㋡

ᯓ★ burn, baby, burn.

[destroyeddisco]

౨ৎ˚₊ a fleeting moment….

luka. black. nineteen. she/her. steve lacy's biggest fan. dominic fike's close personal friend. rio amor's secret lover. tv girl enthusiast. the garden's lost triplet. britpop fanatic. disco diva. here for a good time, not a long time.

masterlist

i write for michael (preferably jacksons era/otw/thriller mike), requests are open! i post weekly!

⋆⁺₊🎧luka's listening to -- china love by janet jackson

[destroyeddisco]

hi queen!! i love your writing and i was wondering if you could do a michael fic where she's a rnb singer and she invited michael to her studio session where she records a song for her upcoming album, "t-shirt and panties" (by adina howard) which he finds quite familiar bc he loves when he has one of his own shirts and her underwear on!! thank yaaa 🤍

hi anonn

sorry for the wait, i like to have the fic almost done before i answer requests lolll anyway yeah this should be done by tomorrowww!!!

muah xoxo

[destroyeddisco]

Quick question! I have some fic ideas for J5 era Michael but looking at your master list it doesn’t seem like you write for that era correct!?

DUDEEE

SORRY I RESPONDED LIKE SCARILY FAST, I'M ACTIVE RN WORKING ON A REQUEST, BUT YES I DO WRITE FOR THIS ERA, I JUST HAVEN'T HAD MANY IDEAS LMFAO

i have a few j5 era fics coming but please please PLEASEEE i literally have been begging for people to send me some j5 reqs. please any suggestions will do. i can't promise i'll write them all or in a timely manner but please send them my way still. thank you thank you thank you, i owe u big time! muah

[destroyeddisco]

you can’t outfly the jacksons.

[douceurrrr]

michael talking to you while your in the tub

It started casually. the house was quiet when michael stepped through the front door, the soft click of him closing the door filled the empty ambiance of your shared house in california. It was just past nine, the kind of late evening that came after long studio days. his curls were a little frizzed from the headphones, his shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, and the faint scent of tape and taste orange juice on his tongue still clung to him from the hours spent in the booth. he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, calling out into the stillness.

“baby? i’m home.”

no answer from the living room. the kitchen lights were off. he smiled to himself, already knowing where you probably were. you loved that big bathtub after a long day, the one with the claw feet and the little ledge where you kept your oils and the small radio which was spilling anita baker from it. he loosened his collar as he waltzed through halls, boots soft on the carpet.

the bathroom was clacked open, warm light and steam spilling into the hallway. the air smelled inviting, vanilla and your favorite cocoa butter soak filling his nose. he could hear the gentle lap of water whilst the low hum of your voice rang, low and soothing.

he knocked lightly, two taps. “you in there, minnie?”

your voice traveled back, a little sleep yet like velvet. “yes, mikey. come in.”

that gave michael the green light to push the door wider and step inside. the sight made something in him relax and made his chest and shoulders loosen up the way it always does when he comes home to you . you were sunk deep into the tub, brown skin glistening where the water met just right above your breast, curls pinned up and out your face, some stranded wet against your neck and forehead. you manicured nails rested against the edge of the tub, painted in a soft pink. your face was bare, shiny from the hot steam of the water.

you looked up at him and smiled, that easy, soft smile that pulled him from the beginning. “long day?”

he let out a breathy laugh and dragged the small vanity stool closer, sitting down so he was level with you but giving you your space. “long don’t even cover it. quincy had me in there till my throat felt like sandpaper.”

you tilted your head, watching him steadily, listening. “did you eat anything?”

he shrugs. “some crackers and orange juice in between takes, he kept saying ‘michael one more, give it your all’ i swear that man hears things in music no one can.” michael smiles, rubbing the back of his neck, tiredness taking over a bit and slightly dismissing the look of disapproval you gave him when he confessed he only ate juice and crackers. “we were working on that mid-tempo groove, the one with the strings. he had this idea to layer the background vocals like they were answering each other. i did the lead, then doubled it, then we tried it with a little breathy falsetto on the tag. he made me do it seven times before he was happy.”

you laugh softly, the sound of water sloshing as you moved. “seven time? that man is serious.”

“serious ain’t the word. but it felt good, you know? when it was finally right, the whole room just… breathed. after a little while i knew it was just right.”

you reached over, fingers finding the ones that were resting on his knee. “i’m so proud of you. you give everything your all and i know how much it takes.”

michael’s eyes softened. he looked at you for a long moment, really looked at the way the steam had made your skin glow, at the peaceful set of your shoulders, at the woman who had somehow become both his biggest cheerleader and his quiet place to land. “coming home to this… to you… it makes all the takes worth it. i was sitting in the booth between songs thinking about how lucky I am that I get to come back to somebody who knows the real me. not the lights, not the stage. just michael.”

now it was your turn to smile, some how after years of marriage, michael still managed to make you nervous. “we’ve built something real, haven’t we? even with the schedules and the noise outside. it feels steady. like we actually talk to each other instead of just existing in the same house.”

he nodded, leaning forward a little, elbows on his knees. “it does. I don’t take that for granted. some nights I come in so wound up from the studio, and you’re here… just being you. asking about quincy like you care about the music too. letting me ramble about ad-libs and basslines. that matters more than you know.”

felt warmth inside you, michael always says words that came from the heart it showed in his music as well. “i do care. because it’s part of you. and I married all of you, the man who stays up till three in the morning chasing a perfect vocal, and the one who still remembers to leave me love letters before he leaves.” your voice stayed light, casual, but the truth sat warm between you. “it’s not always easy with everything that comes with your name. but we make it work because we choose it every day. I choose you every day.”

michael reached out and gently took your hand, thumb brushing over your nails. “I choose you too. every single time. even when i’m held up at the studio, I know i’ve got you here waiting. not waiting like you’re stuck… waiting because you want to hear how it went. that’s the difference.”

“i’ll always want to know how your days went, it’s my favorite part of the day.” you smiled deeply when michael pressed a kiss on the dip of your knuckle, continuing his caresses on that same spot. the gesture never failed to make you blush.

the water had cooled a little, but neither of you moved to drain it yet. He stayed on the stool, talking with his hands the way he did when he got excited—describing how quincy had pulled out an old vinyl to show him a chord progression, how the two of them had ended up laughing over some silly studio mistake. you listened, asked questions about the strings, teased him gently when he admitted he’d drunk three cups of tea just to keep his voice going.

“you better be drinking real water too, michael,” you said, mock-stern but smiling. “I’m not trying to nurse you through another sore throat.”

he chuckled, that soft, high laugh that always made your chest feel full. “yes, ma’am. I already had two bottles on the way home. see? I listen.”

you let out a little chuckle, shaking your head a bit before relaxing into the water again.

you both fell into an easy silence for a minute, the only sounds the faint drip from the faucet and the occasional shift of water. It wasn’t heavy or dramatic—just the kind of quiet that came from knowing each other deeply. marriage wasn’t always fireworks; sometimes it was this. him still in his studio clothes, you in the tub after a long soak, talking about nothing and everything at once.

after a while he stood, stretched, and grabbed the big fluffy towel from the warmer. “you ready to get out, honey? water’s probably cold by now.”

you nodded, and he held the towel up like a curtain, turning his head politely even though you’d been married long enough that modesty wasn’t the point. It was just him being him—gentle, respectful, and yours. you stood, water cascading off your deep brown skin, and he wrapped the towel around you without making it anything more than care. his hands rubbed slow circles over your shoulders through the fabric, warming you up.

“dinner?” he asked, voice low and content. “we can just order from that spot you like and eat in bed. y’want me to rub your feet? i could use that oil you like.” you hummed, letting your eyes close as his ideas sounded good in your head.

“bed sound good, rubbing my feet sounds even better.”

michael grinned, pleased at your response. he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your silk-wrapped head. “then that’s what we’ll do. I missed this today. missed you.”

you turned in his arms just enough to look up at him, water still clinging to your lashes. “I missed you too. But you’re home now. And that’s all that matters.”

He grinned, that full, bright michael jackson smile that still made your stomach flutter after everything. “yeah,” he said, voice warm and sure. “it really is.”

he helped you into your robe, carried your glass downstairs, and the two of you moved through the rest of the evening the way you always did—side by side, talking, laughing, choosing each other in the quiet spaces between the music and the world outside. just a husband and his wife, building a life one ordinary, beautiful night at a time.

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ sorry guys, I’ve been away for tew long.

