tokischaaaaa

[tokischaaaaa]

</3

[tokischaaaaa]

this is so classic wattpad plot but I literally do not care

Michael Jackson x she/her!reader

·˚ ◌༘͙[Keep The Faith] ! ˊ

Fishing has been one of Michael’s favorite hobbies for some time. Not in the traditional sense - he cannot sit still for long enough to actually go fishing - but rather by his own definition. Whether it be peering at the faces in the crowd at a concert, seeing faces pressed against the windows of cars and buildings he’s in, fishing is a term that Michael dedicates to peacefully viewing pretty creatures that appear just to see him when he’s passing through. In no way is it dehumanizing; he views it as comparing people to other beautiful things in nature, and in a comical sense too, of course. By now, his team is well aware of his traditions when it comes to fishing, only laughing along and agreeing with his comments pertaining to ‘nice fish’, all in jest and never something he’d consider seriously pursuing; he’d feel he had too much power over a fan that it wouldn’t be fair or just, it would be taking advantage, and that’s not something that sits well with him.

That is, until your face catches his eye.

Fan after fan came and went, greeting Michael and taking pictures while he signed their copies of ‘Bad’ and gifted him their most sincere praises. It was certainly lovely, never something he takes for granted, but to an extent, the social scale of the event can become quite tiring. He’s grateful the line is nearing its end, hoping that soon enough, he’ll be able to rest. But when Michael lifts his gaze from the table in front of him and his eyes meet yours, when he sees your smile- he swears to every holy thing he’s ever known, his heart stops. You aren’t screaming or hyperventilating, but you are trembling in a way that stirs the gentleman in him, wishing the circumstances would allow for him to perhaps offer his jacket to you. The smile on your face as you look at Michael is reflected right back at you, and his previous idea of having any power over a fan is single handedly erased by the existence of you. In that moment, had you wished it, he’d have dropped to one knee and ripped his own heart out to offer it to you. One word from you, and he’d do anything for you. All you had to do, was-

“Hi, Michael.”

And he’s yours.

Your voice is the sweetest melody he’s ever heard, and he already knows it’ll inspire more songs than anything ever has before. You are the siren to lull him to sleep, to guide him to the pearly gates of heaven someday, and he is nothing if not a devout worshiper at the altar that is you.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, you’ve already been here so long- but, I just wanted to thank you for the music you make and the message of love that-“

Is now and has only ever been meant for you, he realizes.

Words continue to fall from your lips like a steady stream, a peaceful and thought-out poem that touches every part of Michael’s very soul. And he sits there, smiling up at you as you stand before him, in absolute awe of you. The stars of the night couldn’t hope to hold a candle to the ones in your eyes.

“You don’t need to thank me, it’s my pleasure. It brings me joy to know that my music brings you joy, too.” He answers, his own voice softer than he’s ever heard it.

Your smile turns shy, then, and Michael wishes he had the kind of magic to seal this moment in a bottle, or lock it away in a drawer, so that on the lonely nights he foresees in his future he might gaze upon this moment again. You.

“What’s your name?” He asks you, the question feeling more like a desperate plea than a general curiosity, and when you do tell him your name, it’s immediately stitched into the very fabric of his being.

He wants to compliment your name for how pretty it sounds, how well it suits you, how he’ll close his eyes and whisper it to the sky before he falls asleep and wishes for you without being capable of waiting for a shooting star to do so. He wants to, more than anything. But for risk of seeming too forward, Michael only allows his smile to widen, tells you it was wonderful meeting you, that he hopes you’ll have a pleasant rest of your day, and then passes you back your copy of his album - signed with his name and a kiss that he simply couldn’t resist leaving for you.

Michael’s team exchange glances when his eyes linger on you, watching you leave until you are completely out of sight. At which time, he releases a sigh that is impossible to mistake as anything other than a swoon. With his longing being so obvious, a member of Michael’s team steps forward.

“Would you like us to ensure tickets for tomorrow night’s show, Sir?” The security guard offers, and is surprised when Michael only shakes his head, not offering a verbal answer as he turns his attention to the next person in line.

That night, Michael is ringing up an impressive phone bill from his hotel room, rambling to Janet about every shade in your eyes, every intricacy of you, every cadence you spoke in. After an hour, he finally leaves enough time for his sister to actually respond.

“So you made certain she’ll be at the show tomorrow, right?” It almost sounds rhetorical, not to mention sarcastic, coming from Janet - not that either would surprise Michael.

“No, no,” He shakes his head, leaning against the wall as he holds the phone to his ear, careful not to step too far from the cord. “I don’t want to enforce or engineer anything- that’s not love, that’s a script. If I’m meant to see her again, I will.”

Janet sighs at this, knowing Michael’s mind is set and that means he’ll be too stubborn to consider any alternative; his views on love and fairytales are so absolute, he’d rather spend a lifetime waiting for you and loving you anyway, than use the powers at his disposal to set up a meeting that could lead to a love story.

That said, Janet also knows that for you to have captured Michael’s attention so, you must be some girl. Women have thrown themselves at him from the moment he entered the spotlight - for him to not only notice one amongst the rest, but yearn for you so obviously and without any trace of hesitance, you must be something special. For that, Janet can only pray alongside Michael that somehow, some way, you will find your way back to him.

During rehearsals the following day, Michael finds himself envisioning you in front of the stage, using the idea of dancing to impress you, to woo you as his motivation for giving the performance tonight everything he’s got. No matter how bright the overhead lights of the stadium are, he can picture your smile widening when he dances around onstage, pointing at you as a means of dedicating the song to you, and you alone. He intends to do so regardless of the fact you won’t actually be there. Perhaps he’ll point at the stars, lest you see the footage and misunderstand that he’d ever point at another girl again.

The screams of the crowd do little to quiet the thoughts of you that continue to whirl around the mind of a lyrical genius, even when he runs out onstage to greet them. Breaking into the first song of the night, Michael puts his all into his performance as he always does, but can't help feeling that tonight he has a heavenly blessing in the form of your smile lingering in his thoughts, pushing him that little bit harder. It isn’t until the end of the first song that Michael stops moving for long enough to scan the faces he can actually see from where he stands, the distance from the stage to the front row being further than he’d like. Pausing only momentarily for a brief interval of fishing, Michael’s eyes trace over the front row. And then, he does a double take.

