a very long note: guys, GUYS. normally i stopped reading celebrity fanfiction since it kind of icks me now. however with my regrowing infatuation with michael, i would like to pay an homage to the 16 year old me. so here it is in all its glory. please don’t get annoyed that there is not much smut though. i don’t really get along with it. i want to go back and cuddle him so most of them are just fluff, comfort and angst (duh, who am i without that type of anguish) enjoy!
SERIES- MULTI CHAPTERS
past exposure • michael jackson x time traveller!reader
↳ by @thedailymichael (multiple eras, time travelling au)
the jackson chronicles • michael jackson x spouse!reader
↳ by @imhandicapableofmath (so domestic, married!michael, suggestive, fluff)
desire, interrupted | desire, reclaimed • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @urbanfunkchild (dangerous/history era, smut, angst, soft fluff)
you knock me off my feet | part two | part three • michael jackson x newrisintvocalist!reader
↳ by @comoquesoybambi (bad era, michael is basically obsessed)
my little reporter | part two • michael jackson x journalist!reader
↳ by @/am3sss (bad era, fluff)
again | part two | michael jackson x dancer!reader
↳ by @tpwkyarely (angst, hurt/comfort)
beautiful stranger | part two • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @mjuniverse (pre thriller era, slow burn, yearning, very angsty, right person, wrong time, soft!michael)
gone by morning | part two • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @startingsomethin (thriller-bad era, angst, cheating, smut, fluff)
spotlight • michael jackson x popstar!reader
↳ by @hcwait (thriller era, slow burn)
making of an it girl | part two • michael jackson x tourdancer!reader
↳ by @intelligenthottie
baby be mine | thrill you tonight • michael jackson x girlnextdoor!reader
↳ by @iceemochaa (post otw-pre thriller era, fluff, slightly suggestive)
stargirl | part two • michael jackson x singer !reader
↳ by @ytrhbz (thriller era, whipped!michael, fluff)
remember the time | part two | part three • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @chmpngekisses (thriller-bad era, angst)
his new obsession | part two • michael jackson x reader
↳ by @luvvreader (yearning, slow burn)
by your side | part two • michael jackson x actress!reader
↳ by @svnnywrites (thriller era, hurt/comfort)
ONE-SHOTS-BLURBS-HC’S
baby be mine • michael jackson x reader
↳ by @angelfacediary (otw-bad era, angst, fluff)
nine months of home videos • michael jackson x reader
↳ by @angelfacediary (pregnant!reader, so so so fluffy)
out of time • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @urelliee (bad era, angst, heartbreak, very bittersweet)
pretty young thing • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @tpwkyarely (angst, comfort, tw: dv)
through his lens • thriller!michael jackson x reader
↳ by @neverlandzangel (thriller era, married!michael, fluff, domestic bliss)
arrow through the heart • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @startingsomethin (dangerous era, oh so angsty)
excuse me that’s my wife • michael jackson x reader
↳ by @mvsticmoony (jealous!michael, fluff)
where is my husband! • michael jackson x singer!reader
↳ by @mvsticmoony (fluff)
love caught on tape • michael jackson x reader
↳ by @mvsticmoony (invincible era, flashbacks, married life fluff)
a love letter to june • michael jackson x fan!reader
↳ by @hcwait (dangerous era, very fluffy)
in sickness and in health • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @king-mila (bad era, protective!michael, sick!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort)
america’s sweetest bunny • michael jackson x reader
↳ by @michaeldiary (dangerous era, playboymodel!reader, sooo fluffy, slightly suggestive)
little pieces of her • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @brownsugarletters (thriller era, fluff)
young hearts, run free • michael jackson x guitarist!reader
↳ by @shakinghamster (thriller era, fluff, workplace romance, cheating)
unforgettable • michael jackson x fan!reader
↳ by @ytrhbz (history era, fluff, reader is that girl)
cause if it’s aching, you have to rub it • michael jackson x fem!black!reader
↳ by @serenebows (thriller era, shy!reader, fluff)
all over, all over, all over • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @hon3yarchives (dangerous era, fluff, suggestive)
sign the girls • michael jackson x reader
↳ by @michaelpilled (thriller era, suggestive, flirting)
a memory to look back on • michael jackson x pregnant!reader
↳ by @lovecherishly (bad era, soo fluffy)
sweet tooth • michael jackson x sweet!reader
↳ by @carmaloves (bad era, so very fluffy)
stuck in the elevator • michael jackson x reader
↳ by @londynham (romance, fluff, angst)
working overtime • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @urbanfunkchild (pre bad era, kind of smutty, possessive!michael)
love never felt so good • michael jackson x fem!black!reader
↳ by @proseandj (invincible era, fluff)
like a stradivarius • michael jackson x gn!spouse!reader
↳ by @imhandicapableofmath (married!michael, domestic fluff, humour, suggestive)
“she thinks you smell like cinnamon” • michael jackson x gn!spouse!reader
↳ by @imhandicapableofmath (married!michael, fanfiction meta, emotional comfort, teasing, fluff)
#1 loverboy • michael jackson x gn!reader
↳ by @invincibledc (bad era, fluff)
read my lips • michael jackson x deaf!black!reader
↳ by @invincibledc (protective!michael, fluff)
home movies • michael jackson x pregnant!reader
↳ by @ktrsis (bad-invincible era, flashbacks, soo fluffy)
the lady in my life • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @cupcakeprincezz (thriller era, fluff)
surprise visit • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @cupcakeprincezz (bad era, very fluffy)
secret touch • michael jackson x fem!singer!reader
↳ by @invinor (dangerous era, fluff)
inspiration • michael jackson x singer!reader
↳ by @liyahhsnuckhere (pre bad era, sooooo fluffy, suggestive)
the chateau • michael jackson x younger!fem!reader
↳ by @elleist (dangerous era, fluff, very cute)
imagine sitting on his lap
↳ by @humannatures (fem!reader, fluff)
tabloid junkie • michael jackson x fem!reader
↳ by @moonlitjane (protective!reader, fluff, suggestive)
hidden in the spotlight • superstar!michael jackson x costumedesigner!fem!reader
↳ by @gh0ulxxc (dangerous era, angst, fluff, romance, slow burn)
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Michael Jackson x Singer!Reader
♯ Xdinary Heroes - Dear H
Synopsis: he sees the amount of depressing songs that you've been releasing and gets ridiculously concerned that it's because of him. But you were really just an angsty teen back then with great lyricism that you couldn't let go to waste.
Genre: fluff! Angsty. Happy endiing.
Tags: implied fem reader!!! Mentions of childhood bullying and all around childhood angst (nothing in depth though!). Established relationship. Insecurity. Implications of self-harm (lyric). Any era Michael. Idk the process of releasing an album.
Wc: 2k
A/n: stream You Seem Pretty Sad for a Girl So in Love RIGHT NOW. Count how many song references you found lmao. This is just a compilation of my fav sad songs HAHAHA. This is also just me glazing.
Your new album released just a few hours ago. Already garnering huge sales of your CDs and vinyls during said time stamp.
Song after song reflected the voice of your thirteen year old self-- the one that nobody ever bothered to offer a shoulder to.
The album cover was plastered on billboards all over the state. Radio stations were already playing all twelve tracks. Almost everyone had already heard the words from your adolescence.
Almost everyone.
Michael sat on his sofa, his own signed (with kiss marks, in his favourite lipstick shade as well) gifted to him courtesy of yours truly. You sent him a personal copy, accompanied with behind-the-scene polaroids from your photoshoots.
He's been ecstatic waiting for you to come home. Staying up wayy past midnight just for you. Obviously wanting to listen to your creation alongside the creator, wanting to shower you in compliments and kisses with how talented you are. Despite you insisting that he listen to it on his own.
Especially since you wouldn't let him sit with you while you worked on the album like you always did. A few pouts and whines later ---that coursed over multiple days with how persistent he was, mind you--- he left you alone in your studio with his shoulders slumped and back bent.
Though, right now, he was worried to death. Over analysing the lyric sheet provided. Not because it was bad, hell no, nothing you make can ever be bad.
But because it was just... sad.
He skimmed the first song. 'Something's gotten into you. You don't really look at me the way you used to.' Michael swallowed thickly. This wasn't about him.. was it? It couldn't have been. He wouldn't let you feel this way.
Then came the other songs.
'I made a bloody mess in the kitchen sink.'
'Guess it's not far from the ordinary, they do say love is blind.'
'You are just a fool to keep pretendin' that you're lovin' me.'
'I haven't stopped crying.'
They were all about love and heartbreak. It couldn't have been about him. Could it? Who else would it be about? Who broke your heart this badly? These lyrics had so much emotion, it couldn't have been that much of a past event.
The more he read the more he grew nervous.
Without a second thought, he stood up from his seat and made his way to his room. Taking out the vinyl from it's sleeve, he hovered it above his vinyl player. Something that was a mix of excitement and anxiety washing over him.
Setting it down and bringing the cartridge to the grooves. He stepped back, making his way to sit on his bed. Listening to the first few seconds of static pop and crackle around the room.
He fell in love with your album within the first ten seconds.
Every track were beautiful pieces of art.
But it was so sad.
Not as if he found a problem with majority sad songs, but this was all of them. Amazingly written, with so much raw emotion, he could feel it through the melodies.
All twelve were about heartbreak, whether that was platonic or romantic, insecurity, body images, your family dynamic. All around tragic stuff.
Though he was glad that you were brave enough to share your stories.
He knew a bunch of those stories too. He was more concerned about the heartbreak aspect of your songs. He didn't think that he was doing anything wrong in the relationship that lead you to write this extreme level of angst.
What if he was?
Maybe the reason you insisted that he sit out on watching the production of this one, or the reason you insisted he listen to it on his own, was because this was your way of revenge? That you'd make him rethink his role as your boyfriend from your perspective.
What if you leave him after that?
--- oh dear, he was spiralling.
Catching himself before he could slip too far away, he sped to the bathroom and splashed himself with icy cold water. This is ridiculous, it must be. He needs to see you.
═══════
You let out the most outrageous groan as you stretched your arms out right at the entrance of your home. Kicking of the uncomfortable shoes that you've been standing on for the events that came with releasing a new album.
Breaking free from the uncomfortable rigid and stiff posture that's been burning a muscle knot on your back as you made your way to the living room. Not bothered to take off your makeup and ready to just knock out.
You turned the lights on, only to jump mid-yawn with a small gasp.
"Hey sweetheart." You huffed out a relieved laugh, smiling softly as your hand reached your chest. Now looking at the man sat on your couch. "Oh, you scared me."
Michael gave you a smile in return. "Sorry, sweetheart." He jumped from his seat, making his way to you in two quick strides. "I just wanted to see you." He leaned closer to plant a kiss to your lips.
He could feel the tremble in his hands as he hesitantly moved it down to your hips. Something you fortunately didn't catch on.
Pulling away, he brought your head to his chest. Holding it impossibly closer. "Wanted to congratulate you on your album." He buried his face to your shoulder.
Your face lit up, suddenly rid of any exhaustion. “Did u like it??”
“Of course I liked it." He murmurs, placing a kiss on your neck. "All of your songs were absolutely beautiful and I’m so proud of you..."
His head shook with your shoulder as you let out a small laugh. "Aw, thank you." Bringing your hand up to scratch the back of his neck. Pulling away from the hug and now manoeuvring your hand to hold his cheek. It only took a second for you to pause.
“I can sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.” You said suspiciously, eyebrows now knitted together.
He shook his head almost too quickly. "Why would you think that, baby?" trying to force a smile. Trying to shove the insecurity to the back of his mind.
"Sweetheart, you look like you're about to throw up."
He shook his head again.
"What's wrong with the album, Michael?" You asked softly.
"You know that you can talk to me about anything, right? I'll never be mad at you, angel." He looked back at you, now holding your hand in his.
You nodded in even more confusion. "What's going on?" Your heart was dropping bit by bit. So incredibly worried.
"Your songs.." he trailed off, moving his head to avoid your eyes. ".. they're beautiful.."
"..but?"
"But I can't help but wonder what happened to make you write songs so sad." He finally stated.
Your mouth was opening bit by bit in disbelief. Not moving your gaze from him.
"Especially the one's about.. y'know, relationships and all'at. And about how sad you were because of 'em." He tapped his fingers on his upper thigh. "And I-- I trust that you'd tell me if I were to do anything to you."
You attempted to open your mouth, trying to get a word out.
“Butmyheadisfullofpoisonandmymindisfullofdoubtsigottoxinsinmybloodstreamyoutriedhardtosuckthemoutanditfeelslike—-“ he cuts himself off with a shake of his head, catching his breath. "I just.. want you to know that I'm here for you, y'know? And if you think I'm breakin' your heart then I want you to tell me." He finally gained the courage to look you in the eyes. "And-- you didn't want me to be there when you made them, did you not want me to see it? And... and get mad or somethin'?"
And if your eyes weren't soft already, it softened even more. Melting to his gaze. Your heart swelling up in some sort of... cuteness aggression?
"Fuck, you're so cute." You whispered under your breath.
"What?"
"Nothing--" you stepped back a bit, taking your time to think for a while. "Okayokayokay--" your brought your hands down to his arms, rubbing up and down soothingly. "I promise you, the songs weren't about our relationship."
His eyes threatened to light up. Before he hesitate once again.