[destroyeddisco]

i love your writing!! i would love if you could write some otw!mike fluff like sickening tooth rotting fluff! no pressure of course!! just love how gentlemanly michael is and i feel like you write him really well

bad hair day | mj

otw!bf! michael jackson and gf!reader

synopsis: you're having the worst hair day of your life. and michael makes it better.

content: fluff asfff, probably inaccurate characterization of bill, mention of michael's other family members, sitcom vibes lowkey, michael happens to be a very good hairstylist in this. imagined a black reader, but i tried to make it as ambiguous as possible since this was a request, michael doing normal bf things

not proofread

wc: ~2.6k

notes/dear anon: thanks for the request anon! and thanks for the compliment like whatt that means so much. i couldn’t decide between a bad hair day fic or a sick fic so i decided to put reader through absolute hell and combine everything at once. but it’s okay bc michael is so awesome and he takes care of you and that’s the plot. i just wanted to write michael doing normal ass things, so sorry if this is not the most interesting or toothrotting. I was trying to make it really cute and wholesome but also kind of funny and sitcom-ish i need more otw/jackson era fluff ideas puhLEASE. i wrote this on a WHIM if you couldn’t tell by the rushed ass plot and horrible writing. but sometimes you gotta write bad shit to write good shit. hope you likey xoxo

⋆⁺₊in honor of the time when i was contemplating cutting my hair off. ⋆⁺₊

the image of death is your face. red-eyed, puffy, and pimpled.

today's the worst you've felt in ages. it was that dreadful time of the month, you were a coughing and sniffling mess, and a secret third sinister thing, the cherry on fucking top: your hair looked like shit. 

"that's not what i told her to do, michael. like at all. i told her to take a little bit off the sides and i think she heard 'fuck this girl's hair up completely'," you huffed over the phone to your boyfriend. 

you're scrutinizing yourself in your bathroom mirror, running trembling hands through your misshapen blowout while tears escape your eyes.

"i'm so sorry, baby. want me to come over?" he asks. but it seems as though he already answered his own question, as you heard shuffling on the other end of the line.

"yes, please." you sniffle. you snatch a tissue from a tissue box on your counter, eyes still transfixed on the abomination on the top of your head, and you blow your nose wildly.

"oh lord, are you sick too?" 

"yes, mikey. this is the worst day ever."

"i'll try and make it better, okay? hang tight. i'll get bill and come over. twenty minutes tops." he hangs up, leaving you to sulk some more in front of your bathroom mirror.

. . . 

you hear a knock at the front door a while later. your tight lipped frown twitches upward as you wrap a robe around you and descend down the stairs. 

you open the door to a cheery mike and a grumpy bill bray. 

mike wasted no time getting here, still in his checkered sweatpants and white tee. it seemed as though he was getting ready for bed before you called. he’s holding a tote bag full of tupperware and other items you couldn’t see very clearly from where you were standing. a calmness washes over you-- your half-smile, half-pout, directed at michael. then you look over at bill, who also looked like straight death, baggy eyed and mean mugging you. 

you scoff. "you look worse than me, mr. bray.” 

"oh yeah?" a croaky voice escaped bill's lips. he points an accusing finger at the two of you, waving it back and forth. "maybe it's because i'm missin' out on my beauty sleep." 

"sorry, bill." you and michael say in unison. 

"let's see it, girly.” bill says, hands on his hips, rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently.

"what?"

"let's see the big emergency michael dragged me out of bed for.” 

you wince at the thought of bill seeing your fucked up hair.

"yeah, baby, i'm sure it's not that bad," michael smiles, doing his best to reassure you.

you let out one big sigh as you reluctantly grip your bonnet and drag it down, revealing the mess.

it's bad.

it actually may have gotten worse since it was trapped under the bonnet collecting heat for half an hour. frizzy strands began separating themselves from the misshapen blob that was your hair. what’s worse, your split ends were illuminated by the living room light behind you. you looked a hot mess. a bird might have mistaken your hair for its nest.

a laugh slowly builds from bill, soon erupting. he grips the door frame and clutches his stomach as howls of laughter escape him. 

"it's that bad...?" your eyes frantically shift between a concerned michael and a cackling bill. you could feel a lump forming in your throat, but you can't tell if it's because you're about to cry from utter embarrassment, or because a cough was about to escape you. you pout. 

"honey, it looks terrible!" bill says through shuddered laughs.

michael shoots a glare at bill. "you're only making it worse."

"i'm sor-" another chortle escapes bill, "i'm so-" and another. then a heavy sigh.

you've known bill for as long as you've known michael, and his demeanor was usually stoic and stern when in public, and warm and doting in private. he loved to crack jokes with you, usually accompanied humble, low groan of a laugh. but this was the most amused you've ever seen him, to your expense. his laugh reached octaves you never thought he could with his voice.

once he calms down, he places a hand on michael's shoulder. "i'll tell your mom not to wait up. i'll pick you up in the morning." he looks over at you one more time. "'cause you’re gonna need all night to fix that." 

bill walks over to the car, but his howls of laughter are still in earshot. glancing over at michael, you squint at him as he stifles a smile himself, watching for bill to make sure he makes it into the car.

then he turns to you. with a hand to your shoulder, he says, "it's really, really, not that bad. bill’s just teasin’ ya.”

"it's not great."

"it's... fixable."

"so it's bad, then?" 

no immediate answer. just an irritatingly gorgeous michael, with narrow eyes and a tilted head, analyzing your hair while he leaned against your door way. you started to forget why you even thought he could help you. you swat his hand off you and turn way from him.  

he quickly changes the subject. "how about we tackle your cold first?" he takes a few steps into your house and closes the door behind you. then he bends down and reaches for inside his bag. "my mother packed some chicken soup for you." 

your face instantly brightens. you hold your hands over your heart. "she really shouldn't have." 

"you kiddin'? she'd do anything for you." his smile sends a wave of warmth over your body. he kisses your forehead before walking into the kitchen. you follow him. 

"how is she?" 

"she's doing great. everyone's fine. well, except you. so we're gonna fix that. " he places his hands on your shoulders and gently pushes you to the dining table in the middle of the kitchen. he takes one hand and pulls a chair out for you.  

you watch as michael opens a cabinet and searches for a bowl, humming to himself. he pours the steaming soup into the bowl, its aroma finding its way to your nose, instantly making your mouth water and your cramps halt. thank god for mrs. katherine, you thought to yourself. he roots around your kitchen drawers searching for something. you read his mind. 

“spoons are on the drawer to your right.” 

“thanks, darling,” he replies, quick and second nature. 

you lean back against on your chair, finally feeling safe and at peace now that he's here. you admired how he was slowly getting familiar with the layout of your house. you loved that you were at a point with michael where a lot of things could go unspoken. where you didn’t have to tell him how to love you, he just showed up already knowing the things to do to make you happy. if anything, his presence was synonymous with happiness, a certain kind that intertwined with yours perfectly. these little moments with him felt like glimpses into a brighter future, perhaps with a ring on your finger, and a few kids running around the otherwise empty house.

he meets you at the dining table with two spoons and a bowl of hot soup. he hovers over you, and you wrap your arms around his waist. 

“now what are we gonna do about this hair?” his hands tilt your head up to him, calloused thumbs wiping away the residue that your tears of frustration left on your face. your hands find their way to his forearms, resting there. your mouth has been fixed in a permanent pout for the better half of that day. but it only takes a few soft and quick kisses from michael to undo it entirely. a reluctant smile escapes you, just what michael was looking for. 

you turn your face away from him. “you’re gonna get sick.” 

“i don’t mind.” michael pushes the bowl of soup closer to you, a kind reminder for you to eat. he slides a chair next to you and sits. “maybe this is a sign you should get a pixie,” michael takes a sip of the soup, looking at you for a response, but you shoot him a glare that makes him regret that suggestion immediately.

“okay, tough crowd,” he chuckles. 

“never utter those words again.” you point an accusing finger in his face. unflinching at your empty threat, he playfully bites the tip of your finger, making you gasp and retract it immediately. 

“i was just throwing out ideas, you know, i think you’d look really sexy.” 

“i’d look like carol burnett.” 

“more like audrey hepburn or josephine baker, ” michael says, through a mouthful of thick, hot chicken soup.

“hmm..” you sit back in genuine consideration, taking tiny, pitiful sips of your soup. you shake your head. “it’s tacky.” 

“it’s vintage, baby. and twenty years from now you’ll be known as the girl who brought pixies back.” 

“ya think so?” 

“i know so.” michael grabs your hands in his, kissing both reassuringly. “you can’t go wrong with a pixie.”

you're sure this is a really, really bad idea. your boyfriend--the same guy who flinches at the sight of a blowout kit-- touching your already messed up hair. but something about the sparkle in his eye, and his crooked and daring smile, convinces you in that moment to let him fuck your hair up even more.

“what the hell, sure.”

“i’ll go grab your hair products, and we’ll figure it out.” michael almost trips himself from excitedly leaving the dining area and fleeing up the stairs to your bathroom.

...

in the time that he had spent rummaging through all of your hair products, you had talked yourself out of, into, back out of , and back into this new venture about twenty times, and finished your soup. he rushes back down with a large container of old and new items that had all the same been collecting dust at the bottom of your vanity drawer. he pulled you into the living room and sat you down on your couch. michael seemed very excited about all this. sat on your living room floor, he looked up at you like a little kid with a bunch of new christmas toys, questioning the purpose of all your hair products. 

