onegoodperson @trvpstarxvl @alexablanc @superlegend216 @gravenoirr @heyitsm4di @heartstofiiveunknownn @soimightlikeoldmen69 @cherrishkissed @bambijackson @kisscoqueen @ghazalbambi @aristoleyaferrarii @michaeljacksonlover25 @solelypyt @no1sdolli3 @blameditontheboogie @spiderhook @ghazalbambi @jaafarl

if you want to be added or removed, let me know <3

[filmluver24]

Pretty when you cry

Summary: Jaafar cry’s when you are upset with him 😛

Warnings: sum angst and alot of fluff

795 wc

Y/n pov

It had been two hours since Jaafar had responded to my last text. Now that we've been engaged for over a year and all of the Michael press had died down it finally felt like a good time to begin planning our wedding.

In just today I had suggested over five possible dates and they were all dismissed for some excuse on why it just wouldn't be able to work. To say I was growing impatient and aggravated was too simple. I understood with his changing career and success that he would be pulled away in all these directions and never once have I ever or will I ever complain, but I wanted something to finally be for us after this long ride, I just wanted to marry my best friend.

In the last two hours I had managed to scream, cry, and even laugh. But now I was busing myself in the kitchen to take my mind off things, I had decided to cook my favorite meal, my southern grandma's baked mac & cheese topped with breadcrumbs and Lana Del Rey was playing so loud from our living room TV that I didn't even hear Jaafar walk in.

"Wow smells amazing baby" he yells over the music, walking into the kitchen. I turn around and grab the remote off of the kitchen island to lower the volume. Still not in the complete mood I tried my best to focus on the cooking. I was trying to keep my guard up but his bright presence and infectious smile were making things all the way harder.

"Is this for dinner?" Jaafar asks, another attempt to start a conversation, "no it's breakfast" I say in complete sarcasm. I turn around before I can even see his reaction to put the mac in the oven, "Well it smells good" he responds. "How was your day?

"It was fine Jaafar" I say my frustration now clearly palpable. It's quiet for a few seconds as I wipe down the counter and put the dishes in the sink to do later. "Did I do something, please tell me so I can make you feel better" Jaafar says walking closer to me. "Do you really want to marry me?" I ask my bottom lip quivering slightly. "What of course how could you ask that" Jaafar responds now cupping the sides of my face as hot tears start to stream down my face.

"It just feels like you don't see it as a priority anymore, and I know your career is taking off but every-time I suggest anything theres always something preventing it" I choke.

Jaafar was quiet for a minute before his eyes started twinkling slightly. "Please don't ever think I don't want you, God its killing me you even thought this" he says tears now streaming down his face. "I have had so many scripts and movie ideas flung my way with no actual dates just estimated guesses so it felt easier to not place anything down yet before I know when I may have to film next" he explains. "But in my heart none of that matters compared to you I need you to know, I'll never walk onto another film set again if you don't want me to, my promise to you is the same as when I first slid this ring on your finger".

Well now we were both sobbing messes, "Jaafar I promise i'm not asking you to give up your career for me" I say chuckling through tears. "You know I'd do it if you asked" he responds, "which is why I won't" I smile to him.

"Id marry you tomorrow if it were up to me" Jaafar says kissing my tear stained cheeks, "I know you would but I need my great big wedding" I say making us both chuckle, "we sorta have to with my dramatic family" he adds.

We moved to the couch, my hands were wrapped around his waist as I snuggled into his chest and friends played quietly on the tv. "What about July the 13th, It's a Saturday it'll be sunny and we can get married in that castle you always wanted" Jaafar suggests making my eyes light up. "Wow that is only five months away" I say registering the date, "I think we can do it, I'll pause all work until every detail is finished" Jaafar states smiling down at me.

"Thank you for listening to me and not making me feel bad about the way I feel" I say more tears threatening to spill out with how gentle and loving he was towards me. "Seeing you upset is a hurt I refuse to get comfortable with" is all Jaafar says before planting a sweet kiss on my lips.

[carmaloves]

Hi! Can I request something where reader is the type to overthink everything and is really shy (maybe more than mj). Her and mj recently got together but when she sees Michael perform twymmf with Tatiana and she kisses him, she internally panick and start to think things like ''Is he already tired of me?'' ''Am I not enough?'' without knowing Michael wasn't okay with that kiss. She's too worried to talk to him about that kiss and instead of communicating she continues to overthink and fortunately Michael notices her change of behaviour and talks with her. Maybe he can also tell her to not hesitate to talk to him, to communicate more (since it's her first relationship). He's so gentle and patient 😩

Michael Jackson x Reader

Synopsis: You're in the audience the night Tatiana kisses Michael. Only a month or two into the relationship, your fears get the better of you and your thoughts become loud enough for even Michael to hear. Content/Warnings: Overthinker!Reader, Established Reader, Miscommunication, Hurt/Comfort, Michael being a patient gentleman Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

A/N: Immediately thought of that reaction clip of Camila from Daisy Jones and the Six when I got this request

You had originally thought that surprising Michael at one of his concerts was a good idea. In fact you had been looking forward to the little surprise appearance all week, anxiously looking forward to seeing the look on his face when you appeared backstage afterwards.

You and Michael had just recently made things between you official after months and months of excessive flirting, longing looks, and lingering touches. Things had been going very smoothly despite the fact that you had gotten together with Michael in the midst of touring. He was still eager to talk to you after shows, even if it was over the phone and thousands of miles away. But you also knew how badly he wanted to see you in person, and the same could be said for you.

So you had secretly been planning the trip with Bill for almost a week, which was shockingly way more difficult than you had thought it would be. The planning itself wasn't the issue, the issue was keeping it a secret from Michael. Each time he called, you felt yourself bubble up with excitement, wanting so badly to tell him. It was especially difficult when he sounded so desperate over the phone, whining into the receiver about how badly he wanted to simply wrap his arms around you. But you had held out.

And now, you stood in a private section of the ginormous stadium that was Madison Square Garden. The concert was absolutely insane, in the most Michael way possible. Everything was perfect, from the lights, to the booming sound of his voice, to the sharp movements that could be registered even in the nosebleeds. Michael was absolutely radiant on the stage, making you the proudest woman on the face of the earth. And while you loved seeing him perform, you also couldn't wait for the show to end so you could finally show yourself and complete your little surprise. You felt on top of the world, like the night was going to be absolutely perfect.

You screamed loudly as Michael quicly left the stage after performing Bad. It was almost time. All he had left was the encore, which consisted of two songs: The Way You Make Me Feel, and Man in the Mirror. Your body felt like it was radiating with pure joy, pride, and excitement.

As quickly as those feelings had arrived, they had vanished. You felt the warmth from your body slowly drain as you watched Michael and Tatiana perform TWYMMF. The unease had slowly crept up your spine as you watched Tatiana dance with Michael a little too close for your liking.

You had tried to push away the nagging feeling, telling yourself it was choreo obviously. This was her job, they were both doing what they were supposed to, nothing was going to-

Oh.

You felt all remaining warmth evaporate into thin air as you watched Tatiana press her lips right against Michaels. It lasted maybe 2 seconds, but that was enough time for you to suddenly doubt your decision in coming here. You watched Michael smile and carry on with the song as if nothing had happened.

Was this routine? Was it a part of the choreo? Surely if it was he would have told you... right? Had they just added it recently? But why? Did Michael make it a point not to tell you? Did he want this to be some sort of secret and that was why he hadn't flown you out to see the show yet? If that was the case then had you done something? Why hadn't he told you? Why was she kissing him? Why did he smile? Had you maybe misconstrued his true feelings for you? Was he already regretting his decision to make things official? Did he even want to make this official or had you put too much pressure on him? Did he want this anymore, had he even wanted it at all? What was wrong with you? Why hadn't he told you? Why did you come here? Was all of this a mistake? Why-

A tap at your shoulder pulled you from the thousands of questions bombarding your head. A security guard quickly explained that the show was over and that you were to be escorted back stage immediately.

You swallowed thickly, slightly dazed from the storm in your head. The excitement was gone, now replaced with fear and anxiety. Maybe this was a bad decision. Maybe you could slip away unnoticed, go back to the hotel and try to collect yourself. Surely there was still time to disappear before Michael even-

The sound of your name falling from Michael's lips pulled you from your mind. You blinked, finding yourself already backstage, Michael only 3 yards from where you stood.

