#mjjfan

[g0ttheh0ts4mj]

It’s 3 am and I miss Michael

Is he actually gone forever frfr

[closetobadera]

`` When all life is seen as divine, everyone grows wings.

© Michael Jackson

[bruniiiswrld]

sleepy days and rain.

pairing: michael jackson x fem!reader

warnings: none, mostly about being overworked and overwhelmed, faint mentions about his father / the victory tour .. mostly michael centric. no mentions of “y/n”. reader is still nameless, though

word count: 1.3k

author’s note:

bahhhhh it’s been so rainy where i live … and it makes me sleepy. so yeah. figured i’d write something on that. thriller era mostly, but imagine any era u want .. it takes place in hayvenhurst. anyways, my second fic!! enjoy!!

he just couldn’t get up.

the rain was calming, the sky was dark and gloomy.

in turn, that made his room dark. he felt his eyes drooping every five seconds, no matter how many times he knew he needed to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to do his self care and then straight to the studio.

it was just one of those days where everyone was out and about doing what they needed to do. his older brothers were with their families, his younger siblings (and latoya) where with katherine, and joseph was out doing whatever he was doing. who knows. michael could care less about the shady business his father was conducting. he found it odd enough that he met up with don king to talk about the ticketing situation for the victory tour.

that he was forced to do, by the way.

michael opens his eyes, blinking a few times as he looks outside at the slither of window showing through his curtains. his eyes were still droopy, he wasn’t sure if he’d even have it in him to get up and out of the comfort of his own mattress. but there was a voice in the back of his mind telling him that he’d better get up, nothing will get done if you just lay there.

his mind says so, but his body says otherwise. he feels physically tired. physically exhausted. like his body is telling him he needs a break.

michael turns onto his back, hands at his sides. his eyes follow the figurines, comics, books, albums, and whatever else he has in his room all the way over to the phone on his nightstand.

call her. she can help you feel better.

he nods to himself, shifting over towards the phone and punching in the numbers that he memorised oh so much these past couple of years since moving to california. he twirls the cord around his finger as he waits for her to pick up. it took more than a few rings. michael was about to give up until he heard shifting on the other line.

“… hello?”

a tired voice rang on the other line. michael sighed quietly, thankful that she was up and that she even answered in the first place.

“um .. good morning, first of all. sorry for waking you, i know you’re usually asleep right now .. ” he laughs wistfully, just a little under his breath as his eyes trail back over towards the window. “but i, uh … i wanted to ask if you could just .. y’know ..”

he pauses. shrugging as if she could actually see him. they’d been dating for over 3 years now, and he still gets nervous asking her to come over.

“come over.” he finally says. tapping his fingers lightly on his nightstand. “i, um .. really need you right now ..”

there was silence on the other side of the phone. then more movement. then a yawn.

“should i stay in my pajamas?”

michael smiles at that, another quiet chuckle coming from him as he begins to speak. “i want you to be comfortable, so .. yes.”

more silence. like she was delayed in response due to being sleepy. to be fair, it was pretty much 5 in the morning. she’s usually still sleeping at this time.

“i’ll .. be on my way.”

a couple more words were exchanged, i love yous were exchanged, and then a click on the line followed. michael put the phone back to where it needed to be before turning back onto his side. he waits patiently, more than a few topics floating around in his mind .. the fact that she was coming over, the fact that he has to do this godforsaken tour with his brothers even though he really wanted to do a solo tour, pushing for thriller to be the best of all time … he was pulled in every single direction, but the only think that sated his mind was her.

about thirty minutes had passed. wheels were heard pulling into the driveway of hayvenhurst. it was her.

wasn’t too long after until he heard the door open, one of the cleaners had let her in. footsteps were getting closer and closer, first on the staircase, then making a beeline towards his room. a gentle beeline, not rough or harsh like his father. after years and years, he could still tell the difference of everyone’s footsteps. that’s how he knew it was her.

there was a gentle knocking on the door.

“yes? come in, please ..”

michael says quietly, turning over onto his side where his door was. it opens, revealing a sleepy girlfriend with a little bit of a bedhead. her robe had been decorated with rain droplets, and so had her pajama pants. but she didn’t seem to worry about it. her eyes were barely open. something about the warmth of michael’s room made her sleepy. not in a temperature type of way, but a homely type of way.

