Halle and Michael had been best friends from the beginning with their mothers Katherine and Eliza being best friends and their due dates only being 2 months apart when Halle was born Katherine has taken Michael with her to go and see her best friend and meet her baby.
From the moment they met both babies laying on the hospital bed together Eliza and Katherine knew their bond was going to be special as they had hold of each other's hand and cried if they were moved away from each other and it didn’t stop there either at 6 months Michael had learned to crawl the first person, he crawled to was Halle who was in her car seat, a few weeks later when Halle had just turned 6 months the second word she said after mama was Mimi.
As the years went by Katherine and Eliza both had front row seats seeing the beautiful friendship their children were growing on the first day at kinder Michael was extremely nervous being a naturally timid child he refused to let go of Katherine’s hand that was until he saw his best friend Halle arrive smiling holding her mother's hand.
Out of them both Halle was defiantly more outgoing while Michael was very reserved, he didn’t mind being by her side letting her pull him along for the adventure he felt brave being by her side they both were each other's safe person, that didn’t change as they got older either.
It wasn’t long after that Michael’s father had put him and his brothers in a band called the Jackson 5 which meant that he spent a lot of time rehearsing and driving around the country playing shows it got even more hectic as the years went on with the Jackson 5 grew in popularity even so much so in being signed to Motown records.
Halle was happy for the success her friend had achieved, and she had remained friends with him whenever he had some free time he would always check in on her, though overtime his father put a stop to that as he wanted all of the Jackson 5 boys to focus on their careers it wasn’t long after this that Katherine had told Eliza that they would be moving out of Gary and to Encino which is when everything changed.
Months continued to pass which turned into years that Halle had last heard from Michael they were both now 18 Halle had just returned home from college for the summer excited to spend time with her family and friends when she heads downstairs in her sleep shorts and her sleep top when sitting at her parent's kitchen table was Katherine and her son Michael...
Hiii can u do a fic of Reader and Jaafar get into an argument. She goes home, and she's feeling like, you know, extra pissy. So she puts herself to the song, I am not his bitch no more. And he pulls up to her house, you know. You can finish it. Maybe some smut
Plss xxxx
Take it
Jaafar x reader
Warnings: P in V (raw), Dirty talk.
Summary: You and Jaafar had an argument and you go home and play "I am not his bitch no more." with attitude and Jaafar knows how to fix it.
The bass from "I Am Not His Bitch No More" vibrated straight through the floorboards of your bedroom. You paced the floor, still furious from the argument, letting the music validate every ounce of the pettiness and anger rolling through you.
Then came the heavy, unmistakable knock at the front door.You didn't even have to open it to know who it was. When you pulled the door back, Jaafar was leaning against the frame, looking entirely too calm for someone who had just ruined your evening. He didn't wait for an invitation; he stepped inside, closing the door behind him, his eyes locking onto yours with a slow, knowing smirk as the music continued to blare in the background.
"Turn that shit off, ma," he said, his voice low, a deliberate challenge."Make me," you snapped, crossing your arms and stepping back, your chest heaving with lingering adrenaline. "You don't get to just pull up to my house after what you said."
Jaafar didn't argue. He just walked over to the speaker, clicked it off, and turned back to you. The sudden silence in the room was heavy, thick with unresolved friction. He closed the distance between you before you could protest, his hands coming up to grip your hips, pulling you flush against him.
"You think you're so tough when you're mad, don't you, sweetgirl?" he murmured, his thumb digging into your hip bone. His tone was entirely too soft, too sentimental to be genuine he was playing with you, using that smooth, sweet voice just to throw you off balance. "Look at you. So beautiful when you're pissed off at me."
"Don't do that," you breathed, trying to push against his chest, but your grip was already weakening. "Don't come in here acting like you care right now." "But I do care, baby," he whispered against your lips, a fake, teasing pout in his voice before he leaned down to bite at your jawline. "I care so much. You’re my baby, right? Even when you're having an attitude"
Before you could formulate another insult, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you the few steps to the bed. He didn't give you time to think or catch your breath. He pinned you down, and thrusting you hard all you can hear is skin slapping and moaning and groaning the argument was completely wiped from your mind.