His heart must have been playing a trick on his eyes, surely.

He looks back again, feeling an irregularity in his own pulse when he struggles to find you in the sea of faces again, until whoever had been cruel enough to temporarily block the view of you happens to move just enough for Michael to see you again. Front row, clinging to the barricade like your life depends on it. And you’re smiling at him just the same.

His eyes lock with yours, the band behind him exchanging confused glances. By now, Michael should have given the cue for the second song to start, but the perfectionist has been entirely distracted by the very definition of perfect that he’s been waiting his whole life for. It takes several seconds for him to accept the reality that you really are right there, but as soon as he does, the smile on his face is so big he’s concerned it’ll split his face in half. Giving the cue for the second song to start, Michael points right at you.

“You knock me off of my feet now baby, HOO!”

Throughout ‘The Way You Make Me Feel’, Michael’s gaze connects with yours, and he doesn’t shy away from devoting the song to you in every way he can. If it weren’t for the rehearsed role of the woman onstage that he’s barely even noticing, he’d have pulled you up here with him. Instead, Michael settles for pointing at you, winking at you, and holding your gaze while singing lyrics and dancing in ways that leave no room for misinterpretation.

He continues this for the remainder of the setlist, a plan forming in his head over the course of the next few songs. Because now that divine intervention has resulted in you being right here with him again, who is he to stand and do nothing in the face of that? Of you?

With the instrumental for Liberian Girl beginning behind him, Michael sets his plan into action. Against the better judgment of his security, he jumps from the edge of the stage, making a beeline for where you stand in the front row, every face except yours blurring into his peripheral vision, the increasing volume of the screams of the crowd fading into nothing with the way your smile brightens, the closer he gets to you. Realizing how disastrous this could be, Michael’s security lunge forward to lift you over to the barrier, holding back the other fans that try to climb over with you. And then, Michael’s hand is taking yours, holding it so gently, his free hand bringing his mic back to his lips.

“Liberian girl, you came and you changed my world, a love so brand new…” He sings, eyes holding yours with reverie as he guides you by the hand until you’re standing onstage with him.

The very second there’s enough time in between lyrics, Michael lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles, and that shy smile he’s already dreamt of appears on your face again. With the gentlest movement, he pulls you closer to him, inviting you to erase the distance that he’s desperate to be without, and you’re hardly going to hesitate. You let go of his hand to instead wrap both of your arms around his neck, and Michael has never cursed not having a headset more than on the occasion that he can now only hold your waist with one arm because he’s required to use the other to hold up his microphone. Sometimes, the world is too cruel to comprehend, he thinks. Still, a man can't complain about getting to hold you in any capacity.

“More precious than any pearl…” Michael sings, his voice soft in your ear, intimate despite the scale of the concert itself that surrounds you.

Unable to resist the urge a moment longer, he starts to sway with you in time with the music, melting into the most perfect slow dance on a stage with an audience of thousands, but feeling like the only two souls in the universe.

When the song draws to a close with notes that have you ascending to an astral plane, the crowd screams with enthusiasm like never before, and Michael lowers his microphone. Wrapping both arms around your waist at long last, he leans to your ear to ensure that you can hear him.

“I prayed I’d see you again.” He tells you, his voice so sincere.

“You must be on pretty good terms with God, then.” It’s all you can do to prevent yourself from collapsing in his arms at words like the ones he just spoke.

“I think I must be.” Michael chuckles. “Now, I owe him more than ever.” His arms tighten around your waist, and your heart splutters in your chest.

Knowing that this moment is one that needs to be put on hold for now, Michael sighs, moving one hand to hold the back of your head.

“Would you mind waiting for me, backstage?” He wonders, and when you shake your head into the crook of his neck, his entire body relaxes with relief.

“See you after. Break a leg.” You wish Michael luck, surprising him with a kiss on his cheek and then stepping away from him.

His hand trails down your arm, to your wrist, and holds your hand for every microsecond he can until you slip from his grasp, but his smile is unwavering. Michael watches you leave, waiting until you’re safely situated backstage with his best security guard at your side, and then he blows you a kiss that you catch in an instant. With an effortless, expert kick in the air, Michael breaks into his next song. And he cant help looking over at you longingly every so often, just to check the perfect vision of you is still there, still waiting for him. Still smiling at him.

[tokischaaaaa]

Initiation

Pairing: Bad era Michael x gender neutral! Reader

Synopsis: You’ve had an awful, distressing day. You don’t have anyone to talk to— but Michael is a shoulder to lean on.

Word count: 868

Authors notes: This is slightly inspired my Michael/Darryl in the bad mv! Also, it was written when i was going through a rough patch so it’s a little soppy hahaha. Enjoy, nonetheless ❤️

——

It’s later at night when you find him, and the streets are as solitary as ever. You wrap your coat across your chest and pace, hurriedly, stepping into the alley behind the diner where he goes to frequently after work, willing that, hopefully, he’ll be there.

Bathing under the streetlights, just like always, he is: He’s leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, one boot resting against the wall behind him.

His curls, tied back, look slightly messy, as usual. He always outwardly looks like a little like trouble.

But the second he sees you, your face, the hollow burning in your eyes, his mask cracks.

“You okay?” he asks, voice hushed and gentle, but there’s a sharp edge under it. Like if someone hurt you, he’ll handle it.

You try to brush it off with a shrug, but you feel your voice waver. “It’s just been… a day.” You laugh, subdued and meek. He nods.

“Everything feels heavy, like I can’t catch my breath. I feel sick. So sick-“

He’s in front of you before you finish the sentence, gloved hand reaching out, resting lightly on your arm.

“What-“ he corrects himself. “Who hurt you?”

Your lip trembles, and suddenly it’s not about words anymore, it can’t be. You step into him, burying your face in his chest, and his arms are instantly around you. A steady, reassuring protection.

