Michael Jackson Imagines

Tiny Dancer (Triumph tour)

"Blue jean baby, LA Lady, Seamstress for the band"

I pulled the shining fabric through the machine, turning a square of sequin material into a shirt for one of the boys. I adjust the needle of my machine as someone opens the door. I glance up to see Michael peeking his head in. "Oh, Michael, perfect timing. I need you to try this on. And if you could get your brothers in here too, I need to do fittings on the outfits I've already finished." I hand him the shining fabric, as well as a pair of white pants. "Put these on, I'm planning on putting some sequin on the knees, and I need to see where that falls on you." I shoo him out the door as I thumb through my shelves of fabric, deciding on what to work with next. Once again my door is opened, this time four Jackson's trample through the opening. Randy and Marlon automatically move towards my designs pinned to the wall, Tito is drawn to the shining fabrics, and Jackie leans against the door frame a small smile blooming on his face. I swat Tito's hand away from the fabrics, very territorial of my materials. "Alright guys, it's fitting day!" I organized outfits by person, making it easy to select an outfit for each man and give to the correct person. I shoo them out the door as well as Michael comes back in, a perfect fit.

"Alright Mike, what do you think? Too loose anywhere, too tight anywhere? Go ahead and do a couple steps to make sure it doesn't get in the way of anything." He does his little ankle breaking shuffle, spinning a couple times. He shoves his hands into the pockets and shrugs. "Feels good, perfect fit." I smile and nod, feeling proud of getting his perfect size on the first try. I grab my swatches of silver fabric and rest on my heels in front of him. With a mouth full of pins, I feel around his legs to find his knees, pinning the fabrics in place. Leaning back, I inspect the patches, muffling out a "Heels together." as I inspect them closely to make sure the two sides are identical. I hear Michael say "Wow, you're really good at this.", and I chuckle in return. "Glad I can be of service. You like it?" He murmurs an affirmation, and he lifts me off my heels. I search his face, memorizing every single detail. My hand reaches up to his face, his weight leaning into my touch. "I love you Mike." Kissing my palm, he rests his forehead against mine. "I love you too." I enjoy his presence just a little longer before stepping away, clearing my throat. "Alright, I've got another outfit for you to try on. Careful with the pins, and I'll see you in a bit, ok?" He chuckles, kissing my cheek one last time before exiting. "Ok. I'll be careful. See you when I get done."

Rolling my eyes, I sit back down at my seat, hemming a skirt Janet had begged me to alter. Tito then entered, his sequin vest shining, and his outfit going together very well if I say so myself. He inspected himself in the mirror, almost as if trying to see what was missing. His eyes lit up and he turned towards me. "That's it! I need a cowboy hat!" My eyebrows crease and my jaw drops in confusion. "You need a what? Tito, no. You are not a country band, no one else is wearing a cowboy hat. You do not need a cowboy hat." He slides up to me, puppy dog eyes staring me in the face. "Please Y/N, it'll look really cool. Plus it'll tie the whole thing together. I've already got the vest and everything." I huff, throwing my hands up in the air. "Fine! Tito, you can get a cowboy hat, but you have to find one and I will jazz it up, understood? I am a seamstress, not a hatter." His face lights up at getting his way, hollering and spinning me. "Yes! I knew you'd agree! Thanks Y/N!" I roll my eyes playfully shoving him away. "Is there anything else wrong or missing with the outfit? Besides the cowboy hat, anyways." He turns and twists, pretending to play guitar, and does a couple steps. He shakes his head. "Nope, all good. Just need to get the hat. Which I'll go out and get when we're done here." I hand him a second outfit, sending him on his way. Marlon and Randy follow one right after the other. While hemming Randy's pants, I kept having to chide Marlon from touching my stuff. I yelled over my shoulder, "Marlon Jackson if I find a fingerprint on my fabric or designs I swear I will give you the ugliest tour outfits until the end of time." He raised his hands in surrender and took a seat.