"Okay--" you stepped back. "Come with me for a second." Your lips twitched upwards, threatening to let out a smile.
He recites more lyrics as the both of you make your way upstairs. "Is she all that you want Is she all that you need. I love you more than anything Y/n, you know that." He was talking to you, yet his eyes were elsewhere. Disassociating while you pulled him upstairs by his wrist.
The both of you were now in your room. He stood awkwardly in the middle of it while you dug through your piles of notebooks and clothes.
"You can talk about anything, though. Especially to me. I'd never judge you, ever." His brows furrowed in frustration at himself. Mad that he didn't let you feel as loved as he thought you were.
You grabbed his hands, snapping him out of his imagination. To which you dropped a notebook in his hands.
His gaze dropped down to it; two giant illustrated kittens placed on the front. Neon purple as the background behind them. The most popular Lisa Frank notebook from when you were a child.
"I got it for my twelfth birthday." You smiled, jumping on your bed stomach first, groaning loudly as you felt the air bubbles in your joints pop. Sighing loudly as they all disappeared.
He opened the notebook, flipping through the pages while he mindlessly follows you to your bed.
Pages upon pages of crossed out lines, messy penmanship, and what he believed to be tear stains. Along with few pages of hand-drawn music sheets. Notes with messy lines and horribly drawn treble clefs.
"Those songs you heard." You started, "I wrote them years ago, when I was like.. thirteen." You flopped to your stomach, placing both hands to your chin and resting your head on your palms.
"Thirteen..." he murmured in shock, ".. you were already such a lyrical genius by thirteen." He showed the softest grin.
"Duh." Your grin was wide. "But I was also a depressed preteen with so many things going on." You explained. "Bullying, my crush didn't like me-- that bastard, the obvious body image problem that literally every kid had. Like anything a kid in middle school could go through." You laughed. "And.. the only reason why I didn't want you there was because I didn't want you to hear the cringe bullshit I wrote before present me polished them."
Though, he didn't find it funny.
"You went through all of this." Grabbing the cover of the notebook with his thumb, and flipped through all of the pages. Randomly landing on the words that he recognised to be the fifth track.
"I have twenty more of those notebooks." You smirked. "So I have the next twenty years of my career all set."
"Twenty more books about how you were horribly treated?" He looked at you now, devastated by the topics you had talked about at such a young age.
"Well-- " you squinted. "I mean, yeah." You sighed out. "I had maybe three books a year. Being a teenager was the worst." You groaned. "I think I zoomed through ten at sixteen." The both of you laughed together.
"Was it really that bad?" He set the notebook down. Now bringing a hand to rest against your own.
"Oh it was the absolute worst!" You started to chuckle once again, though it quieted down when you noticed how he didn't match. "Hey." You called out. "You should see the one I had last year. Now that one's all about you."
He whipped his body to face you completely. "Is it now?" He asked breathlessly.
"Yeah, and you cannot even begin to believe the amount of corny shit I wrote in that thing."
He dropped his head down to the mattress. "Like what?" Mood now flipped completely.
"Oh you know," you leaned in closer. "The typical lovey dovey shit."
You both laughed once again.
"I still mean it though." His voice was rid of any of the previous worries. "I'm here for you. No matter what it is, I'd never make you feel like.. whoever those songs were about."
Synopsis: during the award show you attend with your husband, he performs "They way you make me feel" song from his album BAD along with Tatiana during which she kisses him and goes off script which surprises both you and Michael. And just like that, he spends the rest of his night making desperate attempts for your forgiveness and make things right between you two.
Pairings: bad!era!husband!michael x popstar!reader
Note: again, there r no descriptions of the reader but reader IS wearing the dress in the header shown above :) I made reader go easy on our mikey cause he's a sweetheart :) also, this is all I could do keeping in count of the word count.
The applause inside the theater was deafening.
You sat in the front row, smoothing invisible wrinkles from your outfit as cameras swept across the audience. Beside you, Michael sat, moving his head to the beat of the song.
Attending award shows with Michael wasn't something new. Especially since he'd been your husband for three years now, you always found a way to stick together.
Tonight, both of you were nominated for various categories, along with Michael performing a few songs from his new album, "BAD", which everyone was eagerly waiting for.
Michael slowly slipped his hand underneath yours, intertwining your fingers and holding you tightly.
He leaned in. "I think I'll be up in a few."
And just as he said that, the crew called him backstage so he could get ready for his performance. He nodded at them and then looked at you, his grip tightening.
"Wish me luck."
"All the best, baby," you whispered, smiling at him.
He wore his familiar grin and bent down to press a quick kiss to your lips before heading backstage, pumped that you'd wished him luck.
After a few performances, the lights went out and silence took over.
The drums of "Bad" started playing, and everyone lost their minds. The audience started screaming and shouting. You smiled as he began performing and sang along with him.
You watched proudly as he performed a few songs, the cameraman focusing on you every once in a while.
And then came "The Way You Make Me Feel."
You loved this song, mainly because of the number of times he'd sung it for you in your living room or in the kitchen while you were washing dishes, making you laugh at his antics.
Tatiana entered, surprising everyone, and Michael followed her around the stage while singing the lyrics, creating a scene for the audience just like in his music video.
After a while, both of them came to the center of the stage, facing each other as Michael continued to sing. Tatiana leaned closer, and just as Michael was about to turn, she closed the gap and pressed a kiss to his lips.
Oh shit was the first thing that Michael thought.
The camera immediately panned to you as you sat there in surprise, your eyebrows raised, clearly showing your distaste and not caring about the camera in your face.
Your mind went blank, and so did his. His eyes widened for a quick second as she did that, and he moved away before she could keep her arms around him.
He couldn't really focus on the performance anymore. He locked eyes with you and saw the look on your face, which made his heart race.
You stayed quiet for the rest of his performance, not smiling and clapping like you had earlier. Meanwhile, Michael was rapidly thinking of ways to explain it to you.
As the performance ended, he immediately gave Tatiana a look and said, "You absolutely had no right to do that Tatina. Just so you know, we ain't going to perform anymore." Then he rushed to the restroom.
He splashed water on his face and scrubbed his lips harder than necessary, which had touched Tatiana's a few moments ago. He stared at his reflection and felt so bad imagining how you must've felt while everyone was looking at you.
He settled down beside you and tried to grab your hand, but you pulled away, looking forward.
"Baby," he said in his pleading tone while facing you, which made your heart melt, but you stayed strong.
He took hold of your hand forcefully, keeping it between both of his hands.
"Baby, I'm sorry, but you have to hear me out."
"Not now, Michael."
His heart broke at the distant tone. He looked at you for a long second with his pretty brown eyes and then leaned back in his seat, looking at the stage while not letting go of your hand.
The night ended with both of you winning multiple awards as you got ready to go home. Michael's hand rested on your waist as he guided you to the car along with Bill.
"Michael, how do you feel about kissing another woman while having a wife?"
"Are you having an open marriage?"
"Y/N, what do you think about your husband kissing another woman?"
"Is this a marketing strategy?"
"Michael, was the kiss planned?"
The questions were being fired left and right as you both made your way to the car, making you increasingly agitated.
"No, it was an accident. I love my wife too much do something like that. Stop it," he said to the reporters, loud and clear, before opening the door for you.
Your heart warmed at that as he settled beside you and closed the door while Bill started driving.
"Baby, can you please look at me?" he asked, his body completely turned toward you as he held your upper arm.
"Let's talk when we get home, Michael."
"Don't do that."
"Don't do what?"
"Call me by my name."
You rolled your eyes. "Michael—"
He cut you off. "No."
You scoffed and looked out the window.
Bill looked at both of you through the mirror, sensing the tension, and tried to break it.
"What an eventful night. Am I right?"
"Indeed, an eventful night," you replied, your jaw tight.
Michael closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath and slowly turned forward so he could throw daggers into Bill's head with his stare.
Bill sensed it and tried to hide his laugh by clearing his throat as you finally reached home.
......
After removing your makeup and jewelry, you tried to remove your dress. Michael came up behind you and slowly began undoing the buttons of your corset.
You tried to move away, but his hands shot up to your bare shoulders and pulled you back against him.
"Baby, seriously, how long are you going to keep this up?" he asked, trying to catch your eyes in the mirror.
"As long as I want to," you said, not looking at the mirror.
"You need to hear me out, pretty girl," he pleaded as his hands worked on the buttons.
"I swear I didn't know she was going to pull that move. I was just as surprised as you."
You rolled your eyes, being petty.
"Sure you were."
He nuzzled his face into your neck, his hands sliding inside the corset to rest on your waist as he hummed.
"Mhm, I really was, baby."
You moved your neck away at that.
"Don't let your 'Tatiana lips' touch my skin."
He paused for a moment, chuckling, and turned you around to face him. His hands rested on your ribcage while his thumbs caressed your sides.
"Baby, I washed my lips right after the show. C'mon, mama, don't be so harsh on me."
"Whatever," you said, still not looking at him.
He held your jaw and turned your face so you were looking at him.
"Such a stubborn thing, aren't you? I'm sorry, baby, I really am. I told her off. She isn't t going to perform with me anymore. You know I only love you, right? I only care about you."
You melted at that but still chose not to reply.
He observed your face for a few seconds, his eyes roaming over your features.
"Give your man a kiss, mama, please," Michael pleaded, his voice cracking at the end as he leaned in and kissed your lips softly.
Unable to resist any further, you gave in and kissed him back which made him groan. He guided your hands around his neck while his hands roamed over your bare shoulders and back.
"How are you going to make it up to me?" you asked after pulling back, giving him a knowing look.
He looked at you and grinned.
"Oh, you'll see," he said as he kissed you again, leading you toward the bed.
... Dats it kids. Da rest is upto ur imagination, whether they cuddle or... Play twister in bed.
Note: there was smtg happening while writing this fic... So its lowk ass but it's Michael jackson nd yn so they saved it 🙂↕️ anywyas enjoy dis wonky ahh not good fanfic. Lolz RAWRRR... Idk IDKIDKIDK IM LOWK HYPERVENTILATING IK KTS NAWT AS GOOD AS UR EXPECTATIONS SORRY GUYS AGHHHH SIDJDKFJHGKFJGJG sorry tehe
Taglist of beryyy pretty people 😍😍😍: @58applestall @minghaossv @zanyana626 @1dk-her @undeadzombiebrainz @hwa2tiny
SYNOPSIS: Michael's plans for him and reader to go half on a baby have finally come to fruition. Neverland's gonna have some little Jacksons running around. Reader is pregnant and goin through a rollercoaster of emotions, but Michael's along for the ride ❤️
CONTENT: fluff, super sweet fluff, comfort, needy!Michael, dangerous era!Michael, era 1993, established relationship, emotional intimacy, pregnancy, no use of y/n
Author's Note: I'm so glad you guys like this series, I'm having so much fun writing it 🥹 send me fluffy requests to give me some ideas to write about! 💗
Hayvenhurst had become considerably more dangerous since everyone learned about the baby. Not traditional danger, the danger came in the form of food. Specifically, food being placed in your hands against your will by Jackson women.
You had arrived two hours ago. Since then, you had been handed one plate of barbecue, two helpings of macaroni and cheese, a bowl of fruit, sweet tea, and three separate slices of cake. You knew because you had counted once you felt a stomachache coming on.
At the picnic table beside you, Janet looked entirely too entertained.
"You better eat it."
You stared at the newest plate that had somehow appeared in front of you.
"Jan, if I eat any more I’m gonna be sick."
She shrugged.
"Don’t look at me."
You narrowed your eyes.
"You literally handed it to me."
"I was acting under orders."
Your gaze drifted toward the patio, toward the true mastermind, Ms. Katherine. She was speaking to Rebbie near the grill while somehow keeping one eye on your plate from thirty feet away.
"She can see everything," Janet whispered. "I swear she got eyes in the back of her head."
You laughed quietly. Ever since Katherine found out you were expecting, she immediately began fulfilling grandmotherly duties as if the baby was already here.
A familiar warm presence settled behind you. Michael’s hand slid across your back, he leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to your cheek. Another to your temple, and one to the top of your head. His lips stayed there for a second longer as he breathed you in.
"You eat?" he murmured against your hair, voice low and warm. You tilted your head back to look at him. His free hand came up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone. Janet immediately burst into laughter across the table.
You closed your eyes.
"There it is."
Michael blinked.
"What?"
Janet covered her face.
"Oh, he doesn’t even realize he does it anymore."
Michael’s brows pulled together in confusion, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted closer, his hand still resting protectively on your stomach as he crouched beside your chair. His thumb traced slow, soothing circles over the swell there, something he did all too often now.
You reached up and threaded your fingers through his, squeezing gently.
"This is my fourth plate, I’ve been eatin’ all day, I’m about to pop." you told him, half-laughing. His eyes widened
"That’s good," he said softly, leaning in to press a kiss just below your ear. His nose brushed your jaw as he added,
"Our baby needs to eat."
Before you could respond, Katherine appeared beside the table carrying yet another plate.
"Ms. Katherine—"
"No arguments." She set it down carefully, then placed a soft hand over yours. Her smile was warm, maternal.
"You take care of yourself, baby."
Her gaze dropped to your stomach, softening further.
"My grandbaby needs you."
The words choked you up. These days you were so emotional, and Michael felt it. He rose up just enough to be able wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you back gently against chest.