No one can ever really see this side of him, the way he consoles you, time and time again, the way he presses a kiss to your messy hair like a silent promise: I’ve got you. You can rely on me.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he whispers into your hair. “You don’t deserve to carry all that. Not alone.”

You finally pull back just enough to look up at him. His brown eyes are filled to the brim with a reassuring understanding. Even in the dark, you can see how much he feels. You can tell how much you matter to him.

“I just needed to see you,” you admit, voice barely audible. “You’re the only one who-“

Something shifts in him then. Michael’s jaw clenches, and he leans down slowly, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes.

“Then don’t go,” he says. “Not tonight.”

And when he kisses you he doesn’t rush it, it’s reassurance. It’s slow. Like he’s trying to kiss all the pain out of you. Like he’s saying I’m here without ever speaking. And he understands.

His forehead rests against yours when it’s over. “Let me take care of you tonight,” he says. “Just me. Just you.”

After the moment finishes, you’re wrapped in leather and love, and you aren’t alone anymore.

Later, the walk back to his place is a peaceful quiet.

He keeps you close throughout, one hand gripping yours like a lifeline, the other shoved in his jacket pocket, thumb twitching because he’s barely holding back from pulling you into him again. Streetlights flicker overhead, the world still buzzing just beyond reach, but next to him, everything feels quiet again.

When you step inside his apartment it’s tiny, warm, cluttered with records and notebooks. You’re hit with that familiar nostalgia of his lifestyle, your heart welcoming a newfound calm.

Michael closes the door behind you gently. No tough guy act now.

“You hungry?” he asks, voice low, already heading toward the small kitchen like he’s ready to make you a five-course meal.

You shake your head adamantly, and sit yourself down on the edge of his bed instead, shoes still on. Then you realise your hands grasp your jacket still, wrap it around yourself like protection. You don’t even realise your eyes are wet again until he’s kneeling in front of you, carefully tugging at your shoes to take them off. He’s so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll break.

Then once he’s done, he sits beside you, quiet for a second before he speaks.

You lean into him slowly, resting your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

His breath catches like you’ve just knocked the wind out of him. You feel his arm slide around you, pulling you into his lap, legs tangled as you lay comfortable on soft mattress, chest to chest, your head buried into his chest as he rubs slow circles into your back.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Just holds you.

Then softly, like he’s scared to speak it into the world, he murmurs:

“I’m fallin’ for you. Harder than I meant to.”

You blink, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye. “Good,” you whisper. “Me too.”

And then he kisses you, again. It’s even slower this time, deeper, his fingers in your hair. It’s reassuring, having an initiation most of the time. Everything he did, even this kiss, a reminder that says I’m yours now, and I’d never hurt you.

The kiss makes you forget your chest ever felt heavy. It has such a mollifying effect that, you find your breaths evening out before you’re asleep in his arms, curled beneath a blanket that smells like him.

He watches you for a long time before he finally lets himself drift off. You can hear his heartbeat.

[tokischaaaaa]

This might be the only known instance of him wearing the '93 jam jacket with his hair down and wavy instead of in the usual on-stage getup (curly and tied back in a ponytail or mullet thing)

[tokischaaaaa]

good job chat mj won … close though… anyway long like michael, michael has already proven his innocence and BEEEEN incident , —> victory day. keep these ppl educated :)) MICHAEL WON

🏆🥹

Round One of the Hottest 80s Musician Tournament

Michael Jackson

August 29, 1958 – June 25, 2009

Known as: Solo singer

Music released in the 80s:

Thriller (1982)

Bad (1987)

Propaganda:

Adam Ant

May 10, 1960-

Known as: Vocalist of Adam and the Ants

Music released during the 80s:

With the Ants

Kings of the Wild Frontier (1980)

Prince Charming (1981)

As a solo artist

Friend or Foe (1982)

Strip (1983)

Vive Le Rock (1985)

Propaganda: “This man looks good in anything but especially in the armour he wears in the Ant Rap music video, and of course as Prince Charming. Literally won MTV’s Sexiest Man Alive in 1981. He’s overall very babygirl despite struggling with undiagnosed bpd back then and he didn’t glorify drugs (see: Goody Two Shoes)”

[tokischaaaaa]

um why michael not topping..?? can we fix this??

Round One of the Hottest 80s Musician Tournament

Michael Jackson

August 29, 1958 – June 25, 2009

Known as: Solo singer

Music released in the 80s:

Thriller (1982)

Bad (1987)

Propaganda:

Adam Ant

May 10, 1960-

Known as: Vocalist of Adam and the Ants

Music released during the 80s:

With the Ants

Kings of the Wild Frontier (1980)

Prince Charming (1981)

As a solo artist

Friend or Foe (1982)

Strip (1983)

Vive Le Rock (1985)

Propaganda: “This man looks good in anything but especially in the armour he wears in the Ant Rap music video, and of course as Prince Charming. Literally won MTV’s Sexiest Man Alive in 1981. He’s overall very babygirl despite struggling with undiagnosed bpd back then and he didn’t glorify drugs (see: Goody Two Shoes)”

[tokischaaaaa]

it’s not june it’s not june it’s not june it’s not june it’s not june it’s not june it’s not june it’s not june

[tokischaaaaa]

repost bc i messed it up before 💔 (i have $100 uo gift cards and don’t know which outfit i should splurge on help! 🦧)

so sorry 🥲

[tokischaaaaa]

guys i’m stuck between 3 n 6

repost bc i messed it up before 💔 (i have $100 uo gift cards and don’t know which outfit i should splurge on help! 🦧)

so sorry 🥲

[tokischaaaaa]

repost bc i messed it up before 💔 (i have $100 uo gift cards and don’t know which outfit i should splurge on help! 🦧)

so sorry 🥲

[tokischaaaaa]

SÚPER RARE OMGGG

OH MY-

[tokischaaaaa]

Under the Blue Moonlight

📍BAD Era | Tokyo, Japan

word count: 637

Michael Jackson| BAD era x POC reader

notes: so i litterly sent this as a request to someone but also got inspired lol :0

a chaotic night in tokyo leads to a diary mix-up between you and michael jackson—what he finds inside yours changes everything.

you didn’t even see him coming.

one second you were weaving through the Shibuya scramble, clutching your journal to your chest as the crowd surged, and the next...

crash.

screams.

flashbulbs.

the sound of shoes pounding pavement. people were stomping on each other to get closer to something or someone.

someone important.

you were shoved sideways, barely catching yourself before your journal flew from your grip.

another body slammed into yours at full force. for a split second, a pair of eyes, dark, wide, startled, met yours.

a scarf slipped. a hood was tugged lower. He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.

neither of you noticed the books on the ground.

not until you were blocks away, safe in your hotel room, settling in to write.

you opened it.

froze.

this wasn’t your handwriting.