“there she is ..” michael sits up a little, holding himself up with his arms. he wore a baggy white t-shirt, and some black sweatpants and socks. his hair was a little messy too, and he was barefaced. no makeup, small blotches of vitiligo across his arms and jaw, and rosy cheeks.

just as much as he liked seeing her in her natural state, she liked seeing him in his.

“look at my girl.”

he smiles, looking her up and down with happy eyes. he removes his sheets, shifting his legs over the edge of the bed and holding his arms out for her to come to him. which she does, rather slowly as she is still tired. once she’s close enough and standing in between his legs, he wraps his arms around her tightly, resting his head upon her chest and listening to her heartbeat. it was slow, rhythmic. it pretty much inspired him instantly. though, he could admit .. it could be for later. no one can steal that idea from him. not even prince.

“thank you.” he speaks into her chest, moving his head upwards to look at her. there’s a little twinkle there as he moves to pull one side of her button up over. he presses a few kisses there, and she practically melts at this.

“mhm.” she says, drawing it out a little bit before nodding.

he loosens his grip on her, she wiggles out of it. she walks over towards the other side of the bee, he watches intently. his eyes never left her figure as he wraps himself back up within his sheets.

wasn’t too long until they were both tangled up in each other, two bodies practically sleeping as one. she fell asleep first, which was no surprise. it was too early for her, and michael couldn’t help but find it amusing that she snored just a little bit and that she just couldn't hang. he watches her, eyes drooping again since now he’s wrapped in the comfort of his girl.

just let yourself sleep.

he hears her voice say it this time around, and he continues to look at her. she’s said this before, when it was late at night and he felt as if he still needed to work on something until the break of dawn. she always reminded him that he was human, and that he needed rest just like everyone else.

everyone else. he isn’t everyone else. but he is human.

so, he succumbs to it.

his breathing steadies, his eyes close, and he allows himself to drift off into sleep again. this time with dreams of her and him growing even older together. he knows that in a few hours he will eventually have to start his day, but he’s even happier that she is by his side to start it with him.

the rain is pure background noise at this point. ambience of the calm day ahead of them.

[shaymewizard]

𓆩𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𓆪

🦇 vampiremichael x fem!reader

🧛🏻 You work as a maid for Michael Jackson. After retiring from his music career he vanished from the public eye living hidden in the dark woods under the name "Maestro." Over time your maid role brought you closer to him and bit by bit you found yourself falling in love. However you soon uncovered the heartbreaking truth behind his decision to disappear from the world forever.

a/n: I promiseeee I didn’t forget about this series. This was literally sitting in my drafts and I didn’t feel proofreading so :P also lmk if you wanna be removed and added to the tag list !

Taglist: @tojiswifeforlife , @zanyana626 , @heubstr , @moonaarts , @pyt03 , @ksavamp , @asillysimp

7 | reflection

June 1st 1997

Morning light pressed against the heavy drapes like a hand testing glass, the fabric holding back the day with the same quiet insistence Michael's arms held you securely.

You surfaced from sleep in fragments. The silk sheets pooled at your waist.

The air still carried sandalwood and the faint iron tang you were beginning to associate with him alone.

And there was warmth, surprising warmth, radiating from the bare chest pressed against your spine.

"You're awake," he murmured, and the vibration traveled through his ribs into your back.

"Barely." Your voice came out rough, unfamiliar to your own ears. You shifted, and every muscle registered its complaint.

"How long have you been watching me?" You asked.

A pause. "Longer than I should admit." Michael told you.

You turned in his arms. In the near-dark, his features were soft as charcoal sketches, the high cheekbones, the dark sweep of hair, the eyes that caught what little light existed and held it. One corner of his mouth curved upward.

"Last night was..." You searched for the word.

"Yes," he agreed, and there was something boyish in the satisfaction. "It was."

A laugh bubbled out of you, startling in its ease. You hadn't expected to laugh this morning.