Rebbie took the seat across from you, already sharing advice about swollen feet. Janet announced her plans to be the rich auntie. La Toya declared herself the fun aunt. Laughter rose around the table like music.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, Katherine smiled into her glass of tea and asked, as casually as if discussing the weather: "So when’s the wedding?"
Silence fell across the table. It wasn’t awkward, just surprising. Instantly you looked over at Michael. Janet’s head snapped up, and Rebbie’s smile froze.
Beside you, Michael went very still. His arm tightened around your shoulders. You felt his heartbeat pick up against your back.
The backyard suddenly seemed louder. Children laughing. Music drifting from the speakers. Someone near the grill arguing about barbecue sauce.
Life continuing as though Katherine Jackson hadn't just casually altered the trajectory of your entire evening.
Your mouth opened. Then closed. Surprisingly, for perhaps the first time in your life, you had absolutely no idea what to say. Janet recovered first.
She absolutely knew what Janet meant. Rebbie hid a smile behind her cup. You looked toward Michael. Surely, the man who had sold out stadiums and performed in front of millions would have an answer.
Michael was staring at his plate. He did not have an answer. Which was concerning, Michael only stared at food when he was thinking, deeply. His hand remained spread across your stomach, protective and instinctive. Absentmindedly rubbing slow circles over the fabric of your dress.
Katherine's eyes softened. The kind of soft only mothers possessed.
"You've already made a family."
Her gaze drifted to your stomach. Now unmistakably round beneath your dress.
Then back to both of you.
"So I was just wondering."
Simple and matter-of-factly. There was no pressure or judgement in her statement, just curiosity. The kind only mothers seemed allowed to have.
Your face warmed. Because when Katherine looked at you, there was no scrutiny. Only affection. An even more terrifying expectation. As though she had quietly accepted you long ago.
Across the table, Janet grinned. She was elated.
"I volunteer to plan the baby shower."
"La Toya already called dibs on decorations," Rebbie added.
Janet gasped dramatically.
"She what?"
The conversation immediately descended into sibling chaos, as Jackson conversations often did. Someone argued about colors, someone else argued about themes.
Everyone moved on, except Michael that is. You could feel it before you saw it. He was quietly lost in thought.
The kind that always meant Michael had disappeared somewhere inside his own head. You looked over and his eyes weren't on the conversation. They were on your hand.
Specifically, on your engagement ring finger, which was bare. Uh-oh.
Instantly, you recognized the look on his face. It was the look he got when he was building something in his head. A song. A new idea for a short film. A dream.
The expression of a man quietly arranging the future.
He raised his eyes, meeting yours. Judging by the tenderness in his eyes, you had a feeling you knew what he was building.
The drive home from Hayvenhurst was quiet. The kind of quiet that lulls over you after a day so good it leaves your heart full. A day full of laughs, shared plates, and family time.
Streetlights reflected off the windows as rain drops fell heavily. The engine was humming quietly, and Stevie Wonder was playing on the radio. The leather seat was cool against your back, but Michael’s hand on your thigh radiated steady heat through the thin fabric of your dress.
It had been there for most of the drive. His thumb moved in slow, absent circles, the same rhythm he used on your belly. Lately, Michael touched you constantly. A hand at your lower back. Your stomach. The nape of your neck or your cheek.
Always gentle and present. As though reassurance had become his new love-language.
You shifted slightly, adjusting the seatbelt over your growing belly. Immediately, his eyes flicked toward you.
“What’s wrong baby? You comfortable?” he asked, voice low and warm like melted honey.
There it was. The question you’d heard seventeen times today. You smiled “Yes, Michael. I’m fine.”
“You sure?” His fingers flexed gently on your thigh, a protective little squeeze.
“Michael,” you laughed quietly.
“What? Just wanna make sure you’re okay.” The innocence in his tone was so genuine. His hand drifted higher, sliding tenderly over the full curve of your stomach. The warmth of his palm soaked through your clothes, grounding you.
Michael had gone quiet again. Not distracted. Thinking. You knew the difference by now. His thumb had stopped its gentle circling. You covered his hand with yours, threading your fingers between his.
“What’re you thinkin’ about? Talk to me.”
He blinked, returning to you. A breathy little laugh escaped him and his shoulders rose and fell with a soft sigh.
“My mother surprised me today. I knew she would bring it up soon…”
You squeezed his hand reassuringly.
“What, the wedding comment?” His face scrunched up in that boyish way that always made you fall in love with him a little harder. It was something he often did when a topic made him uncomfortable.
The city lights played across his high cheekbones as he drove. You watched the way his lashes cast shadows, the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
“She meant well, baby. That’s just how mamas are. You know how important family is to her.” you said gently.
“I know.” His voice was quiet. Thoughtful. “I always wanted to be married before I had children.” The words landed softly between you, heavy with old dreams.
Then, Michael laughed to himself at an uninvited memory.
“I knew I wanted to marry you after our first date…Wanted to propose to you after the first month, but I wasn’t sure if you’d say yes” The world narrowed to the space between you.
The low music, the hum of the tires, the glow of the city, all of it faded. There was only Michael, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered to him.
You felt him exhale, shaky and relieved. He turned his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to the center of your palm, lips soft and reverent.
“The baby didn’t change my mind,” he murmured against your skin. His free hand never left your belly, thumb resuming those slow, sacred circles. “It just gave me a reason not to wait anymore.”
His hand spread wider across your belly, fingers splayed in quiet wonder, as if he could feel the baby’s heartbeat through your skin. He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice dropped to something even softer, raw and honest, the private Michael no one else ever got to hear.
Three days later, you woke up alone. That part wasn’t unusual. Michael had always been an early riser. But the steady, distant sound of hammering echoing through the house was very unusual.
You blinked awake slowly, then pushed yourself up with a soft groan, one hand braced against your lower back and the other cradling the gentle curve of your stomach. At five months, the weight was still new enough to make every movement feel deliberate.
By the time you reached the bottom of the stairs, the living room looked like a hardware store had gently exploded. Outlet covers, cabinet locks, foam corner guards—every sharp edge in sight had already been softened. Corner guards on tables your baby wouldn’t reach for years.
You stopped in the doorway, staring. Michael noticed you immediately. He looked up from where he was kneeling by an electrical outlet, and his whole face brightened like sunrise.
“Baby,” he breathed, setting the hammer down so fast it nearly clattered. The warm excited smile he gave you made you instantly forget the annoyance you’d had from being woken up.
He crossed the room in seconds, long strides eating up the distance. Before you could say anything about the ruckus he had been making, his arms were around you. Carefully, one hand settled at the small of your back, supporting the chronic ache that lived there now. His other hand slid tenderly over your belly, palm spreading wide as if greeting the baby and holding you both at once.
He leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, his nose brushing your hair.
“How’d you sleep, my love?” he murmured against your skin, voice still soft with morning. You rubbed your eyes, glancing around again.
“Michael… You know how I don’t play about my sleep.”
He tilted his head, thumb already drawing those familiar slow circles over your stomach.
“Hm?” You gestured helplessly at the chaos. “What is all this?”
His expression stayed completely earnest.
“Preparin’.”
You looked down at your stomach, then back at him.
“For what, exactly?”
He smiled, small, shy, and so full of love it made your chest ache.
“For the baby, of course.”
Before you could tease him, he stepped closer, wrapping you more fully in his arms. His chin rested gently on top of your head as he held you against his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his body, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with sawdust.
“I’m only five months along,” you said, half-laughing into his shirt.
“Time flies,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to the top of your head. Then lower, to the bridge of your nose. Then the corner of your mouth. Each one feather-light and full of adoration.
Your eyes caught on the coffee table: a stack of parenting books, a thick binder labeled Baby in neat handwriting, and What to Expect When You’re Expecting lying open with colorful sticky tabs.
“Have you been studying?” you asked, pulling back just enough to look at him. Michael scratched the back of his neck and bit down on his bottom lip. His expression softened with quiet pride.
“A little bit.” He reached down and took your hand, guiding it to rest beside his on your belly.
“The book says spinach is really good for keeping your iron levels up. I asked the chef to make sure he adds it to our grocery lists from now on.”
You stared at him like he was talking about rocket science. The man who performs for millions, was installing outlet covers in the wee hours of the morning and falling asleep reading pregnancy books with his glasses on.
You stared at him, and laughter bubbled up, helpless and teary. Michael’s brows drew together instantly. Concern flooded his eyes.
“Baby?” His hands moved to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away the moisture gathering at your lashes.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurting? Is it your back again?”
You shook your head, still laughing softly as you leaned into his touch.
“I’m okay. I’m more than okay.”
He searched your face for another second, then pulled you back against him, one arm wrapped securely around your shoulders while the other stayed protectively over your stomach. His lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“I just…” His voice dropped, shy and vulnerable. “I waited my whole life to be somebody’s daddy. I don’t wanna mess it up. I wanna be ready.”
The tenderness in his words hit you square in the chest. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tighter, pressing your cheek to his chest.
“You’re not going to mess it up,” you whispered. “Look at all this. You’re already the best daddy this baby could ever have.”
Michael exhaled shakily, then tilted your chin up with gentle fingers so he could kiss you properly, slow and deep. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes closed, breathing you in.
“I love you,” he murmured. “Both of you. I just want to make sure that you both have everything you need. It’s my job as a father, a provider and importantly, your man.” His hand never left your belly. The house was quiet, filled with the certainty that this man would move heaven and earth for the family he was building.
By month six, Michael had become impossible. Not difficult or moody. Just impossible, in the most loving, all-consuming way. You had known Michael for years. Long enough to understand that when he loved something, he loved it with his entire being. No half measures. No moderation. Once it claimed his heart, he wrapped both hands around it and held on with quiet ferocity.
Pregnancy was no exception.
“Baby.”
You froze, eyes closing slowly. You already knew that tone. Michael stood in the kitchen doorway holding a fresh glass of water, condensation sliding down the sides. Not one you’d poured. One he had. His brows lifted expectantly, soft brown eyes full of gentle concern.
“You haven’t finished this one.”
You glanced at the half-full glass beside you from twenty minutes ago, then back at him. “Michael…” His expression softened instantly, not because he was backing down, but because he thought you might be tired. He crossed to you with that careful stride he used now, as if the floor itself might shift beneath your feet.
He set the new glass down, then crouched in front of you without a word. His hands reached for your shoes and began untying them with patient care. His fingers brushed your ankles, warm and sure. You blinked.
“Michael… what are you doing?”
“Hm?” He looked up, completely sincere. “You shouldn’t bend over, baby. Your center of gravity is changing.” The words were so earnestly delivered, and steeped in all the books he’d devoured, that a helpless laugh escaped you.
He finished removing your shoes, then stayed there, gently rubbing your calves with slow, soothing strokes. His thumbs pressed into the tired muscles in exactly the right places, the kind of touch that came from months of learning your body.
“Better?” he asked softly, voice low and warm. He pressed a tender kiss just below your knee before rising again. You swallowed. Yes. It was better. You hated how much better it felt.
Before you could answer, the phone rang. It sat on the receiver near the end of the counter, only a few feet away. You instinctively leaned slightly to reach for it.
Instantly, Michael’s hand was at your waist, steady, grounding, protective. His palm splayed wide across your lower back. His other hand found your belly, cradling the round swell.
“Careful,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple as he leaned in close. You could smell the faint trace of his cologne and the warmth of his skin. For a moment his cheek rested against your hair, breathing you in like he still couldn’t quite believe you were real.
You didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was that the constant physical affection had suddenly become overstimulating. Maybe it was the feeling that you were losing some of your independence.
You didn’t know. But, something inside you snapped. He was so right, so constant and so loving, that you felt like your body no longer belonged to you alone. You pulled away, not harshly, but enough.
“Michael.” You said sharply.
His hands lingered for half a second before falling gently away. Concern flooded his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
You exhaled shakily. “I’m pregnant. I’m not made of glass.”
The words landed heavier than you meant them to. Silence settled between you. Michael blinked once, the soft light from the kitchen window catching the sudden vulnerability in his face. The concern in his eyes didn’t vanish, it simply shifted, growing quieter, smaller, more fragile.
His hand lifted halfway toward you, then stopped. He lowered it.
“So I shouldn’t help you?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. There was no defensiveness in it. Only quiet hurt and genuine confusion. Like a little boy who’d been trying his very best and still got it wrong. The guilt hit you instantly.
You watched him lower his gaze for a moment, thinking, Then he gave a small nod, accepting. Adjusting. Making room for what you needed even when it stung.
“Okay,” he said softly. No argument. No guilt trip. Just Michael, trying so hard to love you and the baby right that it made your chest ache. You stepped forward before you could overthink it.
“Michael, wait”
He looked up, and you reached for him, sliding your arms around his waist. He melted into the embrace immediately, wrapping you up with infinite care. One hand returned to your back, the other cradling the side of your belly as he tucked you against his chest. His chin rested on top of your head, and you felt him press a lingering kiss into your hair, then another to your forehead.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his shirt. “I know you’re just trying to take care of us.”
His arms tightened gently. You felt the slow, soothing circles of his thumb over your stomach. The gesture that had become your shared language. His voice was quiet, warm, and full of emotion when he finally spoke.
“I just love you both so much,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple. “Sometimes I don’t know how to hold it all without… holding you.”
You closed your eyes and leaned deeper into him, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart surround you. His hand never left your belly. Even now, even in this small moment of friction, he held you like you were the most precious thing he’d ever been given.