Michael’s POV

it had been his second-to-last night in Tokyo. the show was electric! sweat and velvet, screaming fans, lights like stars exploding.

but something didn’t feel right.

he got offstage, hands still shaking from adrenaline, and reached for his journal.

it wasn’t there.

he checked the floor. the dressing table. his bag.

instead, he found a smaller notebook. soft, worn edges. a doodle of a blue heart in the corner.

his heartbeat kicked up.

he flipped it open.

the handwriting was small and curved and alive. It spoke in hopes. messy emotions. half-thoughts. travel observations. a soft kind of loneliness.

-----

"i don’t think I’ve ever felt this many people in one place before. It’s like I’m invisible and seen at the same time. Mizuki Hotel’s kind of pretty though…"

-> y/n

10/3/1987

----

he read it once.

twice.

a memory hit him. skin brushed his in a rush, a scent like warm sugar and sunlight, eyes that lingered even when the moment was gone.

his scarf felt too tight all of a sudden.

he stood.

no security. no entourage.

just the scarf tugged up, shades on, and your journal pressed to his chest like it could lead him home.

back in your room, your chest was tight. you couldn’t stop reading.

every line in his journal felt like a secret you weren’t supposed to know. some were short, like poetry scribbled between soundchecks.

some were heartbreakingly honest.

----

"i think people love the version of me that doesn’t exist. The version that’s always smiling."

-> applehead

08/15/1987

----

your stomach twisted.

it didn’t feel like you were reading about a pop star. it felt like you were reading about a boy who just wanted to be.

and then… a knock.

you blinked.

another knock,softer this time.

you cracked the door open.

a guy stood there, scarf up, shades on. you knew exactly who it was.

your throat dried.

“I think we… swapped,” he said, voice low, kind of unsure.

you held up his journal like a peace offering. “I didn’t mean to read it.”

he shook his head. “neither did I. But I’m glad I did.”

there was a beat.

then: “can I come in?”

you nodded, stepping back.

you sat by the window. He stood by the table, fingers trailing the edge of the journal like it held something holy.

“i started writing in yours,” he said suddenly, half a laugh under his breath. “not because i meant to… i just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

he looked up, voice softer now.

“felt like i knew you already. like your words found me first.”

you looked up.

he opened it. found the folded page he’d written.

you saw me. not the lights. not the mask. just… me. thank you.

And in the corner, scrawled like a secret:

P.S. I think I’d still be looking for you even if we hadn’t switched books.

you looked at him. at the boy under the Burberry scarf. at the moonlight brushing his cheek through the balcony glass.

your hand found his before you could think.

he didn’t let go.

~ fin

tokischaaaa hablas: hellur, im back bc im mad at the estate, i hope yall enjoy im so mad at the estate ok bye, live laugh love apple head :))

[tokischaaaaa]

Under the Blue Moonlight

📍BAD Era | Tokyo, Japan

word count: 637

Michael Jackson| BAD era x POC reader

notes: so i litterly sent this as a request to someone but also got inspired lol :0

a chaotic night in tokyo leads to a diary mix-up between you and michael jackson—what he finds inside yours changes everything.

you didn’t even see him coming.

one second you were weaving through the Shibuya scramble, clutching your journal to your chest as the crowd surged, and the next...

crash.

screams.

flashbulbs.

the sound of shoes pounding pavement. people were stomping on each other to get closer to something or someone.

someone important.

you were shoved sideways, barely catching yourself before your journal flew from your grip.

another body slammed into yours at full force. for a split second, a pair of eyes, dark, wide, startled, met yours.

a scarf slipped. a hood was tugged lower. He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared.

neither of you noticed the books on the ground.

not until you were blocks away, safe in your hotel room, settling in to write.

you opened it.

froze.

this wasn’t your handwriting.

Michael’s POV

it had been his second-to-last night in Tokyo. the show was electric! sweat and velvet, screaming fans, lights like stars exploding.

but something didn’t feel right.

he got offstage, hands still shaking from adrenaline, and reached for his journal.

it wasn’t there.

he checked the floor. the dressing table. his bag.

instead, he found a smaller notebook. soft, worn edges. a doodle of a blue heart in the corner.

his heartbeat kicked up.

he flipped it open.

the handwriting was small and curved and alive. It spoke in hopes. messy emotions. half-thoughts. travel observations. a soft kind of loneliness.

-----

"i don’t think I’ve ever felt this many people in one place before. It’s like I’m invisible and seen at the same time. Mizuki Hotel’s kind of pretty though…"

-> y/n

10/3/1987

----

he read it once.

twice.

a memory hit him. skin brushed his in a rush, a scent like warm sugar and sunlight, eyes that lingered even when the moment was gone.

his scarf felt too tight all of a sudden.

he stood.

no security. no entourage.

just the scarf tugged up, shades on, and your journal pressed to his chest like it could lead him home.

back in your room, your chest was tight. you couldn’t stop reading.

every line in his journal felt like a secret you weren’t supposed to know. some were short, like poetry scribbled between soundchecks.

some were heartbreakingly honest.

----

"i think people love the version of me that doesn’t exist. The version that’s always smiling."

-> applehead

08/15/1987

----

your stomach twisted.

it didn’t feel like you were reading about a pop star. it felt like you were reading about a boy who just wanted to be.

and then… a knock.

you blinked.

another knock,softer this time.

you cracked the door open.

a guy stood there, scarf up, shades on. you knew exactly who it was.

your throat dried.