“this is hair spray, right?”

“yep.” 

“yeah, i hate when they put this stuff on me.” he places the spray on the floor beside him, and picks up another item. “and this?”

“that’s my conditioner.”

“mmkay..” he places it on the floor. 

he was a very meticulous person, there was always a level of intention in everything he did, and it would be no different when it came to your hair. you were skeptical, you were sure he didn’t know the first thing about hair, let alone cutting it all off and styling it.

but out of utter curiosity, boredom, and entertainment, you were willing to let michael play in your head.

(and if he did mess up, you already had a backup plan: your tried and true wig lying dormant on a mannequin in your room.)

before he started on your hair, he called rebbie, hunched over your telephone and wildly taking notes on whatever rebbie was uttering through on the other line. you couldn’t hear much through all your nose blowing and guttural coughs. just soft “mm’s” and “okays” from michael. 

he rushes back to you, panting. 

“rebbie told me the basics.” he holds up his piece of paper with notes to you. “you ready?” 

. . .

the next hour had been the most daunting of your life. you were now on your living room floor watching television, between michael’s legs as he held a pair of scissors over you. every piece of hair that fell made you shiver in fear. but at the same time, you felt as light as you’ve ever been.

and you fell more in love with michael than you thought was possible. 

he was so attentive with you. every so often he would hunch over to see your face, and check in on you. his hands were soft on your skin as he maneuvered your face around, making sure everything was even and to your liking. you fully trusted him, but that came so easily to you, so much so that you fell asleep on his thigh. although this was probably his first time ever doing someone’s hair, he may as well have been doing hair for years, because he was already a pro. he layered your hair, ironed it, and styled it with some grease. 

“i don’t want to toot my own horn but.. i think i did good.” michael says, causing you to wake up from your sleep. “wanna go to the bathroom and check it out?” 

“sure.” 

michael, covered almost head to toe in grease, spray, and sweat, follows you up the stairs to your bathroom. you turn on the light. looking in the mirror, you almost didn’t think it was you. he did amazing. you looked like a modern day betty boop. 

excited, you leap into his arms, covering him with kisses that he’d probably regret the next day. but the next day could wait, all he cared about was you and your happiness.

“you need to quit music and open a salon, mikey!” 

he laughed. “i wouldn’t go that far just yet.”

. . . 

it's the following day. the sun peeks through your blinds, spotlighting the dust particles floating in your kitchen. you happily hum as you make a small breakfast with some tea. a few moments later, michael descends down the stairs slowly. he looks incredibly groggy; his eyes are low and red, and his face engrained with deep markings indicative a great sleep. he drags his feet toward the kitchen where you stand.

"smells good in here."

“made some breakfast if you'd like to have some."

"i'd love breakfast, baby." he shuffles toward the kitchen counter and makes himself a plate of eggs. then he opens your fridge, searching for orange juice. you had pulp and no pulp, never knowing what mood he'd be in that day.

for all the kissing you both did last night, you notice that he seemed pretty okay. "i'm surprised i didn't make you sick."

"jackson genes are strong. my family rarely gets sick."

you hear a ring at the door. you open it to reveal a chipper bill, dressed in his usual sweater vest and slacks.

“hey, bill!”

“hey, sweetie. got my beauty sleep!”

“i see!”

“well, can i see the hair?” this time you weren’t ashamed, you gently unravel your scarf to reveal a sleek pixie cut, you spin around, smiling. 

“cute, right? mikey did it all by himself.”

"wow. he should open a salon or somethin'," bill says, wide-eyed.

"that's what i said!"

you feel a hand on the small of your back. on cue, michael appears with a warm smile toward bill, still wearing the remnants of sleep on his face.

“now you look like shit.” bill points at michael.

“that’s not nice... i’m.... 'm really sick.” mike wipes his nose and sniffles dramatically. "aren't i, baby?"

"now what happened to them jackson gen-" you start, before michael pinches you on your side. he sends a subtle wink your way, begging you to go along. "yeah bill, i made him sick. you should probably let him stay one more day."

bill squints at michael. then at you. you're sure he could see right through the act.

"right... whatever. call me when you're ready. bye lovebirds."

you both say your goodbyes to bill, before michael gently shuts the door. he turns back to you.

"what do you wanna do now? what will make you feel better?" you ask.

"i have a few ideas. you know, i've always had a thing for girls with pixie cuts." michael smirks, before picking you up and carrying you up the stairs.

maybe the bad hair day was worth it.

a/n: more stuff otww! in the meantime, check out my other stuff -> masterlist

[destroyeddisco]

reading all the mj sugar daddy fanfics to cope with the fact that idk how i'm paying for tuition this year

[destroyeddisco]

greatest night in pop | mj

thradera!michael jackson and popstar!reader

synopsis: you are a rising pop star chosen to be apart of the greatest night in pop history. when another star is no longer available to sing their part, michael asks you to fill in for them. 

content: og idea i had but tweaked it to this request! reader was originally a bts photographer, but because of the tweaks, she's now a singer, and i was too lazy to remove the camera bits in there, but the camera's still relevant to the plot. anyyywhooo mike fluff, harmless flirting, nothing too crazy. mentions of other pop stars, proofread but not the best

wc: ~4.2k (not a hard read though i promise)

notes: fun fact cyndi lauper almost didnt do it because her boyfriend at the time thought it was a dumb idea or something. basically this fic is another reality where she listened to his dumbass. thank god she didn’t though hello! i recently watched the documentary so theres plenty of other little easter eggs in there from the actual doc hehe lolll i had so much fun writing this !! i apologize if its not super michael focused, i was just having so much writing my favorite moments from the doc essentially lmfao. hope u likey xoxo

"ready!" the audio engineer yelled from behind the soundbooth. a red-eyed, focused quincy nodded. 

"okay lionel, we're starting with you again." 

the piano opening the song rumbles deep, traveling through the hardwood and up into your veins. lionel sings his part for what felt like the millionth time. after his part, he looked at stevie expectantly, and stevie began, a choked air escaped his mouth, before giggling. he messed it up. again. you let out a shaky breath, holding your face in your hand. at this point, you couldn't tell if he was doing it on purpose or not. quincy huffed, rubbing his the bridge of his nose. but stevie wonder laughed bravely in the face of quincy's annoyance. 

"guys please!” quincy said. he wasn’t the type to yell, his shouts were calm enough to where you didn't feel attacked, but sharp enough where you knew you needed to step it up. jaw clenched, he tapped his ballpoint pen on the podium. you were close enough to see the bite marks on it. you held your camera's viewfinder up to your eyes and snapped a picture. click.

fueled by either delirium or bravery, stevie mocked quincy. "stevieee pleaseeeeee.” lionel muffled his laugh on stevie’s shoulder. "just one more time."

quincy turned, raised an eyebrow at the audio engineer who then raised his thumb. and the song plays. again. 

you looked around. your favorite stars all in the same room, looking like kids that had just been shouted awake from their daily nap. you glance over at one of your closest friends, cyndi lauper, outstretched on the floor, waiting patiently for her turn. click. she looked up at you, snapped out of a day dream, and smiled, putting her hands in front of her face. 

“get my good side, please.” her brooklyn accent bled through each word.

. . .

you couldn't believe it when your manager ken told you that you had been personally selected by lionel, michael, and quincy to be a part of what would probably go down as the greatest night in pop history. you found out several hours before, mouth agape as you sat in ken’s office processing the information.

"you have to be super, super professional," he said to you, eyes wild with the effects of bottomless espresso shots in the break room.

"of course i’ll be, are you kidding? i won't fuck thi-- i mean.. mess this up," you bit your cheek. your excitement had preceded your professionalism. ken laughed at your slip up. although he was someone you answered to, the dynamic was a little more lax. he was your first supporter, discovering your work when you were five years in and about to call it quits. now you were a decade into it, his best performing client, and now one of his best friends.

this was an exciting point in your music career. you had just wrapped production on your third studio album, one that was projected to make millions of dollars. you were in the midst of planning a national tour. everything was smooth sailing; all you needed was some good press to keep your name in people’s minds until the album released. 

"good. it's really short notice, so you'll need to be ready right after the award show. i’ll order you a car…” he quickly wrote something down on a piece of paper. “bring a change of clothes, and yeah… you’re all set, my love!” 

"cool, cool." you stood up from his chair, straightening your slacks as you sped out of his office, heels clacking against the hardwood. you turned back around and peered your head into his office. "sooo, do you know who all is gonna be there yet or…” 

“mmm, it’s pretty hush hush.” you knew you should have taken that and left, but you lingered a bit longer, humming coyly.

ken looked up at you through his glasses. an irritated sigh left your manager’s lips as he clicked away on his computer. “yes, cyndi will be there, now out!” 

