amy!

anyways i’d love to see what youse have in mind, but i have a few things jumping my brain rn which i haven’t started writing but will this weekend hopefully!!

(also having an identity crisis with how my layout looks so please bare with me ദ്ദി( • ᴗ < )

mature!michael jackson x masseuse!reader

summary: when michael hurts his back after falling around 50 feet on stage, he is suggested to go to a certain masseuse to help his back pain

a/n: guys i’m scared of all these ai accusations… i might run back to wattpad. anyways enjoy!

July 2nd, 1999

It had been 5 days since the day Michael had injured his back after the hydraulic bridge he was standing on during a concert had fallen around 50 feet, leaving him in severe and debilitating pain.

A close friend of his recommended Michael to see a masseuse based in Santa Monica, a special woman who he claimed had ‘magic hands’ and can ‘solve absolutely any problem you have.’

As a result, Michael ended up getting his assistant to book his appointment, not expecting it to be so quick but apparently he had been told the masseuse was concerned about how severe this injury was.

Michael was now stood outside the clinic, masked up with a baseball cap pulled over his curls. He had only gotten off of the flight from Munich a few hours ago, and he could only hope that this massage would solve the pain he struggled with.

He knocked on the door, pale hands peeking out from under the thick jacket before lowering them back to his side. The locks behind the brown door clicked before swinging open, the closed sign smacking against the door before his attention turned to you.

“Hi! Come on in.” you said warmly, a small smile on your lips, before offering to take his jacket and hang it up on the coat rack besides the door.

The security guard slid into the seat beside the front door after Michael walked in, the sound of his loafers clicking against the floor, the only sound in the small building beside the combined breathing of you both.

“Just through here if you don’t mind, I thought you would rather a closer room so you wouldn’t have to walk too far with your back hurting” you said quietly, leading him to a small room with dim lighting.

“Thank you, I.. uh really appreciate it”, Michael giggled nervously, not knowing what to expect as this was his first massage.

The room was dim, a slightly purple undertone creating a comforting and sleepy atmosphere. The diffuser in the corner making the room smell like lavender and some type of woody scent he couldn’t put his finger on.

You shut the door behind you, stopping in front of him.

“Could you take your shirt off, just so I can take a look at the problem area before I start the massage” you explained, turning around to give him a slight bit of privacy whilst you poured him a glass of water from the jug in the corner.

You turned back, placing the glass on the small rounded table before turning your attention to him.

“Okay just take some deep breaths for me, in and out, like that, yeah” you instructed.

Michael stood somewhat rigidly infront of you, taking deep breaths in and out as you watched his abdomen rise and fall.

“So..” you paused for a second, “You are having a problem with your breathing but I’m assuming that’s because it hurts due to your back” your eyes flicked up to meet his to confirm it.

“Ah.. yeah, I think it’s that it’s stretching my back out, just causing me a lot of pain generally” he said, stifling a groan as he twisted his waist, a sharp pain shooting up to his shoulders.

“Let’s get you onto the bed”, grabbing his arm to guide him slowly to lie down on his front, lifting his legs for him gently to try and relieve him of his pain.

“Just let me know if it gets a little bit too painful, but you should be able to feel it, okay? Let me know if you need a break” you smiled at him, picking up the massage oil and lathering it into your hands to warm it up.

Michael brought his head down onto the pillow, closing his eyes to mentally prepare himself for the onslaught of pain this beautiful woman was about to bring to him.

Warmth spread across his lower back as you softly spread it across his skin, the palms of your hands digging into the sides of his spine.

Your fingers trailed down his waist, causing him to slightly squirm and giggle as it tickled him. Your lips tilted up in amusement as you let out a slight apology followed by a chuckle.

His body sunk deeper into the bed as you ground your hands deeper into the sore spot on his back, it gradually becoming more bearable as you loosened the sore muscle in his lumbar region.

He groaned, out of both pain and pleasure as your warm hands slid across his cold back.

“Is it alright if I just slightly expose more of your lower back” you questioned, your hands moving to above his waistband.

“Yes, that’s fine” he murmured, not really paying attention as this was the first bit of relief he had felt since the accident.

You pinched the sides of his pants, just around his pockets and shimmied them down slightly so you could access the lowest part of his back.

Oiled thumbs pressed deeply into his lower back before slowly sliding up his spine, digging into the sorest spots of his back.

“Ouch, ouch” he almost shouted, the unexpected pain waking him up out of his near slumber.

“Sorry, Mr Jackson.. you should feel a lot better after this” you comforted, feeling bad that he was in so much pain but confident that you could bring him relief.

After an hour of bringing relief to Michael, your hands pressing into the sorest areas and releasing pressure he didn’t know could be released, you moved back slightly.

“How does that feel now?”

Michael turned his head slightly towards you, not wanting the massage to stop but soon realising he couldn’t feel the sharp shooting pains in his spine.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the bed. There was no doubt he could still feel pain, no amount of pain relief could fully take it away, but he could barely feel it at all.

A sigh left his mouth, “you really do have magic hands, don’t you.”