"Mmh, baby, you feel so good," Jaafar groaned, his voice deep and vibrating against your skin as he set a punishing, heavy pace. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck, his breath hot. "Look at you taking all of this for me. Such a good girl, mama." The intensity of it the contrast between his sweet, praised filled words and the aggressive, unyielding rhythm of his body was too much. Your anger evaporated, replaced by an overwhelming wave of overstimulation.
You tried to tell him to slow down, tried to reclaim some shred of control, but your voice failed you entirely."J-Jaafar—p-please—" you choked out, your hands gripping his shoulders desperately. Your mind was completely blank, short-circuiting under the thursting."
"What's that, baby?" he teased, pulling back just enough to look down at your flushed face, a triumphant, dark look in his eyes. He didn't slow down for a second, maintaining the heavy, relentless rhythm that kept you completely helpless beneath him. "Can't even talk to me now? You had so much to say five minutes ago."
"I—I c-can't—you're—" You stuttered, your eyes fluttering shut as a wave of intense sensation rushed through you. You couldn't even form a coherent syllable, your lips parting in breathless, broken gasps.
"Yeah, stay just like that for me," Jaafar murmured, his voice dripping with false gentleness as he pressed down harder, completely consuming your ability to think, speak, or do anything but break down under him. "Just take it, sweetgirl. You don't need to say a thing.
Your head pushed back into the pillows, your vision blurring as your eyes rolled back from the sheer volume of sensation. Your fingers clawed into the sheets, completely overwhelmed, your body twitching under the friction.
"Look at those pretty eyes." he teased, his voice a low, gravelly vibration right against your ear. He deliberately shifted his angle, pressing deeper and sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight through you. "Where'd you go, huh? You're not even looking at me anymore."
"Ah—J-Jaa—" A high, breathless whimper cut off your sentence before you could even finish his name. Your hips bucked up instinctively, trying to find relief, but he held you down firmly, keeping you trapped under his heavy rhythm. "Mmh, you're just making noise for me now, sweetgirl," he murmured, a soft, mocking laugh catching in his throat as he picked up the speed.
"Can't give me attitude when you're shaking like this. Tell me how good it feels. Come on, tell baby."You tried to glare at him, tried to summon an ounce of the anger you had felt earlier, but another heavy thrust shattered your focus. Your eyes rolled back again, your lips parting in a silent gasp as your chest heaved.
You couldn't think, couldn't speak, and you definitely couldn't fight back. You were entirely at his mercy, completely overstimulated while he kept talking his sweet, agonizing praise into your skin. Jaafar let out a low, rough growl, his chest pressing flat against yours as he buried himself even deeper.
He could feel you pussy tighting making him smirk grow wider. He was deliberately crowding you, using his sheer size and the relentless, heavy friction to make sure you couldn't find a single second to catch your breath. "Look at you," Jaafar whispered, his lips brushing against your burning earlobe as he kept up the punishing, unbroken rhythm. "So tight for me, ma. You’re taking every single inch of this so perfectly, aren't you?"
You couldn't answer. Your head thrashed against the pillow, your eyes rolling back into your head as another wave of intense heat crashed over you. Your thighs trembled against his hips, completely powerless to stop him. All you could do was let out a series of broken, high pitched whimpers, your throat tight as you choked on the overwhelming sensation.
"Mmh, listen to you," he teased, his voice dripping with that smooth, mocking satisfaction. He pulled back just an inch, pausing for a cruel, agonizing second to let you writhe beneath him before driving right back in with a heavy, deliberate thud. "You love how big I am inside you, don't you, sweetgirl? Tell me. Let me hear those pretty noises again."
"A-Ah—n-no—" You gasped out, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders that your nails left red marks. You tried to pull away from the sheer intensity, but his grip on your waist tightened like iron, pinning your hips to the mattress so you had to absorb the full weight of every strike.
"No?" Jaafar laughed softly, a dark, rumbling sound that vibrated straight into your chest. He leaned down, pressing his mouth against the sensitive column of your neck, biting gently before sucking a dark mark into your skin.
"You say no, but your body is begging me for it, mama. You’re practically swallowing me whole right now. You’re my good girl, aren't you? Taking your man so well."Your mind completely short-circuited. The contrast of his sweet, degrading praise and the heavy, relentless pace was too much to handle.
