#mjtag

Wishing Shane Hollander a very slutty 35th birthday

''𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝗲𝗿' 𝗽𝘁. 𝟮 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲.ᐟ

୨୧ 𝗈𝗍𝗐!𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 | m. list

— “𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋” 𝖻𝗒 ‘𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗈𝗇𝗌’ 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗴𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗲 & 𝗵𝘂𝗳𝗳 𝗱𝗶𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗻𝗴…)

𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍. 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: 𝗆𝗎𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗃𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇

it had started with janet.

it always started with janet.

“you’re coming tonight,” she’d said over the phone earlier that week, not even giving you a chance to decline.

“janet—”

“nope. no excuses. i don’t care if you’re tired or if your cat learned how to talk. you’re coming.”

you laughed. “i don’t even have a cat.”

“exactly. see you friday.”

so there you were. backstage at the destiny tour.

the venue buzzed around you in a way that felt almost unreal. crew members hurried past carrying equipment, stagehands spoke into headsets, and distant cheers filtered through the walls as thousands of fans settled into their seats.

janet sat cross-legged beside you in a folding chair, peeling the label off a soda bottle.

“you nervous?” she asked.

“for what?”

“being around all this.” she gestured vaguely.

you shrugged. “not really.”

before janet could respond, movement caught your attention.

michael emerged from farther down the hallway.

he looked beautiful under the fluorescent lights. dark curls framing his face, costume pressed neatly.

he glanced up, his eyes landed on you.

and immediately widened.

you smiled, waving.

“hi, michael.”

“oh—” he blinked, looking you up and down. you were wearing a cream trench-style jacket with a belted waist and oversized lapels. you paired it with a brown pinstripe mini skirt with ruffle and lace-up detailing across the waistband, along with dark brown knee-high boots. your naturally curly, voluminous hair fell just right below your shoulders, framing your face perfectly with your baby hairs laid.

“hi.”

he continued walking — directly into a stack of equipment cases.

janet stared.

michael stumbled backward.

“i’m okay,” he muttered quickly, face turning pink before disappearing around the corner.

“…interesting,” janet mumbled.

you frowned. “what?”

“nothing.”

“janet.”

“nothing.”

you narrowed your eyes, but she still refused to elaborate.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

by the time the lights dimmed, the entire arena erupted. the screams were deafening.

janet grabbed your hand, excitement practically radiating from her.

“this is my favorite part.”

the brothers took the stage to roaring applause.

and michael,

pretty much transformed.

gone was the shy boy who couldn’t make eye contact for more than three seconds backstage. under the spotlight, he became a superstar.

he danced effortlessly, smiling here and there, and took over the stage like he usually did. you couldn’t help smiling.

janet bumped your shoulder.

“told you.”

song after song blurred together beneath flashing lights and endless applause.

until the familiar opening notes of “dreamer” floated through the arena.

across the stage, michael adjusted his grip on the microphone, then began to sing. his voice wrapped itself around the lyrics with an ache that made your chest tighten.

there was something different about it, something quieter; more vulnerable.

his gaze swept across the crowd.

fans screamed, arms waved, camera flashes sparkled like stars.

then — “a romantic fool….

thats what i am. i think about you all day long.”

his eyes found yours as his brothers sang the chorus.

you blinked. for a moment, you assumed it was coincidence. there were thousands of people, he couldn’t have been looking at you. right?

he looked away, continued singing. you relaxed.

until it happened again.

“i just can't wait, ‘til i go to sleep

i’ll be with you, all night long.”

his gaze returned to you as his brothers sang the chorus again.

if anything, he looked startled each time your eyes met. as though he’d forgotten you could actually catch him staring.

janet slowly turned her head.

looked at you, then looked back at michael.

who was singing directly toward your section.

looked back at you.

“it's fantasy, i just like to share these moments together.”

“…oh my god.”

you frowned. “what?”

she grabbed your arm. hard.

“oh my god.”

“janet.”

“look at him!”

“i am looking at him.”

“no. look at him.”

you opened your mouth to argue, then stopped.

because michael wasn’t scanning the audience.

he wasn’t performing for the crowd.

he was looking at you — performing for you, eyes dropping shyly whenever you noticed.

blushing beneath stage lights.

the realization sent warmth rushing through you.

“janet—”

“that song is about you.”

your heart nearly stopped. “what?”

“that song is about you.”

“don’t be ridiculous.”

“i’m serious!”