You giggled, sliding your arm through his to help him stand.

“Thank you, Mr Jackson. That’s very generous of you” you said shyly.

“Can you just take some deep breaths again for me” you instructed once more.

Michael stood straight, taking a full deep breath in, fully expanding his ribs and allowing fresh air to coat every part of his lungs. He didn’t feel restricted in his breathing, the pain no longer causing awkward spasms in his left rib.

“I can’t feel anything, oh my goodness, thank you so much!” a sudden wave of emotion overcoming him as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Oh! Mr Jackson, it’s no worries, I’m so glad that you feel a lot better. You certainly are breathing and moving a lot better, that’s for sure” you giggled, your hands patting his oiled back.

He released you, staring into your eyes with a grateful look, before turning and grabbing the glass of water next to him and gulping it down fully.

“I’ll let you put your shirt on, you can come out whenever you’re ready, take your time.”

The door shut behind you as Michael slipped his button up back on, his mind wandering back to your smooth hands gliding up his back and your concerned look when he first got here. Nobody had shown him that amount of concern other than his mother, and that was a given.

He exited the room, quickly spotting you at the front desk writing on some files.

“Excuse me, um… is it okay if I have your number, you know, just incase I get another injury or this one flairs up? I don’t think I would need anybody else if you have all the magic in your hands” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Of course!” you quickly turned, writing down the clinics telephone number alongside your personal number on a loose piece of paper, folding it up neatly and placing it into his hand.

“Take it easy, Mr Jackson. You don’t want to potentially re-injure yourself, just take some time to heal, okay?” you said gently, tapping his hand before saying your goodbyes.

Michael turned on his heel towards the front door, the security guard standing up and walking outside to check before Michael left.

bad era! michael jackson x journalist!reader

summary: in which michael realises that he can trust only you to tell the full truth, especially on tour

a/n: hey.. how yall doing.. sorry guys, should have dropped this sooner but i've had some SEVERE writers block in this omg. anyways i watched the michael movie yesterday and it motivated me to finish this :)

part 1

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The email came through at 2pm on Thursday, two days after the original interview of Michael Jackson. It read as follows:

Dear Miss L/N,

We are delighted to reach out to you regarding a huge proposition for your career, as well as our clients. It would be in your greatest interest that you contact me as soon as you see this email as our offer is extremely limited. Contact me at: XXX-XXX-XXX-XXX.

Regards, Frank DiLeo

The light from the large screen in front of you burned your eyes as you stared, unblinking, at the computer, reading over the name on the email. Frank DiLeo, Frank DiLeo, Frank- Oh!

The manager of Michael Jackson, the one you had met the other day with the low ponytail and the huge cigar shooting out of his mouth when he kissed her hand with an unwanted kiss.

You glanced between the telephone number and the red telephone on your desk, contemplating if you really wanted to deal with this right now, especially after one of the longest interviews of your life with the worst type of celebrity - the snobby type.

Reluctantly, you picked up the phone, placing one finger into the rotary dial, looking back and forth at the screen and the dial. When you put the last number in, the dial tone begins. A long 10 seconds of waiting before a voice cuts through the static.

"Hello, Mr DiLeo's assistant speaking."

"Hi, erm... I received an email from Frank to contact him about a job offer he's making for me".

"Miss Y/N? Ah, yes, hold on, let me put you through to Mr DiLeo, thanks for your patience."

You gripped the phone tighter as the dial tone began again, a heavy, exhausted sigh cutting through your lips as your eyes wandered around your office out of boredom.

"Hello? DiLeo speaking"

"Mr DiLeo, it's Y/N"

"Miss L/N! What a wonderful surprise. I wasn't expecting you to contact so soon to be honest. However, I can't say I'm disappointed!"

You let out a mock interest laugh, trying to sound amused but the tiredness wore down to your bones, wanting this to be over and to make it home as soon as possible.

"So, straight to business. There's no doubt that Mr Jackson enjoyed your interview, in fact, he was so happy with it that he wanted me to make you a special offer. However, he would like to tell you that offer himself as he has reasons only he can seem to understand"

A sound of acknowledgment cut through the phone from your mouth, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you tried to work out what he could possibly have meant.

"Do you have a pen and paper? Great. So, if Saturday at 3PM is free for you, Michael and I would love to have a small meeting at the CBS Records building. Great! See you then."

The connection cut off before you could respond, just staring at the paper before lowering the phone back into its keypad.

Great. Another long day.

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Black heels clicked across the polished floor of the CBS building, your bag balanced on your arm as you walked across the large room towards the receptionist's desk.

"Hi, I have a meeting with Frank DiLeo"

"Let me just take your name"

After giving your name, you were escorted upstairs by a tall man in a dark suit, pressing the 34th floor button for you and standing in front of you as the doors shut.

The ding came quicker than you expected, before exiting and walking down the long corridor towards the door at the end.

You knocked on the door, hearing a short commotion behind the door before it opened, Frank's head the first thing you see.

"Hi! Come on in. Welcome to my office." he boasted at the glorious office, graced with floor to ceiling windows and a large desk in front of them.