Your vision went completely blurry, your lips parting in a breathless, silent scream as your body stretched to its absolute limit, entirely consumed by how ruthlessly he was taking care of your anger.
🪽— and to the black writers of the mj community, please don’t ever let someone behind a screen dim your light. Don’t let them encourage you to stop doing something you love just because it bothers or doesn’t impact them personally. What you do is art, and if other women or men other races are allowed to do so, we can too. I love you all so much and being in this community with so many black woman has meant the world to me because irl I can’t keep a friend. So thank you for being you. Please don’t let negativity bring you down, as poc we’ve been going through stuff like this for years either way. Don’t let them take what you love away from you too. Don’t let them win.
I love you guys, please don’t leave. Your important.
we put so much of our hearts into this community, we deserve the love too. we are truly so so special, even if you aren’t a writer you still matter in the community & are very much loved *mwah* *mwah*
- This will be a series due to the false narrative heavily pushed by the media that Michael despised young girls. Some will be surprised that he was in fact much more affectionate with them -
- Invincible signing 2001, Michael with a young fan named Paris!
- World Music Awards 1993, Michael with Lily Chandler [Jordan Chandler’s half sister] I thought this would be important to include because guilters focus on Jordan who sat on the edge of Michael’s seat due to limited amount of chairs but fail to acknowledge Lily actually sitting on Michael’s lap for half the show
- Heal LA and Heal the World Foundation 1993, Michael with a young fan
August is a month to remember the lives lost to overdose, support the people and families affected, and remind others that overdose is preventable.
Michael Jackson’s death is part of a difficult conversation surrounding prescription medication, medical care, and the importance of taking these issues seriously. Remembering him isn’t about romanticizing how he died it’s about remembering the person he was and the life he lived.
Michael gave the world decades of music, performances, creativity, and memories that continue to mean so much to millions of people. 🕊️
This month, let’s remember those who were lost, show compassion toward the people affected, and continue conversations that can help prevent more lives from being lost.
August 31 — International Overdose Awareness Day.

mass share and reblog this to spread awareness for michael jackson and many others. ₊˚⊹ᰔ
Reader stumbles into his mansion out of curiosity and becomes intrigued by him. She continues to go back and they develop a friendship. Playful flirting and sexual tension is would be great! I don’t care if there isn’t smut but I’m always into it.
Your writing is amazing sending all my love!!
𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐫.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: maestro!michael jackson x black!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you, curious and unbothered, sneaks into the gothic estate of the infamous maestro, a late-night trespassing game turns into a dangerous, high-voltage dance of playful teasing and electric chemistry.
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: enemies to flirts, gothic romance, high sexual tension, playful banter, angst (with a happy ending), maestro!michael, based on ghosts (1996), a little short thing cause your girl didn't really know where to take it.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k
𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i'm gonna have to apologize for this one being short cause my brain was kicking my ass on where to take this so i just decided to leave it alone. however, i hope this was filled with some sort of tension and playful banter. maybe if i write for him again, i could do smut. i just gotta figure out how to go about it.
The gates of the Montagu Manor didn’t creak; they groaned, a heavy iron lament against the howling autumn wind. To the superstitious folk down in Normal Valley, that sound was the herald of doom—a warning that a shadowy, eccentric Maestro of the estate was stirring.
To you, it was practically a velvet rope inviting you inside.
You had always possessed an absurdly high tolerance for the strange. Ghost stories didn’t give you nightmares; they gave you itinerary ideas. While the townspeople whispered about flickering green lights in the grand turrets and phantom organ music echoing in the valley, you simply grabbed your coat, slipped past the rusted iron gates, and strolled up the winding stone path as if attending an evening gala.
The mahogany front doors groaned open the moment your foot hit the top step.
“Predictable, but nice flair,” you hummed aloud, stepping into the cavernous, vaulted foyer.
The air inside tasted of dried lavender, old leather, and a faint electric ozone—like the atmosphere just before a lightning strike. Towering sconces sparked to life one by one down the grand corridor, casting long, golden shadows across the gilded mirrors and velvet-draped walls.
“You know,” a smooth, melodious voice purred from the rafters, "uninvited guests usually have the decency to tremble.”