“I think we… swapped,” he said, voice low, kind of unsure.

you held up his journal like a peace offering. “I didn’t mean to read it.”

he shook his head. “neither did I. But I’m glad I did.”

there was a beat.

then: “can I come in?”

you nodded, stepping back.

you sat by the window. He stood by the table, fingers trailing the edge of the journal like it held something holy.

“i started writing in yours,” he said suddenly, half a laugh under his breath. “not because i meant to… i just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

he looked up, voice softer now.

“felt like i knew you already. like your words found me first.”

you looked up.

he opened it. found the folded page he’d written.

you saw me. not the lights. not the mask. just… me. thank you.

And in the corner, scrawled like a secret:

P.S. I think I’d still be looking for you even if we hadn’t switched books.

you looked at him. at the boy under the Burberry scarf. at the moonlight brushing his cheek through the balcony glass.

your hand found his before you could think.

he didn’t let go.

~ fin

tokischaaaa hablas: hellur, im back bc im mad at the estate, i hope yall enjoy im so mad at the estate ok bye, live laugh love apple head :))

[tokischaaaaa]

something i found circa 1984 victory tour , i miss him sm omgggb

[tokischaaaaa]

chat im convinced latín mafia is what quackitys hair would look like without beanie if that makes sense 😭

[tokischaaaaa]

BABY BE MINE

[an unexpected reunion reignites a deep seeded love] | 2.2k words

WARNINGS: fem!reader , best friends to lovers , fluff , angst , brief mention of child abuse

[1984]

he saw you before he’d even sat down in his seat. he saw you, only a few rows back, reaching across your seatmate’s lap to greet another artist. and even though you’d worn black shades too, it didn’t cover the curve of your lip or the scrunch in your nose when you were confused. nor the tilt of your head when someone said something you didn’t quite hear. he saw you the way he’d always saw you; like a rose. like late night calls. like linking pinkies and swearing on your life. like singing in the rain. like the drum of a wild song. he saw you the way he’d always saw you; like the one he was meant to love. and there you were. here. tonight. the biggest night of his life.

“you alright, michael?” came the warm reprieve of brooke’s voice, her touch feather-light against his elbow. “c’mon. it’s starting.”

your presence kept a thread on his heart. he’d glance back often, wordlessly finding you in the sea of shining faces. it was as if a spotlight had been cast on you and only you. just for him to find. he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to look back at him or if that’d break him more. you hadn’t spoken in months. surely not since thriller had been released. when you had, the conversation had gone sour. both of your plates had been topped full, too little time to give the same care that you once had. he should’ve said hello when he had the chance, it would plague him all night to know you were there, finally there, and his cowardice let you go.

then, he’d won. the excitement, the nerves, the doubt, all of his sweat and tears, all of his ache, all of the time he spent was worth it. his feet held his body upright, carried him toward the stage. he’d have to pass you. he’d have to see. please be looking. he glanced once more, shoulders hunching with an anxious tension, but he caught your head turning to watch him pass, your tiny smile, your clapping hands. an exhale, a smile, he accepted the kiss that came with the trophy, and spoke out, guarding his eyes behind the glasses so his spotlight eyes couldn’t blind you.

the auditorium was a labyrinth after the show concluded. every face seemed to grin, every expression was a congratulation. brooke, notably disappointed by sting’s absence, emphatically chatted with a couple members of culture club who championed smiles of their own. quincy patted mike on the shoulder and slipped him the after party’s address. “that’s it, smelly.”

as michael traipsed on through the lobby, the world was smothering him in the energetic hoopla, but through the cracks of excitement that formed in his view, there you were, and you were getting away.

he passed a row of talking suits, politely squeezing himself through and quickly bowing his head in thanks. he pressed cheeks with a few women that knew him, his eyes never leaving the back of your dress, hiked up with your hands so nobody stepped on the fabric. he had to say something even if it killed him. even if it was just a hello. if he let this moment go, there was no telling when he’d see you again. his sweat dripped all around him, the need was dire. excusing himself, he beelined to you, his breath barely making it out of him as sailed through the rest of the hall and nearly stumbled up behind you, inches from the empty coat check. you tilt your head to the sudden interruption and bite back your smile at the company.

neither of you spoke for a long while. it felt as if decades had stretched between the two of you and, honestly, they had. you could’ve poked the silence stretching up tall between you and made not one dent.

the crowd had migrated to the valets outside, the doors to the theater had been shut and any stragglers still congregating in the lobby didn’t bring enough of a chatter to call it a nuisance. there was just you and michael. there had always been just you and michael. well…

“i guess i’m too late,” you sigh with a defeated smile, flipping your coat ticket between your fingers. “don’t tell me you do the coat check, too.” the joke landed as well as a clipped bird, michael didn’t even huff. and he always laughed at your jokes. you cast your eyes down, unconsciously finding yourself in your perpetual habit of digging your high heel into the carpet.

“how’ve you—“

“congratulati—“

“sorry. you first.”

you concede, a soft smile coming to you.

“congratulations,” you bow gracefully.

“thank you.” he glimmered.

“i meant to call you about it…the record... i was hoping it would be you that took it all home.”

“when is your record coming out?”

“june,” you say, your tone like a gentle song playing smoothly by his ears.

“i’ve always heard great things about rob cavello. i know it’ll sound so electric…cool…”

“yeah, well, he’s no quincy.” you smile, bending your head to take off your aviators.

“i see you’re trying to steal my look,” michael sneers with a chuckle.

you shift the weight in your hips, your eyebrow turning up at his remark. “i don’t recall you inventing sunglasses, mr. for the girls in the balcony,” you tease back, lightly.

“and i don’t recall you inventing beauty, yet i wouldn’t stand here arguing with you if you said you did,” michael replied with that slick wit he’d grown in show business. always one step ahead, always topping the next person. your exhale at his challenge accompanied the heat in your face as you would normally play along, your banter could extend for miles and miles until it tumbled off the edge of the earth, but it felt misplaced now.