God, he looked as beautiful as ever. Curls damn and messy, pulled back into a low ponytail. His white shirt stuck to his chest in a way that made your mouth water. And his face was bright with a mix of shock and pure delight as he took you in.

Before you knew it, Michael had you wrapped up tightly in his arms, crossing the small distance at lightning speed. He lifted you up slightly, laughing with a sort of jubilation you weren't sure you had ever heard from him before.

Your arms instinctually wrapped around his neck, most of the doubt leaving your body in an instant. Most.

Michael let out an airy laugh, setting you down and taking in your face. His eyes darted around you like a ping pong ball, still in disbelief at the sight. "You're- how are you- you're actually here!" He stopped and started, unable to find the right words.

You smiled up at him, arms still locked around his neck. "I'm here, Mikey."

Another wave of pure glee washed over his face. His hands came up to cup your face as he planted hundreds of kisses all over your face.

You felt some of the tension in your body fly away. You couldn't help the smile that made its way onto your face. This was definitely worth the long flight, even if you still had some doubts about yourself.

He pressed a long kiss to your lips, pulling away with a big "MWAH!" You both laughed. He took your hand and quickly pulled you to his dressing room. "How are you here?"

"Bill. I wanted to surprise you and he essentially planned out everything. All I really had to do was get in a couple cars and a plane."

Michael made a mental note to give Bill the biggest hug later. "Well, you certainly surprised me. I was just thinking about how badly I wanted to go to the hotel room to call you. Did you see the whole show? What did you think? Did you like it?"

As you recalled the show you tensed slightly. Just a millisecond, but Michael noticed. "I saw the whole thing. You were amazing, Michael. No- more than amazing. Michael, you were radiant. I've never seen anyone own a stage like that the way that you did. It was absolutely spectacular."

He nodded, smiling despite a small voice telling him to inquire further. He gently shut the door to his dressing room, leading you over to the couch as he sat in the makeup chair.

"I'm glad you liked it. I've been wanting you to see it for so long! I just can't believe you're really here. I've missed you so much. And I missed you real bad before, but now that we're official, it's like this new desire to see you has taken me over. I wake up and I wish you were beside me in bed. I eat breakfast and all I can think about is what you're going to have."

You laughed slightly, watching him as his makeup artist began carefully wiping off his makeup and cleaning his face. "I've felt the same way. I've wanted nothing more than to simple have you beside me, and I figure if you can't come to me, then I'll come to you."

"Oh baby-" Michael smiled widely, turning his head to look over at you.

"Mr. Jackson, please keep your face still. The fast I get all this off you, the faster you can spend time with your friend." The makeup artist gave Michael a stern look.

Friend.

The word stuck out like a sore thumb. Deep deep down you understood what she meant, but with the kiss earlier, you couldn't help but over analyse it. Especially when Michael didn't correct her. Maybe he had had enough of you. Maybe he was just feeling bad that you had come out all this way to see him and that's why he was being so sweet. What if he really was tired of you? What if there was something special between him and Tatiana, and you had been too blind to see it and he was too nice to correct you? What if the makeup artist knew about it too and that's why she called you a friend? Was she trying to give you a subtle hint?

You felt stupid. Because despite all the questions clouding your head, you knew the logical thing to do was to talk to Michael about it. And you knew there was really nothing he had done to make you think all of this. He hadn't been the one to lean in, hell, it didn't even look like he kissed her back. And yet, you couldn't bring yourself to fully internalize any of that.

And while you sat on the couch, half engaged in a conversation with Michael about how your job back in LA was going, Michael could see right through the autopilot you had going on. He could see there was a massive, raging, storm in your head, one that was taking his girl away from him even when she was right there in the room.

He needed to know what was going on, but he certainly didn't want you upset or embarrassed because of how many people were around. He would have to wait until the two of you were alone. So he signaled his artist to pick up the pace.

Once he was fully dressed and ready to go, he was quick to take your hand and drag you through the busy hallways. People quickly parted the way for him, well most people. Just as the exit came into view, he heard his name being called out.

He turned and found Tatiana quickly making her way over. He felt the way your hand loosened against his own, and saw the way your body tensed and your eyes found the ground.

He blinked, reality crashing in on him. The way you had tensed at the mention of the show, your slightly dull eyes, the way you were playing with the promise ring he had given you. It all made sense now that he was seeing Tatiana again.

She came over with a big smile, pulling him into a tight hug, holding onto him longer than he appreciated. "Amazing as always."

Michael gave her a polite smile, gripping your hand tighter and pulled you closer to him. "Thank you. You as well. This is my girl, the sweet one I've told you all about."

She looked over at you, eyes slightly wide. "Oh! It's nice to finally meet you. I was beginning to think Michael had made you up." She attempted a joke, which landed flatly as both you and Michael laughed awkwardly.

"It's nice to meet you too." You kept it civil, deciding that bringing up their moment on stage would only make things more awkward. She seemed grateful you didn't mention it.

Michael was quick to excuse the both of you, stating that he was eager to spend some time with his lovely lady. She took the opportunity and practically bolted. Michael squeezed your hand, looking down at you, "Let's go, I've been dying to get a moment alone since I saw you."

The second the car door shut and Bill closed the partition, Michael took both of your hands in his. "I know what's going on in that head of yours."

You looked at him nervously, "I'm not sure what you mean."

"I know you, baby. I know your mind, and I know the way you think. What I need you to understand is that there is absolutely nothing going on between me and Tatiana. That kiss was not part of the choreography, and she stepped way out of line. That was not part of the show and I wasn't aware she was going to do it." He rubbed gentle circles on the back of your hand.

You nodded, eyes slightly glossy. "So- you're not tired of me?"

He shook his head firmly, "Not one bit. In fact, I can't seem to get enough of you. I meant what I said in the dressing room, I think about you all of the time. In fact, when I said that I was wanting to call you after tonight's show it was to tell you about what had happened. And then I saw you there and I was just so shocked and excited to see your beautiful face that it completely left my mind."

You bit the side of your cheek, face palming yourself. "Gosh, I feel like such an idiot. I knew it was nothing, truly I did. But I just- I don't know. I get in my head sometimes, and it just gets out of control. And I was embarrassed to even be thinking of some of those things, and I was scared that maybe I was right, and I just let it all go to my head."

Michael took your hands in his again, holding them tighter. "You're not an idiot. Far from it. But I need you to talk to me if anything like that happens again. You know you can talk to me when the thoughts get too much. Just like you're there for me when things get bad, I want you to be able to lean on me too."

You sniffled, smiling at him, "I will."

"Promise?" He held out his pinky finger.

You hooked yours with his, "Pinky promise."

Michael smiled, "Now come here, you look too good not to kiss."

He pulled you close, lips finding yours with ease. He meant it when he said he was truly dying to get even just a moment alone with you. By the end of the trip, covered in small love marks, you had decided you would be flying out to see him WAY more often.

Taglist: @chloethefantastic @swag313gur l@melosdelusions @1lvie @wildlaufey3 @jaiana-b-blog @lordswagprincess @mikeyspyt @khxna @plan3tch1ld @macncheesy16 @heyitsm4di @raefoxiegirl @smoothcriminalgf @itsopinionsbased @hello-its-lana16 @mizermouse @irissunshines @starryeyedmoonlight @forgottennoot @tellybearryyyy @sugacor3 @sugarrushbell @laniundercoverr @zhadyax @kneelarmhstrung @badussyussysstuff @devynrulesboisdrool @kryka83 @appleheadannie @amoravelee @a-motherfcking-fish @blythecat1 @migualllll @7viiseven @zzeraphilm @michaeljacksonfan01 @graysislosingit @18lkpeters @alientee @aristoleyaferrarii @gingerrsnapp @urthem00n @alientee @animegamerfox @sebbysbaby @umafanficdoidaqualquer @delictezz @artflooo @owls-see-in-the-dark @actuallyanebonymuse

[cinnamoncunt]

karen faye will forever be a weird, funky, and awful person who never deserved to be in michael’s corner because why would she even think it was okay to leak intimate pictures of him when he didn’t even want them out and shame on the photographer for even letter her get it in her possession and yall spreading it around and gagging is making it ten times worse

[mjandhishg]

Is This It?