You looked up, unfazed, catching a blur of dark velvet and silver-embroidered silk descending lazily through the air. The Maestro landed without a sound, floating the last few inches before his polished leather boots touched the marble floor. He wore a sharp, Victorian-style tailcoat, his dark locks framing a face that was stunningly handsome, impossibly pale, and currently wearing a look of deep, theatrical offense.
"I left the door unlocked," he continued, taking a slow, predatory step toward you, his dark eyes gleaming with mischievous magic. "I didn't invite you to a promenade."
"If you wanted people to stay out, Maestro," you replied, leaning back against the grand arched entryway and crossing your arms, "you shouldn't make your haunt look so inviting. The gothic aesthetic really suits the place."
He paused, a slow, brilliant smile breaking across his features. His dark eyes glittered. "A connoisseur of the macabre. How refreshing."
That had been three weeks ago.
Now, your midnight visits were an unspoken ritual. You brought him stories from the outside world—a world he chose to keep at arm's length—and he offered you a sanctuary of whimsical enchantments, velvet couches, and banter that grew bolder with every passing night.
Tonight, the storm outside raged with a vengeance, but inside the manor’s private parlor, a roaring fire bathed the room in amber light.
You were lounged on a plush crimson settee, sipping tea that had magically poured itself from a silver pot twenty minutes ago. Maestro was pacing the perimeters of the room, his long fingers trailing over antique instruments, pretending to adjust a bust of Shakespeare while casting deliberate, lingering glances in your direction.
“You’re terribly quiet tonight,” you teased, setting your teacup down with a soft clink. “Plotting my demise, or sulking because your shadow lost at chess earlier?”
He gasped dramatically, clutching a gloved hand to his chest. "I never sulk. I brood. There is an art to it." He turned, his coat tail snapping around him as he stepped into the firelight. "And as for your demise... I haven't decided if you're more useful alive or as a permanent fixture of my spectral choir."
"Try to turn me into a ghost and I’ll haunt your wardrobe," you shot back smoothly. "You’d never wear silk again."
A low, rich laugh bubbled from his throat—a sound that vibrated right through the floorboards and settled somewhere warm in your chest.
"A cruel punishment," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he drifted closer. He leaned over the back of your settee, his face suddenly inches from yours. The scent of vanilla and night-blooming jasmine washed over you. "You have a dangerous tongue, little trespasser."
"And you have a habit of invading personal space," you replied, your breath hitching slightly despite your cool tone.
"Space is a human construct," he whispered, a sly tilt to his lips. "I am merely... expanding my territory."
Before you could offer a witty retort, he vanished. A soft puff of shimmering, dark mist was all that remained where he had been standing.
You rolled your eyes, sitting up. "Oh, very mature, Maestro."
Silence stretched over the room, save for the crackle of the fireplace. You stood up, walking toward the grand archway that led into the ballroom. "If you think popping out of a shadow is going to scare me tonight, you're going to be terribly disappointed."
You turned the corner into the darkened hall, turning your head left—
Slam.
You backed right into a solid, velvet-clad chest that definitely hadn't been there a millisecond ago.
"Looking for me?" his voice rumbled, dangerously close to your ear.
Startled for the first time all evening, you gasped and spun around, your heel catching on the edge of your hem. You began to tilt backward, but before you could fall, two long, steady arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest to catch you.
The impact knocked the breath right out of you.
The playfulness evaporated instantly, replaced by a thick, heavy silence. His hands were firm against the small of your back, holding you captive. You looked up, your chest rising and falling against his, and found his gaze locked onto yours. The dark depth in his eyes had turned stormy, heated, and utterly intense.
Up close, the power he usually kept cloaked beneath theatrical theatricality was palpable. It radiated off him like heat from a furnace. His gaze flicked down to your lips, his knuckles tightening slightly against your waist, sending a sudden, electric shiver straight down your spine.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that felt like velvet against bare skin. "You might actually hurt yourself. And then who would I have to torment?"
"You... you caught me," you managed, your voice dropping to a breathless whisper. You didn't move away. In fact, your hands had instinctively rested against his chest, feeling the steady, magical thrum of his pulse beneath the fine fabric of his vest.
"I always catch what enters my lair," he purred, his head dipping lower, his lips hovering mere inches from the curve of your jaw. The heat of his breath flickered over your skin, making your pulse race. "The question is whether I ever let it go."