You hadn't expected to feel this comfortable, tangled in your employer's sheets, your uniform somewhere on the floor with its buttons scattered to the corners of the room.

"It's been a long time," Michael said. His fingers traced idle patterns on your shoulder blade, slow loops that made your skin prickle. "Since I've done that. With anyone."

You propped yourself on one elbow. "A long time being what, exactly?"

"Longer than you'd believe."

The cryptic answer should have irritated you. Instead, you filed it away with all the other oddities, the way the candles had seemed to light themselves, the impossible darkness of the room despite the hour, the metallic note in the air that never quite dissipated.

"So this is a regular thing for you," you said. "Asking the maid to stay the night."

His hand stilled. "No. This is not a regular thing."

"Then what is it?"

"Complicated." The word fell heavy between you. "You make it complicated."

You didn't know whether to be flattered or alarmed. Before you could decide, your stomach tightened with something that wasn't quite hunger and wasn't quite nausea, a strange hollow ache that had been flickering on and off for days. The mark on your neck pulsed faintly.

"What about the other women?" you pressed, ignoring the sensation. "The ones before the long drought."

Michael shifted, and the sheet slipped, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, the lean muscle that seemed carved rather than built.

"There have been women. Not many. None in this house."

"Why not?"

"Because I've been careful." He said it without pride, something heavier beneath the word. "Perhaps too careful."

You filed that away too.

"So you just say it," you said, changing tack suddenly. "You just say sex without flinching."

"Should I flinch?"

"Most people do. Or they use other words. Euphemisms."

"I'm not most people." The statement landed without arrogance.

"Words are words. Hiding behind them doesn't change what they mean."

You just started at him.

He tilted his head. "Does it bother you?"

"It makes me blush."

The smile returned, sharper now. "I know. That's why I do it."

You swatted his shoulder, and the gesture felt dangerously domestic. He caught your wrist, his thumb pressing against the flutter of your pulse, and for a moment his eyes flickered, that same shift you'd seen on the terrace, pupils widening, something ancient surfacing.

Then he released you.

"The bathroom," you said, sitting up and holding the sheet to your chest. "I need to use it."

"It's the single door." He points.

Your bare feet met the floor, cold stone beneath the rug. The room was darker than it should be for morning, the drapes so thick they seemed to swallow ambient light rather than simply block it. You crossed to the window and reached for the cord.

"Wait, don't."

The word came quick and sharp.

You turned. Michael had risen to one elbow, his face unreadable.

"I get headaches," he said, softer now. "Bad ones. The light makes it worse."

Your hand dropped. "You should have said something earlier. I've been opening curtains in this house for weeks."

"It's only bad in the mornings I guess."

You nodded and found the bathroom door, pushing through into more darkness until your fingers located a switch.

A single bulb flickered to life above the sink, casting weak yellow light on marble and brass and—

Nothing.

The wall where the mirror should have been was bare. You could see the brackets, the faint outline where a frame had once hung, but the space was empty.

The mirror was deliberately absent, as though mirrors had never been part of this room's design.

You used the toilet, washed your hands, and stood there in the humming silence, staring at the blank wall.

When you returned to the bedroom, Michael hadn't moved.

"There's no mirror in your bathroom."

"I'm aware."

"Why?"

He was quiet for a long moment. "There's nothing to see."

The phrase landed oddly. Every bathroom had a mirror. Every person needed a mirror to shave, to check their reflection. The absence felt intentional almost.

"What does that mean?" you asked.

"It means exactly what I said it means." He sat up fully now, the sheet pooling around his waist. In the gloom, his skin seemed to absorb the shadows rather than reflect them.

"You should get ready. The other maids will arrive soon, and it might raise questions if you're seen leaving my bedroom."

Deflective. You recognized the tactic because you'd used it yourself.

You gathered your ruined uniform from the floor, holding the torn fabric together as best you could.

"I'll need to change before I start my duties."

"There's a robe in the armoire. Take it."

The armoire was massive, carved from dark wood, its handles cold beneath your fingers.

Inside hung garments in shades of black and burgundy and deep purple velvets and silks that whispered of another century.

A robe of midnight satin hung at the front. You pulled it around your shoulders, and it smelled of him.