As you walked in after greeting him, you saw Michael sat at the long meeting table in the corner of the room. He wasn't staring out of the window towards the bridge of LA traffic, rather, he was staring intently at you.

You smiled at him, suddenly nervous in is presence even though you had met him only a few days ago for a face to face interview. Both yours and Michael's eyes downcast as you smiled shyly.

You sat on the opposite side to Michael whilst Frank sat at the head of the table. You turned towards him, realising you knew absolutely nothing about why you were here in the first place.

"Well it is lovely to see you both, truly. However, I know absolutely nothing about why I am here, so I would appreciate if we could cut straight to business", your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at Frank.

"Well, I'll let Michael explain this to you because I don't really approve but... whatever makes the main man happy!" he said, a sarcastic smile on his face as he shrugged.

"Erm... okay.. so.. I-I really appreciated your interview the other day. You know, I do a whole lot of interviews weekly, but your interview was special.. You were special." he said, pouring his emotion into his words.

"Oh wow! Thank you so much, that really means a lot to me" you nervously giggled. Nobody had ever told you how good your interviewing style had been, considering you thought that celebrities didn't really want to be there, as who wants to be grilled on their life choices?

"Yeah, hah, so, I have a proposal for you. I loved how you asked about my music and my discography, and I would love to bring you on my Bad tour to do all of my interviews." he smiled fully at you, as if he didn't just drop the biggest lifetime opportunity ever.

You stared at him blankly for a few seconds as you comprehended the weight of his words.

"I'm sorry?"

"I would love for you to become part of the family and join me on tour to do all of my interviews exclusively on tour" Michael repeated.

You looked down at the table as you played with your hands under the table, your usually composed and professional exterior slipping as you thought about the task at hand. Should you accept it?

"How long is this tour, Mr Jackson?"

"16 months, however, if at any point you need to cut it short, you can leave." he leaned forward, almost as if begging you to accept the position.

Contemplating on the decision, your eyes wandered around the room towards the picture frames on the shelfs. One of Frank and Michael, their arms around each other as they smiled next to his platinum plaque. The other picture showing Michael carrying 8 Grammy's in 1984, his blue sparkly jacket blinking under the studio lights.

"I'll accept your offer, Mr Jackson. I want to be apart of history."

A large smile grew across his face as he stuck his hand out for you to shake, your hand sliding into his in a firm hand shake.

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You packed a big suitcase and a dream and left LA on the large plane, exclusively for the Bad tour. Your hands shaking and heart racing, but you knew that this was a life changing opportunity and you were seeing history being made with Michael's magic.

The first stop had been Tokyo, Japan. Michael had been preparing to perform to a stadium of 38,000 people, which meant long and demanding rehearsals for the entire team to ensure everything ran smoothly.

You and Michael had small, passing exchanges and you tried to shrink into the background, to get the most optimal information to make a good report for Michael.

One thing that had become apparent to you had been the devoted attention towards making everything as perfect as humanly possible. Michael clearly becoming more exhausted as time went on, his movements still sharp but the shadows under his eyes darkening.

Backstage of the last night of the second leg, you wandered around the equipment, jotting down anything that could make good interview notes and anything that could be interesting to look back on in the future.

You sat down on a small stool in an unusually empty area, setting your notepad down next to you, you reflected on your life over the past few weeks. Constantly on the go and blending into the background, and making new friends within the group, including some of the backup dancers and the band that Michael performed with. You had taken it upon yourself to bring water to the dancers who had collapsed on the break from the heat and overexertion, helping them put their backs to the wall and opening the bottle for them.

You were snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of footsteps, you lifted your head, seeing Michael walking towards you. Dark curls hanging in front of his face and his white shirt untucked from his black dress pants, his large doe eyes staring directly at you as he caught your attention, slowing his pace to stop before you.

"May I sit down next to you?" he questioned, pointing to the stool next to you, his large hand shaking slightly from the adrenaline.

"Of course, do you need me to get you water or something?" concerned, you reached out your hand to place lightly on his shoulder as he sat down.

"No, no its okay.." he took a deep breath before continuing,

"I just need a second away from all the chaos out there, its really stressful out there" he turned to look at you, seemingly seeing you as a salvation for his exhaustion.

"Well, I know that I was brought here to, you know, get all of the details and interview you, but if you need anything... I'm here for you." you said quietly, a soft tilt of your lips appeared as you slowly rubbed your hand across his arm.

He stared at you, slightly leaning into your touch, as if it was something he craved to feel.

"Thank you, Y/N. I really appreciate it" he stared deeply into your eyes, his hand coming up to cover yours on his arm.

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Since then, Michael had been seeking you out wherever you was. He had come to you for some silence backstage, especially after a concert as everyone wanted to crowd round him to shower him with praise, whereas what he really wanted was some silence to wind down or to watch some TV in his room and have meaningful conversations.

So far on this tour, you had done five interviews. Michael had refused to do any other interviews with anybody else as they all seemed to want to talk about his looks or rumours or, for some reason, his private life.