“janet—”

“he has looked over here literally the entire song!”

you glanced back toward the stage.

michael reached the chorus.

his voice remained steady. his hands did not.

even from where you sat, you noticed the way his fingers tightened around the microphone whenever he looked your way. as though gathering courage, making your pulse flutter; because suddenly, moments from the past few months replayed differently.

the way he laughed too hard at your jokes.

the way conversations with you always ended with pink cheeks and nervous smiles.

how he’d volunteer to walk you to janet’s room only to stand awkwardly in the doorway afterward.

how his brothers exchanged knowing looks whenever you entered the room.

you swallowed. no. surely not.

then michael looked over again.

and this time,

you didn’t look away.

instead, you smiled. just for him.

the effect was immediate.

his eyes widened.

he missed his cue, causing marlon to elbow him sharply. michael startled before recovering, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

janet made a strangled sound beside you.

“oh, he’s gone.”

“janet.”

“he’s in love with you.”

your face burned. “he is not.”

she pointed toward the stage.

michael, somehow still singing flawlessly, couldn’t stop smiling.

the grin lingered for the remainder of the song.

it softened his features. made him glow.

and every now and then,

he looked at you again.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

backstage after the show was chaos.

crew members celebrated, voices overlapped, the brothers laughed about missed choreography and costume mishaps.

you stood near janet, trying desperately to ignore the pounding of your heart.

then michael appeared, still flushed from performing.

still so beautiful.

he froze when he noticed you. janet’s eyes lit up.

too late, you realized exactly what expression she wore. the expression of someone about to cause problems.

“so,” she said loudly.

michael blinked.

“…so?”

“how long have you been in love with my best friend?”

everything stopped. michael’s entire face went crimson.

“janet!”

“michael joseph jackson!”

“janet!”

you stared. janet stared.

michael stared at the floor.

“…i’m going to kill you,” he whispered.

“you sang dreamer to her in front of thousands of people!”

“i did not!”

“you absolutely did!”

silence.

your voice came out softer than intended.

“…dreamer?”

michael froze.

to him, the room suddenly felt very small. he looked up, his dark eyes meeting yours. all traces of embarrassment remained.

but beneath it, there was honesty.

he glanced toward janet, toward his brothers, then back at you.

“…yeah,” he admitted quietly.

your breath caught.

he rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. “i didn’t mean for anybody to know.”

“michael—”

“i just…” he laughed weakly. “i wrote it because i thought that’s all it’d ever be.”

your eyebrows knitted together. “what?”

he looked down. “a dream.” his voice barely rose above a whisper.

“you and janet were always together. and you’re…” he shook his head, smiling shyly. “you’re you.”

you stared at him.

“and i’m me.” his cheeks darkened.

“yeah.”

something inside your chest ached. despite sold-out arenas and screaming fans and stage lights bright enough to rival the stars,

he looked at you like he couldn’t understand why you’d ever choose him.

you stepped closer.

“michael.”

he finally met your gaze.

“i’m really glad janet made me come tonight.”

his expression shifted into 3 emotions in 5 seconds; hope, disbelief, joy.

“…you are?”

you smiled again, just like when he was performing the song. just for him.

“yeah.”

for a second, he simply stared.

then —

he smiled back.

behind you, janet shrieked.

“I KNEW IT!”

michael buried his face in his hands. “janet!”

“don’t janet me! i have been waiting months for this!” you laughed, michael looking up at the sound.

and just like he had during “dreamer,”

he looked at you as though the entire world had disappeared around him.

“…so,” he said shyly, “would you maybe wanna…go out with me sometime?”

janet gasped dramatically.

you smiled. “i’d love to.”

michael blinked.

“…really?”

you laughed. “really.”

his answering grin was so bright it rivaled every spotlight he’d stood beneath that night.

and somewhere down the hallway, janet was already planning exactly how she’d tell la toya she had to ‘pay up’ $10.

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ Michael Jackson 80s x Female!Reader

ཆི❤︎ཆྀ Part 2 Here

Summary ཆི❤︎ཆྀ: at a sleepover with Michael, he asks you nervously what your type is. You know exactly how to push his buttons so you describe exactly him, only to see how flustered he’d get.

Tags ཆི❤︎ཆྀ: Childhood best friends, shy Michael, Fluff pure fluff, 80’s Michael, plz send me more ideas 🙏

The year was 1984, and the air in California felt like it was humming with electric energy of Michael’s successful career.