And in his arms, frustrated and emotional and deeply loved, you understood once again: this impossible man was going to be the most incredible father.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Or rather, as quietly as life with Michael ever really allowed. True to his word, he had given you real space. No hovering. No soft footsteps near the doorway every few minutes. Just… absence.
And somehow that made you feel worse. By evening, the house had grown still. Golden sunlight stretched long and warm across the hardwood floors. The television murmured faintly downstairs, a low, comforting hum.
You were sitting alone in your bedroom, one hand resting on the firm curve of your six-month belly, when you realized something deeply inconvenient: You missed him. The baby shifted beneath your palm, just a soft flutter, not quite a kick yet. You gasped, Michael was missing this. Instantly. You were emotional.
Pregnancy had turned your emotions into a minefield; tears came whether you wanted them or not. You replayed the kitchen scene again and again. The way his hands had fallen away from you. That small, quiet hurt in his eyes. The soft sting of someone who was trying so hard and still got it wrong.
Your throat tightened. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He loved with his whole body, his whole heart, the way he did everything. And beneath all the books and the outlet covers and the endless glasses of water, you understood why.
Michael had waited his entire life to become somebody’s daddy. You pushed yourself up from the bed slowly, one hand braced on your lower back as you waddled toward the hallway. At six months, grace had officially left the chat.
Downstairs, the den glowed with the soft flicker of the television. You paused in the doorway, and your heart folded in on itself.
Michael was asleep on the couch, curled into the corner like he’d tried to make himself smaller. One arm rested across his chest, reading glasses slightly askew on his nose. A pregnancy book lay open against his stomach, a colorful sticky note peeking out. The golden light painted gentle shadows across his face.
Without stage lights or makeup, he looked younger. Softer. Just Michael. Your Michael. You crossed the room quietly. Curiosity, and love, won. You lifted the edge of the page with careful fingers. His neat, tiny handwriting stared back at you: Ask doctor about back pain.
Buy more ginger tea. And below that, written even smaller,: Tell baby and mama I love them every day. The tears came instantly. Hot, fast, and completely unstoppable. You blinked hard, but it was useless. Pregnancy had turned you into a watering can.
As if he could sense you even in sleep, Michael stirred. His lashes fluttered. The moment his sleepy eyes found you, his whole face changed, a look he saved only for you.
“Baby?” His voice was rough with sleep, warm and concerned all at once.
That was all it took. Fresh tears spilled over. You crossed the last few steps and curled into him without a word. Michael sat up immediately, arms wrapping around you with instinctive tenderness.
One hand found the small of your back, gently pressing his fingertips into the chronic ache that lived there. As always, his palm found your belly. His palm spreading wide as if to hold both of you at once. He tucked you against his chest, cheek resting on top of your head, breathing you in.
“You okay? Tell me how I can help.” he whispered, lips brushing your hair.
You shook your head against him, voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m sorry.”
He went still for half a second, then his hand began slow, soothing circles on your back. His other thumb traced the same gentle rhythm over your belly.
“Oh, baby,” he breathed, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, your temple, the bridge of your nose. “You don’t ever gotta apologize for how you feel.”
You sniffled, curling tighter into his warmth. He smelled like home, faint cologne, laundry softener, and the subtle sweetness of the ginger tea he’d probably been drinking. His arms tightened around you, careful but sure, like he was holding the most precious thing he’d ever been given.
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” you whispered.
His lips found your forehead again, lingering there.
“I know.”
Michael exhaled shakily, then kissed you again, deeper this time, full of relief and love and all the things he didn’t know how to say. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, one hand still cradling your stomach like it was the center of his universe.
The television kept murmuring in the background. Golden light slowly faded into twilight. But in that moment, nothing else mattered. Just the two of you, and the tiny life growing between you, wrapped safely in arms that had waited decades to hold this dream.
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warnings: jealousy, pettiness, making out, possessiveness, happy ending, fluff.
summary: michael points at Lisa during his performance. you decide two can play that game. unfortunately for both of you, neither one knows when to stop being petty.
you were not looking at michael. absolutely not. not even a little bit. okay, maybe once. but that was it. from your seat in the audience, you watched the stage lights flash across the arena while trying your hardest to focus on literally anything else. the crowd, the cameras, the presenters, the ceiling. anything except the man sitting a few rows away from you looking unfairly good tonight. it wasn’t helping that michael knew exactly how to dress when he wanted attention.
the leather black outfit. the gold accents. the curls falling perfectly around his face. the confidence. it was annoying, honestly. especially because the two of you were currently in the middle of what could only be described as the world’s dumbest argument. neither of you could even remember how it started anymore.
one petty comment became another, then another. then suddenly both of you were refusing to call first. refusing to apologize first. refusing to be the bigger person. which meant that for the last week you’d both been acting ridiculous. and unfortunately for you, michael looked incredible while doing it. you quickly looked away when you caught yourself staring. girl, stand up. the last thing you needed was for him to catch you checking him out. his ego was already big enough.
still, when his performance began, your attention immediately drifted back to the stage. because no matter how annoyed you were with him, michael jackson performing was michael jackson performing. and that man knew how to command a room.
the audience was completely captivated. including you. you hated that. every move looked effortless, every spin, every pose, every second of it. you found yourself smiling despite your best efforts. then it happened. that moment. the point. toward lisa. your smile disappeared instantly. you sat there blinking. oh. oh, that’s what we’re doing tonight? you watched him continue performing like nothing happened. like he hadn’t just started a war. when he glanced toward the audience afterward, you could’ve sworn you caught the tiniest hint of satisfaction on his face. which only made it worse. your jaw tightened. fine. if michael wanted to play games… you could play too.
backstage later, assistants rushed around while stylists made final adjustments before your performance. the energy behind the curtain was very chaotic. everyone seemed nervous, everyone except you. you were focused. determined. and maybe just a little petty. okay. a lot petty. “you ready?” one of your dancers asked. you nodded. “more than ready.” you took one last look in the mirror. your outfit was perfect. your hair looked amazing. everything was exactly how you wanted it. except for one thing. a certain jackson.
you hated how easily he could get under your skin. you hated how one stupid little gesture during a performance had managed to stay in your head for the last hour. and you especially hated the fact that you already knew he was somewhere out there watching. probably expecting a reaction. probably expecting you to be jealous. well. if he wanted a reaction… he was definitely about to get one. the stage manager gave you the signal. showtime. you smiled. “let’s go.” and somewhere out in the audience, michael jackson had absolutely no idea what was coming.
the second you stepped onto the stage, the crowd exploded. the roar of the audience washed over you immediately, adrenaline rushing through your veins as the lights hit. this was your element. your kingdom. and for the next few minutes, you planned on making full use of it. somewhere out there in the crowd sat michael. watching. whether he wanted to admit it or not. the thought alone made you smile. you moved confidently across the stage, feeding off the energy from the audience as cheers echoed throughout the arena. back in his seat, michael’s eyes never left you.
he tried acting casual. he really did. but it wasn’t working. because despite everything, he was completely captivated. he always was. it didn’t matter how many times he’d seen you perform. didn’t matter how many rehearsals he’d watched, didn’t matter how many award shows, concerts, appearances, or television performances. you still managed to leave him speechless. every single time. his friend sitting beside him noticed immediately. “you know you’re staring, right?” michael didn’t even blink.
“i’m watching the performance.” “mhm.” “i am.” “that’s why you haven’t looked away once.” michael ignored him. because unfortunately he was correct. and then things got worse. much worse. because suddenly another figure appeared on stage. the audience erupted. jay-z. michael immediately sat up straighter. “…oh.” his friend burst out laughing.
“oh, you’re finished.” “what?” “look at your face.” “my face is fine.” it was not fine. not even close. especially when jay walked over beside you. you looked completely comfortable together laughing, smiling, sharing the stage effortlessly. michael hated how comfortable it looked. his jaw tightened. then tightened some more “relax.” “i am relaxed.” “michael.” “i’m perfectly relaxed.”
he looked like he wanted to fight somebody. meanwhile, you were having the time of your life. every time the camera found you, your smile seemed brighter. every time jay leaned over to rap his verse, michael’s eye twitched. you weren’t doing anything wrong. technically. but you definitely weren’t making things easier. especially because a tiny part of you knew exactly what you were doing. and exactly who was watching. when the performance finally ended, the crowd jumped to their feet. standing ovation. cheers everywhere, you stood at center stage smiling while taking in the applause. for a brief moment your eyes drifted toward the audience. toward michael. and there he was. already looking at you. his expression unreadable.
but his stare? oh. you knew that stare. you had known it for a long time. your smile widened. just slightly. his eyes narrowed immediately. and suddenly you felt much better about that little lisa situation.
────୨ৎ────
backstage afterward was chaos. everyone wanted to congratulate you. from producers, dancers, artists, friends. people were hugging you, praising the performance, telling you how incredible it was. you thanked them all politely. but your attention kept drifting elsewhere. because michael still hadn’t come over. which was unusual. very unusual. normally he’d be the first person backstage.
the first hug. the first congratulations. the first kiss against your forehead when nobody was looking. but tonight? nothing. you already knew why. which honestly made you want to laugh. a few minutes later, you finally spotted him. standing across the room. arms folded. watching you. you excused yourself from the conversation you were having and casually walked over. “hi.”“hi.”
you blinked. that was it? just hi? you fought back a smile, “did you like the performance?” “it was good.” good. not amazing. not incredible. not the greatest thing he’d seen all night. just good. you almost laughed right there. “good? “mhm.” “that’s all?” he shrugged.
you stared. he stared back. the tension between you could’ve powered the entire building. finally you folded your arms “what’s your problem?” michael looked offended. “my problem?” “yes, your problem.” he let out a short laugh. “i’m not the one with the problem.” “really” “really.” “okay.” “okay.” you both stood there. silent. stubborn. refusing to give in. until finally michael spoke. “you seemed very friendly with jay z.” there it was. you nearly smiled. nearly. “and you seemed very friendly with lisa.” his jaw clenched immediately.
his jaw clenched immediately. score. for a moment, neither of you said anything. you just stood there staring at each other while people rushed around backstage completely oblivious to the silent battle happening between you. finally michael sighed. the kind of sigh that suggested he was already tired of this conversation.
“that’s different.” you let out a laugh. “how?” “because it is.” “great explanation.” “you know what i mean.“actually, i don’t.” michael rolled his eyes. you almost gasped. “did you just roll your eyes at me?” “did you just bring jay z on stage to make me jealous?” you placed a hand over your chest. “michael joseph jackson.” “that’s not an answer.” “and that’s not an answer either.” “yes it is.”
“no, it isn’t.” “yes, it is.” “no.” “yes.” “no.” his friend walking past suddenly stopped. looked between both of you. then immediately turned around and walked away. smart man. you and michael continued staring each other down. neither willing to back down. neither willing to admit the obvious. which was that both of you were being completely ridiculous.
“you know what?” michael said. “what?” “i don’t care.” you nodded. “good.” “good. “great.” “great.” the second the words left his mouth, both of you knew he was lying. badly. horribly. embarrassingly badly. because michael had many talents. lying when he was jealous was not one of them.
you smiled. just a little. his eyes narrowed immediately. “stop smiling.” “why?” “because you’re enjoying this.” you couldn’t even deny it. “maybe a little.”. “unbelievable.” “what?” “you know exactly what you’re doing.” you laughed.
“that’s funny coming from you.” “what’s that supposed to mean?” you stepped closer. “you pointed at lisa.” his head immediately tilted back in frustration.
“we’re still talking about that?” “yes.” “it was one point.” “one point?” “one point.” “one very intentional point.” he groaned dramatically. which only made you feel more justified. “you knew i’d see it.” “i did not.” “michael.” “…okay maybe i did.” “thank you.” “but you brought jay z.” “for the performance.” “mhm.” “he was literally part of the performance.” “mhm.”you were both smiling now despite yourselves. because neither of you could keep a straight face anymore. the argument was stupid. you knew it
he knew it. yet somehow neither of you wanted to let it go. “you were jealous.” michael pointed at you. “you were jealous first.” “because you pointed at lisa.” “because you were ignoring me.” “because you were being annoying.” “because you were being stubborn.” “because you were—” he suddenly stopped. you blinked “because i was what?” michael looked away. immediately. your eyes narrowed.