“brooke shields?” you question ambiguously, hoping your voice didn’t give away that the sight of her with him stopped your heart flat in your chest. it was as if your memory had driven you through the entire life you’d had with him in that moment. from the very first time you’d met, through the highs of every whispered joke, the lows of scraped elbows and tear stains on his clothes, to the last phone call and the dark corner of the street where he didn’t show up. how could he throw that all away? the feeling of it simply overcame you.

michael’s oblivious smile cut through. “brooke? what about her?”

all these years and i still have to spell it out for you? is what you think to say, but you curb your tongue accordingly. “i didn’t know you two were…”

he laughs as if you’d told him the sky was painted green, his whole body tilting over a little.

“brooke’s just a friend," he assures.

your eyebrows lower. the muscles in your face, the ones they taught you to master at all of the agencies, lost all courage. your sunglasses make a twinkle sound against the rings on your fingers as you fumble with them. “i see.” michael watches you curiously, but you turn away from him, searching through the coat check window. “i should really get my coat.”

“are you coming to the after party?” he asks.

“i didn’t know there was an after.”

“i was just thinking, if you’re coming to the after party, you can have my coat.”

your head whips around, dodging your eyes all around his flickering studded jacket. “oh, i couldn’t take that, everybody would think…i’ll just climb back there and get it.”

michael cuts in, almost desperately, stepping closer and pulling your arm. “what’s wrong with people thinking?”

“michael,” you gasp, your whole body frozen stern. “what are you doing?”

“i’m—“ he breaks away and you both sigh. a part of you wished he could just tell you what you’d always been thinking. but that was too much. clearly, it was too much of a commitment.

“i’m just really glad to see you,” he says instead, his gaze low enough that you could peek at his eyelashes beneath his shades.

“it’s been a while.” you shift your weight again, calm. “i’m glad to see you, too.”

“i’ve missed you. i didn’t realize how much until tonight.”

the two of you must’ve appeared like reprimanded children on the playground. heads bowed, arms around their own bodies for comfort. both at fault for hitting, both fearful of the whip at home. both deeply, deeply sorry for the other one because hadn’t you just been friends a minute ago? what’d we have to go do all that for?

it must’ve been true because michael’s voice quivered out first, unsure of where it would all lead, but sure of one thing. “i’ve been an awful friend to you.”

“an awful friend?” you retort, suddenly ignited. “you—you were my best friend, michael. i was so excited to see you tonight. in spite of everything we’ve gone through in the last year, i was really rooting for you to win. and i get here and you’ve got brooke shields on your arm. i…that was supposed to be me, michael. we pinky swore on it! remember that?” your eyebrows furrow, your shades stick out the end of your outstretched arm. at his silence you retreat, reeling yourself back with folded arms, but not before you spit: “i wish i had that courtesy of being just a friend.”

“it’s been eating me up inside that i let us fall away,” he frowns, “that i let you down with all of my empty promises. i’ve been an idiot. a downright fool. that night in october? that night i didn’t show up?”

“i don’t want to talk about that, michael.” you stomp.

“i was gonna tell you…” his voice trails off, his hands shaking as his fingers reach up to his face, those big bright eyes appearing from underneath his veil. “i was gonna tell you i love you.”

“what are you talking about?” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes.

he wets his lips and sighs, all he’d ever felt now coming to the brim. like his body was tipped over, pouring out the contents of his heart. “i’d been thinking about you and everything we’ve been through together. i don’t think there’s a time of my life i can recall without you in it. you’ve always been here for me, right at my side, like a true friend. like an angel sent down for me. it started to come out in my songs. i could tie every word back to you somehow. when i’d got started, i could fill a whole notebook with all the things i wanted to say. how much i love you…how much i want to be with you. in a way that’s more…more than just a best friend. i…i want you to be mine.”

“i…” your mouth couldn’t grab onto words, any syllable slipped away from you like they’d been coursing down a wild river. his confession stole you from coherence. your heart was left in front of you, flailing its arms in a mad dash to catch a grip of your senses. you were never the best with feelings and love. but with michael there was no need for words, everything could be understood in a glance. he had a grasp on feeling that was unexplainable, it was magical. but he could never see you that way, you thought. he seemed unable to catch your eyes and see what pure adoration you gave. but you’d always loved him. but instead of all that, you said, “i’ve gotta get my coat…”

michael’s expression, left full of longing, dropped into a mortifying grief. his lip quivered, his cheeks a maddening red. “okay.” he nods, feigning resolution and pushing his sunglasses and hands in his pants pockets. “i was really glad to see you,” he murmured again, his sorry goodbye as his body turned away like a skinny, drooping pole.

your mouth twitches, your being struck by the spark of doubt that proceeds a mistake. he turns to go, his jacket still shimmering under the hallway lights. you spot the bright yellow snake, large and curled up on his arm, everything about him shined like the star he'd always been. that was him, your michael, and he was getting away.

“michael!” you call weakly, your hand flew out, reaching for anything and pulling him by the fringe on his shoulder. in your strength, you manage to swing him, the sequins in his jacket nicking your palms as you frantically kiss him. immediately his arms wrap around you, bending your head back as he moves his lips against yours as if he’d done it a million times, owning every movement with expert passion and skill.

your breath shakes as you pull away, watching his eyes and lips. you give a small smile, wiping above his lip with your thumb where some of your lipstick smeared. “sorry…” you mumble sweetly, feeling a giggle come out of you as he held you tight.

“i’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he says, his heart beating out of his chest.

your smile widens, slowly ironing out under the warmth of your close embrace. “how long?”

“as long as i’ve loved you,” he says, honestly.

“how long is that?”

he smiles languidly, his loving eyes twinkling. “the moment i saw you.”

-

requested by @melodyyybubbles (MWAH!)

[tokischaaaaa]

Paparazzi, Get Away From Me

Summary: Michael’s inner Smooth Criminal comes out for the night when a pushy paparazzi crosses a line. No one disrespects MJ’s girl.

Pairing: Michael Jackson x Reader

Warnings: FLUFF, CURSING, ARGUING, PHYSICAL ALTERCATION, MORE FLUFF & A HINT OF SMUT

Requested: yes

She stood off to the side, hips swaying slightly as she sang along with her man’s voice.