"About the bites," you said, turning back. You kept your tone light, teasing. "They hurt, you know. A little warning next time might be nice."

But Michael's expression shifted instantly, the playfulness draining away.

He rose and crossed to you in three long strides, his fingers tilting your chin upward, his gaze fixed on your throat.

"Let me see."

"It was a joke, Michael. I wasn't—"

"Let me see."

You tilted your head, baring the curve of your neck. His breath caught.

His fingertips hovered over the spot without touching, and then very gently, so gently you barely felt it, he traced the edges of the wound.

"It's bruising," he said, and his voice had gone hollow. "I was too rough. I should have controlled myself better."

"It's just a bruise. It'll heal."

"That's not the point."

He stepped back, and the distance between you felt suddenly enormous. His hands hung at his sides, those elegant fingers curled inward.

The candlelight from last night had been kind to his face; the darkness was not.

"I apologize," he said formally. "I should not have done it."

"You already apologized. Last night. I didn't ask you to stop then, and I'm not asking now."

"That doesn't make it right."

You didn't know how to answer that. You'd assumed the biting was a kink, unusual  but not outside the realm of things wealthy, eccentric men might request behind closed doors.

Blood was just another fluid, wasn't it? Just another threshold crossed in the dark.

"It's fine," you said finally. "Really. I'm not fragile."

Something flickered across his face.

"No," he said. "You're not."

You slipped out of the bedroom, clutching the robe closed, your ruined uniform bundled under one arm. The corridor was empty.

The house still slept, heavy and silent, the way old houses do in the early hours.

You made your way to the servants' quarters, found your spare uniform, and dressed quickly, your fingers working the buttons with practiced efficiency.

The mark on your neck was hidden by your collar. The ache in your muscles was yours alone.

Downstairs, the kitchen was already stirring, the cook was setting out pans, and you could hear the distant clatter of the other maids arriving through the service entrance.

You joined them, and no one looked at you twice. No one asked where you'd spent the night. The routine swallowed you whole, as routines do.

Upstairs, in the bedroom that still smelled of sandalwood and sex and something metallic, Michael stood exactly where you'd left him.

He stared at the rumpled sheets. At the faint rust-colored smear on the pillowcase, his own doing, his own weakness. At the robe missing from his armoire.

She doesn't know.

The thought circled like a wolf.

She doesn't know what she's letting into her body. What's already there.

He pressed his palm against his chest, where no heartbeat answered the pressure. The blood he'd taken from you hummed inside him still warm and vital and impossibly sweet.

He could feel you moving through the house, a bright thread in the tapestry of his awareness.

Connected and claimed now, even if you didn't understand the terms of the claiming.

He should tell you. He should sit you down and explain what he was. What the bite meant.

What would happen if he did it again, how many more times before the change became irreversible, before the sun became your enemy and your reflection became a memory.

But if he told you, you might leave.

And if you left.

His fingers found the mark his fangs had left on your throat, tracing the phantom shape in the empty air.

He wasn't sure he could let you go.

[malepeacock]

Jackie and a chubby baddie??? Reader usually isn’t insecure about her body but sometimes the comments from the tabloids bother her. One day, she just got out the shower and she was staring at herself in the mirror just sobbing. She didn’t know Jackie was home so he knocked on the door to ask her what’s wrong. She’s embarrassed but eventually tells him and he reassures her. He also tells her that he wants to show her how much he loves her body. He drops her robe and he takes his time making love to every part of her body. It’s sensual, sexy, and beautiful. He then makes her look at herself while he’s hitting that one spot. Jackie is gentle but rough when he needs to be and the aftercare is so comforting please

「 AFFIRMATIONS」 JACKIE J

➬ pairing: jackie jackson x chubbyfem!reader

➬ warning: smut, explicit content, self doubt, tabloids, usage of the word “fat”

➬ a/n: I swear I tried to find a jackie gif and I couldn’t find one so this the best we got

The steam from the shower clung to the bathroom mirror, blurring the edges of your reflection.

You stood wrapped in a fluffy robe, the belt loosely tied.

