includes: childhood bestfriends ⊱ lovers. slight yearning. fluff-fest. reader is bill's daughter. best-friends michael & reader. reader is close with the family. younger michael & reader, still teenagers, adults in part 2.
a/n: never in my life did i think i'd be writing this, yet here we are. gang i've loved mj since i was five idk how to explain how much i love him as a person and as a musical artist. here we go. i don't usually write in caps (as u can tell) so if it looks a little messy, you know why. there will be a part two to this & if it's kinda shitty i wrote it in three hours and decided not to sleep until i finished this part. (it's 12:17am on a monday now tuesday).
"𝒟addy, are we going for donuts?" You whispered as you looked over at your father, his eyes hidden and concentrated on the road as he continued to drive.
"No, bug." He sighed, his tongue swiped the side of his mouth. Your fingers laced around your stuffed bunny's ears. "Where are we going then?"
"Well, since you asked, I'm taking you to work with me." He grunted, turning onto a new road. You looked up through the window at the long sign, and the words 'Hayvenhurst Ave'.
"But what about donuts?" You mumbled meekly, already aware of the concerned look on your father's face. "We'll see, bug."
"Now, I gotta tell you something," he mumbled, driving up the road, "this isn't just any 'take your kid t'work day', I can't have you touching things or running around, alright, kiddo?" He explained, glancing over at you every few seconds.
"Okay." You nodded, "can I take Whip with me?" You looked up as he slowed down near a tall, black gate. "Sure, just don't forget 'em." He smiled, as the gate slowly opened. You nodded in excitement as your eyes watched over the big house ahead of you only get larger as you got nearer.
"That's such a big house!" You smiled as Bill turned to you, "Bug, you don't go saying those things to people." He muttered as you sat back, "not even to you?" You mumbled, awaiting his response, he broke into a smile, "Alright, maybe to me, but not to others."
As the two of you walked up to the door, your eyes wandered, admiring the home. The trees, the spiral staircase on the far end of the home, and your favorite—the beautiful stone tile fountain.
As the maids let you into the house, you smiled in awe at the cool colored stone floor and the wooden structures that adorned the foyer.
As you looked back to your father, who turned to the sound of a woman walking into the hall. "Hi, Bill," the woman smiled, "The boys are upstairs, make yourself comfortable."
You hadn't even realized that you were now standing right beside your father, hand wrapped around his calf. Your right hand gripped his trousers, and the other, curled around the waist of your stuffed bunny.
"And who's this charming girl?" She smiled down at you, as you only tucked your face into the side of your dad's leg, hugging your bunny tighter.
"She's my daughter." Bill mumbled with a smile, "C'mon Bug, she doesn't bite." He whispered, as you hesitated, peeking out a bit to smile at the woman.
"Oh, I'm sure she'll get along just fine with Michael." The woman smiled, "besides, he does need a friend his age, how old is she?" She asked as your father replied, "Just turned four."
"How sweet," She looked back down to you, smiling and waving bye, "Well, I'll see you two around." She hummed as your father tipped his hat.
Just as you saw the last of her heel leave your vision, the sound of children running around caught your attention. Your father walked to the back of the house, as you followed.
One boy after the next, seemingly in order of height, pooled into the house, each nodding with a; "Hi, Bill. Hey, Bill. How do you do, Bill."
Until the smallest walked into the door, looking up at your father. "Hello, Bill." His eyes lit up looking at your father, "Hello there, Michael."
Just as he was about to follow his brothers, his eyes caught yours, and he turned almost immediately.
"Michael!" A voice called, as you took your place behind your father's leg once again, the bunny's small arm you brought up, resting just below your nose. You saw woman from before.
"Oh there you are, Bill—" She paused, eyes catching the light pink of your stuffed bunny once more. "Ah," She smiled, as she looked down at Michael. "Michael, this is Bill's daughter."
You watched as the boys eyes immediately shot up to your father, a smile ghosting his lips. His cheeks were full of some sort of joy. You looked up at the woman once more, before you felt a hand on your head.
"C'mon, bug."
And that was it, you stepped forward, eyes trained on your feet as your father patted your shoulder. "She's shy's, all." He muttered as the woman smiled, "Well not to worry, Michael seems the same."
You only found yourself looking up when you saw a shadow project just in front of your own vision. "I'm Michael," he whispered, as he stuck his hand out.