“what?” “nothing.” “michael.” “nothing.” “michael.” he rubbed a hand over his face. and suddenly something about his expression changed. the teasing. it all softened. just a little. when he looked back at you, his voice was quieter. “i didn’t like it.” you blinked. “didn’t like what?” his jaw tightened. clearly debating whether he wanted to say it. then finally, “seeing him with you.” your heart did the tiniest little flip. michael looked annoyed about admitting it. very annoyed. which somehow made it sweeter. “why?” he stared at you like the answer should’ve been obvious. “you really have to ask?” you bit back a smile. “maybe.” he shook his head. “because i didn’t like it.” “michael—” “i know it was part of the performance.” “okay.” “i know you weren’t doing anything.” “okay.” “i know.” you nodded. he exhaled. then looked directly at you. “i still didn’t like it.” for a moment the noise backstage seemed to fade away. because suddenly the petty argument wasn’t so funny anymore.
a few moments later he walks you to his dressing room, its quiet, just the soft hum of distant music from backstage. michael sits on the edge of his velvet couch, still in white button up, with a few already unbuttoned. hair slightly damp from performing. he looks up at you eyes intense but tender. "baby... I did see that look on your face when I pointed to lisa." he stands slowly and walks toward you, taking your hands gently in his. ‘that wasn’t about her… it was for show. you know how this industry is gotta give ‘em something flashy."
a small pout forms your lips, “i know michael, sometimes i just wish we could let everyone know about us so we wouldn’t have to be this discrete.” michael’s face softens completely. he cups your cheeks with both hands, his thumbs gently brushing over your skin like you're the most precious thing in the world. his was voice low and sweet, "oh, my love… i want that too. more than anything."
he leans down slowly so slowly and kisses you softly on the lips. a tender kiss full of longing and years of hidden feelings finally breaking free. when he pulls back just an inch, his eyes stay closed for a second as if savoring it... then they flutter open to meet yours. you bite your lip trying to hold back a smile on your face slowly looking around the dressing room, “how much longer do u think we have before someone comes barging in telling us to go?”
michael follows your gaze, around the room cluttered with flowers, champagne bottles, and his glittering costume pieces. he chuckles softly, a warm rich sound that vibrates through his chest. “we got about… ten minutes before publicists start knocking like vultures." without warning, he grabs your hand and pulls you toward him again, but this time spins you once playfully before kissing your forehead. michael gently guides you down onto the plush velvet couch, his hands steady and warm. the sequins on his jacket catch the dim golden light from the lamps. he sits beside you, then turns to face you fully, knees touching yours. with a quiet tenderness, he lifts one hand to brush your hair behind your ear… then leans in slowly.
the air between you feels electric, not with tension now, but with love that’s been waiting too long to be free. and then he kisses you again. deeper this time. softer than before… like a promise being sealed. michael pulls back from the kiss just slightly, his lips still close to yours. he exhales a quiet laugh, half frustration, half amusement, and rests his forehead against yours. michael bent down whispering with a playful sigh, "mmm… I'd much rather be somewhere with a bed right now. or at least less publicist proof walls."
you giggle, and push him lightly on the chest before sitting up fully. "we don’t have time for that, mr. jackson! they gon’ come knocking any second!" the teasing tone in your voice makes michael pout dramatically, the way only he can. the second you're on his lap, michael’s arms lock around your waist like iron, tight, claiming. there’s no hesitation this time. bis kiss hits you with deep possessive in the way only a man who loves someone fiercely can be. no softness now… just raw emotion, months of hidden glances and stolen moments pouring into one intense embrace. one hand cradles the back of your head while the other presses firmly against your lower back to pull you closer as if he could melt you into him. his lips move over yours desperately… like he's trying to brand himself onto yours. the knock startles both of you, but michael doesn’t pull away completely. just breaks the kiss for a breath, his lips still brushing yours as he calls out in that smooth, calm voice he uses with staff.
“yeah! I’m fine, just changing!" then the doorknob jiggles slightly. panic flashes in your eyes, and suddenly you’re both stifling giggles like teenagers caught sneaking around. michael rests his forehead against yours again, laughing quietly, a rare sound so warm and boyish it makes your heart skip.
“we look ridiculous right now michael.” you laugh shaking your head. he was still smiling against your lips before kissing them once more softly, “no more petty stuff from me.” he said holding up his hand, “promise." you tilted your head pretending to think about it, “i can’t say the same,” you grinned. “but you know i’ll try.” a laugh slips past your lips before you leaned in a and pressed a quick peck to his lips before he could react. before he could respond, you grab your purse and headed towards the door. the sound of your heels clicking the floor echoing thru the room.
“you’re impossible,” michael called after you. “and yet you love me.” reaching the door, you glanced back over your shoulder, michael was still standing exactly where you left him. his head shook slowly as a smile tugged the corners of his mouth, he bit the inside of his cheek, trying and failing, to hide how amused he was. the look on his face made your own smile grow. “you coming?” michael left out a soft laugh and walked towards you, i’m right behind you baby.”
mature/history/dangerous era!michael x young!mean!girlfriend!reader
tw|| age gap, mean girl behavior, raunchy talk, slight hints of immaturity, n-word, Michael actually does put his foot, he ends up feeling bad tho, reader doesn’t mind at all, it highkey lowkey turns her on
I actually really like the idea of this being a series/multi part thing in the same universe. I have a few ideas for mean!reader! But I’m open to other ideas too if anyone has any👀
“You always been this stupid or is this like a new thing for you?” You popped your gum and tilted your head at the young lady. Her hands started to tremble as she stared at you through the reflection of the mirror.
Ever since you started dating Michael you sorta became an unofficial supervisor over music videos. Casting went through you before it was finalized by him, same with wardrobe and makeup. Lord knows Michael appreciated it too. You listened to him ramble on and on about his ideas and visions enough that you always knew what he’d be looking for. If you watched enough HGTV you might be able to start giving confident advice on set design and props.
So when the makeup artist stayed silent and looked at you with a shocked expression you scoffed getting more irritated. You waved her off with a manicured hand, “Move. You’re dismissed for the day.” You stated taking her place and grabbing a brush. In the chair before you was a dancer whose eyes were bouncing back and forth between you two like she were watching a tennis match.
“What? I-…like go home?”
You opened your mouth but shut up quickly as you swallowed down the urge to cuss her out. Your eyes closed as you found the strength before opening them again and looking at her. “Quite frankly I don’t care where you go it’s just gotta be off this set.” You looked down and started grabbing makeup brushes to finish her work, “you’ll be compensated for the work you have done though. Thank you and goodbye.” Your tone left no room for arguing as did the bored look on your face. You rolled your eyes hard as you heard small sniffles coming from her as she hurriedly left.
As you filled in and did the dancer’s makeup, Michael is approached by the lead makeup artist. Their hesitation to speak automatically let him know it had something to do with you. It wouldn’t be the first time someone came up to him because you decided to tweak something last minute without telling him. He was fully prepared to tell them to go along with your idea and get back to fixing dancers placements but not everything works out that way.
“I know you dance and all but have you ever thought of modeling? You have a face that sends off ships, my god I’m jealous.” You mutter to the dancer as you finished up. Her bashful giggle hitting your ears and making you in turn giggle. The girlish giggle fest was interrupted by large hands finding your shoulders and holding you back against a firm chest.
“We need to talk.”
You huff and turn to see Michael, “don’t do that! You know I’m jumpy…” you side eyed him as you turned as if you were going back to the dancer.
Before you could fully turn Michael grabbed your arm with a low “girl come on.” And tugged you off somewhere private. “What is your problem?” Came his stern voice.
Blink.
Blink. Blink.
“Nigga what? You just yanked me away! What is your problem?” You were the definition of baffled as you looked at him with an expression of pure confusion.
He crossed his arms, “You sent a girl home crying? What happened?!”
“Oh!” You relaxed and shrugged, “yeah but it’s not my fault she’s sensitive.” You brushed it off, “I told her she would be paid so chill.” Your legs moving to head back out when you were swiftly pulled back.
“No. I’ve let you slide too many times when it comes to things like this.” He shook his head. Your eyes following the curls that managed to somehow evade him when he pulled his hair back. He grabbed your attention again when he started speaking again, “You can’t call everyone sensitive when you upset them.”
“But she wasn’t-“
“I’m not finished.” Oh! You blinked and closed your mouth. His eyes were harder and narrowed. He wasn’t playing. “I’ve told you time and time again, baby. You need to watch how you talk to people. Not everyone has thick skin. You come off as mean and rude and it’s going to stop. Okay?”
You nodded slowly. Your mind still trying to process how attractive that was and how the room suddenly felt warm.
Michael’s face softened and his large hands came and cradled your face gently, “I don’t like fussing at you, sweet girl. Just try being a little nicer? For me?” He placed a kiss on your forehead.
As he pulled back your hand shot out and grabbed the waistband of his pants making him freeze. He glanced down while your eyes stayed on him.
“Wha-”
You squinted, “You think you can just put me in my place looking good as fuck and just leave like nothing happened?”
His face flushed and a bashful expression found his face. When he opened his mouth to speak you quickly placed a finger over it.
“No! No, no. No speaking. Just need you to give a quick lesson in being nice.”
Could you do a fic where singer reader is performing and someone throws something at her and Michael runs on stage
ooh i like this! you didn’t specify what era so i just chose otw! NOT proofread at all
you were the opener for the jackson 5 on their newest tour. you had know them since they started making music, as your father was a producer at motown. you particularly were fond of michael (as was he of you) and while your relationship wasn’t public, you had been going steady for a few months! he loved having a genuine person to talk to, someone his age. someone who understood the pressure of the music industry and grew up in it too. you were happy to be there of course. with your relationship still in that new, sappy, lovey stage so being near michael and performing was a win win.
speaking of performing, as soon as both of you were in costume and cleared from hair and makeup you were all over one another. on the couch in his dressing room, hands wandering. a euphoric feeling that only came with young love emitting throughout both your bodies, accompanying the pre-show jitters. as you pulled away for air, michael rested his forehead against your own. “are you excited ladybug?” he murmured, not wanting to break the soft silence of the moment. “obviously i am mikey, jus’ a little nervous” you responded, rubbing your thumb across his cheek.
“y’got nothing to nervous about sweets”, he started pausing to continue the kiss. he loved the feeling of your soft, painted lips against his own. he shifted his mouth over to kiss just outside of your lips, “i know mikey, just not my usual crowd out there” you smiled, feeling him hum in acknowledgment. you loved talking to him, he always listened so intently no matter what was on his own mind. before he could respond, three sharp knocks came through the door, indicating showtime.
“promise you’ll be in the wings watching?” you said, giving him one last kiss. “where else would i be?” michael answered, always giving you reassurance.
when you walked out on to the stage, you felt the light heat your full body. the sequins of your flared pants swished with each step you took. as you walked up to the microphone, you gave a wave to the crowd and one to the band. signaling to start the music. new wave jazz funk filled the speakers, and your voice carried perfectly. this song made you think about the boy waiting to see you backstage, who helped you write it. the memory brought an even bigger smile to your face. towards the chorus, you noticed a bit of commotion from the pit directly in front of you. brushing it off as maybe dancing or crazy jackson fans you continued. as the final bridge begun, you picked up the mic and danced. when you descended further downstage for the final chorus you raised your arms, smiling at the fans copying you.
it was in that moment you felt it, a rough stone hit your eye during the ending. as soon as contact was made it sent pain through your body, you grabbed the throbbing area and hunched over. tightly shutting your eyes as gasps ran through the crowd. the very next second you were in someone’s arms, you could tell it was michael by the way he held you against him.
“im right here ladybug, my love can you open your eyes for me?” he whispered softly to you, not caring for the crowd as he turned his back to it. “my love speak to me, please. can only help if you let me see”. at his pleads you softly raised your head — just enough to bring your mouth to his ear. “take me off mikey- take me off please” you whimpered out. “its ok, i got you” he repeated as you both practically flew off stage.
the next few minutes remained a blur as you kept your eyes shut. you heard yelling, security orders, and screaming from the crowd outside. the only thing keeping you sane was the fact that michael kept you in his arms the whole time. sitting you down on the couch, and even when the paramedics arrived for first aid you stayed tucked in his side. he didn’t say much then, watching as they flushed your eye with saline. they assured both michael and your father it looked worse than it was, just some bruising and soreness was to be expected. however none of this calmed the silent anger in your boyfriends body.
when your dad stepped out to talk to the security it left you and him alone, michael gave kisses to your hairline as he held the ice pack to your eye. “you think i’ll have a cool scar?” you asked, attempting to break the silence. it did for a minute when you felt him smile. “im sorry for this honey kiss, promise it’ll be dealt with” he said rubbing his free hand down your spine. you didn’t answer, knowing no matter how much reassurance he got he would feel a little responsible. “i got really scared, i saw it hit you… holding you scared like that it-” he didn’t need to continue. you both knew how crazy fans can get. you both have had your fare share of run ins with aggressive paparazzi.
“thank you baby, im okay” you said, grabbing and interlacing your fingers with his. “and it’ll be cute watching the footage later, can already see the headlines— Jackson 5 star Michael Jackson seen comforting possible lover after fan attacks!” you laughed with michael, kissing him again. “as long as they’re doing it from a distance they can say whatever and i couldn’t care less”
Pairing: Jaafar Jackson x Black!OC Amara Jackson
Summary: Jaafar shows his love by caring for Amara after a wild night out.
Songs: The Impossible by Mariah Carey
WC:
Warnings: 18+ suggestive content
Note: headcanon from the miniseries I have for them <3
SHE LOVED HIM LIKE LEMON DROP MARTINIS ON A THURSDAY EVENING…SWEETLY. EXCITINGLY. IMPULSIVELY…
“You gon’ give me any space?”
“No.”
She stayed behind him. Swaying like a boat on the water, left hand locked tightly around her wrist. Her cheek, damp from the night’s heat and slippery foundation, pressed against his back as he stood above her side of the dresser, rummaging through the drawers.
“Well,” he said lowly, pulling out her favorite blue nightgown, “You gotta let me go.”
“Why?” She whined into his back, her teeth biting the fabric in frustration.
Jaafar glanced over his shoulder and chuckled. “So you can get dressed.” The drawer hissed closed, and he turned in her arms, balancing her nightgown in one hand and her full hip in the other.
Amara pouted and blinked slowly. “You do it.”