Synopsis: It is late 2008. Years of moving countries in search of solace makes you miss the permanence of calling a place home. Michael notices it and plans to return to LA again however... He wants to have one final concert before he retires entirely from the public eyes. You threaten to divorce if he does because enough is enough, you've seen the public and faced its vitriol for years now.

Relationship status: married for a decade, been together for two. Three children and years of accumulated history between you and Michael.

Warning: angst, some severe historical sub context, talks of legal battles and financial struggle.

A/n: Now. Do I know every inside workings of what went down with This Is It? No. Do I think Michael was in a cornered position to do it? Yeah. And was he partially excited to be on stage again for his children and fans? Also yes. So with all that in mind, I've tried to write something but here we go.

Late 2008, Los Angeles

"I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you right."

Michael sighs as you place your book page down in the bed and look at him. He is still in the casual shirt and black leather coat he wore in the morning when he left, saying he was meeting with some people.

Being occupied with setting breakfast for the children before their classes, you didn't have time to ask for any details and only managed to kiss him goodbye.

And apparently this is why he was going out a lot lately.

"It's only ten shows in London, baby," he says soothingly. Like he can already hear your rebuttal coming. "Enough to pay off the remnant of debt that's there and we can settle down outside LA, just like you want."

You stare at him for a beat too long before giving out a brief laugh. "This is a joke, right?"

Michael frowns. "What?"

"Mike, you haven't gone on a tour in a decade. And you — we are in our fifties." You get to your feet, pulling his shirt you stole from him at some point closer around you. "I thought we were done with this lifestyle."

"It won't be like before, only one venue in London," he says again. He takes your left hand in his, brushing the wedding band there instinctively. "I wanna do this, love."

You see the nervous energy that takes him over when he gets in that creative buzz already forming at the edges. Suddenly this isn't merely about a concert again, but about years of being placed next to his career, next to the artistry that you understand deeply of how much he loves. But losing him to the public?

"There are many other ways to work the debt through — we are doing it already. The new album you're working on, that can help." You nearly plead with your eyes, your grip tightening around his lean fingers. "Do you really need this concert, love?"

You can see him chewing on the words. "Baby, I —" he swallows. "I don't want the world to think of me with all the trials and lies. I want them to see my art, darlin'. This concert is the only way I've got."

"They don't want to see those, Michael!" You yell. His face falls, but the words don't seem to stop pouring from you. "You can do all you want and they'll still believe only what they want."

Years of allegations, legal battles and fighting people who were out for his name and the unbelieving public that is always ready to latch on to anything negative about him and still, he wants to try once again. One more attempt to let the world see him for who he really was.

Standing a little out of the blast radius, you know better.

The world has already fitted its narrative for Michael Jackson. Their humanity for the man beneath the myth has faded away somewhere in the 90s.

"It'll be different this time," he says, but it is weak. "We haven't been in the light for years now. Tohme said the money from this can settle us for life." He places his other hand over yours. "This really will be the final curtain call, I promise."

You shake your head, tugging your hand away. "No, Michael."

He tries to slide his fingers in with yours. "Listen to me —"

"I can't hear everybody's opinion like they've known us all their life." Your hand trembles, his hold loosens minutely. You press your free hand to the side of his face, he leans in immediately. "You are still recovering from all that stuff from before." Your voice lowers to a whisper. "You don't have to do this, Mike. Please."

Michael shifts his gaze to your eyes. "I want our children to see this," he admits. "They've never seen me up there performing, I want to give them the experience."

You've been with Michael since the Victory tour and have toured with him after that, from the roaring first solo tours of Bad, being his pillar during the tolling Dangerous tours and witnessed the regal performances of HIStory as his wife. You know what he means — the electrifying rush of being amidst the thousands of fans, the cheers sounding above Michael's voice and just his aura, overall.

But something about this doesn't sit right with you. This isn't the good ol' times when some favours were still tilted towards him. The paparazzi wasn't as hostile as it is now.

A perpetual weariness has settled deep in your bones. You step away from his front. "Do as you please, Michael." Your breath hitches by the thought of seeing your family's name plastered as headlines all over again. "But I can't take this anymore."

Your fingers snag on the diamond ring that Michael adoringly slid down a decade ago. The ring you've worn with love and pride of being his, you remove it now and place it in his hand.

"You can walk into the spotlight again like they didn't hunt you down, love." You see Michael's hand tremble and steel yourself when you utter the final words. "But I can't."

You try to walk away but you feel weak in your knees. You can't fathom how he can mask away every pain they've been subjected to for all the years and just... go and smile out there again.

Then Michael's fingers are wrapped on your wrist and he tugs you to him. "Don't do this to me." He gasps. "You know I can't do this without you."

When he presses his forehead to yours, the tears you've tried so hard not to shed finally streaks down.

"I can't watch them talk about you like you're nothin'." You sob. He pulls you flush to his front, his arms strong around you. You cling, almost desperately wanting to change his mind. "Please don't do this."

Michael rocks you gently. "I'm sorry, baby." His lips brush your temple reverently. "Just this once. I promise."

You twist his jacket with your fingers, desolation setting in at his response.

The guilt of letting him walk down this path is something you'll be carrying for the rest of your life.

[fairyofurdreams]

Can I rant to the mj communtiy real quick??

Look, I love the smut but maybe its just my homepage but there is such little fluff and angst, it makes me sad a little. Like mj was such a sweet and amazingly great man let me see that side of him pleaseeeee. Especially mature michael. Like I love that era. LOVE it. But half the time all the fics written for that era makes reader half his age, or acts like a child the whole time. And its just nasty ass smut (which i love obviously dont get me wrong) but I want some cute ass stuff too!!

Anyway if anyone has any good fluff or angst recommendations let me know, or any good writers out there! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

Genuinely how it feels sometimes tryna find angst or fluff ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

[mjtvv]

OTHER!MICHAEL HEADCANNONS!

Other!Michael has been watching you in the quiet shadows of Neverland. Seeing you cry yourself to sleep because of Michael's neglect. He coos in the dark wanting nothing more than to comfort you but knows it's not time for you yet.

Other!Michael who gets his world prepared for you. Conforming reality into what you truly desire. The kids that you've always wanted? There are 3 of them. 2 boys and a girl. Each of them patiently waiting for their mommy to come care for them.

After conforming his realm to what you desire he works on his physical appearance. Wearing the form of one of Michael's looks that you absolutely adore. His silk black hair in a wolfcut with the red blouse and black pants.

Other!Michael who places the door to his realm in the most obvious spot so he knows you can find it. He just can't stand to see you cry anymore! He wants you in his world so he can spoil you rotten. Give you the love that you deserve.

When you finally find it and see him, he is sad when you are so afraid. It's the eyes isn't it? They're not the brown doe eyes that you love so much and he hates that your scared of him for that reason. But he is still your Michael! Just the better version of him.

Other!Michael who is patient with you warming up to him. He waits for your single to initiate things. He watches you eagerly through his black beady eyes you come to like.

He spends every single second proving to you how much better he is than the real Michael. Your husband is halfway across the world forgetting that you are at home all alone while he is here pampering you with kisses and affection. Why can't you see he is the one you should pick?

When he introduces you to the children he wants to wipe the tears from your face. The kids had remained nameless. Waiting for you to bestow them the names you had written down in your journal. You name them Prince, Paris, and Blanket.

If there is any guilt of what you are doing he takes them away. You think you're cheating? How are you cheating if you are with him? Silly you. How can you cheat on your husband with your husband? That doesn't make any sense!

He gets sad whenever you go back to your world. You should stay! Why wouldn't you? You have everything you ever wanted in eyesight. But he respects your decision (barely)

When you do leave, the world goes dark. Like the curtains of a live play drawing close. The children go still in place waiting to be off use again, the animals around neverland flop down like ragdolls, and he goes back into the shadows to watch you as you go on about your day.

When Michael makes you cry or sad, you barely notice how the walls creak and groan. Other! Michael hates to see you cry and he hates Michael with every fibe the has. If killing him meant he won't exist, your husband would've been dead.

Other!Michael who patiently waits for you to say you want to stay with him and your kids forever. If the real Michael won't take care of you, he will. He waits for the day you all can be one happy family.

Soon, he thinks. Soon.