Her man.

She loved saying that, but she loved him more.

As Michael performed, he every so often made contact with her. Sometimes a wink, a smile or his favorite, a very suggestive dance move he’d direct her way. What can he say? He loved to see his woman blush.

His woman.

He loved saying that, but not nearly as much as he loved her.

Tonight, he took his time in between songs and outfit changes, which meant he took an extra minute or two. He couldn’t resist touching her, whether it was sneaking a kiss, pulling her into his arms or teasing her as he changed in front of her wandering eyes.

The fans didn’t notice.

The ones who did notice, everyone behind the scenes. The band, the singers, the dancers, the light technicians, but they didn’t mind.

Michael was a dream to work with—no one was complaining. Y/N was sweet and the two of them were great together.

The boss was happy.

That’s all that mattered to anyone.

The break leading up to the last song was when Michael really let loose. He darted around the stage, dancing and laughing with his tour family. He jumped down, landing in front of the barricades, hugging as many people as he could before security had to diffuse the uproar.

He’d simply run over to another spot and do it all over again. The sight of him climbing onto the barricade with what seemed like a million hands reaching for him— it was special. It truly felt like you were witnessing history in the making. The fans were absolutely loving it and Michael, he was genuinely happy.

Y/N watched, cheering him on, she loved when he let his guard down and enjoyed himself.

“You bring it out in him, you know?” Bill laughed, nudging her shoulder gently. “It does him good when you’re here, really good.”

“Aw, does this mean you finally approve of me?” She smiled.

“Oh, hush. I’ve always approved. He’s better since you’ve come along. It’s the touchy stuff… I don’t need to see you two all over each other like that.”

“I understand, but look at him…” She admired Michael as he danced in the spotlight, “He’s too cute. I gotta plant kisses on him every chance I get.”

“Young love.” Bill exhaled, focusing his attention back on his chosen son. He enjoyed teasing them, but deep down he was probably happier for them than anyone else. He worried Michael wouldn’t experience true love in his life— it’d be the one thing he couldn’t buy.

Thankfully, she came along. She knocked down every figurative obstacle placed in front of her. Michael didn’t have to buy her. He began falling for her the moment they met— her eyes drew him in. Then, he spent more time with her, they got to know one another— that was it— there was no second guessing— there were no doubts.

He was in.

He wanted her.

He’d do anything for her.

Anything.

Michael took his final bow, skipping off stage towards her. His grin reached his eyes as she leaped into his arms. The sweet sound of her giggle in his ear as he spun her around. He knew by now she didn’t care how sweaty he was— she was going to hug him.

“You’re take my breath away.” She complimented, “That was phenomenal. I loved every second.”

“You always say that.” He stepped back, reaching for a towel to wipe his face, but she disregarded that entirely. Her hand took a handful of his shirt pulling him close into a sweet kiss.

“I always mean it.” Her arms wrapped around him and her lips melting into his.

It was something she’d never quite get used to, but also never get tired of. Watching him perform made her heart flutter in a different way. Each show she was blown away— in awe of his talent. There was always something new, it was never boring. How was it even possible for a man as incredible as him to exist? She’d accepted she’d never get an answer to that question.

When she pulled away the redness growing on his cheeks gave her the chills. Another thing she’ll never get used to— the effect she had on him. He couldn’t think straight, at least not completely, he always became too distracted admiring her. He felt so lucky to have her by his side.

“God, I’ve missed you.” He breathed out, his arm resting around her waist as they traveled towards the exit.

“I was here the whole time.” She giggled, shaking her head at his playful clinginess.

“It’s not the same. I like having you close.”

“Well, get me back to the hotel and I’ll show you just how close we can get.”

“Woman, you always know what to say.” He teased, “I love you.”

“I love you back.” He leaned in, his lips hovering over hers before peppering her face with kisses.

“Boss, we gotta get moving if we want to get out of here in one piece.” Bill scolded, he knew just how to deal with the two lovers.

“Come on.” Michael connected their hands and increased their speed.

The stage was being taken apart around them, people rolling giant equipment cases every which way and a lot of noise. When they reached the elevator leading to the parking lot, Michael shifted her in front of him. His hands clasping together, resting against her belly button and his chin leaning into her shoulder.

“Tired?” She asked, her hand finding his cheek, slowly moving to comb through his hair.

“A little.” He hummed, causing goosebumps to appear across her collarbone.

“Alright. There a decent size group of people waiting for us.” Bill spoke up after fiddling with his walkie talkie. “At least double compared to last night. That’s just a guess though.”

“We can stay and hang out for a bit. We’re not in a rush.” Michael spoke with his eyes closed.

The elevator dinged and the doors glided open. They stepped out hand in hand, security guards surrounding them ensuring a safe exit. When the cold air hit them so did hundreds of voices and what felt like twice as many camera flashes.

Michael waved, shaking hands and signing various items held in front of him. Y/N stood off to the side. She’d smile and converse with those who called for her attention, but for the most part she gave them space. She knew what meeting Michael meant to them and didn’t want to interrupt their experience. She was content with watching it— the happiness that he shared. This was the routine. They always did this after a show.

The fans were always excited, but calm. It was the only way to get as much time with Michael as possible. They respected and protected him— the same way he did for them.

It never occurred to anyone that what they’d created could be ruined.

Or that it’d be completely out of the blue.

An act so heinous, there was no proper way to make things right— other than to beat things or people back into place.

In the blink of an eye everything changed. The flashes and the screaming stopped.

The nice atmosphere now tarnished.

“What the— Stop!” Y/N cried, a man kneeling on the floor with a camera glued to his hand, “No! Please!” She fell to the ground trying to protect herself. Her fingers holding together the now torn fabric of her skirt.

“Babe—” Michael spun around, he’d thought she tripped, but the reality was far worse. When he was able to acess the situation it lit a fire inside of him. He wasn’t angry, he was livid. He was hurt. He felt responsible. She’s in the situation because of him. He gently helped her up, slipping off his coat and tying it around her waist. Once he knew she was safe, his energy shifted drastically. He grabbed the man by his collar, pulling him up and slamming him against the side of the car. “How dare you!” The guy squirmed, but Michael’s grip only got tighter.