“I will.” Jaafar dropped a kiss against her temple. “C’mon.”
He led her to the bed, their hands tangled together like a memory and sat her at the edge. Amara huffed quietly and leaned back on her hands, head lulling heavily to the side. “I’m tired.”
Jaafar hummed and lowered himself to his knees. Slowly. Reverently.
“I know. You had fun?”
“Mhm.”
The night started with her at a local restaurant with her friends—her first outing since returning to US soil following their wedding and honeymoon—balancing a forkful of vodka rigatoni in one hand and a glass of pinot gris in the other. But somewhere between encouragement from her homegirls and an I’ll get you from wherever text from her husband, Amara landed in a booth at a hole-in-the-wall bar, sipping lemon drops like water.
And as promised, when the room began to tick like a panoramic production, and her speech slowed like molasses, he was outside; legs crossed over the other as he waited for her entrance.
He slid her shoe off—revealing a fresh red pedicure and tender flesh. She sighed softly. Then came the other. Removed with a tenderness that seemed instinctual rather than studied.
“You know,” Amara murmured, gliding her fingers through Jaafar’s dark curls. His hands stilled around her foot. “You look good like this. Pretty.”
Her nails scratched lightly at his scalp before wrapping themselves in the freshly washed tendrils. She tugged softly. He groaned lowly.
"Like what?” He ground out, thumbs pressing against the sole of her foot.
“On your knees for me.”
He looked at her then. Eyes blown wide like a man who mistook devotion for breath itself. His tongue found the underside of his tooth, circling once, as his gaze fell to the newly installed carpet.
Jaafar exhaled.
“Behave.”
Amara smiled. Slowly and wickedly.
Her fingers found the hem of her dress, and she pulled it over her head, revealing her favorite leopard print set that she knew would send him in a tizzy any other day. But he didn’t step closer. Just raised an eyebrow and raised the blue satin between pinched fingers.
She huffed and raised her arms, allowing him to unclip her bra and slide the nightgown over her body. “Thanks, baby.” She stood on unsteady legs and moved ahead of him to the bathroom, mumbling about makeup remover and toothpaste.
He stayed close. Far enough to give her space but lingered close enough for her to wrap his arms around her waist as she brushed her teeth slowly.
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CAN'T GET ENOUGH
ALWAYS VENUS ... Venus Taraji Hamilton has spent most of her life pretending not to notice the way Jaafar Jackson looks at her.
I SAW HEAVEN... In which we spend the morning with Venus and her husband
LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE
KEEPER ... in which they were meant to be over
THE LADY IN MY LIFE ... In which it was just meant to be a dinner
Purple Rain on Your Parade (Michael Jackson x Reader)
Plot: His honesty was like a double edged sword and for once it might have been the reason he almost lost you.
Warnings: diana ross bc fuck her tbh
A/N: another request for an anon!! I feel it's good and it was challenging tbh, I wanted to picture the emotions correctly and it got super long but y'all be the judge also, my husband has been listening to luis miguel all morning and it got me thinkin....jealous michael bc some little friend called luis has been calling for days, turns out that friend was just luis asking for music advice...feelings?? thoughts?
The Bad release party was the kind of event that didn’t feel like a party, it felt like a performance of a party, all the right people in all the right clothes doing all the right amount of visible celebrating. You were good at these by now, your own release parties taught you things, you knew which conversations to join and when to drift and how to stand beside him in a way that was present without being a fixture, supportive without taking too much space.
You’d been doing exactly that for the past hour, a glass in your hand, a conversation you were half listening to when Diana Ross arrived.
You’d met her twice before. She was an imposing person, the kind who made a room reorganize itself around them without trying, and both times you’d been perfectly pleasant and felt something you couldn’t name after it, not quite enough to be jealous but enough that you felt weird after it.
Michael noticed her from across the room, you felt it before you saw it, his attention realigning. He touched your arm once, lightly, the way you touch someone when you want to end the conversation and move on; and then he was moving.
You stayed in your conversation; you were not going to stand in a corner watching the clock like a jealous teenager, you were a reasonable adult in a grown-up relationship.
Thirty-five minutes. She had her hand on his arm for most of it, this easy touch, like someone resting their hand on a doorframe of a house they used to own. And Michael, your Michael, who got overwhelmed at events, who usually wanted to leave by ten was lit up. Leaning toward her and laughing at something with his whole face, like she told the funniest joke in the entire world.
You refreshed your drink. You talked to three people whose names you already couldn’t remember.
When he came back his eyes were bright in a way that made your chest felt wrong in different ways, a pressure slowly building up.
“Sorry,” he said, and he meant it, you could tell he meant it, which almost made it worse. “She just - I haven’t seen her in a while”
“It’s fine,” you said not looking into his eyes directly, you knew that the tears would appear if you did.
“She’s—” He shook his head a little, still warm from the conversation, and then he said it with such uncomplicated tenderness, like he was sharing something good with you, like this was something you’d want to know: “She just understands me in this way. Like, she knew me before everything. There’s nobody else who—” He caught something in your face then or almost caught it. “Hey, you okay, angel?”
“I’m fine,” you said. “I’m going to get some air, be back”
He watched you move, confusion written all over his face, he thought it was okay though, maybe you just got overwhelmed by everything that was going on; little did he know you went to grab your coat leaving the venue.
The thing was you understood. That was what made the anger so hard to hold, Diana had met him when he was 9 years old and she had been his north star for as long as you knew. That wasn’t nothing and you didn’t expect it to be nothing.
What you couldn’t put words to yet, standing on the curb waiting for the valet with your own bodyguard behind you was the scene you’d watched across that room, the way she’d touched his arm like she was reminding him it belonged to her, the way he’d tilted toward her completely unaware he was doing it, like it was natural for him to do so; the way she smiled like she knew she won a fight you didn’t even know was happening.
You were eight months in and you felt like you were the one intruding in something else.
He called nine times. You listened to the voicemails the next morning with your coffee, sitting down on your kitchen table.
The first three were worried, soft, the voice he used when he thought he’d hurt someone by accident and didn’t know how yet. Where did you go? Are you okay? Please call me, angel.
By four and five the worry had sharpened slightly. Something that wasn’t quite frustration but was close to it. I looked for you. I didn’t know you’d left, this was a big night and I wanted my girl next to me.
Message six: a long pause, and then carefully his voice sounded through the phone, that deep voice he only used when he let himself go; If I did something, I need you to tell me. Because I feel like I did something, and I don’t know what. You scoffed at that.
Seven, eight, nine: just your name, different way like a prayer.
You didn’t call back. You sat with the same unsettling feeling in your chest you had since the night before, the pressure building so deep it felt it could burst at any point. A while later you called your manager, she never asked you to explain yourself from the beginning, just listened to your rambling.
She listened quietly and then she asked: “How serious is it?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Okay.” She knew what that meant. She also knew you, which was why she waited a beat and then said: “I know this is the worst time possible, but Prince has been asking about you. Since your last album released, apparently, you’ve been living in his head and he wants to do something about it creatively.” Another beat. “He’s performing at the next Grammy’s; he mentioned needing a second voice and maybe put together a performance with you”
You looked at the window, the weather felt like it was mocking you, perfect blue skies with the sun shining brightly looking back at you.
“The Grammys,” you said.
“The Grammys” She repeated without any specific tone to it, like she was just confirming.
You thought about the nine voicemails and like a flashback Diana’s hand place perfectly on his arm for thirty minutes came back, you thought about his words, she understands me.
The story broke on Thursday. Entertainment Tonight first, then the rest of the world, rehearsal footage, your name next to Prince’s, the Grammys. Your publicist called, your mother, hell it seemed everyone was calling you but him.
And then at 8:47 PM your buzzer went off and you already knew before you pressed the intercom, you asked through it:
“Who is it?”
Silence. “You know who it is.”
You buzzed him up because you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t be a coward about this conversation. Even though every instinct was saying not yet, that your heart was still feeling things that your mind couldn’t catch up you caved in.
The first thing you noticed when you opened the door was that he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well; the second thing was that he came in and saw the television, entertainment news, rehearsal footage, purple stage lights, he went completely still.
You sat down on the couch, he sat down at the end of the couch, space and silence draped over you like a heavy blanket.
“Prince,” he said finally after a while.
“We’re performing together, yes.”
“At the Grammys.” The word landed between you and the energy seemed to shift. “When were you going to tell me?”
“We haven’t been talking, Michael.”
“Because of the party.” He said it like he’d been practicing it. “You left because of the party and you haven’t called me back and now you’re-” He gestured at the TV. “You’re doing this.”
“I’m taking an opportunity, it’s just my job” you shrugged.
“With Prince.” Something moved across his face that he didn’t try to hide, jealousy.
And you thought: interesting, you can feel that so clearly about me and Prince when you apparently can’t feel it about yourself and Diana but of course you didn’t say that.
“What happened at the party, angel?” he asked. “Tell me, because I’ve been going over it and I don’t -” He pressed his hand to his forehead, the gesture you recognized, the one that meant he was lost, his voice even softer that already was naturally. “I don’t know what I did.”
And the thing that made it hard to stay mad at Michael was just that, he didn’t know what he did at least not entirely, the party had happened and you’d left, and he genuinely, truly did not have the full picture of himself that you had in your mind.
So you told him, you opened the door to your thoughts.
“You were gone for thirty-five minutes,” you said. “I know you don’t think that’s—”
“I wasn’t gone, I was twenty feet away—”
“You were gone.” You said it without raising your voice, cutting him off “And I stayed in my conversation, and I refreshed my drink and I told myself I was being reasonable. And then you came back and you looked—” You stopped, feeling your eyes getting watery “You looked the way you look after a really good day in the studio, the way you look after something goes well and then you said—”
“I don’t know what I said, baby, I talked the entire night with everyone” his eyes looked at you, big and opened like he was looking for any answer to the questions on his mind.
“You really don’t remember it, Michael?” your tone was almost offended but defeated at the same time.
He opened his mouth and closed it.
“She understands you,” you said. “Like no one else does.” You looked at him steadily. “We’ve been together eight months, Michael. Eight months where I have been—” You pressed your fingers to your heart without meaning to, the pressure almost overwhelming. “I’ve been trying. To know you. To get behind all of it, the touring and the label and the way everyone in every room wants a piece of you, my schedule and the way we walk around each other like we never have enough time and then you stood there and told me she has what I’ve been trying to be, like that was a perfectly normal thing to say to me.”
“That’s not what I meant—” it was his turn to feel his eyes get full of tears.
“I know it’s not what you meant.” Your voice cracked on it, just slightly. “That’s the whole problem! You didn’t mean it like that but you were just being honest. You just—” You looked at the ceiling for a second, gathering yourself back. “You just told me the truth without knowing what that did to me.”
He was very still.
“She’s been there since you were nine years old,” you said. “I know that, I’m not asking you to pretend that she doesn’t exist, but there’s a door in you, Michael, and it has her name on it, and every time she’s anywhere near you, you walk through it. And when you’re on the other side of it you don’t—” Your voice dropped. “You don’t seem to notice that you’ve left me standing out here.”
He looked like you’d pressed on something that had been bruised for a long time, tears slowly falling off his cheeks.
“She doesn’t -” He started but stopped, he was trying to find the right words “It’s not like she’s doing anything, it’s just she’s always known me—”
“I want to know you.” It came out quieter than the rest, which made his heart break further. “That’s why I’m here. That’s the whole reason I’m here. And sometimes I feel like I’m knocking on a door that only opens for another person, for her”
He stood up, running a hand through his curls, the bags under his eyes seemed even deeper for some reason.
“I didn’t know it felt like that,” he finally said, trying to get close to you but it felt as if an invisible wall appeared in between both of you.
“I would never want you to feel like—” He shook his head. “You’re not on the outside, baby, you are actually a few of the people I let in, do you understand that? That’s not a small thing for me.”
“I know that.” And you did, which was why you were still in the room having this conversation instead of simply being done. “But knowing someone chose to let you in doesn’t help much when you’re still standing in the cold.”
He looked down at you then any trace of defensiveness was gone. What was underneath it was just him realizing he’d been holding something carelessly that he meant to hold with both hands, after all you felt like his entire world.
“I don’t know how to fix it,” he said carefully, almost ashamed.
“I’m not asking you to fix it tonight.” You exhaled. “I’m just asking you to understand why I left.”
A long silence, he sat down again before speaking “I still don’t want you performing with Prince.”
You almost laughed, only him could think of Prince at this moment “I know, Michael”
“I’m not trying to be—”
“I know what you’re trying to be.” You looked at him. “It’s a little ironic, don’t you think.”
He had the grace to recognize, here he was with tears on his eyes demanding you don’t do your job after you called him out for breaking your heart.
“Come to the Grammys,” you said. “Not to be Michael Jackson but to be my partner, I need to know that when I walk out on that stage and I look for you, you’re there.”
“I’ll be there.”
“And the after-party is mine, the whole night you are mine” you said arching an eyebrow, he looked almost excited about it.
“You’re who I’m coming with.” He said it simply, no performance in it.
“Then act like it.” You looked at your hands. “That’s all I need right now, the rest I’m still figuring out.”
He moved along the couch, not all the way to you, just less far away and put his hand over yours. Slow and deliberate, making sure you saw the whole gesture.
“I know sorry isn’t enough by itself,” he said. “But I mean it, I know you’ve been feeling like you’re on the outside and I didn’t know, and I should have known.”