By the sixth interview, you had sussed Michael out completely. How he had warmed up to you almost immediately, laughing louder and allowing himself to throw his head back when something you said tickled him particularly hard.

Under the studio lights, his eyes had softened under the aviators when looking at you, his legs tilted towards you instead of the camera recording him.

"You always tap your fingers when you're thinking," you observed, your fingers wrapped around a pen and a notepad.

You were both perched on slightly uncomfortable black leather armchairs in his hotel room, sitting opposite with the camera just over your shoulder and the studio light sitting beside them.

He blinked once, before smiling a toothy grin.

"You notice everything, don't you?"

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The outside world had began to notice Michael's fixation on you, the tabloids growing increasingly worse.

At first ,the headlines amused you.

'BAD TOUR INTRODUCES MYSTERY JOURNALIST'

'JACKSON REFUSES MAJOR NETWORKS FOR UNKNOWN JOURNALIST'

But as the tour stretched on, the articles became harder to ignore.

'FROM PRESS TO PERSONAL? INSIDERS QUESTION JACKSON'S EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEWS'

'OBSESSION OR ROMANCE? MICHAEL JACKSON SHUTS OUT ALL OTHER PRESS'

'MICHAEL JACKSON'S "MYSTERY GIRL" CAUSING TOUR TENSION'

Frank tossed another newspaper onto the growing pile on the table with a groan.

"They're getting worse," he muttered.

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"Michael, NBC is requesting an interview in Los Angeles next week."

Frank barely finished the sentence before Michael shook his head.

"No."

"Michael, the press are speculating-"

"I already told you."

His voice was sharp, certain.

"I only interview with her."

Michael turned on his heel out of the door.

There was no time to question his decisions as they were right in the middle of one of the biggest and most successful tours in history.

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You sighed, exhausted from constant plane rides and early mornings for the last few months. You placed the newspaper down gently, the big bold letters staring at you, speculating whether Michael was your boss or boyfriend.

You questioned it yourself too. There was no doubt that you and Michael had grown closer during this tour, closer than maybe professionals should be. But you couldn't help it, how could you when Michael was so kind, consistently wanting to hang out with you to watch old movies on the cassette player or play random board games he found in the closet.

The door creaked open, your head turning to see who was walking in to your own personal room backstage of the stadium. Michael, in his red button up, fedora pulled low over his face, snuck into the room before quickly shutting the door behind him.

He smiled at you, almost in relief, before his eyes took in what you were looking at.

'OBSESSION OR ROMANCE?' screaming at him from the dark oak table.

"Michael, can I ask you something?" you said quietly.

"Of course" he replied, sitting in the seat opposite your desk.

"Why me? I mean, I'm sure its more convenient to just accept interviews from different news sources to promote your tour and..." you trailed off, not really needing to finish your answer as he had understood what you meant.

"Because you make me feel like a person first. You listen. You ask me questions about my music, or about the tour, or about the outfit choices I've made. Never about anything else, nothing invading or disgustingly personal"

Everything he had told you about his family and about past memories from his childhood had been private moments, intimate in his hotel room, kicked back on comfy sofas with soft blankets covering your legs.

Your eyes softened at his words, the noise of the stadium outside fading into something distant.

Silence settled between you, warm and heavy.

"That's because I want to know you as Michael. Not just Michael Jackson."

Michael's gaze dropped for a moment before he let out the smallest smile, one meant only for you.

And somehow, despite the screaming crowds outside and the headlines waiting for you in the morning, this had felt like the quietest moment either of you had experienced in months.

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mature era! michael jackson x reader

summary: michael comes home from promotions to see you in the garden sunbathing

a/n: in honour of the beautiful weather this week, i shall write a summer inspired piece

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A heavy sigh left his lips, his neck cracking as he turned it both ways to relieve the pressure of the day. Michael strained his ears, trying to hear any sound of you to indicate where you were in the large villa he had rented out to be closer to his work he was being forced to do by his management.

His feet led him to the back door in the luxurious kitchen, which overlooked the huge garden. To the left of the door, he spotted you, laying full out on the cushioned sun lounger, a large glass of iced lemonade beside you.

The door slid open as he took in your appearance. A pink and white striped bikini leaving you scantily dressed, the black clip in your hair allowing you to comfortably rest your head back against the cushions. The white earphones were connected to the pink iPod he had gotten you for your birthday and the large bug eye sunglasses covered the majority of your face.

It had been clear you hadn’t seen him, as you continued to move your toes to the beat of whatever song you were listening to, a small smile gracing your face as you relaxed in the sunlight.

He walked closer to you, trying to stay under the large gazebo to protect his sensitive skin from the harsh sun. Tapping your shoulder, you yelped slightly, ripping the earphones out of your ears as you jumped up.

“Oh my gosh, Michael…You scared the life out of me”, you whined, your polished hand covering your heart.

“Sorry mama. Where did you get this from?”

His finger slid under the strap of your bikini top, already distracted from the amount of beautiful skin you were showing to him.