TAGLIST:@mtcloudsworld @chocotragedy @melodyyybubbles @crypytlc @animegamerfox @princesspluuto @angelfacemj07 @whoscamila @crazylady20 @douceurrrr @savagenctzen @thorodinsonslover @plqnetkiyaa @kisscoqueen @appleheadcutie @variablebear @a-motherfcking-fish @roseb0w @yujisbabyy @dayyysinterlude @tojiswifeforlife @amnesia-sc @imbetterinstereo

[mjtvv]

THE OTHER HUSBAND! | MJ

other! Michael Jackson x black! wife!reader

Summary: After finding a strange door in the dark part of Neverland you find yourself in a world where everything that has been wrong is turned into right. Including your husband, Michael. You finally think your wishes have been answered. Weirdly, and strangely but answered nonetheless. If only you paid closer attention to who was listening to them. Now you might never leave.

Tags: uncanny valley, slight dub con, stalking, emotional manipulation, horror, marital neglect, obsession, cheating? (You're with another version of Michael, so idk if that counts), violence, supernatural at play, dolls, Coraline inspired, illusions, your other!kids are very creepy, other!Bubbles

Wc: 0.5k

𝐒𝐍𝐈𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐓

Neverland felt too alive. Too warm. 

Even in your sleep, you can feel the thickness of it. It is that feeling that draws you out of your sleep and into the waking world. A mild sweat coats your forehead as you look at your surroundings. 

You prop yourself on your elbows, looking out the window. It was still dark out by the looks of it. When you turn to look at the analog clock on the nightstand, you find it vacant.

Weird. You never moved that thing. 

You lay back down, wanting to go back to sleep, but the thickness of the air wasn't the only thing keeping you from sleeping. 

It was a smell. A familiar aroma that always made your stomach growl.

Was that ..

Was that bacon? 

Who was cooking breakfast food so late at night? All the staff had gone home for the night, and you were home alone. 

Then a sound echoed in the empty home. 

Humming. Unmistakably Michael’s. 

What? 

Wasn't he in Europe? He wasn't due back home for another month.

After putting on your robe and adjusting your bonnet, you open your bedroom door and walk down the dark hallway. Everything was so dark and cold in Neverland. As it usually is, but this type of darkness didn't feel like what you were used to.

It felt more deliberately placed.

You follow the sound of your husband's humming like breadcrumbs. Walking until you come across the warm lighting of the kitchen shining in the dark hallway. It stood out more than it should. 

When you come to the kitchen, you stop at the doorway. Arms crossed over your chest. 

His back was facing you, dressed in all black silk pajamas that looked 2 sizes too big. Hair draping down past his shoulders. He leaned over the stove, flipping the bacon while humming an unreleased tune from his upcoming album. 

You haven't seen this sight in… well, forever.

It should've made your heart warm in the happiest way possible. But it didn't. The mundane scene in front of you felt wrong somehow. Like a misplaced scene in a movie. 

It didn't make sense.

“Michael?” You timidly say. 

He stops humming abruptly. His body freezes into a stillness that was unlike him. The bacon in the pan sizzled, and the grease popped on his arms. He didn't react to them. 

He turned off the stove, turning around with the hot skillet in his hands and-

What the fuck. 

The doe-like eyes that once stared at you with adoration and love were gone. 

They were replaced by a black void that took over his irises, showing no emotion or warmth when he looked at you. 

 ‘Michael’ smiled at you. But it wasn't one of his smiles he had given you before. This one had sweetness that felt rotten, and teeth that looked too white, too perfect. No dimples or skin creasing at the facial movement. 

You stumbled back a step. Your heartbeat raced wildly in your chest. This was a dream. Some weird, sick and twisted dream.

“Hi, baby.”

You scream.

@/mjtvv

TAGLIST: @mtcloudsworld @chocotragedy @melodyyybubbles @crypytlc @animegamerfox @princesspluuto @angelfacemj07 @whoscamila @crazylady20 @douceurrrr @savagenctzen @thorodinsonslover @plqnetkiyaa @kisscoqueen @starzlovrr @appleheadcutie @variablebear @a-motherfcking-fish @roseb0w @yujisbabyy @dayyysinterlude @tojiswifeforlife

[applejuicepyt]

Cold Shoulder

☆Summary: You're adamant on giving him a cold shoulder after an argument and Michael takes it literally.

◇Word Count: 0.8k

》 the secretary and mature michael fic is ready for deployment soon, just need to let it rest and come back to it later with a fresh mind so I'm posting this just to contribute to the tag kekeke. NOT PROOFREAD

If there is anything that Michael learned from having grown up with a lot of brothers and sisters, it's to know how to end a fight without needing to speak or resort to physical means.

Or more accurately, fight back without directly doing so.

(Janet called him petty once for taking all the umbrellas with him to the studio when everyone tried him during a harsh rainy work day but he doesn't think it's the right word to describe it.)

Of course when he got in a relationship, he had to relearn the ways he'd go about an argument. You're not like his siblings, including Jermaine, who'd retaliate against him and the relationship would continue to be as it was before. Familial bonds are different from romantic ones.

You're to be his future, the mother of his children years later down the line. To create an amazing environment for the kids to grow up in and know what is to expect in people outside of their homes, their mother and father should know how to co-exist and collaborate well.

That being said, Michael always makes sure an argument ends the same day it began.

Even if he has to resort to his old ways.

It was a stupid argument in the first place about his extravagant and expensive hobby of spending his money. He saw you looked at the bag and picked it up to appraise it, so he went back and got Bill to buy it but for some reasons, it was the wrong move.

You say you don't need it, you have ten other bags you can use and circulate around for different events and themes. He insists you don't have enough for someone dating him and you took it as an attack, interpreting it maliciously like him saying you should fit in with the mold he's pushed out of.

He knows he has a flawed thinking but it's simply one of the ways he shows his love and appreciation for you who stayed through thick and thin, and cared for him without expecting anything—so much so that it makes him itch with the incredible need to spoil you anyways.

He didn't really plan on doing anything, he was actually waiting for night time once you come home from work and spring it up to you before sleeping. Until you decide upon arrival that you'll be building up a pillow fort in between you and respond to him with one word or a simple hum.

So what does he do when you're insistent on ignoring him before bed?

Turn the air conditioner temp up and hide the remote away.

You run hotter than most people he knew—or at least, had held a little too long to notice—and with this, came the fact that you're easily cold that even a night summer breeze makes you huddle into his side for warmth.

So he's going to capitalize on that weakness.

One minute in and you already suspected the plan in motion and threw him a suspecting gaze over your shoulders but of course, you didn't say anything and turned back to the opposite side so he carried on reading.

Around ten minutes, he watched you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, legs curling a little bit higher to more comfort and warmth. 

He grinned.

It surprises Michael when you go past thirty minutes through pure stubbornness alone. He could see the slight shivers that wracks your body between long intervals but you persevered. At some point, you dragged yourself to the closet and came back wearing thick jogger pants and jacket with the hood pulled up.

“You know, you could always find warmth in someone very close to you.”

“Where the fuck did you hide the remote, Michael?” You snapped, irritated as you began rummaging through the bedside tables, the cabinets, and surveyed the shelves for any displacement that could indicate where he hid the remote.

“I'd fix the temperature at the cost of a hug and a proper conversation.”

“God, you're so…” You ran a hand down your face and his grin only grew wider. “Give me the damn remote.”

“The price is one hug and—”

“Michael, I'm fucking shivering. Turn the AC down!”

“I said the price is—” He didn't get to complete what he said before an Eeyore plushie was being hurled at him and he screamed, shielding his face at the last moment.

You stood there after, staring back at him and he stared back, although his was more lighthearted and teasing than your entirely pissed off narrowed glare. He may hate eye contact but he's also stubborn and competitive. 

Then finally, after playing this game for one hour, you groaned and trudged towards him with head hung down in defeat before falling on top of him with your full weight, knocking the breath out of his chest before he wrapped his arms around you.

“Are you ready to talk now, dear?”

“I hate you.”

“I love you!” He says in a sing-song tone.

[xwixnk]

Can you do Jaafar and jermajestys sibling who is reader, reader is like a model who can’t step outside her apartment without being swarmed by paparazzi. Reader is their younger sibling and they always worry about reader cause the paparazzi can be ruthless to reader. Like reader has bad anxiety because of it and can you do one night at a family dinner to celebrate Jaafars movie reader is acting off and they try to talk to reader but reader shuts it down. They later found reader sitting on the balcony and reader finally breaks down

Scared

Jermajesty and jaafar x sibling! Reader

Summary: You're the young sister of Jaafar and Jermajesty and you always worried because paparazzi always trying to take a picture of you. Eventually, you go to a balcony and let out in front of your brothers.