You looked at his hand on yours, his entire hand covering yours, the warmth you’ve gotten used to in the past few months, you took his pinky in yours and looked up to his warm eyes.
“Ask me in a few days if I forgive you,” you said. “Tonight I just want to sit here.”
He nodded and didn’t move his hand, not until later when the night dragged and he had to leave.
The night of the Grammys Prince opened alone, silhouette behind a curtain, purple suit, his symbol guitar and “Purple Rain” filling the room.
You stood in the wings and felt twenty thousand people stop breathing at the same time and thought: okay, this is real, you are real, all the work you did was what got you here.
Your name, in Prince’s voice, carried over the arena and you walked into the stage.
You gave it everything that had built up over weeks, through “Purple Rain” and into “Baby I’m a Star,” the energy in the room lifting and shifting under you, once your songs started you shined the way Prince had seen you before, performing in the way he saw and that was the entire reason he asked you to be next to him on this night, you looked like a star, but not in a celebrity way but in a way you shined that lit up the entire place.
And you were laughing; genuinely, your mind forgetting the way you ever doubted yourself, your whole situation with Michael finally was at the back of your mind after weeks.
Prince leaned close at the end, under the applause, and said simply: “I told you, there’s something real in you.”
He came across the room directly, long strides carrying him to you, looked beautiful and he looked completely devoted to you in a way that your chest did things you hadn’t consented to and suddenly the entire argument felt strange, but you had to be strong.
“Hi,” you said when he reached you.
“Hi.” He looked at you the way he had in the beginning, before things got messy and uncomfortable. “You were—” He stopped. “I don’t have a word, baby”
“Real,” you said. “Apparently, or that’s what Prince said”
Something moved through his expression, a flash of jealousy and he almost reached for you out of instinct, and then he seemed to understand without being told that this wasn’t that moment yet, and he let his hand fall.
“Can we talk?” he asked shyly looking down a little, his curls falling around his face, damn he, he really was beautiful.
“We’re talking, Mike”
“Somewhere quieter.” He almost looked at you pleading.
You looked at him for a moment, almost trying to decipher what he was doing or trying to achieve here but still you dragged him to your dressing room.
Once inside he stood across from you with his hands in his pockets and for a moment he just looked at you, and you let him, because you were curious what he was going to lead with.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said, “about what you said, all of it.” He paused. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”
“Okay,” you said, not giving anything away from your tone, just listening to him.
“I know I can’t just say sorry and have that be enough, I know that’s not what you want” He exhaled. “I know you’re not standing here waiting to be talked back into something” His jaw tightened slightly. “I just need you to know that I heard you, all of it”
“I believe you heard it,” you said carefully. “Hearing and understanding aren’t the same thing.”
“I know.”
“And understanding and changing aren’t the same thing either.”
He nodded but said nothing, you noticed he was picking at his fingers slowly.
You looked back at him, you could felt your heart beating fast “What do you want, Michael? Tonight, right now, what are you asking me for?”
He was quiet for a moment, and you appreciated that he didn’t just say whatever. “I’m not asking you to come back tonight,” he said finally. “I don’t think I’ve earned that yet, I’m asking you to—” He searched for it. “I’m asking you to let me try, to remind you of the reason I fell in love with you, Diana was just a childish thing, you are my real thing, my girl”
Something in your chest moved, warmth spread through you.
“That’s a nicer answer than I expected,” you said smiling softly at him and you could see him relax.
“I meant it, love” he grabbed your hand carefully, his fingers tracing your fingers.
“I know you did.” You looked at him steadily. “That’s been the problem from the start, hasn’t it? You always mean what you say.”
You knew the time was dragging, you had to get out of your performance outfit and get ready for the party.
“We are going to the party tonight” you said.
Something crossed his face, not quite panic, more like a man watching a door and not knowing if it’s opening or closing. “Okay.”
“And you’re going to give me some space tonight. You’re not going to follow me around and you’re not going to be at my elbow all night trying to show me you’ve changed in the last forty minutes, because that’s not how it works and you know it.”
“Okay,” he said again, quieter.
“But…” You paused, just long enough to watch him hold his breath. “You can call me tomorrow and the day after that and every day until we feel like we are normal again.”
He looked at you like we’ll see was the best thing anyone had ever said to him. Which maybe, right now, it was. “Yeah?”
“Don’t make it into something it isn’t,” you said. “It’s just a phone call.”
He called the next morning at nine. You let it ring four times before you picked up, not because you were playing games but because you needed four rings to decide what version of yourself was going to answer.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” you said.
And that was how it started.
What he hadn’t anticipated, well, neither of you had fully anticipated or even thought about it, was the press.
By the morning after the Grammys the photos were everywhere. You and Prince under purple light, you mid-laugh during “Let’s Go Crazy,” the two of you at the end with his guitar still ringing out and your head thrown back, him close to your ear whispering after the performance.
The chemistry, every headline said, in one form or another, was undeniable. A columnist in the Times called it the beginning of something. A radio host spent twenty minutes of his morning show asking listeners who they thought you’d end up with, you could feel your manager laughing from across the city without even calling her.
Michael did not find it funny, not one single bit.
He didn’t say anything about it directly at first, which was somehow worse. You could hear it in the calls, a particular quiet when your name appeared next to Prince’s, a bubble that was waiting to burst.
On day four you mentioned offhandedly that Prince’s team had sent flowers to your publicist’s office and there was a silence on the line that lasted just a beat too long.
“That’s—” Michael said. “That’s nice of him.”
“They were purple,” you said, because you had to admit you were enjoying his attention.
Another silence and he scoffed “Of course they were.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “You okay there, Mikey?”
“I’m fine,” he said, in the tone of someone who was working very hard on being fine and wanted credit for the effort and a laughed slipped from you.
“This is not funny, angel, don’t laugh at me” he whined a little through the phone, his voice incredibly soft.
“It’s a little funny, baby”
“From where I’m standing it’s not.”
You leaned back in your chair and looked at the ceiling and let the moment settle before you said, quietly: “Now you know how I felt”
He didn’t answer right away and you heard him breathe deeply. “Yeah, know I know”
And neither of you said anything for a few seconds, it almost felt like whatever wall was in between both of you finally disappeared.
“Dinner,” he said, after a moment. “I want to take you to dinner, something quiet for both of us.”
You looked at the magazine on your kitchen table and at the purple flowers on your counter that you had thought were a little excessive and had moved to the back of the kitchen out of some instinct toward fairness.
“When?” you said playing with the cord of the phone.
You heard him exhale. “Whenever you say.”
“Tomorrow night sounds fine,” you said. “Somewhere quiet. And Michael—”
“Yeah?”
“Just us, I don’t want to share you with a room.”
A pause, and then something in his voice that was warm and certain and a little raw: “Just me,” he said. “I promise, and baby?”
“Yes, Mike?”
“I love you, I really do and I hope you believe it and feel it, you are my person”
And you believed him because now he knew what it felt like, to see someone you love reflected back to you through someone else’s eyes and feel the bottom drop out of your stomach. To read a headline and understand in your body, not just your head, what you’d been asking him to see all along.
He knew now and somehow that made him love you deeper than he already did, he almost felt that he took your love for granted with was surprisingly stupid, no one loved him like you did, in that raw and unfiltered way you always did, you could take the star out of the man and love him all the same, his infuriation with Diana seemed like a childish thing now, he was blind with her like a kid is with a new toy, but with you things felt real, he could see a future by your side.
💭 Your phone had been buzzing for twenty minutes straight. You ignored every single one. Mostly out of principle now... The first three texts? Fine.
By text number eleven, Jaafar was doing too much.
You flip your phone face down on the bed dramatically, Because to be honest? He should be annoyed.
You’d argued again earlier outside campus over something stupid, him getting irritated you left a party without telling him, you getting irritated, he acted like your dad instead of your boyfriend.
Ex-boyfriend..Current boyfriend.?? Whatever he was this week.
The relationship had been on and off for almost a year now. Mostly because you were both idiots,
1. You’d break up.
2. Miss each other too much.
3. Get back together. & 4. Repeat.
And somehow Jaafar was always the one holding the pieces together afterward. Always softer... Always calling first and Always showing back up at your apartment looking exhausted and in love with you anyway.
Which irritated you deeply. Your phone buzzes again.
jaafar: ur doing this on purpose now
You roll your eyes. Then immediately the screen lights up with an incoming call.
Absolutely not. You decline instantly. Three seconds later—another call.“Ugh,” you sighed. You finally answer aggressively. “What??” Jaafar exhales immediately, Like Actually exhales.
Like he’d been holding his breath. “There you are.” You hate how that affects you.
“What do you want?”
“Wanted to know if my girlfriend died.”
“I’m not your girlfriend today.”
“See? This what I mean.” You sit up against your pillows dramatically. “You’re being irritating.”
“You ignored me for two hours. What are you talking about.”
“I was busy...”
“You posted on Instagram.”
Damn.
You stay quiet. Jaafar laughs softly through his nose. “Caught you.”
“You stalk my page too much.”
“You literally soft launched me on there last month.”
“That was temporary.”
“Temporary?” he repeats in disbelief. “Baby, you got pictures of me from last summer still up.” You smile despite yourself. Jaafar hears it immediately. “Oh is she gone now?”
“Don’t start.”
“You was mad two seconds ago.”
“I still am.”
“Mhm. yeah sure.” The thing about Jaafar was—he never matched your anger. Which honestly made things worse sometimes. Because while you were dramatic and stubborn and ready to disappear for three business days after an argument. Jaafar was steady. Always steady “Have You eaten yet?” he asks suddenly. You frown. “That’s irrelevant.”
“So no.”
“Jaafar.”
“You get meaner when you don’t eat.”
“You act like you know me.”
“I do know you.” That shuts you up for half a second. You hear movement on his side of the phone before keys jingle. Your eyes narrow immediately. “…Where are you?”
“Outside your building.”
“Oh fuck.”
“You weren't answering.”
“That doesn’t mean pull up to my apartment!”
“Your so fucking dramatic.”
“You literally drove here!”
“And?” Jaafar says simply. “Move from the buzzer then.” Your stomach flips hard. “No.”
“Baby.”
“No.”
“I got your favorite fries.” Silence. Jaafar smiles through the phone. You can hear it.
“That’s manipulation,” you mutter. “You love me baby.”
..A little true. You drag yourself off the bed and stomp toward the apartment intercom while staying on the phone. The second the building door unlocks downstairs, Jaafar laughs quietly. “There’s my girl.”
“I’m still mad.”
“Thats okay, i'll will fix that.”
“You embarrassed me today.”
“I know.”
“Your annoying.”
“I know.”
“Like actually annoying.”
“I get it baby.” You hear his footsteps entering the stairwell now. very quietly. “But you didn't stop loving me though.” Your chest tightens. Because that’s the real problem with Jaafar...No matter how many times you both crashed into each other—he always came back gentle.
THE SOFT LAUNCHING. ౨ৎ ONE MONTH AGO.
𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙙𝙞𝙚'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙨. ౨ৎ HI MOONWALKERS!! i have sm things in my drafts... this is me soft launching my smau masterpiece ;) ts was so short oops 😭 i'll be trying 2 make longer fics, hihi hoped u liked it <3 taglist + more soooon heehee 🎶 🎶
a.n: hope you enjoy, let me know if you have any more requests for Maeve and Fez <3
Maddy had Maeve throwing her ass back to Shake That Monkey in the middle of the living room, music shaking the walls, coils getting frizzy from the heat and the movement, Hennessy warming her chest.
Maeve yelled over the music that she was going to get another drink. Maddy laughed and grabbed her wrist. “You just wanna see where your man’s at. Girl, he’s working.”
Maeve rolled her eyes but laughed with her. She stumbled out of the crowd, laughing at nothing, then steadied herself. She didn’t look drunk from far away, but anyone close enough to see her eyes would notice the gloss instantly.
She stepped outside and wrapped her arms around herself. The first thing she noticed was a tall blonde with pink lip stick walking away from the pool area, hair tossed over her shoulder, glancing back at Maeve with a smirk. Maeve narrowed her eyes at her and kept walking.
Then she saw Fez sitting near the pool with his business face on, handing a tiny baggie to some curly-haired kid. Maeve walked straight to him putting two and two together.
Fez looked up at her and patted his lap with a small smile. “C’mere, ma.”
The kid lingered.
Maeve looked right at him, “You’re done here.” He backed up fast and Fez smirked, entertained.
“You actin real bossy tonight.”
Maeve crossed her arms. “Whatever.”
He tapped her thigh. “Come sit.”
She didn’t move at first. Then she sat on his lap with a little huff, arms crossed tight.
Fez slid an arm around her waist. “Thought you was busy inside.”
“I was.”
“You still actin mad.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Aight.”
As she stared at the water, Fez reached up and played with a coil resting on her neck, twisting it between his fingers. Maeve jerked her head away and glared at him.
Fez dropped his hand. “What’s up with you, Maeve?”
She didn’t answer. She stood up instead.
“Where you goin, ma?”
“Inside. I forgot something.”
She turned, and the backyard lights hit his neck just right.
A pink smear.
Maeve stepped right back to him, grabbed his chin, tilted his head. Up close, it wasn’t a smear.
It was a kiss mark. Her whole face went cold.
“What the fuck is that.”
Fez blinked. “What? Maeve, what you even-”
She jabbed her finger into the mark. “That. Right there.”