. . . 

the lights were warm on your back, spotlighting the pool of sweat that was forming through your white tee. it was becoming irritably hot, to the point you wanted to curse out the gaffer. you couldn’t believe you were starting to miss the blistering cold winter night that was awaiting you outside.

at this point, it was four in the morning. the air of hope and excitement that everyone had when they walked in had withered into restlessness. what once felt like a good deed that everyone here had a role in playing, now felt like an exhausting task thrust upon them. and while it was an amazing thing, seeing all these pop stars in one room, it was becoming increasingly clear why you don’t put a bunch of pop stars in one fucking room. the handwritten ‘check your ego at the door’ sign that quincy had made was ignored at many points during the night.

in a moment of downtime, ken rushed over to you.

“you alright, there? need water, a snack, anything?” 

“no i’m good, just waiting for when i’m needed. what about you? how are you and the other four hundred managers?”

“fuckin’ dyin,” he huffed. “julie was next up on the cig break and she’s taking for-fucking-everrr.”

you couldn't help but giggle at your manager's theatrics. “i see.”

“have you been networking?”

“networking?”

“girl. don’t tell me there’s all these stars in this room and you haven’t talked to anyone outside of cyndi.” you shrugged at his words. he was pretty much on the money.

you had been friends with cyndi lauper for what felt like centuries now. she was the first person to show you the ropes of the industry when you first started out. the person who believed in you when you didn’t even believe in yourself. everyone else seemed so intimidating to talk to. especially one man in particular. a tall, velvet jacket-clad michael jackson. 

as if he read your mind, ken asked, “have you talked to your boy?” 

“my boy?” 

“michaelllll jacksonnn,” he said in what was supposed to be your voice.

“I don’t sound like that!” you glanced over in michael’s direction, hoping he didn’t hear any part of this as he was all the way across the room. but it seems he already had. his eyes peered in your direction, eyes darting between you and ken. he brought a hand to his lips, rubbing them as if he’s deep in thought. once you caught his eye, he looked down, smirking. he moved his hand from his lips to his headphones, suddenly focused on whatever quincy was saying.

ken loved to tease, and his latest bit was poking fun at your small crush on michael. ever since the first time you met michael-- and were so nervous that you accidentally mispronounced your own name-- ken had been over analyzing every interaction you had with him since them. and every single time he played into it, you immediately shut it down.

“would you think i was lying if i said he’s been looking at you like that all night?”

“you’re fuckin’ with me…”

ken shrugged. 

“ken, stop fuckin’ with me. seriously.”

“proof is in the pudding. go take your little camera in that direction,” ken lightly pushed you toward where michael was standing. you stared back at him for a moment and he shooed you away.

you slowly inched over to where he stood. every step you took got much more intimidating. the closer you got, the more his figure starts to tower over you. the gold blur on his jacket became more clear and detailed. michael's distracted by this point, face deep in the music sheet with huey lewis, cyndi, and kim carnes.

you held the viewfinder up to your eyes, squint, and click. the sound alerted them.

"sorry, keep doin your thing. you guys just looked so cute." huey, kim, and cyndi sent a smile and nod in your direction before they looked back down. michael's stare lingered on you a bit longer. 

you played with your camera’s iso for a moment, tuning in and out on bits of their conversation. you heard michael show huey the note he needs to hit on his verse, and then you heard huey lewis copy that note, but much… much worse. frankly he sounded like a dying alien. you shoot a weird glare at cyndi, then at huey. your eyes snapped over to michael to see he was doing the exact same thing. eyes still wide in what seemed like shock and amusement, he looked in your direction, and you purse your lips to stifle a laugh.

"yeahhhh, huey, just like that," michael said, paired with a kind pat on huey's back. everyone else went back to their mic at quincy's command. but michael inched closer to you. you noticed his footsteps, and you pretended to toggle with your camera, taking other pictures. that is until you felt a warm and sweetly scented heat invade your senses. you overheard cyndi excusing herself to take a call. but other than that, you had tunnel vision as you figured out whether to speak first or shoot an overly friendly smile. 

"i shoulda just sang all this myself, huh?" 

you settled on a tightlipped smile, trying to mask the internal panic threatening to spill out. michael jackson was talking to you, again. not only that, he was in your personal space, whispering in your ear, with a polite arm around your shoulder. 

you figured that it's in your best interest to maintain professionalism, so you looked at him and shook your head. "it's not that bad, michael, it’s going very well."

you looked around for ken to make sure he could account for your attempt at networking. when you met ken’s eyes, he sent a caricatured wink your way, accompanied with a very exaggerated mouthing of what you guessed to be "your boy." 

you turned back to michael. there’s a twinkle of desperation in his eye, bright enough that it's shining through his aviators, paired with a genuine smile. “please don’t lie to me. i feel like everyone is just saying that.” he looked down, fidgeting with his hands.

“no it’s… well huey didn’t sound all that great, but..” you heard a laugh from michael, and it made your body warm. “i think this was incredibly ambitious and you ought to be proud of yourself for bringing all these people together for such an important cause.”

he bumped your shoulder. “ya think so?”

“mhm! i really do.”

a silence washed over the two of you. your eyes wandered around the room, finding something interesting to look at while you avoided the heat of michael’s body standing so close to you, and his deep eyes resting on your figure. his eyes trailed down to the camera hanging from your neck.

“is that your personal camera?” 

you nodded. "i love taking pictures, it's a hobby of mine." you took the camera strap off of your neck and handed it to him. “here, you wanna try it?” 

“yes, please.” 

“okay…” you were on your tippy toes at this point, holding the viewfinder up to his face. “look through there, make sure everything is lined up to your liking, press the shutter, and voila!” 

“okay.” he whipped the camera around to face you, making you tense up. you immediately held your hands up to your face. but you might have been too late, because you heard that infamous click. michael held the camera down to his chest and flashed a cheeky smile. “whatcha do that for?”

you lowered your hands. “i like taking pictures, mike, not being in them.” you made a playful attempt at snatching your camera from him, but with a quickness, he held it even higher, out of your reach.

“why not? you’re very photogenic.” he said, a sobering earnestness in his words. he looked down at you, proud of the peeved and flustered mess he’s made of you. 

you scoffed. “yeah. we’ll see about that when i develop ‘em.” you held out an impatient hand to him. “my camera, please.”

although you were quite serious– that camera wasn’t cheap– a smile couldn’t help but creep on your glossed lips. you’ve met him in passing a couple times, but you never knew how much of a playful tease he was. 

“you should teach me that, too.” 

“teach you what?” your body found itself closer to his, practically climbing his tall stature for your camera.

“developing.”

“just get a tank–” you grunted as you stretched your arm out for your camera– “developer–” another grunt– “and a timer!” exasperated, you dropped your hands and pouted in faux frustration.  “michael, give me my camera!”

a laugh threatened out of michael, but before he could, you both turned at the sound of footsteps pummeling toward you. it’s cyndi— her visage had completely changed. she wasn’t the exhausted but enthusiastic girl you saw just moments before. she was now quite panicked. her mouth was agape as if it hurt to close it, but also hurt just as much to speak. 

she looked at you but also through you. “i don’t think i can do this anymore, ya know, i’m getting really tired and— quincy!” she calls out to the occupied producer who whipped his head in her direction. “i’m gonna g- i have to go!” 

“what, why?” you pleaded with cyndi, hands on her shoulders and shaking her. 

“my boyfriend said this was a bad idea and–”

“oh, of course he did. baby, that man doesn’t know shit about anything, you can’t just listen to him. your name is already on this project,” you tried to reason with her, but to no avail. as much as cyndi was your closest friend and supporter, you wished she could be that for herself, letting a toxic relationship bleed into every other aspect of her life. 

“so take it out! take my name out, i don’t mind. i just can’t do it.” she said your name in such a tired and trembling tone that made you frown. you’re the only person that knew the extent of the relationship, and therefore the only person she trusted to defend her in rooms she wasn't in. including this one. “he’s so angry with me. i went behind his back.”

quincy unfortunately heard the latter end of the conversation as he rushed over to where the three of you stood. you felt his bubbling anger emitting onto you as he lay a threatening hand on the singer’s back.

“this is horrible timing cyndi. with all due respect, i don’t give a damn about your boyfriend. you’ve been here for the better part of six hours.”

“i don’t wanna fight with him. i really don’t. i already called my ride, they’re here. i gotta go. you’ll find someone!” with that, she escaped the tight grip of you and quincy, and rushed out of the recording studio.

at this point, you notice that the entire room went quiet. the curious eyes of pop stars lingered on either you, michael and quincy, or the door that had just moaned shut behind cyndi’s dramatic exit. you saw lionel in the corner whispering in stevie wonder and ray charles’ ears, filling them in. 

“what the f-” quincy’s right hand found his hip. the other hand, holding his chewed pen, grips his coils. he looked up at a stoic michael, emotion hidden beneath his aviators.

“what the hell do we do now, smelly? she had a verse.”

it didn’t take mike long to think of a solution. he simply pointed a lazy finger toward you.