The heavy velvet curtains of your penthouse are drawn shut, you can still see the rhythmic, aggressive flashes of light bleeding through the edges. Down on the street, a pack of paparazzi is waiting for you. As one of the industry's most sought after models, stepping outside your front door has become a psychological battleground.

Your phone buzzes on the counter. It is time to leave for the family dinner celebrating Jaafar’s massive new movie role. The thought of walking from the lobby to the waiting car makes your throat tighten. Your hands shake as you grab your purse. The panic attack is already clawing its way up your chest.

By the time you arrive at the restaurant’s private dining room, your nerves are completely shot. You slip into the seat between your older brothers, Jaafar and Jermajesty, your skin pale and your breathing shallow. "Hey, little sis," Jaafar beams, leaning over to kiss your cheek. "You made it! I was worried the traffic would be crazy."

"Yeah, I'm here," you murmur, forcing a smile. You pick up your water glass, staring at the ice cubes to avoid looking at anyone. Jermajesty places a hand on the back of your chair, his protective instincts flaring. He notices the subtle tremor in your fingers. "You okay, baby sister? You look like you've seen a ghost. Did something happen outside?"

"I'm fine, Jer," you snap, a bit too quickly, your voice tight. "Just tired from the shoot yesterday let's just focus on Jaafar tonight." Throughout the dinner, you barely touch your food. Every time the conversation turns to you, or every time a camera flashes outside the restaurant's frosted VIP windows, you flinch. Your brothers exchange worried, heavy glances across the table, but every time they try to press, you shut them down with a quiet, "I said I'm fine."

----------------------------------------------------------

The moment dinner ends and the family moves to the lounge area, you quietly slip away. You find a dark balcony overlooking the city. The night air is cool against your burning skin, the distant hum of the city feels suffocating. You sit on the stone floor, pulling your knees tightly to your chest, hiding your face as the tears finally spill over. The crushing weight of the anxiety. The heavy glass door slides open, clicking shut behind someone. Two pairs of expensive dress shoes appear in your blurred field of vision.

"We knew you weren't okay," Jaafar says softly, dropping to his knees right on the dusty ground beside you, completely unbothered by ruining his celebratory suit.

"Talk to us, sweetheart. Please."Jermajesty sits on your other side, wrapping a long, heavy arm around your trembling shoulders, pulling you into his side. "You're shaking, little one. It’s the parasites outside, isn't it? Did they get too close to you today?"

The warmth of your brothers breaks the last of your defenses. You sob openly, burying your face in Jermajesty’s chest."I can't do it anymore," you choke out, your voice cracking with pure exhaustion. "I can't even leave my own apartment to buy groceries without twenty grown men screaming at me, shoving cameras in my face. I feel like an animal in a cage. I was terrified just coming here tonight. I didn't want to ruin your celebration, Jaafar I'm just I'm so scared all the time."

Jaafar’s expression softens into heartbreak. He reaches out, gently wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. "Hey, look at me you could never ruin this for me. Your safety and your mind matter way more than any movie premiere."

"They're getting worse, Jer," you whisper, clinging to his shirt. "They know my schedule, they follow my car. My chest hurts every time I see a flash." Jermajesty tightens his grip on you, his jaw clenching with fierce, brotherly anger at the media, but his voice remains incredibly gentle for you.

"Listen to me, baby girl, you are not alone in this. We grew up seeing how ruthless they can be, and we are not going to let them destroy your peace. If you want to disappear for a month, we’ll pack your bags and take you to a private estate where nobody can find you."

"We'll handle the security from now on," Jaafar promises, kissing the top of your head. "No more walking alone and dealing with them by yourself. You're our little sister, and protecting you is our first job. Just breathe, okay? We've got you." Sitting between them on the dark balcony, the flashing lights below finally feel a little further away.

Taglist!👾: @primaltomeabomination @erynnnn @midnightparagraphs @heyitsm4di @rgg1115 @4ngelonmars @sxphr2 @skylar-g @luminousshardobelisk @raefoxiegirl @s0uash @kisscoqueen @appleheadsbiggestfan @delictezz @a-motherfcking-fish @animegamerfox @blameditontheboogie @mvkas @mileyispunk @missharper33 @raefoxiegirl

[xwixnk]

Ik this might be weird asf but can u make a fic of the jackson family Michael lives on and the whole family goes to the movie because reader starred in obsession as nikki and they're all scared asf of the movie but end up liking it and the ride home they all talk shit about bears character and oh reader is Michael's daughter

Obsession

Michael x daughter! Reader

Summary: You starred in the movie called "Obsession" and you scared your dad but he loved your acting and your cousins and siblings hate the character "Bear"

You sit right in the center, still wearing your glamorous red carpet gown. Your father, Michael sits right next to you, his hand securely wrapped around yours, while your siblings, cousins, and uncle pack the rest of the rows. You all just left the world premiere of your new horror film, Obsession, where you starred as Nikki, a girl cursed by a creepy novelty device into becoming a violently obsessed stalker.

Before the lights went down in the theater, the family was absolutely terrified for you. Now that the credits have rolled the review session has officially begun. "I am still shaking, sweetheart," Michael says, his voice a gentle, breathless coo as he squeezes your hand. He shakes his head, a huge, proud smile lighting up his face.

"When you did that slow crawl across the floor and screamed, 'Why don't you love me?!' I nearly jumped into Prince's lap. You were so magnificent, but you scared your daddy half to death!"

"Half to death? Pop, you literally grabbed my shoulder so hard I think it's bruised," Prince laughs from the row behind him. He leans forward to ruffle your hair. "Seriously sis you crushed it the whole theater was dead silent during that bedroom scene you were terrifying."

"I took a video of Paris hiding behind her purse," Bigi chimes in from the very back a smirk playing on his lips. "She didn't look at the screen for the last twenty minutes."

"Shut up, Bigi, yes I did!" Paris shoots back, laughing as she throws a discarded premiere program at him. She looks at you, her eyes shining with pride. "Okay, fine, I looked away when the blood started splashing. You were brilliant, Nikki. You made 'Freaky Nikki' an instant horror icon."

"Can we talk about the real villain though?" Genevieve asks, leaning across the aisle, her hands gesturing wildly. "Bear was absolute trash!" The entire van erupts into agreement.

"Oh, don't get me started on Bear." Jaafar scoffs, rolling his eyes as he chimes in from the middle row. "The man buys a sketchy 'One Wish Willow' device from a crystal shop because he's too cowardly to just tell his coworker he likes her! He literally robs Nikki of her entire free will because he's insecure."

"Exactly!" Jermajesty yells, slamming his hand playfully against the seat in front of him. "Then he acts all shocked when she starts acting crazy! Like bro you wished for her to love you more than anyone on earth. Did you think that meant she was just gonna bake you cookies? She's literally wearing human hair as a wig by the end to impress him!"

"He was so toxic," Randy laughs, shaking his head. "The man's cat dies from eating his grandmother's leftover oxycodone in the first ten minutes, and instead of mourning, he's using a magic stick to trap our cousin in a demonic love spell pathetic."

Michael chuckles softly at his family’s passionate breakdown of the plot. He leans over and presses a loving kiss to the top of your head. "They're right, my angel," Michael murmurs, his iconic soft tone filling your ears. "Bear's character was very selfish, although the way you played the real Nikki breaking through the trance when you were crying and begging him to end it, it broke my heart your acting was so pure."

"Thanks, Dad" you say, finally letting out the breath you've been holding since the red carpet. "I was so nervous you guys would think it was too weird." "Weird? We're the Jacksons, baby girl," Paris laughs, leaning forward to squeeze your shoulder. "We practically invented dramatic entertainment you fit right in."

"Absolutely," Jaafar agrees, grinning at you. "Next time, make sure your character has a baseball bat to take care of Bear before the curse kicks in."