The day’s tabloid headlines echoed in you mind, the snide comments about the "fat girlfriend" clinging to the Jackson fame, the unflattering paparazzi shots deliberately chosen to emphasize your softer angles.

Usually, you brushed it off. Usually, Jackie’s unwavering admiration was armor enough.

But today… today the barbs had sunk deeper, finding a hidden seam in her confidence.

A choked sob escaped your lips as you stared at the distorted image.

Tears traced hot paths down your cheeks, mingling with the condensation on the glass.

Your fingers brushed over the curve of your hip, a gesture not of appreciation, but of painful scrutiny.

A soft knock on the door startled you. "Baby?" Jackie's voice, muffled but warm, filtered through the wood. "You okay in there? Been a while."

Reader hastily swiped at your tears, her breath hitching. "F-fine! Just… finishing up." Your voice cracked, betraying you.

The door opened slowly. Jackie stood there, his expression instantly shifting from casual concern to deep worry as he took in your tear-streaked face, your robe clutched tightly closed, the raw vulnerability radiating from your slumped shoulders.

He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him. The humid air felt thick with unspoken pain.

"Hey," he murmured, crossing the small space in two strides. His hands came up, framing your face gently, his thumbs catching fresh tears.

"Talk to me. What’s wrong, sweetheart? What happened?"

You tried to look away, shame heating your neck. "It’s stupid," you whispered, her voice thick.

"Nothing that hurts you is stupid," Jackie insisted softly, his dark eyes searching yours, filled with nothing but tenderness and a fierce protectiveness.

He tilted your chin up gently. "Please. Let me in."

The dam broke. The words tumbled out, fragmented and raw, the cruel headlines, the whispers you pretended not to hear, the way looking in the mirror right now felt like staring at a stranger who didn’t measure up.

"They make me feel… wrong," you choked out, burying your face against his chest. "Like this," you gestured vaguely at yourself beneath the robe, "is something to be ashamed of."

Jackie held you tighter, a low sound of sympathy rumbling in his chest.

He didn't offer platitudes. He simply absorbed your pain, his hand stroking your damp hair.

When your sobs subsided into shaky breaths, he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes again, his own gaze intense and unwavering.

"Listen to me," he said, his voice a low, resonant vow. "Those people? They don't know you. They don't see you." His hands slid down your arms, then came to rest lightly on your waist, over the soft terrycloth.

"They don't see the woman who lights up a room with her laugh. They don't see the kindness that melts my heart every day. They don't see this," his hands tightened slightly, possessively, lovingly, "this beautiful, soft, incredible body that I get to love. That I worship."

He slowly, deliberately, untied the belt of her robe.

It fell open. You instinctively tried to cover herself, but Jackie caught your hands, bringing them to his lips for a soft kiss before lowering them.

His gaze traveled over your bare skin, not with scrutiny, but with profound reverence.

"Look at you," he breathed, his voice husky with adoration. "Just… look." He guided you gently to face the mirror again.

This time, he stood behind you, his arms encircling your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

His eyes met yours in the reflection, holding your gaze captive. "See what I see? Perfection."

He began to trace patterns on your skin with feather-light fingertips over the swell of your hip, the soft curve of her belly, the fullness of your breasts.

Each touch was a silent prayer, a counter-argument to every cruel word.

He dipped his head, pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your jawline, murmuring praises against your skin. "So beautiful… so soft… mine."

Turning you slowly in his arms, Jackie continued his worship.

He knelt before you, his hands smoothing over your thighs, his lips following, kissing every inch, the softness of your inner thigh, the gentle roundness of your knee, the curve of your calf.

It was excruciatingly slow, unbearably sensual.

Each kiss, each whispered word. "Gorgeous… divine… exquisite" was a balm to your wounded spirit.

He explored your body like it was hallowed ground, rediscovering every beloved contour with his lips and tongue, his touch simultaneously gentle and claiming.

When his mouth finally found the sensitive peak of your breast, sucking gently, then swirling his tongue, a moan tore from your throat, her fingers tangling in his dark curls.

He rose then, pulling you flush against him. The heat of him, the hard planes of his body against your softness, ignited a deeper fire.