“Oh this? I think I bought it a while ago, I’m not too sure to be honest with you..”

You continued, “why do you like it?”

Dark eyes shot up to meet your own, one eyebrow lifting in almost disbelief.

“Like it? Do I like it? Baby, I love it. You look so precious in this” he smiled at you, leaning down to give you a kiss.

Once the sun hit his face, he gasped.

“How are you sat out here in this? It’s so hot! Are you sure you’re not melting out here?” he exclaimed worriedly.

“It’s lovely out here, Michael! The sun is blessing my entire body right now. I’m so warm!”

He sighed lovingly, watching you get comfy on the sun lounger once again, picking up your earphones.

“I’m going back inside, try not to melt, sun baby”

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(additionally found some queen albums and singles, and abba singles and albums as well!!)

bad era!michael jackson x journalist!reader

summary: michael jackson has a surprisingly good time being interviewed, maybe it has something to do with the cute interviewer wink wink 1/2

a/n: thanks for all the love on my other ff!! hope you enjoy this one, i’m feeding a large family here… xxx

part 2

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The burgundy Mercedes crawled down the busy streets of Los Angeles, the traffic particularly bad at this time of day. Michael was on the way to another interview, marking this as the tenth interview this week alone. His head tipped back against the leather seats as he watched people pass by the heavily tinted car window, unaware that the biggest global pop star was watching them as they went about their day.

The cars thankfully began to move, allowing his car to finally round the corner towards the studio. A large brick building with large windows scattered around the top floors, an old, paint chipped gate opening up as the security gave his name.

As the car pulled to a stop, Bill, in the drivers seat turned around to face Michael briefly,

"You ready, Mike?"

Nodding faintly with a heavy sigh, the security crossed to his side of the car, pulling the door open and guiding him quickly into the building in order to avoid the screaming from outsiders and most importantly, to avoid the nosy tabloids.

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Michael stepped out of the elevator, a bodyguard on both sides of him. He looked around, quickly realising that this wasn't the usual interview set up. No bright white studio lights or white backdrop, just the warm sunlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows onto two green armchairs, a dark oak coffee table in the middle, creating a cozy ambience.

"Mr Michael Jackson! How lovely to meet you", an older man walked steadily towards him, a large friendly smile on his face.

He held his hand out to shake Michael's. He stared briefly in surprise before sliding his hand into the embrace, a firm shake before the older gentleman patted the top of his hand.

"It's lovely to meet you too, Mr..." he trailed off, realising he never got his name.

"Ah, how silly of me! I'm Bobby Stuart, manager of Miss Y/N. She asked me to pass on her apologies as she has been held back by a job that was supposed to be done much earlier than it was... but anyway! shes on her way now, not to fret!" he gushed quickly, before releasing his hand from his grip.

"It's okay, Mr Stuart. Erm, would you like me to go and sit down, ready for the interview?" Michael giggled nervously, his hands rubbing together with nerves.

He wasn't going to admit it, but he was actually in a way relieved that she was running late. This meant that he had more time to mentally prepare for the draining questions they would ask. Maybe they'd ask about his private life, or if he's dating anyone, or if the absurd and sickening things they say in the tabloids are true.

As he sat on the velvet chair, the sunlight warmed his hands and his legs under his black trousers. Michael watched his manager, Frank DiLeo, run around the studio, quickly going over the contract and any concerns he had about the interview. The light chime of the elevator rang through the floor, followed by the rhythmic sound of high heels clicking on the floor.

"Sorry I'm late! Gosh, the traffic usually isn't too busy at this time." you said exasperated.

The black Chanel bag you were carrying dropped on the table, the clank of the chain hitting the wood catching peoples attention through their chatter, before turning and walking towards your manager.

"Hi Mr Stuart, sorry for my tardiness." you whispered sheepishly, taking your notes from him before turning to Frank.

"It's... Mr DiLeo, isn't it" you said before sticking your perfectly manicured hand out for a handshake.

"It is, lovely to meet you", he said with a growing smirk, before lifting your hand to his lips, placing a big smooch on your knuckles.

A look of surprise crossed your face before you smiled slightly, turning on your heel towards Michael whilst wiping the back of your hand on your black pinstripe suit pants. A large smile growing along your face as you made eye contact with him, nearing closer.

"Hi Mr Jackson, I'm Y/N, the person interviewing you today, obviously" you giggled.

"H-Hi", heat beginning to crawl up his neck, "It's nice to meet you".

He ignored the hand you had stuck out towards him, standing up and wrapping you in a quick embrace, not only shocking you but also shocking himself at his sudden forwardness.

You parted from him, quickly moving backwards, sitting yourself onto the chair. Fixing your hair and grabbing the lipgloss the stylist had passed to you, reapplying the shimmer onto your lips.

"Would you like anything, Michael? Like water, tea, coffee, juice?"

His thoughts stopped, his name from your mouth, wow. He'd decided that you were the best person at saying his name.

"Erm, do you have any orange juice? If not, water is fine! Really I'm not fussy" he rubbed the back of his neck before moving his hand to the front of his face, parting the dark curls to the side of his face more.