He’d never wanted to inflict pain on another human being than he did in this moment.

“Michael!” Her voice briefly softened his rage, because it wasn’t the same. She sounded afraid— that was a first. He didn’t like the way her breathing was so unstable or that she was visibly shaking. This guy did that to her. He made her feel that and Michael couldn’t let it go.

This asshole deserved to feel uncomfortable.

He deserved to feel pain.

And, Michael was more than willing to make that happen.

“Bill.” Michael states calmly, his eyes locked onto the pap, his nostrils flaring as he tried to piece together what exactly he was going to say. Behind him, Bill gently places his hand on Y/N’s shoulder and walks her to the backseat. He did his best to clam her down, but she wasn’t making it easy. She wanted Michael. She was worried where his anger would take him.

“Please, honey. It’ll be okay. I’ll look after him.” Bill whispered, finally she nodded and let him close the door. He flinched at the octave of Michael’s voice— he’d never seen him this pissed before.

“That’s my girl! Why— How could you do that to someone?”

The man spat out some lame excuse about the pictures that are the hardest to take it pay the most money.

“Boss.” Bill tried to pull Michael off the guy, but it didn’t help. “Come on. We’ll handle him. Let’s get you—”

“He hurt Y/N! I’m handling this.” He grabbed the man’s arm, wrestling the camera out of his grasp. “Give it!”

Michael yanked pieces off, chucking them in every direction. He located the memory card, shoved it in his pocket before, finally, he threw the camera against the pavement and stomped on it.

“What the hell—” The pap lunged at Michael and ended up on the ground after his attack was sidestepped.

“You’re lucky that’s all I did! You fucking cockroach!” Michael’s deep voice sounded and Bill knew he had to intervene before his boy really caused some damage.

“It wasn’t a big deal!”

“You pushed my girl to the ground! Tore the clothing off her! For what? So you could force your camera under her skirt! What in the fuck is wrong with you! She didn’t deserve that!” Michael bent down, centimeters from the pap’s face, hand tightening around his neck, “I better never see your face again. You stay away from me and even further away from Y/N. You understand?”

“Y— Ye— Yes. S— Sorry.” His hands in the air signifying defeat. Michael pushed him once more before finally walking away.

Bill followed, discreetly scanning the crowd of onlookers— fans of all ages with sympathetic expressions.

“That was… intense.”

“How do you suggest I should’ve handled that?” Michael spat, there was no doubt it was rhetorical.

“I mean you could’ve broken a few fingers, but that’s just me.”

“Oh, you got jokes old man?”

“I never thought I’d see you assault someone with so many witnesses. I mean that was pretty careless. Necessary nonetheless.” He shrugged, patting Michael on the back.

“Witnesses? They wouldn’t say anything. They have my back.”

“Yeah, I know. A few of them are finishing what you started as we speak.”

Michael peered over his shoulder, the crowd throwing trash at the pap as he tried to run away. He knew his fans well enough to know they’d get dirty without him needing to ask. They were fierce as hell— he loved that.

“Gotta love them.” He chuckled, reaching for the door. When he pulled it open there she was, still wrapped in his jacket, curled up on the seat. “Babe. What can I do?” He knew she wasn’t okay, so he decided to skip the question.

“I feel so embarrassed. I’ve never— that was humiliating. I feel so violated— and— and it’s only going to get worse. Those pictures— they’ll be everywhere. I’ll—”

“No, no, baby, no. That’s not going to happen.” He dug into his pocket, retrieving the memory chip and holding it up. “Whatever pictures he did take, I made sure no one else will ever see them. I’d never let that happen. I should’ve been next to you. I shouldn’t have left you by yourself. That’s on me— this… it’s on me, but I did what I could to make it right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you felt that way. You should never feel that way, especially when I’m there— I should’ve protected you.” He slid into the seat next to her, shutting the door behind him.

“Michael, it’s not your fault…” She fell into him, her face pressed against his chest. “You did protect me. Thank you. Thank you for making me feel safe.”

“I’ll never let anything bad happen to you, ever. I promise.”

The soft hum of the engine and the flickering of the street lights as they drove through the streets of downtown. She adjusted, studying the arch in his eyebrow and the way his lip seemed to be stuck in a frown. She knew his mind was racing. He was blaming himself and she hated it.

“You’re my hero, you know?”

“No, I’m not.” He shook his head, before she could even think about it, she cupped his cheeks in her hands.

“You always keep me safe. If it wasn’t for you, tonight could’ve gone very differently. I’m so thankful for you. I’m the luckiest girl on the planet— my man is willing to beat people up for me.” She sealed it with a kiss and he couldn’t help but chuckle against her sweet lips.

“I’d beat up all the people— everyone— anyone. For you.” He joked, mimicking boxing moves.

“That how you got the memory card?”

“Baby, I grew up on the mean streets of Indiana. I know how to get shit done.”

“Oh, you’re big and bad now?”

“I always been! Babe, have you not been paying attention?”

“You’re the best.”

“Only for you.”

“Keep flattering me and you’re going to get real lucky in this limo babe.” She winked, lifting her leg over his, settling into his lap.

“You know…” his fingers traveled up her thighs to her ass, pulling her closer while admiring her curves. “It’s such stressful work being a hero and all. It’d be lovely of you to help me release some tension.” He whispered, leaving wet kisses from her collarbone to her shoulder, removing the strap of her top with his teeth. “You up for it?”

“As much as you are.” She rocked her hips against the tent now visible in his pants. His eyes followed the delicate way she unzipped his pants. Fuck, she’s beautiful.

The soft skin of her inner thighs tickled as she lowered herself onto him painfully slow.

“Shit, babe you’re the sweetest thing I’ve ever felt. So soft. So warm. So perfect.”

He was done for.

She was it.

“You fit inside me perfectly.” Her hips moved like the waves of the ocean. “So good. So big. So perfect.”

She was completely at his mercy.

He was it.

They craved one another.

In every way possible.