Taglist!👾: @primaltomeabomination @erynnnn @midnightparagraphs @heyitsm4di @rgg1115 @4ngelonmars @sxphr2 @skylar-g @luminousshardobelisk @raefoxiegirl @s0uash @kisscoqueen @appleheadsbiggestfan @delictezz @a-motherfcking-fish @animegamerfox @blameditontheboogie @mvkas @mileyispunk @missharper33 @raefoxiegirl

[g1antgoodfish]

I’m All You’ll Ever Need - Jermajesty Jackson

based on this request

pairing: obsessed! jermajesty x bsf! reader

summary: you work as a production assistant for the michael movie where you meet jermajesty

content: possessive, obsessive behavior. jermajesty is a bit toxic in this one.

wc: 2.5k

Part of working on a film about Michael Jackson meant that there was never really a moment where you could forget how large the project was.

Even on the days when your feet hurt from standing for hours, your hands were full of call sheets, and you had spent the last six hours running from one side of the set to the other, there was always something extraordinary happening around you.

You were a production assistant. It wasn't glamorous. Not usually.

Most days consisted of fetching coffee, relaying messages, finding missing pieces of equipment, organizing schedules, and doing whatever else needed to be done before someone important realized it needed to be done.

But you loved it.

You loved the chaos. The constant movement. The feeling that you were somehow a small, insignificant part of something much bigger than yourself.

And, of course, there was the fact that Jaafar Jackson was playing Michael.

You had met Jaafar early into production. He was kind, funny, and surprisingly easy to talk to despite the fact that his last name alone could make almost anyone nervous.

You had been working near set when he had first introduced you to his brother.

"That's my little brother, Jermajesty."

You had looked up from the clipboard in your hands.

Jermajesty had smiled.

And that was it.

Nothing dramatic.

No instant realization that your life was about to become something entirely different.

Just a smile.

"Hi," he had said.

"Hi."

You had been shy.

Jermajesty noticed that immediately.

He noticed everything about you immediately.

The way your fingers tightened around your clipboard whenever you were nervous. The way you mindlessly played with your curls when you were trying to focus. The way you smiled at people even when you were exhausted.

He noticed the way you always apologized when someone else bumped into you.

He noticed how you never seemed to know what to do when a man flirted with you.

And, more importantly, he noticed that you didn't seem to have very many men in your life.

Not close ones, anyway.

That was what made it so easy.

Jermajesty didn't begin by trying to make you fall in love with him.

That would have been too obvious.

Instead, he became your friend. Your best friend.

It happened gradually enough that you didn't even notice it happening.

At first, he would only come to set when Jaafar was working.

Then he started coming even when Jaafar wasn't around.

"You're here again?" You had teased one afternoon.

Jermajesty had shrugged, leaning against the table beside you. "Maybe I like it here."

You raised your brow. "You don't even work here."

He didn’t hesitate with the response. "Maybe I like seeing you."

He had said it so casually that you hadn't thought anything of it.

You had laughed.

Jermajesty had watched you do it.

He liked your laugh. He liked that he was the one who had made you do it.

Soon, he was texting you, insistent on getting your number to make sure you got home okay one night.

‘Good morning.’

‘Did you eat?’

‘Where are you?’

‘You working today?’

He always seemed to know when you were tired.

Always seemed to know when something was bothering you.

And you had never had a guy friend like that before.

So you assumed it was normal.

You assumed all guy friends wanted to know where you were.

You assumed all guy friends got irritated when you didn't answer their texts.

You assumed all guy friends wanted to spend nearly every free moment with you, even if it just meant taking a nap.

You assumed it was normal for Jermajesty to stare down every man who spoke to you for too long. You assumed it was normal for him to ask questions about them afterward.

"Who was that?"

You had looked up from your phone. "Who?"

"The guy." There was something in his voice that you couldn’t quite place, but you had shrugged it off.

You had thought for a moment. "Oh. That's one of the camera assistants."

"What's his name?"

You had laughed. "Why?"

Jermajesty had smiled. "No reason."

There was always a reason. You just didn't know that yet.

The first time your friends tried to set you up with someone, Jermajesty had been sitting beside you on your couch.

He had insisted that he’d come over, claiming he hadn’t seen you in so long since you were out of town for a day to see your parents.

You had been scrolling through your phone while he watched something on television, your legs draped in his lap.

He had placed them there himself, running his hand up and down your smooth legs.

"Wait," you said suddenly.

Jermajesty looked over. "What?"

"My friends want me to go on a date."

His expression didn't change.

Not immediately.

He had tuned his gaze back forward, gazing at what was on the tv. "A date?"

"Yeah."

"With who?"

You showed him the message. Jermajesty read it.

Once. Then again.

He looked at the picture your friends had sent you.

The guy was attractive. Too attractive.

"What do you think?" You asked, valuing his opinion most of all.

Jermajesty looked back at you. "I think you shouldn't go."

You blinked. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. He seems like a douchebag."

You gave a light laugh. "You've never met him."

"I don't have to."

You laughed harder at that.

Jermajesty didn't.

That night, after you had fallen asleep while watching the movie, he picked up your laptop.

It was open.

Your messages were already on the screen.

It took him less than a minute.

He sent the message himself.

‘Sorry, I don't think this is going to work out. I don't think I'm interested anymore.’

He waited for the response.

‘Oh okay, that’s fine.’

‘Let’s call the date off.’

Perfect. Jermajesty deleted the messages, leaving ‘Let’s call the date off’ for you to see in the morning.

Then he closed the laptop.

And picked you up, carried you to your room, and went to sleep beside you like nothing had happened.

The next morning, you woke up to the message.

You stared at the screen. Your heart sank. Jermajesty noticed.

He always noticed.

"What happened?"

You turned the phone toward him.

He read the message.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his hand found your knee.

"Hey."

You looked at him.

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm not worried."

His hand tightened. "You are."

You looked away.

It was embarrassing. You had barely known the guy, but you had still been excited.

And now you had been rejected before you had even gotten the chance to meet him.

Jermajesty moved closer.

"You don't need him."

You looked at him. "What?"

"You don't need anyone else."

His voice was soft. Certain.

"You have me."

He reached for your phone, blocking the guy’s number.

Your heart stuttered.

Jermajesty watched it happen.

He had been waiting for this.

Waiting for the moment when you would look at him differently.

"You have me," he repeated. "You don't need some random guy your friends found online."

You smiled weakly.

"You're my friend."

"I know."

His thumb brushed over your knee.

"But I'm here, aren't I?"

You didn't answer.

Jermajesty smiled.

Because you didn't need to.

He knew you were listening.

"You don't need anyone else in your life," he said quietly. "I'm all you need."

He had planted the seed.

The words should have scared you.

Maybe, if they had come from anyone else, they would have.

But this was Jermajesty. Your best friend.

The person who knew everything about you. The person who always answered your calls. The person who always showed up. The person who made you laugh when you were upset. The person who had slowly, carefully, deliberately made himself the center of your entire life.

So you smiled. And leaned into him.

Jermajesty looked down at you.

His smile was soft. Almost loving.

You still thought he was your best friend.

He knew better.

He had never wanted to be just that.

And now, finally, you were beginning to understand that maybe you didn't want him to be either.

After that, things changed.

Not drastically. Not enough for you to question it.

Jermajesty was simply more affectionate.

At least, that was how he explained it.

He had always been touchy with you, but now there was more of it.

His hand resting on your lower back whenever you were walking through a crowded room.

His fingers wrapping around your wrist when you tried to walk too far ahead of him.

His arm draped over your shoulders whenever you sat beside him.

His hand finding your thigh whenever you were sitting together.

You never thought much of it.

You had never had a close guy friend before.

So when Jermajesty pulled you against his side in public, you assumed that was just what close friends did.

When he rested his chin on your shoulder while you were talking to someone else, you assumed it was normal.

When his hand wandered over your waist and lingered there, you assumed he simply wasn't thinking about it.

Jermajesty was always thinking about it.

He had become especially affectionate at work.

There were always people around.

Crew members. Actors. Your friends.

It made it easier for him to touch you.

He could always pretend it was innocent.

He would come up behind you while you were reading over a call sheet and wrap both arms around your waist.

You gasped. "Jermajesty."

His response was soft. "What?"

"You scared me."

He would laugh into your shoulder. "Sorry."

He never sounded sorry.

You would try to move away.

He wouldn't let you. "Just give me a second."

"A second for what?" You giggled at his antics.

He would whisper into your neck for only you to hear. "To miss you."