“she’s not doing anything right now, are you?”

“no, but..” 

“great! let’s get you something to do, yeah?” 

“mike, i don’t think i can fill such big shoes. i mean there’s so many other people–”

“no, no, that’ll work.” quincy chimed in. “you’re really the only one here with the same range as cyndi.” quincy tucked his pen behind his ear, searching the cluttered floor for a clean sheet of music and handed it to michael before speeding off. “fill her in, smelly.”

your eyes followed quincy, his warmth leaving you shivering and panicked. your eyebrows furrowed, and your bottom lip protruded in an anxious pout. 

“mike, i-”

“you know i still have your camera right?” a smirk spread like wildfire across his face, causing a burn to form in your stomach. “you got so distracted that you forgot, huh? me too.” 

“oh, fuck. what are you–”

“listen, how about you sing this little part here,” he points at the sheet music wide and bright in front of you, “and uh.. i‘ll think about giving you your camera back?”

“you’re horrible. like, actually horrible.”

“come on,” michael said, gently pulling you to one side of the recording booth, where cyndi’s spot once was. the producers were quick– they had already ripped cyndi’s label on the floor and replaced it with a piece of tape, your name freshly written on it. this made you realize just how bad everyone’s just trying to go home, and you were only slowing down the process.  

imposter syndrome started to settle in. you were shivering at the thought of belting your heart out, possibly making a fool of yourself in front of everyone you ever adored.

“these were her lines.” michael placed his aviators on the top of his head, and held out the sheet in front of you, pointing at the verse that once belonged to cyndi. you hummed in response. “can you do a practice run for me?”

“say please.” 

“oh,” a deep red rushed to michael’s cheeks, and a bashful giggle escapes him. he hesitated before he said-- “alright, pretty please.”

the room, once filled with the hum of small side conversations, ceased as soon as you sang the first note. you had meant to sing it softly between you and michael just to appease his request, but it escalated into a high and beautifully raspy belt. you closed your eyes at the climactic note. you were known throughout your music for your signature vocal fry, and in that moment, it only added to the emotion of the song. your voice differed greatly from cyndi's, it being a bit more deep, buttery and controlled. but nonetheless, it still filled her shoes. you risked an impressive riff on the descending note, before tying everything together with a fading vibrato. 

you earned a whistle from a grinning stevie wonder. michael simply met your eyes and smiled.

“show off,” he said. you sent him a wink. 

quincy sent a small smile and nod your way. “now let’s get that recorded.” 

you had never worked with quincy before. he was a hot commodity since the release of thriller, and your team scrambled to get him some studio time with you before, but to no avail. through the grapevine, you’d heard that he was a perfectionist, but you didn’t know the extent of it until today. 

“sharper.” 

it had been the third or fourth take already. huey and kim had already perfected their parts, so the engineers thought it would be more efficient to cut around cyndi’s part. you were just doing takes back to back. and you were starting to get nervous. because every time you thought you had fulfilled quincy’s request, he’d repeat the same command to you. 

“sharper on that high note, sweetie.” his voice warned through the ratty microphone. 

it was like a game of tennis, and the two of you were in the middle of a tense third set. he served you with what felt like an impossible command, and as soon as the playback entered your ears, you hit him back with what you could do.

you took a breath. in. out. the playback rang in your ears. you belted that note.

“that was good. one more time. cleaner buildup.” he hit back. a deep breath again before you sing. the playback cut after you’re finished, and you smiled. that had to be it right?

“one more time, sweetheart,” quincy squinted, chewing on his favorite snack, his blue ballpoint pen. he was a perfectionist alright.

michael could sense your defeat, because he placed a comforting hand on the small of your back, rubbing the exposed skin there. he understood that in the moment, the constant takes feel like a rejection of the effort you’ve been putting into it. but he also knew the truth: quincy knows the type of pressure to put on an artist in order to make a diamond. the proof was in his star-studded roster of collaborators and friends. quincy was the vehicle to transport you from vision to actualization.

through your frustration, rose spite. you were determined to make it his final take. 

you sang the verse again, your smooth voice meshing with the playback, finding it's space on the instrumental. you fulfilled every request intentionally: a sharper high note, a cleaner buildup, a nicer riff on the descending note. 

you were met with a chilling silence this time. you looked at quincy. he was looking around at the engineers before pointing his pen at you. “we got it, sweetie, thank you.”

boom. diamond take. 

a few scattered claps burst throughout the room, michael included. “it wasn’t a one-take wonder like me, but it did the trick, i guess."

“oh hush, mike, you’re such a tease.”

“no, really, you did great.” 

“thank you.” you smiled.

. . . 

it was almost nine in the morning, a few hours after you impressed everyone by filling cyndi's shoes in a moment's notice. you weren’t needed anymore in the recording studio, so you wandered around the building until you found ken. he was with all of the other managers drowning in cigarette smoke and work gossip. you decided to join them, entering what seemed like a lively conversation. 

“we all tried with prince, i don’t think he was ever going to come.” a pink haired lady said. she had thick eyebags, and a jersey accent that coated every vowel.

“ya kiddin'?” another blurted, before puffing out a cloud of smoke. “think he mighta killed himself if he walked in here, all these fuckin' people.” that earned a laugh from the group.

“so why was sheila e here if prince wasn’t gonna come?” someone else asked. many of the managers shrugged to that question. 

that seemed to have offended you. “cuz she’s sheila fuckin’ e!”

ken smiled, pulling you in for a hug. “there's my client. heard some shit went down in there, lauper's manager left. everything alright?"

"yeah. she just wasn't feeling it anymore, i guess. had to sing for her."

"fuckin' pop stars." the pink haired lady complained, rolling her eyes as she held a marlboro to her lips.

"what's with the sheila e hate, though? have y'all not heard 'a glamorous life' ?"

you and ken began to recreate the song rather poorly. you held an imaginary microphone, singing the chorus of the song, while ken smashed through an imaginary drum set. the cackles from the other assistants and managers fueled you, until they stopped. you opened your eyes to the sudden silence. with furrowed eyebrows you turned around to a still michael with your camera strapped around his neck, arms behind his back.

“glad to see everyone having a good time.” he asked, aviators back over his eyes, but it couldn't cover the smirk forming on his lips.

suddenly, the throaty and foul-mouthed managers were gone, turning into a choir of giddy girls, shouting “of course, michael!” and “yes we had so much fun!” 

he laughed. “i’m glad, i really am. listen quincy told me to tell you all that we’re almost done. and your clients will be coming out soon, ‘kay?”

this earned many enthusiastic nods from the managers.

all of michael’s attention then turned to you. “i believe i owe you something.” he removed the camera from his neck and handed it back to you.

“yes, you’ve been holding my baby hostage.”

“i don't regret it. you sounded amazing tonight."

a long pause. a breath got caught in your throat.

"and uh… i took some pictures while you were singing, so. i’d like to help you develop those some time, if you don’t mind.”

“what do you know about developing photos?”

“nothing, that’s why you need to teach me.”

it was hard to hide the blush creeping on your face. “i’ll think about it.” 

you watched as his slender figure walked back to the main recording studio. that’s when you remembered you were in the presence of company, because you were met with gasps, giggles, and murmurs, and, of course, that damn wink from ken. 

the pink-haired manager now had a lollipop in her mouth, lips suctioned around it as if it was her first meal in hours. it might actually have been. she popped it out of her mouth. “uh-oh, mr. thriller. sounds like he’s trying to thrill you soon, baby."

“that’s what i’ve been fuckin' saying!” ken yelled, playfully shoving you back and forth.

you grinned widely. definitely the greatest night in pop in your books.

are ya new here? read more of my stuff 𑣲 masterlist

[destroyeddisco]

genuinely jacksons era michael is something sooo fucking serious i need to get to writing. i’m in love with him. like he’s so boyfriend. I HAVE SOME IDEAS.