A few people near the pool turned because she definitely wasn’t quiet.
She jabbed it again, harder.
“Why is there a kiss mark on your neck?”
Fez clenched his jaw. He hated when she got like this off Hennessy, loud, jumping to conclusions, trying to pick a fight with everything that breathed the wrong way.
“Ma, chill. You trippin.”
“I’m not. So why is it there? Why you got a kiss mark on your neck, Fez?”
More heads turned.
“Baby”
“Answer me!”
Her voice snapped up again, sharp and irritated.
Then she put two fingers to his temples and jabbed him twice.
“Why is there a kiss mark on your neck.”
Fez caught her wrist fast, irritation slipping through. “Stop. Don’t do that.”
She yanked her hand free. “Lie again,” she said.
“Maeve… that’s your lipstick.”
She stared at him like he was playing in her face.“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. That’s not my lipstick.”
“Maeve chill, chill-”
She didn’t let him finish. She turned too fast, stumbling toward the pool. Fez reached out on instinct and caught her arm before she could fall. She smacked it away.
Ashtray had already been heading toward them when he heard her yelling.
“Yo… what’s goin on?”
Maeve whipped around fast. That was when the Hennessy finally peaked, her whole expression shifting, eyes sharp, jaw set, breathing quick, straight into see-red mode.
“You wanna know what’s goin on?” she snapped, loud enough for more people to stare. “Ask your brother why I’m screaming!”
Ashtray blinked then he snapped, “What the fuck y’all lookin at?”
A couple people turned away fast.
Fez rubbed a hand over his face already over it, and handed Ashtray the keys.
“Go wait in the car.” Ashtray nodded and dipped.
—
The second she stepped inside, the heat hit her. The music was louder in here, bass thumping through the floor. Lights flashing. Sweat in the air.
Her eyes swept the room fast, left to right, like she was tracking prey. The Hennessy had her chest buzzing, her pulse in her ears, everything sharpened to one point.
And then she saw her. The blonde. Laughing loud on the dance floor, hair flipping over her shoulder just like before, pink lipstick still bright as hell.
Maeve walked straight up to her and swung.
Her fist cracked into the girl’s nose, a clean pop that made a few people gasp. The blonde fell straight back onto the disgusting carpet, both hands flying to her face as blood rushed out fast.
Maeve dropped down with her immediately, straddling her waist before the girl even processed what happened. She grabbed a fistful of the blonde’s hair and yanked her head up, then punched her across the cheek hard enough to whip her head to the side. Blood splattered onto the floor.
The blonde tried to breathe, tried to pull away, but Maeve shoved her back down and hit her again, this time across the mouth. The girl’s lip split instantly, red pouring down her chin.
People screamed. Someone backed up so fast they knocked over a chair. Music kept blasting but the whole room shifted around them.
Maeve raised her hand for another hit, just one more, when Fez and Maddy finally forced their way through.
Maddy yelled, “MAEVE- STOP!”
Fez grabbed her under the arms and yanked her off the girl in one hard pull.
Maeve tried to twist right and turn.
“LET ME GO!”
The blonde rolled onto her side, coughing, mascara streaked, lip busted, nose bleeding, and then she smiled.
Maeve saw it.
“Oh hell no-”
Even in Fez’s grip, she lunged forward and managed to grab the girl’s hair again, yanking it so hard the girl screamed.
Her friends rushed in.
“LET GO OF HER!”
“OH MY GOD!”
“You’re ripping her hair out!”
Maeve held on until Fez dragged her far enough back that her arm finally slipped free.
—
Fez continued to drag Maeve out the front door, one arm locked around her waist while she twisted like she still wanted to run back inside. The door shut behind them, muting the music and shouting.
“Fez—stop,” she snapped, breath sharp.
He kept walking her down the steps. “Maeve, chill. We done wit this.”
She ripped her arm out of his hold, fire in her eyes. “Stop touching me!”
Fez dragged a hand over his face, irritated already. “Ma, please. I’m tryna get you outta here.”
They got halfway down the walkway when she spun on him again.
“I’m not goin’ nowhere with you!”
Fez didn’t stop moving.
“You are,” he muttered, tired.
They hit the driveway. The car was running. Ashtray sat in the back seat, watching them through the window like he’d been waiting for this exact meltdown.
Maeve threw her arms out at Fez.
“This is crazy! You draggin’ me out like I did somethin’ wrong!”
“You beat a girl’s ass in the living room. I think that counts.”
“She started-”
“Maeve.” Short. Sharp.
She spun back toward the house way too fast, her foot slipped off the edge of the walkway, and Maeve dropped onto the grass beside the bushes
“Baby” Fez reached for her, grabbing her arm to pick her up again.
The second his hand closed around her arm, she threw her head back, eyes wide, voice exploding out of her.
“YOU’RE HURTING ME!”
It was dramatic, exaggerated, the kind of drunk yell meant to embarrass him, not because she was hurt. She even leaned into it, like she wanted the whole world to hear, even though nobody was outside.
“Ain’t nobody hurtin you,” he said through clenched teeth, letting go fast. “Stop sayin’ dumb shit.”
Maeve rolled onto her side and pointed at him
“You grabbed me too hard,” she slurred.
“Maeve. You fell,” he said, annoyed as hell. “I was tryna keep you from eatin grass.”
She tried to stand up on her own, got halfway there, then wobbled again. Fez caught her elbow before she tipped over.
“If cops pull up-” he started.
“No they won’t,” she fired back immediately, rolling her eyes, drunk confidence on 10.
“Yes,” he snapped, sharper this time. “They will. You broke her nose.”
Maeve blinked at his tone, her mouth dropping open just a little, and her eyes started to water.
“Come here,” he muttered, pulling her in with one arm before the tears actually fell.
He rubbed a hand down her back slowly.
“Let’s go before you start round two.”
—
Maeve sniffed finally letting him guide her toward the car. He opened the passenger door for her, one hand still steady on her back.
Fez exhaled, shut the door, and made sure the lock clicked. Then he circled around the hood while Maeve turned her face toward the window, arms folded tight mad once again like she planned to stay mad forever.
Ashtray leaned up from the back. “You good?”
Fez gave him a look that said no, the fuck I’m not, then shook his head once. Ashtray sat back quiet.
He grabbed the water bottle from the console and held it out toward Maeve.
“Drink this.”
She didn’t look at him.
“Maeve,” he said, annoyed creeping in again.
She grabbed the water bottle without looking at him, took a small sip, still staring out the window with that stubborn little pout.
Fez leaned over and turned on the A/C, cold air pushing through the vents.
She frowned. “Why you turn it on?”
“So you don’t get sick,” he muttered, voice tight. “You always get nauseous when you drunk.”
“I’m not gonna throw up.”
He breathed out through his nose, that annoyed, controlled exhale he did when he was two seconds from losing patience.
“You say that every time,” he said, eyes on the road as he pulled out the driveway. “Then you end up damn near dying in my passenger seat.”
She shifted toward the door again like she didn’t wanna sit next to him.
From the back seat, Ashtray finally spoke up. “No offense,” he said, leaning forward between the seats, “but you real dramatic when you drunk.”
Maeve whipped around in her seat. “Excuse me?”
Ashtray didn’t blink. “Just sayin’. You and Hennessy don’t mix. At all.”
Fez let out a single breath, not a laugh, but close, and kept driving. Maeve glared and Ash just shrugged and sat back again.
The car rolled to a stop in Fez’s driveway, headlights cutting across the front of the house. Fez didn’t move at first. He just sat there, hands on the wheel, breathing slow like he was talking himself down.
He reached over and unlocked her door.
“Get out.”
Maeve faced the forward, arms crossed tight.
Fez’s nostrils flared.
“Maeve. Get. Out.”
Still nothing.
From the back seat, Ashtray leaned forward just enough to be heard.
“She’s doing that thing where she acts deaf.” Fez didn’t even look at him.
“I know what she doin’.”
He got out, slammed his door, and walked around to her side. He opened her door with one sharp pull. Maeve finally turned her head toward him.
“No”.
“Maeve,” he said, voice low and clipped, “get out the damn car.”
She slid out, brushing his shoulder with way too much attitude. He let out a tight breath through his nose and followed her up the walkway.
Ashtray hopped out behind them, hood up, watching like it was a show he didn’t ask to see.
Maeve stopped at the front door and spun around, arms crossed again.
“So what? You gonna lecture me now?” Her voice had that sharp drunk bite.
Fez’s jaw flexed.
“We not doin’ this out here. Go inside.”
“Ohhh, now you wanna be private,” she shot back. “Convenient.”
“Baby,” he warned, “go to the room. Now.”
She rolled her eyes and stomped inside. Fez followed.
Ashtray walked in last, muttering, “Man… I swear… y’all do too much.”
—
Maeve whirled around the second the bedroom door clicked shut, hands planted on her hips.
“So? Say what you gotta say.”
Fez leaned back against the closed door; he needed one deep breath before dealing with her.
“You wildin tonight.”
“That’s what you starting with?” she shot back. “I’m wildin?”
“You beat a girl’s ass in somebody else’s house,” he said, voice flat. “So yeah.”
“She-”
“And you started with me first. Came outside accusin me of somethin you did.”
“I did not.”
“That lipstick on my neck? Yours.”
Maeve scoffed. “Lie again.”
Fez didn’t even argue. He pulled out his phone, swiped once, and held it up. A picture of them from earlier, her arms around him, her mouth on his neck.
Maeve’s eyes flicked to it, then away fast, staring at the wall. “That don’t mean anything,” she muttered.
“It mean you kissed my neck before we walked in,” Fez said, still pissed. “It mean you forgot.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“Yes you did.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m stupid.”
“I’m talkin to you like you drunk.”
“I’m not drunk!”
Fez let out a sharp breath. “You smell like Henny, for real.”
She opened her mouth, nothing came out, so she just pointed at him like that proved something.“You still let that girl be all over you.”
“She wasn’t on me. She came up askin for some pills. I said no. That’s it.”
Maeve’s face pinched like she wanted to fight the truth itself. “You don’t gotta talk to me like that.”
Fez dragged a hand down his face.“I’m bein straight because you not listenin.”
“You’re yellin.”
“I ain’t yelled once.”
“You’re being mean.”
“I’m bein honest,” he said, still irritated. “You loud, you don’t listen, you blame shit on me, and you started a whole fight for nothin.”
Maeve’s lip wobbled, and her eyes watered again. Fez stopped.
Her breath hitched.
His whole face softened immediately.
“Ay— nah. Don’t start.”
“I’m not,” she insisted, wiping at her eyes as one tear slipped down. “I’m… not cryin.”
“You about to.”
“NO I’m-” Her voice cracked.
Fez sighed and stepped forward. “Come here.”
“No,” she sniffed, “you… you were being mean.”
“You dramatic,” he said, arms sliding around her anyway, “but come here.”
She didn’t resist. Not even a little. She folded into him, grabbing his shirt like she needed something to hold onto. “I hate you,” she muttered.
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“No you don’t.”
She sniffed again, messy and stubborn. Fez rubbed her back slow.
“You do this every time,” he said quietly. “But I got you.”
—
Fez guided her to sit on the edge of the bed, hands still on her waist like he didn’t trust her balance yet.
“Stay right here,” he said, grabbing her makeup wipes.
Maeve blinked slow.“ M not movin.”
“Good.”
He knelt in front of her and tilted her face up with two fingers, wiping gently along her cheek. Her eyes fluttered, shoulders easing.
“Crazy how you raise all that hell and then get calm like a toddler.”
“Don’t call me a toddler.”
“I said like one.”
She didn’t argue.
He wiped along her jawline, then under her eyes, then the corners of her mouth. When he moved up the side of her face, the wipe brushed across two scratches he hadn’t seen yet.
Maeve snapped her head back, face twisting immediately.
Fez’s expression flattened. “Ay. Cut that out. I ain’t even pressin.”
She held his stare, then slowly leaned her face back into his hand. He kept going. “Feels nice,” she murmured.
“Yeah, I know.”
He gathered her hair into a loose ponytail. She swayed.
“Hold still,” he said. “You act like I’m yankin your head off.”
“You are not gentle.”
“I’m bein gentle as hell.”
He slipped her bonnet over her head, fingers brushing along the back of her neck as he adjusted the band. Maeve squirmed and broke into a giggle when it tickled.
“Stop,” she mumbled, still laughing. “That tickles.”
“You always say that.”
“Cause you always do it like that.”
“Shoes,” he said. She stayed seated. He crouched, slipped off her shoes and socks.
“Aight. Up.”
She took his hands and stood.
“Arms.”
She lifted them. He pulled her shirt off and tossed it aside.
She unbuttoned her jeans herself. Stepping out of them, she wobbled and leaned into his chest before catching her balance. Fez caught her hip.
“These pants hate me.”
“Nah. You fightin gravity.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. He grabbed one of his shirts and pulled it over her head.
“There. Better.”
As he folded her jeans for the hamper, something slipped from the back pocket and rolled across the floor. Fez picked it up.
A tube of lipstick. He flipped it over, Barbie Pink. Cracked it open. Pink.
“Man… of course.”
Maeve, eyes closed and sitting upright on the bed mumbled, “What.”
“Nothin’, ma. Go lay down.”
She crawled under the blankets, settling immediately.
Fez turned off the light, got under the covers and fell asleep right next to her.