The air between you pulsed with an unbearable tension, a magnetic pull so tight it felt as though a single spark would set the whole manor ablaze.
Then, with a suave, wicked smirk, he subtly shifted his grip, sliding his hand down to take yours with practiced elegance. He took a step back, breaking the heavy contact, though his eyes never left yours.
"Come," he said softly, leading you toward the center of the vast, moonlit ballroom. "I believe I owe you a proper performance for your brave endurance tonight."
With a simple, careless flick of his free wrist, the grand piano in the corner began to play itself. A haunting, breathtaking waltz filled the air, the keys depressing under the touch of invisible, ghostly fingers.
Maestro drew you in, placing one hand gently at the small of your back and raising your linked hands high.
The Midnight Waltz began.
He moved like smoke—effortless, fluid, and intoxicating. He spun you across the polished marble floor, the shadows dancing in rhythm with your steps. Every turn brought you brushing against his length; every dip felt like a silent proposition. He was playing with you, leading you through a choreography of subtle touches, lingering gazes, and breathless pauses.
As the music swelled to its dramatic peak, he guided you toward a massive, ornate mirror framing the far wall—an antique piece encased in swirling silver serpents.
“Look,” he whispered in your ear, standing directly behind you, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders, his chin almost brushing your neck.
You looked into the glass. At first, it reflected only the two of you—a stunning contrast of your warm, glowing skin against his dramatic, dark elegance. But then, the glass shimmered like disturbed water.
The magical illusion shifted. In the reflection, the space between you dissolved entirely. The mirror didn't show where you were—it showed what the air between you was trying to do. Shadows wrapped around the two of you like a dark silk shroud, pulling your reflection back into his chest, his ghostly hands threading through your hair, his lips pressed intimately against the pulse of your neck while you leaned back into him, completely undone.
You let out a soft, sharp breath, your cheeks flushing deep crimson as the explicit desire portrayed in the mirror hung naked between you.
"The mirror doesn't tell lies, my sweet trespasser," Maestro murmured into your hair, his voice dripping with dark amusement and a hunger he was no longer bothering to hide. His real hands slid slowly down your arms, his fingers tracing a burning path down to your wrists. "It merely reflects... possibilities."
You turned around in his hold, stepping directly into his personal space, looking up into those intense, intoxicating eyes.
"And what if I like those possibilities?" you asked, your voice steady despite the hammer of your heart.
A dark, dangerously handsome smile spread across his face. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his hands slid around your waist once more, pulling you impossibly close.
"Then I suggest," he whispered, his voice a sultry promise that guaranteed you wouldn't be leaving the manor anytime soon, "you stop teasing the monster... before he decides to consume you whole."
Can we please have a conversation what creators post on here stays on here stop leaking onto tiktok for judgemental people coming over here ruining the vibe
I gotta bone to pick with joes big fat having ass self. I’m pissed he didn’t let Toya pursue her dream of being a lawyer. Imagine what it would’ve been like if the Jackson’s had a family lawyer on their side? Especially since sometimes they’d get into deals that sucked. Him depriving her of doing so ruined so much shit.
Added to the list of reasons to be sick and tired of that man😪 He made their life so much harder than it had to be and now I’m irritated
🪽— and to the black writers of the mj community, please don’t ever let someone behind a screen dim your light. Don’t let them encourage you to stop doing something you love just because it bothers or doesn’t impact them personally. What you do is art, and if other women or men other races are allowed to do so, we can too. I love you all so much and being in this community with so many black woman has meant the world to me because irl I can’t keep a friend. So thank you for being you. Please don’t let negativity bring you down, as poc we’ve been going through stuff like this for years either way. Don’t let them take what you love away from you too. Don’t let them win.
I love you guys, please don’t leave. Your important.
I'm new to the MJ fandom and honestly it's so horrific seeing the posts of the nasty anonymous things people have been sent there is NO!! room for racism none at all
I'm a white woman who has black relatives and it makes me feel physically sick that some people are so vile that people are so nasty there is absolutely NO ROOM FOR RACISM!!
Michael is a proud black man and his message has always been clear heal the world and love one another
To all the wonderful black Kings and Queens who share their talent with us thank you and please know you are so loved and appreciated your talent inspires me and so many others x
Mike's good fish @kisscoqueen - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