[destroyeddisco]

my moon ⏾ | mj

historyera!michael jackson x fem!reader

synopsis: you met michael in 1997, at a point in your life where you didn't think you could ever love again. slowly but surely, he changed that.

content: based on this request! time skips! starts from 1997 ends around 2001!!! friends to lovers, fluffyy, mentions of michael’s other family members (marlon, jaafar, mrs. katherine,) reader has an oc!brother, reader has a specific last name (for the aesthetic i was going for). not proofread! and can be historically inaccurate at times. the intro is pretty long and detailed, and it starts to quicken in pace afterwards (i was getting lazy with it, i admit. i'm just a girl!)

wc: ~3.7k (never again)

notes: this was such a challenge, i rushed the ending for sure. idk why but i have a hard time writing for dangerous era/y2k michael, pre-dangerous era is really where i thrive! BUT thanks for this request, i’m so sorry it took so long. you probably went to someone else to fulfill this for you, i totes understand. i know you said that they’ve known each other since 2000, but i was listening to the dangerous album for writing inspo and ended up dialing it back to around 1997 ish (right after he broke up with lisa marie preslerrr), it's not my best work, i'm sorryyy, but i hope you still like!

you met michael during a dark point in your life.

fresh out of a recently finalized divorce, you had become an angry, bitter, revenge- seeking shell of what you once were. you should have been happy, you thought. you were finally no longer victim to a loveless marriage. but there’s some small part of you that missed the dull repetition of that part of your life. you were afraid of change, and so the only thing that brought you solace was some type of get-back at your ex-husband. 

still, though, you wanted to premiere your newfound singlehood at an industry event that your brother invited you to, hoping you could find someone to distract you. you also may or may not have gotten intel (gossip from a loud-mouthed but well-meaning industry friend) that your ex-husband was going to be in attendance as well, parading around his new, barely legal girlfriend. 

getting ready for the event wasn’t difficult, especiall since you didn’t have to ravage your closet like you normally do. your brother, richie delalune, was an established fashion designer and you were his favorite (and only) sister. you were also his muse, his doll for the night, so he let you pick out one of his designs. you had your eyes set on one long, backless dress with a gold collar and lace details, that hugged your figure harder than anyone that has ever embraced you. and it was a solid, deep black. very fitting for the death of your marriage.

you had one goal that night: make your ex regret everything he had ever done to you. and you looked so damn good, he just might have. as soon as you stepped out of the tinted limousine, you were immediately deafened by piercing screams and blinded by the flashing lights. your makeup was shamelessly experimental, your hair was pinned up with a gold claw clip, and you smelled of strawberry and vanilla. you turned heads. richie stepped out of the car, helping you with the long train that trailed behind you. 

you both stood proud on the red carpet. you both noticed everyone around you gawking at you. 

jokingly, richie whispered in your ear. “try not to go home with anyone tonight.”

you looked up at him and smiled. “that’s the goal," you muttered back before returning your gaze to the cameras. 

past the red carpet’s hectic and demanding atmosphere was the actual venue where every single celebrity you adored lined the room. the sudden contrast almost gave you whiplash. the venue was quieter, aside from the mumbling chatter that meshed with the soft jazz emitting from the live band. staff members dressed in a soft ivory uniform dashed around the darkly lit room, offering a variety of hors d'oeuvres, wines, and more. you were kindly offered one as you and your brother settled in your seats. you gasped at the stacked list of a-listers you’d be sitting with.

one name gleamed among the rest. right next to you, would be sitting michael jackson.

you had no business being in the same room as michael jackson, let alone the same table. you were very familiar with his onstage demeanor, the way he commanded a room with his presence alone was not lost on you. you saw it in person the minute he walked in. 

heads may have turned for you, but whole bodies turned for him as he walked in. he wore black pants that hugged his thighs, and a black velvet military jacket. he, of course, donned that famous red band around his right arm, and silver aiguilettes that made him pop in such a dark room. his bangs delicately framed his face while the rest of his hair sat gently on his epaulettes. he looked expensive. 

he walked toward your table– controlled, slow steps. his bodyguards mean mugged anyone who even so much as uttered something near him. it was safe to say you were quite intimidated by him. so you were surprised to see that he greeted every single person with a smile and a shake of a hand, even those he didn’t know that well, which included you and your brother. 

he offered his hand to richie, towering over you. you would have been peeved that he was all in your personal space if you weren’t distracted by the fresh mint on his breath, and his cologne. he smelled like the color black— earthy and spicy and deliciously pungent, with a hint of jasmine. you held a polite, dissociative smile as you tried not to inhale all of his cologne off of him.  

“richie delalune, yes?” michael asked.

“that’s right.” 

“i’m familiar with your work. it’s beautiful, really. i notice you don’t really make men’s stuff?” 

“i can, it’s just not as fulfilling.” richie was terribly blunt, and so were you. in such a kiss ass industry, other people may have taken it the wrong way, but michael rolled along, appreciating the honesty.

“i have some ideas i’d love to run by you if you ever change your mind.” while his eyes were focused on your brother, his hand reached out for yours. you gently took it. 

“that sounds great. i have some customs i’d like to see you wear.” 

“that’s – wow that’s so kind,” he laughs. his eyes, soft yet demanding, averted to you. “hi, I’m michael, and you are?”  

you hoped you had introduced yourself correctly, because you could only remember staring at his face so intensely as you told him your name. you eyed the smile lines around his lips, his weariness concealed beneath his makeup. you realized that the two of you couldn’t be more similar. it only made you more compelled to know what was under all of the armor. his smile was so genuine as he nodded. 

“she’s wearing me, fyi.” richie bragged.

“really?” still holding your hand, he twirled you, examining the details of the dress. you could tell he was starting to relax, because that midwestern twang leaked through his words. “who are you trying to make jealous tonight? ‘cause it’s probably working.” 

“ex-husband.” you returned the compliment. “what about you?”

a simple huff. “ex-wife.” 

that night, you two became chatty and inseparable. in about an hour of knowing each other, michael knew your birthday, your favorite color, your favorite movies, and what you hated the most about your ex. and you knew practically the same about him. what was under his thick layer of mystique was a soft core of wonder, empathy, and humor. especially humor. that night, you found out that michael jackson, the king of pop, was as much of a gossip as you were. he hated— okay, not hated— strongly disliked a lot of the people he shook hands with in that room. and for some reason, he felt compelled enough to tell you all the reasons why.

“okay,” you laughed as you finished your wine. “what about her?” you pointed at a blonde, dissociative madonna.

michael’s arm plopped onto the headrest of your chair. the two of you were leaned in practically cheek to cheek in order to hear each other better. “i don’t even want to talk about it. decade old beef.” 

“oh come on, you told me everything else.” 

he thought for a moment, a smirk of defeat appeared on his face. “fine i’ll tell you. that lady is crazy.”

by the end of the night, you were exchanging numbers. it was then that you realized that you didn’t even know where your ex or his controversially young girlfriend sat. michael had kept you wonderfully occupied the entire night, distracted from your problems. and you appreciated him for that. 

by the end of 1997, you were probably one of the closest people to him. he had abused his ability to call you up whenever he wanted, whether you were getting dressed for another event, or settling down for the evening. 

you two would talk about anything and everything that came to your minds. talking shit was mainly your forte, but there were many times when the conversations settled into something deeper. he mostly talked about family, how much he wanted one of his own. he really admired his brothers, and loved his nieces and nephews very much, you could only imagine how he’d love his own. when you weren’t ranting about work, your latest favorite show, or your aspirations of being an old cat lady, you were venting to him about how your last marriage has affected you so deeply that you don’t think you could ever love again. in fact, he was the first person you called when you were thinking of legally reverting back to your maiden name. 

“that’s something you 100% want to do?” you remembered him asking. 

“this is the most certain i’ve been about anything.” a shaky breath escaped you. “i carry the name of a man that has never loved me. that’s not fair to me.” 

you were met with a heavy silence, until.. “i understand that. i really do.” 

michael had went from an amusing acquaintance to a solid friend whose shoulder you could lean on. 

“you know delalune means “of the moon” in french? i think that’s beautiful. and it’s a very fitting name for you.” 

“i didn’t know you knew french michael.” 

“i’m full of surprises. you’ll see.”

that was the very first time you’ve ever felt a flush reach your cheek from michael's words.

within the next two years, you became very close with the rest of his family. you’ve met all of his nieces and nephews, including the newest one, jermaine’s toddler jaafar. you’ve met his mother katherine on many occasions. in fact, the best memories you had were when you were visiting hayvenhurst and helping her cook family dinners on special holidays. the best part of those days were when you and michael would slip past his drowsy family members, stuffed from katherine’s dinner, and tiptoe up the stairs to his childhood bedroom, playing old games or reading books long abandoned. you watched as michael returned to that ten year old kid he so desperately wanted to heal. it was always the most connected you felt to michael. 

your brother noticed the amount of time you’ve spent with him, and he’s poked and prodded, wondering if it’s anything more than just friends. with a shy smile and a playful shove, you’d give him the same tired answer. 

“richie, he is just a good friend.”

the bane of you and michael’s existence was the paparazzi. it’s the only time you’ve seen michael become irritable. you’ve seen the articles, the ones that make you seem like michael's new rebound after a public and tumultuous divorce from his ex-wife. and as hard as michael would try to hide these tabloids from your view, your curiosity would sometimes get the best of you. you skimmed through dense paragraphs, scoffing. every page was a some type of analysis of a hand gesture, a shared look, or a warm embrace between you two, purposefully misconstruing such a loving friendship between you and michael.

the worst part was that you were starting to do the same. 

his touches lingered longer than they used to, so did his glances. his embraces were tighter. his compliments were more frequent. you found yourself falling for the persistence, the ambition, the shyness, the attentiveness, the messiness– all sides of michael that have unraveled and revealed themselves to you over the past two years. but you didn’t want to risk losing a great friendship over what could just be mere infatuation, some little crush.

there was an ever present fire burning for michael at the bottom of your heart. the goal was to keep it suppressed for the sake of your friendship.

that goal went out the window on the night of your birthday.