At Hayvenhurst, the Jackson family estate, the world was often kept at bay by high walls and security gates, but inside, with Michael you felt safe. It was late at night and you were sleeping over, after Michael had called you complaining that he was bored and needed company. You had grown used to sleepovers with him, especially since you used to sleep over at his house since you were small (being neighbours and all).

You were sprawled across the thick, cream coloured carpet of Michael’s bedroom at the bottom of his bed. A VHS tape of The Goonies was flickering on the television, the light casting a long shadow across the room.

Michael was sitting on the edge of his massive, four poster bed, his hair a soft, dark halo of curls that hadn’t been slicked back for the stage. He was idly flipping through a photograph book, but his eyes kept flicking back to you.

This was your ritual, from cramped dressing rooms in Gary and the hot California sun, you had been his anchor. You were the only one who didn’t look at him and expected something from him. To you, he was just Michael, the boy who used to hide your shoes to anger you and the man who still enjoys your company.

“Hey,” Michael said softly, his voice cutting through the movie.

“Yeah?” You didn’t look at him, your eyes still fixated on the screen.

“I was thinking about something.” He paused, the sound of him nervously tapping his fingers against the book’s spine echoing quietly through the room. “You’ve… you’ve been seeing a lot of people lately. Well, not seeing them, but people have been asking about you. At the studio, and that guy on the film set from last week.”

You finally looked up at him. “Are you talking about Greg? He’s just a camera assistant, Mike. He’s nice and all that, but he’s not… you know.”

Michael tilted his head, his dark eyes wide and curious. “Not what? What is it that you’re looking for? I realised I’ve known you for years, but I don’t think I’ve ever asked you what your ‘type’ is.”

He said the word type nervously, like it was a foreign ground he hadn’t stepped onto yet.

You crossed your legs, leaning your back against the bed. A idea flickered into your head. You knew Michael better than he knew himself, so you knew exactly how to push his buttons.

“My type?” You mused, tapping your fingers against your chin for the extra effect. “Hmm. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Come on,” Michael nudged your shoulder, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Describe him. The perfect guy for you. A business man?”

“Definitely not a business man,” you laughed. “No, I think my type is more… specific.”

Michael leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his full attention locked onto you, the movie playing completely forgotten. “Specific, how?”

“Well,” you looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “First of all, he has to be kind. Genuinely deeply kind. Not just the type of person who says typical manners, but the type of person who actually cares.”

Michael’s expression softened. He blinked slowly. “That’s a good trait. What else?”

“Psychically?” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He was waiting patiently. “I think I like someone with wide, dark eyes. And I’ve always had a thing for dark, curly hair. The kind that looks kinda messy.”

Michael cleared his throat, a faint pink hue beginning to creep up his neck. “Curly hair. Right.”

“I’d like for him to be talented but humble about it.”

Michael shifted on the bed, his movements becoming a tad bit more fidgety. He was starting to catch on. He didn’t want to be vain enough to assume you were talking about him, yet the details were becoming hard to ignore.

“…very specific.” Michael murmured, his voice dropping an octave.

“Oh, he is,” you continued. “He has to be funny, and like playful. He’s willing to have fun y’know?”

Michael nodded. he laughed, the kind of one where he would get compliments from fans and he’d get flustered. He covered his mouth with his hand.

“Long lashes, too. The kind of ones women would kill to have. Oh, and dimples for sure.”

Michael bit his lower lip, trying to suppress the massive grin threatening to break across his face. “And his style, I’d love for him to wear black loafers, and white socks. And someone who gets all shy when someone tells him how amazing he is.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a full smile on your face. “Stop it! Stop it right now. You’re just… you’re doing this on purpose.”

Michael quickly covered his face with his hands. You moved to sit close beside him. “I’m just answering the question, Michael.” He only became even more flustered with the way you said his name.

He pulled his hands away. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were describing…”

“Who?” You asked, even though you knew well enough. “Who would fit that description, Michael?”

He stared at you for a second, holding his breath. The weight of his gaze made your heart thump viciously against your ribs. He looked like he wanted to say it. He wanted to ask, ‘are you talking about me?’

But he was Michael, and you were you. The friendship was too precious to risk with a single sentence.

He suddenly reached out and grabbed a pillow, jokingly hitting you with it. “You’re talking about E.T.”

“Hey!” You laughed, grabbing a nearby pillow to hit him back. “E.T. Doesn’t have any curls, Michael!”

You both laughed as the movie played in the distance completely forgotten. Yet Michael’s chest felt warm, he was unexpectedly happy and glad with your response.