You would roll your eyes.

He would smile against your skin.

Sometimes, he started kissing you.

Not your lips.

Never your lips.

Not yet.

The first time was on your cheek.

You had been complaining about something that had happened on set, dramatically throwing your hands in the air while Jermajesty listened.

When you finally finished, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

You froze.

He pulled back. “What?"

You stared at him. "Did you just kiss me?"

"Yeah." He said it so casually.

"Why?"

He looked genuinely confused by the question. "Because I love you."

Your heart gave a strange little flutter.

Jermajesty smiled when he saw your expression.

"Not like that," he added, though the words came too quickly.

You nodded. "Right."

"Friends can love each other."

"Yeah."

"Exactly."

And that was that.

Or, at least, that was what you told yourself.

After that, the kisses became more frequent.

Your cheek.

Your forehead.

The top of your head.

Sometimes the corner of your jaw. That one always sent a jolt down your spine.

But they were always casual.

Always followed by the same explanation.

"That's just how I show affection."

"Through physical touch?"

"Yeah."

He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You know that."

You didn't.

But you nodded anyway.

Because Jermajesty did. And he was your best friend.

So when he pressed a kiss to your temple while you were standing beside him at the premiere of Michael, you didn't think anything of it.

You were too busy staring at the cameras.

The premiere was overwhelming.

The lights. The press. The people. The noise.

You had spent months working on the film, and now you were standing there watching everyone celebrate it.

You were dressed beautifully.

Jermajesty had told you that several times already. "You're staying with me tonight."

You glanced at him. "What?"

"You're staying with me."

You laughed. "I have my friends here."

"I know."

His hand settled against the small of your back. "You can see them later."

"Jermajesty."

"What?"

"You sound bossy."

He smiled. "I'm protective."

You rolled your eyes, but you didn't move his hand.

That was the problem.

You never moved his hand.

You had gotten used to him. To the way he stood close. To the way he touched you. To the way he watched you.

When one of your friends finally came over to pull you away for a picture, Jermajesty's hand tightened around your waist.

"Where are you going?"

"To take a picture."

"With who?"

You pointed toward your friends.

He looked over.

Then back at you.

"I'll come."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

He followed you anyway.

He stood behind you for the picture, one hand resting firmly on your waist.

When the picture was taken, he didn't move.

You glanced back at him.

"You can let go now."

"I could."

You laughed.

He didn't.

His eyes were on the people around you.

On the men who looked at you for too long. On the people who spoke to you as if they had some right to your attention.

Then his gaze returned to you. "You're pretty tonight. Always really. "

You smiled, willing yourself not to get flustered. "Thank you."

He leaned down.

You expected another kiss to your cheek.

Instead, his lips brushed against the corner of your jaw.

Barely.

Soft enough to make you question whether it had even happened.

You looked at him.

Jermajesty was already smiling.

You didn’t know how to take that. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You kissed me."

He shrugged. "Showing affection."

"On my jaw?"

"Is that a problem?"

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. "No."

His smile grew. "Good."

His hand slid lower against your waist.

Not enough to be obvious.

Just enough for you to feel it.

You looked around.

Nobody seemed to notice. Or maybe they did. You weren't sure.

Jermajesty leaned closer to your ear.

"You're with me tonight." He repeated.

Your heart fluttered again.

You turned to look at him. He was already watching you.

There was something different in his expression.

Something heavier.

Something that made you suddenly aware of just how close he was standing.

"What if I want to go with my friends?"

His smile didn't disappear.

But it changed.

Only slightly.

"You can."

His hand tightened against you. "But you're coming back to me."

It wasn't a question. He was telling you.

You stared at him. Then laughed softly.

"You're so weird."

Jermajesty smiled. "Yeah."

He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

"Good thing you love me."

You looked away.

Your cheeks were warm. "You're my best friend."

"I know."

He said it quietly.

Almost fondly. Almost like he was reminding himself.

Then he looked out toward the crowd.

His hand remained on your waist.

And you let it.

Because Jermajesty was your best friend.

Because he loved you.

Because this was simply how he showed affection.

Because you had never had a guy friend before.

And because you had no idea that every kiss, every touch, every arm around your waist was slowly teaching you to accept the idea of him being something more.

Jermajesty did.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

And when you finally leaned into him without thinking, resting your head against his chest while the cameras flashed around you, his hand moved up your back.

Slowly.

Possessively.

He looked down at you.

You didn't see the smile that crossed his face.

You didn't see the satisfaction in his eyes.

You only felt him press another kiss to the top of your head.

"See?"

His voice was soft.

"You don't need anybody else."

And this time, you didn't argue. You agreed.

[king-mila]

the michael’s daughter head canon, you said being born between Prince and Paris being the perfect middle child… Prince was born in Feb 1997 and Paris was born in Apr 1998… sorry i just needed to point it out

nope check it again, it definitely says “born between paris and bigi” lol (and no i didn’t edit it because i never made a mistake)

prince - ‘97

paris - ‘98

birdie - ‘00

bigi - ‘02

perfect middle between them.

[lapsofthegods]

　　DRUNK IN LOVE ━━ M.

　　　　　JACKSON.

ⲱⲥ. 𝟮𝟭𝟲𝟱.

𝒔𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. ━━ ༉‧ 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 ━ 𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸. 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝗌 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗿, 𝖻𝗎𝗍... 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖺 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 .ᐣ 𝒑𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ━━ ༉‧ 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋.ᐟ𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝒙 𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗅𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽.ᐟ𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝒄𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬. ━━ ༉‧ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿. 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅. 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆. 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅. 𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝒂𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞. ━━ ༉‧ based on this thought i had at the beginning of the month. i believe it turned out fine .ᐣ and way cuter than i thought . . . also, writing a drunk person’s dialogue is harder than i thought it would be😭 enjoy .ᐟ thank you for reading and for the support .ᐟ 𝒕𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. ━━ ༉‧ @unknwnbrii @moonwalker4you @platanita @holyfujjj @jenniversity @faerieglitter555 @trizixi1 @absdoesnothaveabs @ruby-angel052 @meowswrites @thebrunetteswan @peritinkers @mrsshamone @equallyshaw @hotnmysterious7 @parasolprincss @realgibby @emma3078 @feenin4dietcoke @eternal-life94 @miratate @edna-skiffens @michaelswifejackson @softformj @argentinemango @misscowboyhat @pytforever @a-motherfcking-fish @iwannarockwu @lestatress

　WHEN MICHAEL CAST one last glance at the clock perched above the fireplace, he let out a tired sigh. The television screen was the only source of light in the room, its images throwing muted colours onto the singer’s exhausted face.

　It was almost three o’clock in the morning.

　Michael was no stranger to sleepless nights ━ those endless nights when he would sometimes find himself swamped with work. Yet tonight, it wasn’t that he lacked the desire to sleep. For once, he was utterly exhausted.

　But you still hadn’t come home, so there was no way in hell he was going to go to bed without you.

　His fingertips rolled over his thighs in a rhythm meant to be comforting and patient. He had been wearing his checked pyjama bottoms and his old white t-shirt ever since you had left the house a good six hours earlier.

　Michael was slumped on the sofa, a plate of ice cream abandoned on the coffee table, his eyes darting back and forth between Some Like It Hot and the clock, which, over the course of those six long hours, had become his worst enemy.

　He felt as though every tick-tock was actually mocking him, a way for it to remind him that you still weren’t there and that, despite the hours ticking by, time was passing oh so slowly.

　Michael had hesitated over whether to hurl the remote control at it or throw it into the fire. He wanted to put a stop to the taunts, but something told him that you wouldn’t appreciate him destroying your Canetti, which you had paid a small fortune for to fill that wall that had seemed too bare to you.

　He regretted not having invested in a dartboard instead…

　The singer shot another glare at his arch-enemy and, realising that only two minutes had passed, threw his head back, his curls falling limp against the velvet sofa. His stomach seemed to knot up again, and he found his lip caught between his front teeth.

　You should have been home at least a good fifteen minutes ago. Not that Michael was keeping tabs on you or expecting you to come home at a set time ━ no, you were perfectly entitled to have fun, he had complete faith in you ━ but your friend had phoned him from the bar where you were partying to let him know you were on your way home…

　And that had been twenty minutes ago.

　Michael liked to tell himself that he wasn’t the sort of boyfriend who made his girlfriend feel as if she were in prison with him but ━ damn ━ right at that moment he regretted it.