“marlon, i still don’t understand your outfit,” you said as you put up the last of your dishes on the drying rack. 

marlon pranced around in a blinding silver metallic suit. he happily downed the last of your apricot wine. 

“look, man, michael told me that it’s a futuristic, end of the millennium themed birthday party. i ain’t know what else to wear!”

“something that doesn’t make you look like an aluminum teletubby?” michael butted in, gently guiding marlon toward the door, grabbing the empty wine bottle from his hand.

“whatever man,” marlon side eyed a giggly michael. “listen, babygirl, don’t let him plan any more of your birthdays.” 

“bye marlon!” 

after kicking out his tipsy and talkative brother, michael took your hands and led you up the stairs and to your room. he promised one last gift. he held his hands over your eyes as he guided you to your room. but as soon as you stepped in, you were met with tiny mewls.

“michael, what is that.. is that a…” 

“a cat? yeah.” defeated, he removed his hands from your eyes, reaching for a cat that was perched in a small cat carrier. “you ruined my surprised, kitty.” 

he handed you a small black maine coon kitten. the breed you’ve been obsessed with since you were a kid. you couldn’t recall a nicer gift you’ve received. 

“now you’re one step closer to being an old cat lady.” a shy laugh left his lips. the lips you’ve been staring at the entire night. he smiled, searching your face for approval. the smile that made a pit form in your stomach. every word that left his mouth, every fleeting glance, every brush of his skin on yours, was like gasoline, fueling that fire in your heart. the heat touched every nerve ending, every vein. the hotness spread through your cheeks to your lips, an eternal warmth. 

“i think I’m in love with you.” you could no longer fight it. 

you were met with an uncomfortable silence, save for the tiny mewls of your new kitten perched in your arms. you were thinking of naming it mouth. 

michael’s face softened, making your face soften. and it felt worth it. not just the outburst, but the running. the running from love, from light, from vulnerability, from anything good that seemed to enter your life because you were afraid you weren’t good enough for it. the nights you spent in the darkness of your room, writing page after tear-stained page in your journal wondering if love was even real, and if you’d get to experience it. the two years you spent building a connection that you now realize was the love you were wanting all along. Everything fell into place, in the right timing. 

now you were searching his face for approval, for a sign that he may have felt the same. his visage was peaceful. he called your name, smooth and sweet like melted chocolate. he stepped closer. “i’ve loved you since the day i laid eyes on you.”

there were no other words that needed to be said. it was as if your souls were intertwining in that moment, doing the talking. the only thing that could quell that burning desire in your heart was his lips. as if reading your mind, he leaned down and kissed you. your bodies meshed together, his arms wrapped around your back. your free hand pulled him closer by the nape of his neck. your new kitten mewled and poked in confusion.

from that night, the following months progressed rather quickly, a stark contrast to the pace of the two years you’ve known each other. the following days after you both confessed your love to each other, michael spent every waking moment with you, at the expense of his impatient record label. he took shelter at your house, away from the angry storm of his team who had a week’s worth of press to drag him to. but all he wanted to do was be with you. it was as if the two of you were making up for lost time, lost kisses, and lost love. there wasn’t a day that went by where michael didn’t tell you how he felt about you. 

the proposal came even quicker. it felt as though it was in the blink of an eye. you were putting dishes away after dinner. you turned around and there he was–  knelt down, eyes peering up at you, holding a beautifully crafted 24-carat diamond ring. 

your smile faltered, in a mix of shock and disbelief.

“mike…” you warned. 

“i know it’s sooner than you might have expected, but it feels right. and every great decision i have ever made in my life was based on what felt right. i wasn’t lying when i said i loved you since the day i met you. i wanted to marry you ever since the first time you came over to hayvenhurst and met my family, and held my nephew. i knew since that day, i wanted to be the reason you believed in love again. you are my closest friend, and you complete me. i don’t even remember what my life was like before i met you, and i don’t want to go back to a time where you weren’t in my life…” 

“michael,” was all you managed to utter.

“i want you to carry my children, i want to give you as many cats as you’d like–” you both giggled at that part, tears escaping your eyes. “i want to be the sun to your moon. i want to love you as hard and as long as i possibly can. will you marry me?”

you frantically nodded, as if this was a dream that could slip from your grasp. “yes. of course i’ll marry you.” 

he placed the ring finger on you, a part of you felt whole again. you fought back tears. in that moment, you realized that you had shed the skin of the person you were. that hard exterior shell had come off when you were with michael, and you had been living in a vulnerable and freeing truth from the moment you met him, and now, for the rest of your lives.

“this didn’t work out so well the last time we did this, did it? both of our past marriages went to shit.” you joked.

he shook his head. he laughed, a tone that was half serious and half joking. “it’ll be different this time.”

“why?”

“because you’re you.”

the wedding was an emotional blur. you didn’t feel real that day, partly because of really bad anxiety and nerves, and partly because you couldn’t believe you were becoming a part of a family you loved so much.

there were only glimpses you could remember: not breathing in your tight fitting wedding dress your brother had made for you. the tears. your makeup artist having to redo your concealer before you go out and marry the love of your life, because of your tears. almost tripping on your dress from the nerves. your niece as your flower girl. more tears. your beloved but tired father walking you down the aisle, hoping that this was your last time getting married. wonderful vows that evoked even more tears. 

the reception was ten times better than you imagined. it took place in the same place that you had met michael all those years ago. the theme was black and white. you've always wanted a dark gothic wedding, but in order to not scare away your very religious in-laws, you chose for a traditional wedding, and after that, michael said the reception was all up to you. so you went all out.

you both shared a love for gothic horror, and it reflected in the centerpiece decor: black roses, cobwebs with prop spiders that scared the shit out of some of your family members and intrigued others. and your cat, mouth, was perched in the corner of the venue, sleeping through the noise. you and michael walked out and did your first dance to your dream wedding song. he twirled you around just like the day he first met you, this time holding you tighter, as if he'd lose you. after the couples dance, you danced with your father, and michael danced with his mother, who was whispering in his ear as tears fell from her face.

you picked up on their conversation as your bodies passed each other. "i knew she was the one for you." you smiled to yourself. even more tears. 

everyone wanted to make a toast to the two of you. that's the price of marrying someone with a big family. but the words that stood out the most to you were marlon's. 

he stood tall, holding a cup of champagne in his hand. "michael has been through so much over the majority of his life, i can attest to that. and yet he pushed through every struggle with such grace that i haven’t seen in anyone else. the best part about him is his happiness. that smile. his laugh that instantly makes you laugh. when his eyes light up either in awe or wonder, and it makes the room just a tiny bit brighter..." marlon's smile faltered. he looked down, solemn, but still pushing through, clearing his throat.

"sometimes its difficult to bring that out of my brother. it really is. i've seen the light fade. i've seen it become harder and harder to make his day. he’s a busy man, he’s an ambitious man, and he's reserved when he needs to be, because that's what it takes in such a tough world. but once he chooses to let you in. man it's... it's the best thing in the world.” 

marlon turned to the two of you, voice trembling. “michael, i’m glad you let someone in. i'm glad that you trusted her enough to see all of you. and i just want to say thank you to my new sister-in-law, for bringing that smile back. we all missed it so much." 

even more tears. 

after the wedding, you both took a flight in his private jet to geneva for your honey moon. 

you were in a homely hotel bed, overlooking a cold lake, with miles and miles of shrubbery stretched it. the sky was settling into a deep pink, the sun peeking behind the green trees. it would have been a breathtaking view if you weren’t so tired. you were resting in his arms, as your eyes became heavy with sleep. pressed against his chest, you mumbled, “thank you for giving me the life i’ve always wanted.”

he was too tired to say anything, but he pressed against you even more, a sign that he reciprocated the thought tenfold. he kissed the temple on your forehead. 

he was and would forever be the sun to your moon.

a/n: idk how you other writers consistently hit 3k words, this actually killed tf outta me. i salute y'all. i really hoped you guys liked this!

[destroyeddisco]

hi your fics are so lovely i adore them. don’t feel pressured to reply to this but please keep writing your stories are so giggly and cute and definitely my favs!!!

hi anonnn!!!

wait this means so so much to mee! deadass i did not think i would last this long writing stuff, it hasn't even been a month yet since i started this account. but i have so many ideas coming thanks to you guys and your support and requests!!! i wanted to use this to tell yall that i have a history era fic coming this week, and more otw/thriller/jacksons era stuff in the workss!! i love writing cute and giggly shittt!!

love you all muah!

[destroyeddisco]

⋆˚꩜｡MASTERLIST｡꩜˚⋆

˚ ⁎ ‎ 。just look over ya shoulders honey!