A glass of orange juice was placed on the dark oak table in front of him by an assistant, all of the staff began to move quickly to their places. A man with a headset picking up the large boom microphone to hold above their heads, and the man behind the large camera tilted it to get both of them in the shot.

"Before we start filming, I just want to remind you that if theres anything you don't want to include, we can always cut it out, just let me know, okay?" You whispered with a small smile, as he nodded with a grateful look.

"Quiet on set! Five, four, three, two, one, and rolling!"

The questions began.

"So, Michael, obviously you have just released your Bad album, congratulations by the way," you said.

"Thank you" he giggled out.

"When people listen to Bad, they often hear a different kind of energy from your earlier work. What was shifting for you internally while you were making it?" you asked, seeming genuinely curious in his answer, as you clicked your pen to write quick notes of his answers.

His eyebrows shot up in shock for a quick second. This wasn't the question he was expecting. No latest rumour, no private life. Just pure and innocent curiosity about his music. He quickly cleared his throat.

"Music is always a reflection of whats happening within. With Bad, I think I was discovering a different kind of confidence within myself and my music... a different kind of voice. It wasn't about leaving anything behind. It was more about stepping into something new and breaking barriers that had never been tested" he answered truthfully.

It felt nice to be asked about his music and his reasoning behind certain aspects of his discography. Your eyes lit up at his response, your pen freezing on the paper.

"What a beautiful answer, Michael" you said in absolute awe. Michael stared wide eyed at you, hidden behind his dark aviators but still slightly visible, his teeth beginning to show in a shy grin.

"Okay, next question" you began.

"When you think about everything you've created so far... what do you hope people feel when they listen to your music?" you questioned softly, watching him shift slightly in his seat.

He paused for a moment, as if choosing the right words to express his feelings.

"I hope they feel understood" he said softly. "I hope it makes them feel something honest... something real. Even if it's just for a moment.

That's all I want from it. For someone, somewhere, to feel less alone when they hear it. To feel as though they can get up and dance to lift their moods" he almost teared up but pulled himself together just as quickly.

In the studio, people turned towards each other, sharing looks of disbelief. Had Michael ever sounded this connected with an interviewer and their questions?

"Wonderful. I'm sure your fans feel exactly the way you describe it, as I'm sure you know, they absolutely adore you and every piece of music you create and release", your pink, glittery lips pulling into a soft, melancholic smile as you reassured Michael of his feelings.

And so the questions continued on just like that. With meaningful and deep answers returned to curious questions.

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"Thats a wrap, everybody!" you gleefully exclaimed.

A loud round of applause echoed throughout the room, the sunlight turned to a light copper shade as the daylight passed into a beautiful painting of pink and orange.

"Thank you so much for having me everybody, and Miss Y/N, I really appreciated your questions. Thank you" he leaned closer in an intimate moment of pure thankfulness.

"It was absolutely my pleasure, Michael. I hope you enjoyed your experience here today" you smiled and bowed your head down in shyness.

Michael stood up, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers, before embracing you quickly. Your own arms sliding comfortably around his waist and interlocking around his slender frame.

He took a step back, looking down at you. "Goodbye, I hope you interview me again" he giggled before walking past her.

He said goodbye to all of the crew he walked past on his way to the elevator before stepping in alongside Bill, and his manager Frank.

"You know Bill, I really like her" he admitted once the elevator doors slid shut.

Bill smirked knowingly at him. Oh young love.

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badera!michael jackson x reader

summary: after finishing his tour and coming home, he is completely worn out leading to a night of caretaking

a/n: thank you so much for the love on my last ff, hope you enjoy this just as much! (pls leave a comment i’m lonely over here)

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It should have been one of the happiest days of your life, seeing your boyfriend after spending nearly three months away from each other as he went away on tour, the nearly daily phone call having to suffice for his lack of presence. You'd gotten yourself glammed up, a fresh bouncy blowout, a light smokey eye and a shiny pink lipgloss decorating your lips. You had even used that super fancy lotion Michael had loved on you, and to top it all off, a cute pink babydoll dress under the champagne coloured silk robe. The candles had been lit around the house, creating a warm ambience, even the staff had gone home in order to leave you and your boyfriend to have some alone time.

Sitting impatiently in the living room by the door, you waited to hear the familiar sound of the key turning and clicking open. As soon as that key clicked, you were up on your feet, bound towards the front door, nearly slipping on the freshly polished tiles from your sudden movements.

However, what shocked you wasn't the sight of your beloved boyfriend with open arms, it was Bill holding him up with an arm around his waist as Michael's head dipped forward in complete and utter exhaustion. "Oh my gosh, Michael...", your hand quickly being placed over your mouth before rushing towards the two men in order to guide him towards the comfy couch you were previously sitting on.