He kissed you deeply, passionately, conveying all the words that felt inadequate.

"Need you," he growled against your lips. "Need to show you how much I love every single part of you."

He lifted her effortlessly, carrying you to their bed. He laid you down like something precious, his eyes never leaving yours.

He joined you, his body covering yours, a comforting, exciting weight.

His hands roamed freely now, reverent yet demanding. He knew your body intimately, knew exactly where and how to touch you to make you gasp, to make you arch, to make you forget everything but the feel of him.

"Look at us," he commanded softly, guiding your head towards the mirrored closet doors across the room. "Watch me love you. Watch how beautiful you are."

Your eyes fluttered open, meeting their reflection. You saw the flush on your skin, the desire in your own eyes, the absolute devotion on Jackie’s face as he moved above you.

You saw his strong hands gripping your hips, saw the powerful flex of his muscles as he thrust into you with deep, deliberate strokes, gentle but unyielding, rough in his passion yet utterly controlled.

You saw the way your body moved with his, softness yielding to strength in a breathtakingly erotic dance.

You saw yourself reflected in his gaze within the mirror cherished, desired, beautiful.

He held your gaze captive, his rhythm intensifying, hitting that deep, perfect spot within you with every powerful surge.

"See?" he rasped, his voice thick with passion and emotion.

"See how perfect we are? How perfect you are? Feel it… feel how much I love you… right here." His thrusts became deeper, more urgent, pushing her relentlessly towards the edge.

The combination of his words, his touch, the visual proof of his adoration reflected back at you, shattered your remaining inhibitions.

Pleasure crashed over you in overwhelming waves, drawing a cry from her lips as you convulsed around him, your body bowing off the bed.

Jackie followed moments later, his own release wrenched from him with a guttural groan of your name, his body shuddering against yours as he buried himself deep.

He collapsed beside you, gathering you instantly into his arms. He pulled the blankets up around y’all, tucking you against his chest where you could feel the rapid thudding of his heart gradually slowing. Sweat cooled on their skin.

He didn't speak immediately, just held you close, pressing soft kisses to her hairline, your temple, your damp cheek.

His hands smoothed over your back, your arm, your hip in slow, soothing circles.

After a long moment of comfortable silence, filled only with y’all’s mingled breaths and the lingering warmth between y’all, he spoke, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

"You are the most beautiful thing in my world," he murmured, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone.

"Inside and out. Never doubt that.

Not for a second." He kissed your forehead tenderly.

"Those vultures out there? They wish they had an ounce of what I have right here." He tightened his embrace, a safe harbor against any storm.

"My perfect girl. My everything." His breathing evened out into sleepiness, his protective hold unyielding, a silent promise etched into the warmth of his body wrapped around yours.

In the quiet aftermath, surrounded by his love and the lingering echoes of pleasure, You finally felt peace settle deep in your bones.

The reflection didn't lie anymore. Through Jackie's eyes, you saw only beauty.

[armasbw]

THRILLER ERA MOODBOARD.

[ultra-francesca-mercury]

june 25,

2009

Fifty-year-old Michael Jackson is found dead in the Los Angeles mansion he is renting. The shocking news spreads quickly through social media outlets, and Jackson is the subject of numerous tributes over the next few weeks.

[itsallfor-dodo]

I'm tired of bein' the victim of shame They're throwin' me in a class with a bad name I can't believe this is the land from which I came...(go on ⇩) ( inspo: @barbieinator [ mine came diff tho 🥲] The funny thing is I didn't even realize that their post literally contains Michael's dangerous song as subtitles but my mind was repeating the line "a whisper of love" constantly and in the middle of my edit, I gasped and realized 😭🤍 ) #michaeljackson #tdcau #kingofdance #kingofpop #mjjinnocent #mjjforever #theydontcareaboutus #mjimmortal #loml #applehead #peterpan #mjedit #mjjfan #mjlove #loveyoumichael #proudtobeanmjfan #michaeljacksonfan #michaeljacksonking #michaeljacksoncute #theydontreallycareaboutus #mjsongs #kingofmusic (at Immortal) https://www.instagram.com/p/CpC7fRTy7n9/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=