𐔌off the wall𐦯

mr. steal yo girl series

⋆ mr steal yo girl

⋆ love hangover

⋆ girrrlllfrieeennndddd 𐙚

oneshots

⋆ ❛my life ain't worth livin', if i can't be with you❜

⋆❛bad hair day❜

𐔌thriller𐦯

⋆❛greatest night in pop❜

𐔌bad𐦯

⋆ the third wheel

𐔌HIStory𐦯

⋆❛my moon❜

coming soon . . .

❛tshirt and panties❜ - request

key

❛ ❜- requested

𐙚 - smuttyy (i write mostly fluff, but on the occasion that i do write smut, it'll be indicated)

requests and asks are open! 𑣲

[destroyeddisco]

the third wheel | mj

bf!michael jackson x gf!reader

synopsis: after a long awaited date night with your boyfriend michael, one of mike's "friends" couldn't help but third wheel.

content: i imagined bad!era mike but this works for any era technically! funny fluff, gf!reader curses like a sailor, a little bit of kissing, michael's pet mentioned (read to find out which one!)

wc: >1k

notes: i'm sorry does anyone else find it impossible titling their stuff ?? like, i'm so uncreative. speaking of uncreative, don't think i'm ignoring y'alls requests! i am actively working on them! i've been going through a bit of a writer's block recently but i have a few drafts in the works!! anyways this one's a shorter one for the mean time, hope you like!!

it had been almost three agonizing weeks since you’ve seen michael. he was spread thin lately: press conferences, rehearsals for tour, business meetings, blah blah blah. you didn’t care. you just wanted michael all to yourself. so as soon as he called you and told you he had a day off, you damn near broke a heel rushing out of your house and over to his. 

you watched him silently as he finished the last of the homemade dinner you cooked for him. not only did you make dinner, you decked out his living and dining room area with roses and his favorite scented candles. 

“you don’t happen to have dessert do you?” mike asked innocently, eyes peering at you as he patted his mouth with a napkin. 

“i do.” you stood up and grabbed his hand. “me.”

he furrowed his eyebrows and smirked. "pardon?”

“you heard me.”

you led him to the couch.

“i have a surprise for you.” you straddled on top of him. god you missed him. his big hands, how attractive he looked in casual clothes, his relaxed demeanor. he never wore the stress on his face when he was with you, he always put it away, giving you his full attention.

“oh yeah?” he grinned. his hands roamed up your body pulling you closer to him. 

“yeah. open my blouse.”

“oh gosh.” he immediately blushed. he took one hand and unbuttoned the first three buttons to reveal a lacy red bra that your breasts practically spilled out of. a matching red corset peeked out of your blouse, too. “wow that’s beautiful.”

“and it’s red, your favorite color, baby.”

“yes it is,” he mumbled mindlessly as he planted a kiss right on your cleavage. “wait, you had this on the whole night? was that not uncomfortable?”

“michael, you're worried about the wrong damn thing.” 

“oh, i’m sorry.” he laughed, his eyebrows still showing a hint of concern. 

“but, hypothetically, if it hurt really badly, like... started to hurt parts of my body i didn’t even know existed,” your hands began to travel up his shirt before you leaned in and whispered, “then i’d love for you to take me out of my misery.”

“mm." in one swift motion, he lifted you off him and placed you onto the couch, now hovering on top of you. he unbuttoned the rest of your blouse with a quickness, revealing the rest of your scantily clad body.

"faster, baby. take it all off me." 

"i will, i just," he stopped for a moment, seemingly already out of breath by just looking at you. "you don't know how much i've missed you." 

"show me." 

on cue, he bent down and kissed you in the most random but intimate places, anywhere but your lips. he was teasing you, and you grew more frustrated by the second. so you decided to take the power away from him. you grabbed his shirt, and kissed him so deeply. and it quickly devolved into a messy make out session on his couch. 

you guided one of his hands to the small of your back and he took it from there, caressing you deeply and softly. god. you. missed. this. you thought you were gonna come undone at that very moment. 

and then you felt it. something large grazing your thigh.

you broke the kiss, smirking at michael. "someone's happy to see me, huh?"

"of course," michael said, kissing you again. 

you reached down to grab his hardness. but the sensation was a bit different. it was cold, kind of leathery, and....moving? and last time you checked, his.. little michael doesn't slide up your thigh. 

"babe, wha-" you look down and gasped.

you were face to face with a large snake slithering its way up your arm, and you let out an unearthly scream. 

"OH MY GODDD WHAT THE FUCK!" you jumped off the couch as fast as you could, backing into a corner of the living room. this only scares the snake even more, writhing hysterically for shelter in the cracks of the white sofa.

"oh my- i’m so sorry, baby, i meant for him to stay in his enclosure!” his concern quickly dissipated into laughter. his calm demeanor was infuriating to you.

"michael i- i thought that was you, i thought... i thought that was your snake." to your dismay, he laughed hysterically at your innuendo.

“you scared him, baby." he picked muscles up, letting the snake slide up his body and rest on his shoulders. at least one of us is touching on michael, you thought. 

"I SCARED HIM? HOW THE FUCK DID I SCARE THAT BIG ASS THING?"

"you're bigger than him, you know," he said, before immediately wincing. he already knew that you were about to misinterpret his words.

"oh so I'm BIG, huh? oh thanks michael, i didn't know i was the biggest thing you've ever seen in your life!"

he couldn't help but laugh. unfazed by your theatrics, he held out his hand to you. "come. come touch him.”

"no. i don't fuck with pythons."

"that's good then, 'cause he's a boa constrictor," he giggled. 

"i would slap you if i wasn't so far away."  your hands gripped the white walls behind you, as if it would shield you from a snake-holding michael inching closer to you.  

"come onnn, baby, touch him. he doesn't bite."

“michael please don't come near me with that thing, please.” your anger had slowly peeled back to a trembling anxiety as michael wasn't letting up. he was merely feet away from you.

your hands, already red from gripping the walls, were now in front of you, clasped together as if your were praying. this is it, you thought. this is the end of your damn life. you're going to die in the sexiest, most expensive lingerie you've ever owned, and your boyfriend's snake is going to unlatch its jaw at any moment and swallow your beautiful face whole.

“he’s literally moving toward you, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t like you.”

“HE’S COMING TO EAT ME.”

“calm down, calm do-” he could barely get his words out, his own laughter cutting him off. and it wasn’t the cute, sultry laughs he did. it was one of those high pitched cackles. he was really enjoying your misery. "he's curious."

"curious about what i taste like!"

michael grabbed your hand, inching it toward the snake. "he's a friend, baby. i won't let him do anything to you."

you resisted it as hard as you could, but he was ultimately stronger. you cringed as you unwillingly petted the snake, rolling your eyes at the fact that it wasn't so bad after all. maybe muscles was kind of cute, though you would never admit that to michael.

“see, he doesn’t mind. do you, muscles?” he cooed at his boa constrictor. you could have sworn muscles looked at you with a smirk, sticking that stupid tongue out, menacingly.

michael held your hand and guided you back to the couch. “now, about my dessert?”

you pulled your hand out of his, pouting. “uh, no? no more dessert. you can eat that damn snake for dessert, good for nothin..." you mumbled on as you stormed past him toward the couch.

he couldn’t help but laugh at how dramatic you were. you both knew he'd make it up to you later.

[destroyeddisco]

I have a req! I was wondering if it was possible for you to write something based on the making of “we are the world.” Reader is another popular singer in the 80’s and is pretty popular. Since she’s so popular, she was invited to lend her vocals on the song. She and Michael have met before, and are friendly acquaintances. When they see each other during filming/recording, and are stood next to Michael, they immediately fall into banter all night.

anon, bro. you and me are interrrlinkedddd, you read my mind!

i already have something like this in the works, but i'll tweak it to this requestttt!

thank you! so grateful for your request ᯓ★

[destroyeddisco]

was wondering why sunset driver was hitting so different today and i looked at the date. oh okay.

[destroyeddisco]

Hi, I've been thinking a lot about a soulmate relationship, Michael and Reader. They've known each other since 2000 and later got married. Could you write about their friendship before marriage and their marriage, slow burn, friends to lovers.

Thank you so much ❤️

I hope you have a great day

hi anonita!!!

this request has been collecting dust in my inbox and i am so sorry. don't give up on me!! i usually post the actual story along with the request but i feel so bad that i haven't answered this yet. i just wanted you to know that your request is on the way i PROMISE! i've just been going through some writer's block. and its hopefully gonna be really good, it's gonna be very noirrr, very matureee, very romantic IM EXCITED i hope yall are too. i have some stuff comingggg

[destroyeddisco]

PLEASE MAKE A MASTERLIST 😭

i genuinely started this account 3 weeks ago and i didn't plan on being active for that long, so for someone to already ask for a masterlist genuinely means a lot LOL. i don't really have a lot of works published but i will totally get started on this since you asked. thx anonnn!! and thanks everyone for all the supporttt!!