Once he was situated onto the couch, you turned towards Bill, thanking him for his help before escorting him to the front door, gently closing and locking the door behind him. Running back to the living room, your heart broke to see your beloved boyfriend staring back at you with such a drained look in his eye, but still trying to smile at the sight of you. "Y/N, I missed you so much.." He tried to move his body to stop him from slumping on the couch, "Don't worry about me, I'll- I'll be fine"

You stared at him in disbelief for a second, fine? are you looking at the right person here? "Baby, you are totally drained! Let me just take care of you tonight.", you argued. He went to argue, he hated when people fussed over him. You cut him off just as quickly, "Please, Mikey.."

The finality in your tone made him surrender. Who knew his lady could be so serious when she's all dolled up for him. You knelt down, gently sliding his loafers off of his feet and placing them neatly underneath the marble coffee table so he wouldn't trip over them.

Hoisting him up by his large hands, you pulled his arm through your hooked elbow to help guide him up the stairs. "One step at a time, lovely. Careful, careful" you muttered under your breathe. Finally stepping through the threshold of your shared bedroom, you gently sat him down on the corner of the bed, pulling out his comfiest pyjamas from the dresser and carefully laying them out on the bed beside him.

"Let me run you a bath, just wait here a minute, okay?", you softly kissed his forehead before turning on your heel towards the en suite bathroom. You lit the candles, ran the warm water and added the lavender scented bubble bath into it, something you specifically bought him for his insomnia. You turned towards the small radio in the corner of the bathroom, turning the dial on and towards the radio station that specifically only played jazz music without any commentary.

"Michael, come now, the bath is ready for you", you smiled. He walked sluggishly towards you, gradually shedding his clothes with each step before stopping in front of you only in his trousers.

"Thank you for taking care of me and not leaving me behind" he whispered, his lips meeting yours in a soft, intimate moment. "Baby, it's not everyday you let me look after you like this, I'm taking advantage of it", laughing quietly whilst staring into his eyes. He smiled before walking past you into the bathroom, undressing and sliding into the bath which was fit for a king. His head tipped back against the porcelain as the warmth soaked into his bones, a relieved sigh of content released from his lips.

You quickly slipped downstairs into the kitchen, heating the water on the stove to make him lemon and honey tea to soothe his throat. The chef had made a vegetable broth and put it in the fridge incase of an emergency where Michael had worn out his voice. Thankful for their future thinking, you poured the soup into a pan and placed it on the stove to heat up. As the kettle began to whistle, you put the sliced lemon and honey into his Disney mug before pouring the boiling water over it, allowing the lemon and honey to blend together whilst you poured the broth into a soup bowl.

After placing it onto a tray, you carefully carried it up to the bedroom. Michael had already made his way out of the bath and into his pyjamas, resting on top of the covers on the bed, his back against the headboard as he scrolled through the television at the end of the bed, eventually settling on a old movie he enjoyed watching. He caught the movement at the door, turning his head towards you as you walked in, gently placing the tray on the bed.

"Oh, baby... You really didn't need to do this, I would have been fine just getting in bed and going to sleep", he said quietly.

"Oh hush, let me just do this for you"

Gently picking up the hot bowl, you lifted the spoon out of the bowl before guiding it over to Michael's mouth. The corner of his lips turned up before his mouth eventually opened, the spoon slipping past before he swallowed the broth. He hummed as the warmth travelled down his sore throat, the drowsiness really beginning to kick in. You picked up the warm mug, placing it into his hands, "Drink".

After the bowl of the vegetable broth had been mostly finished and all that was left in the mug was the sliced lemon, you picked up the tray before placing it on the table beside the bedroom door. Sliding into the bathroom to wash the makeup off and brush your teeth before getting under the covers beside your boyfriend.

"I really missed this, Y/N. I've not been this comfortable since before the tour began" he said quietly as he lowered his head onto your chest.

Your fingers slid into the soft, black curls on his head, gently massaging his scalp. "Just rest now, honey, you deserve it."

He began to doze off with your hands in his hair and the movie playing faintly from the tv. A happiness blooming through his chest as he smiled. His eyelashes fluttered shut as he felt the unfamiliar sensation of being pulled into a deep sleep.

"Y/N" he whispered quietly, in a state between consciousness and deep sleep. You hummed lightly in response, your fingers continuing to play with his curls.

"Thank you for looking after me, I love you"

badera!michael jackson x jazz singer!reader

summary: in a last minute escape plan, michael jackson finds himself in a local jazz club in hopes to find a few minutes of sanctuary from his hounding management team. however, what he doesn’t expect is the woman on stage, is the woman of his dreams

a/n: hi guys!! first ff, kinda nervous.. i’ve had this idea stuck in my head for like a year and i just thought yk what let me just write it. anyways, enjoy! <3

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A wall of exposed bulbs glowed behind the stage, each one a small amber flame. The orange light was low and intimate, softening everything it touched. A low chatter echoed throughout the small jazz club, a few hundred people sat closely around circular tables. Their crystal glasses of an expensive liquor twinkling under the candle lights on the chandelier. 