　He should have at least sent Bill.

　That was what his mind kept repeating over and over. He should have asked him to come and pick you up to make sure you got home safely, but your friend had told him that you had slipped away in a taxi, and it had been too late to send anyone to fetch you.

　Michael decided to wait another three short minutes before phoning Bill to ask him to come and pick him up so they could search the whole state for you.

　If anything happened to you, it would kill him. You had been his whole world ever since he first met you a few years ago. Love at first sight, Michael had told you, and ever since then, he had been certain that if you looked up love in the dictionary, you would find your name in the definition.

　You were going to walk through that door safe and sound, Michael was convinced of it; it couldn’t end like this. He took a twentieth deep breath, his foot unconsciously swaying from side to side on the coffee table.

　Where the hell were you?

　The metallic jingle of keys was enough to dispel the fear that was beginning to gnaw at him in the darkness of the living room.

　Michael sprang to his feet and raced across the room, his long legs giving him the edge. His hands were trembling slightly as he grabbed the door handle and flung the door open. The wood banged against the wall; there would surely be a mark, but he didn’t care.

　You had finally made it home safe and sound.

　"Oh, God thank you," he whispered. "I was getting worried sick, baby…"

　You had to cling to the door handle to stop yourself from falling. Your purse had slipped off your shoulder and was now dangling from your wrist, mirroring the pair of heels you were holding in your other hand. Your eyes were half-lidded, your lipstick had smudged and your eyeliner had run slightly at the corners of your eyes. You looked like a mess.

　"’m fi… ne…" you hiccuped.

　"Girl, you’re not fine," Michael chuckled, walking toward you. "Come here, let me help you get to bed━"

　You flinched back, almost falling to the ground as you pressed yourself flat against the door.

　"Noooooo!" you shouted suddenly. "Back… off! I have… a boyfriend, mis… mister. So… shoo!"

　Michael blinked. He let his arms fall to his sides, his eyebrows gradually furrowing. He glanced behind him, as if to check that there was no one else there whom you might be addressing, before turning his gaze back to you, looking completely confused.

　"You… you what now?"

　"A boyfriend!" you declared, trying to stand up straighter. "He’s tall and… handsome and str… ong… and he will… beat your ass… if you get too close to… me."

　If you hadn’t been so heavily intoxicated, Michael would probably have burst out laughing at the way you were talking. He wasn’t sure how you would react if he made fun of your hiccups.

　He opened his mouth to try to talk some sense into you, but when he saw how close you were to collapsing to the floor, he decided to take a different approach instead.

　"Oh, you got a man, huh?" he asked, taking a step closer to catch you just in case ━ he needed to get you to bed as soon as possible. "That’s a real shame, sweetheart. What’s he like, this boyfriend of yours?"

　You beamed at the question, swaying lightly.

　"The best… sings to… to me all the time…"

　"Does he now?" Michael mused, taking another step. "And where’s that man of yours now, mmm?"

　You face fell into a pout.

　"Busy… works too much…" you answered sadly. "… but if you try anything he’ll ki… ck you!"

　His amusement gave way to a sense of guilt. Michael knew he was working incredibly hard and was rarely at home these days. He had probably never realised just how much it might be affecting you until tonight, as he saw your eyes fill with tears. Michael panicked for a moment. He didn’t want to make you cry ━ he hated seeing you sad ━ so he stepped closer and placed a hand on your forearm.

　"Alright. I hear you, I hear you. I’m not trying to steal you, I promise. I’m just here to get you to bed safely. Your man would want you safe, right?"

　You looked at him suspiciously for a moment. His black hair curled around his face, with a stray lock resting against his forehead. He was looking at you with four large brown eyes that seemed strangely familiar to you. Surely, that wasn’t normal.

　"You know… you kinda look like him… like, a little bit…"

　"Oh yeah?"

　"Yeah…" you nodded, stepping closer. "… Same eyes… same… same smile…" you squinted harder. "… but my man is prettier… like way prettier… no offense…"

　Michael let out a laugh.

　"None taken. I’m sure he is, baby," he was smiling now. "Come on, pretty girl, let's get you to bed. I promise, I'm just helping, that's all."

　You let him guide you, but you kept your distance, your body tense. He led you to the hallway, his hands firm but gentle around your waist. You were mumbling things, your head rolling down to the side opposite his neck. The guy smelled of sandalwood and musk just like your boyfriend and it was enough to send you spiralling.

　"Miss him sooo much… like so, so much… you know how much?"

　"I’ve a feeling you’re about to tell me," he murmured, walking you around a corner.

　"He has those eyes… big, brown, doe eyes that just… he looks like Bambi, you know?"

　Michael flashed you a smile.

　"From Disney?"

　"Oh, yeah… but Mike’s waay cuter…" you missed a step. "Love kissing his nose too... so perfect... and his hair… so soft… he likes when I… run my fingers through it… he even purrs."

　"I do not purr," he chuckled sheepishly.

　"’course you don’t… you don’t have nice hair like him…"

　"Right, right."

　"... And his hands... things he does with his hands and his mouth, oh━"

　"Okay! Okay, wow," Michael cut you in, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. "That's enough detail, don't you think, sweetheart?"

　"You're just jealous..." you hiccuped. "He's the best... so sweet to me... makes me breakfast in bed and lea... ves notes for me when he goes to wo... rk... and dances with me in the kit... chen..." you let out a lovesick sigh. "Just love him sooo much..."

　He gently eased you down onto the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you. Michael was looking at you with such a shy smile that he almost felt childish about it. No one had ever spoken of him as kindly and affectionately as you had.

　He knew you loved him, even though you weren’t the sort to say it every day. In fact, you hardly ever said it, but he knew. It was written in all the small things you would do like giving him small things that made you think about him for no reasons at all or you staying up all night just to have a chance to see him after a long day at work.

　"You really love that guy, huh?" he murmured, taking off your shoes delicately.

　"With my whooole heart..." you patted your chest clumsily.

　"He's very lucky to have you."

　"’m luckier…" you hiccuped once more.

　You peered down at him, your head tilted at an angle that was giving you a double chin. You could see white teeth flashing at you. Your eyes squinted, trying to focus on his face in the dim light.

　"You look... familiar..."

　"Do I?"

　"Yeah... you kinda look like my Mi... ke... if i close one eye..." you squint harder. "... or both..."

　Michael laughed at you, putting your shoes aside.

　"Must be the lighting..." he bit his lips, trying to hide his giddiness. "Handsome guy?"

　"Very..." you nodded eagerly. "... most handsomest of handsome perfectsome man..."

　"Girl, that sentence makes no sense!" he threw his head back.

　You simply hummed and sank into the mattress, your eyes already fluttering closed.

　That was the moment Michael chose to get to his feet. He stood there for a moment, watching your chest rise and fall beneath your dress, which looked far too uncomfortable to sleep in. He would try to take it off you later, though Michael doubted you would let him in your current state. He was about to walk into the bathroom when he felt a hand grip his wrist.

　He looked down at you.

　"Tell him ‘m home... safe, 'kay? He gets so... worried when I go out... Don't want him to be mad..." you mumbled sleepily.

　"Don't worry, baby, he's not mad at all," Michael reassured you, sitting on the bed next to you, the back of his fingers caressing your cheek lovingly. "He could never be mad at you."

　"I know... he likes when I've fun... but... don't want to worry him..."

　"It's okay, he's not worried anymore, sweetheart, you can sleep," he cooed, his hand never leaving your face.

　For a moment, you seemed satisfied with his words, welcoming Morpheus gladly, but the very next second a wrinkle appeared between your eyebrows and your eyes flew open, your pupils almost swallowing your irises.

　"You need to… back off... Told you I had a man... I'll tell him to... kick you..."

　Michael laughed, pulling his hand away from your warm skin. He raised both hands in a gesture of peace.

　"Alright, alright. I don't want any trouble."

　He got to his feet and continued on his way to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, as he reached for some cotton pads to remove your make-up, Michael looked at himself for a moment. His eyes scanned his face carefully and lingered on his nose. You had called it perfect, and it was true that you loved kissing him in that exact spot. Yet he was often embarrassed when you did it... But now that he had heard your drunken words, Michael couldn’t help thinking that perhaps... you were right.

　He should see himself more often from your eyes.