At the back of the club, Michael was sitting in a corner booth, the red leather seats matching his crimson corduroy button up. His black fedora was tilted slyly over his face, adding to his whole mysterious aura in the back corner. His security sat close by to his booth, allowing him to feel even a tiny bit of normalcy, just a young gentleman enjoying an evening at his local jazz club after a hectic week. It was something that he craved, living a life like his was overwhelming to put it simply, but right now in this moment, he was enjoying the calmness of normality with just a glass of his beloved orange juice on the wooden table.

Suddenly, the lights inside the club dimmed, the copper hues becoming more hazy as the smoke machines began to whir. A low baritone voice drifted through the club from the speakers by the stage: “ Ladies and gentleman, thank you so much for coming out tonight, to the world famous Ivy Lounge.” The echo of his voice catching Michael’s attention as he tilted his body more towards the stage, the leather creaking under his trousers. 

“We got a very special guest for you tonight coming on. All the way from London, England, you know the place. Ladies and Gentleman give a warm heartbreak welcome, to the wonderful Y/N.” 

A loud round of applause followed the announcement, the occasional whistle following each clap. Michael quickly joined in, almost entirely entranced by the room’s atmosphere. A figure slowly made its way onto the stage. Your black dress trailing behind you, the sparkles on your dress twinkling under the spotlight following you onto the stage. The familiar sound of Cry Me a River playing from the house band behind you. As you sang the opening lyrics of the soulful song, Michael was captivated entirely. He had never seen such a magnetic person on a stage, not only captivating him but the entirety of the jazz club. 

Michael’s head nodded along to bass in the background, his long fingers tapping the steady beat of the drums onto the table before him. His gaze entirely locked onto you as you sang your heart out on the stage for the jazz club. Your voice sounding exactly like that of Ella Fitzgerald, a sensual, rich tone escaping your crimson painted lips. As the final notes of the song were closing up, your eyes darted around the club to look at all of the people who watched your performance, catching slightly on the man in the back corner, his hat shadowing the top half of his face but the rich shade of his skin glistened under the haze of flame-like bulbs. 

The night continued on just like that. Jazz songs being played creating a smooth and intimate ambience, and Michael’s eyes never leaving you, his mouth slightly agape as you reach those high notes and run the riffs of the timeless music. Even when you went to the small table stationed at the back of the stage to catch your breathe and have a small sip of water to coat your vocal cords, his amber eyes did not leave you once. His security guards eventually noticing the adoration on his face, quietly nudging each other and pointing at him to laugh. This was the first time they had truly seen the young man so starstruck

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The bulbs on the vanity mirror reflected off of your skin, makeup remover on cotton being gently swiped across your face by your weak hands. Singing like that for multiple hours was certainly draining, but it was something that was so fulfilling to you, to be the catalyst to someone’s pleasurable evening, let alone a full audience of people. Your lacy dress had been switched out around five minutes ago for a white tank top and some grey loose jersey pants, a small indentation from the zip of your dress on the bottom of your back aching from hours of pressure. 

A light tap sounded from the heavy, mahogany door behind you. A small, exhausted smile stretched across your face, a glow emitting from the apples of your cheeks. There was only one person that would knock on your dressing room door after a performance and there was only one reason for it. The door creaked open slightly and a head poked through the gap created. The widely painted grin across the elderly woman’s face could only mean one thing. 

“Mary, my darling, I love you so much, genuinely, but I’m really not interested in your male suitors for me. I love your enthusiasm but these men you keep finding for me are not ideal at all”

Your soft voice trailed to her ears, an ever bigger grin spreading across her face until you swear the corners of her mouth nearly reach her ears. “I know lovely, but this time it’s different! No new companion, but a visitor hoping to express his enjoyment for your performance tonight.”

Your (e/c) eyes rolled so hard you nearly gave yourself a headache, a fond but sceptical glance being thrown her way. “Okay, but make it quick alright, I’m so exhausted”, your voice softening slightly as you looked lovingly at the woman who took care of you ever since you stepped foot into her club. 

“I already know this won’t be any different from the previous times, Mary”, a light giggle escaping your lips. “You say this nearly every- oh my goodness… your-”

“Michael Jackson, it’s a pleasure to finally meet the person who captivated an entire room of people with just her voice”. A shy smile appeared on his face as he held his hand out for you to shake. You delicately placed your hand into his much larger one, engulfing your entire hand and shaking it gingerly. 

“Thank you so much for even listening to me, let alone coming back here to express your enjoyment.” The gratitude spilling from your words as you finally looked at the world famous man up close, every person's dream was to be this close to Michael Jackson, and you, a regular girl 5,450 miles from her home country, was doing so. 

“You don’t understand how much this means to me, you inspired me so much to even begin this line of work. Without you, I never would have gotten here, so thank you so much.” Doe eyes staring into the dark abyss of his own iris’ as you both gripped each others hand. 

Michael quickly cleared his throat, a scarlet blush climbing up his neck and reaching the apples of his cheeks, a small giggle escaping him. “I’m so glad to hear that I inspired you and I’m even more glad that I got to hear your perfect voice in action. I just have one small question, when is it the next time you perform here? I’d love to come and see you again and even maybe treat you to a meal afterwards.”