Your eyes found his as you looked at his hair, then his shirt, then his outfit.
"Bug." You heard your father speak, and your breath caught your throat, "Sorry." You whispered ever so quietly.
"It's okay," the boy smiled. "Do you like bunnies?" He asked quietly, as you nodded. "I like them too." He nodded with a grin.
"Really? Do you think pink ones are real too?" You asked as he shrugged, "There's lots of colored birds and fish. So there's gotta be pink bunnies."
You'd never smiled harder in your life.
From that moment on, wherever Michael went, you were a step behind.
If the Jacksons were playing basketball on a sunny weekend morning, you'd follow little Michael out into the backyard, trying to catch the ball too in the commotion. Wanting to go wherever he was without getting into trouble.
The boys would groan and click their tongues as you smiled with the rough ball in your hands, looking over at Michael who waved for you to pass the big ball to him.
Eventually they'd stopped passing the ball to you or Michael, you'd only ever pass it to each other.
"Why don't we go play a game or something?" He'd suggest, and you'd nod, following him inside, playing hide and seek on the bottom floor of the mansion or playing Tic Tac Toe in a notebook for hours.
When you'd find each other you'd laugh and smile, and the first time you played you had whispered, "Your house is so big and fun." Before smacking your hands over your mouth confusing him.
"What's wrong?" He asked as you shook your head, "Daddy said not to say those things."
"It's alright, I won't tell." He'd shrug with a small, loyal smile.
When the Jacksons were free, the two of you would wander around the gardens, and make wishes with throwing flower petals into the fountain. You'd play with Ben, giggling and shrieking with you felt his whiskers tickle you as you fed him small blocks of cheese.
When the Jacksons would go to the studio to sing, you'd be smiling next to your father, looking for Michael and hearing him before you could see him behind the glass. You'd memorize just what everyones voice sounded like, without even having to see them.
You'd stay up for hours, hating to leave when you and Michael would be narrating the many tales of Peter Pan, you hugging your bunny and changing your voice to be Tinkerbell for Whip, and playing Wendy yourself.
"The end." You whispered, as Michael's fingers petted Whips belly gently, "maybe if we read it all again really fast, you can convince Bill to stay a little longer."
"Okay, okay, hurry—" the two of you would giggle, staring over and reading as fast as humanly possible, cackling at the way the words would sound when read so quickly.
"C'mon, bug, time to go. Michael's gotta sleep too."
"But Daddy, just five more minutes?" You'd ask, and Michael would nod, "Please, Bill, we're almost finished."
And he'd sigh and nod and close the door.
He'd come back five minutes later to find the two of you knocked out—either on the carpet, or on the bed, both holding onto an arm of Whip.
Your eyes fluttered open, seeing nothing but the lightly lit room. You turned your aching neck to see none other than your best friend, knocked out just beside you, the unfinished puzzle you'd just bought left on the bed; pieces askew all over the duvet.
"Mike," you whispered, pulling a piece out of his hand, hearing the radio on his shelf talk of news and songs. "Michael."
"Mike!" You whisper shouted, carefully sliding a small clipboard beneath the progress of the puzzle, and gathering the stray pieces back into the box.
You counted the pieces up, closing the box and turning back to the boy asleep on the bed. "Michael, get up."
"What time is it?" You mumbled, checking your watch, seeing that it was fifteen minutes to nine. "Shit."
"Mike!" you whisper shouted, hand smacking his forearm as your eyes scanned his room for your bag.
Out of nowhere you felt two hands grasp onto your arm, pulling you back as a loud roaring sound collided with your shriek.
"Michael!" You sighed, your heads hitting the pillows as he laughed, "it was funny."
"It was not." You rolled your eyes with a smile, adjusting your head to look at him. "Did you finish the puzzle?" He asked, as you closed your eyes with a small shake of your head.
"We'll finish it tomorrow," you muttered, "or whenever you have time."
"I have time tomorrow," he immediately replied, "we can finish it then." He smiled, flicking your hand with his fingers, restlessly. You nodded, sitting up.
"I've gotta go," You sighed, sitting up as he quickly followed, "go where? This is like a home for you too y'know." He mumbled, tugging on your wrist.
"As much as I appreciate that and am flattered, Whip's probably hungry by now, gotta take her home too." You tried to tug your arm back every few moments but it wasn't working, "can I have my wrist back?"
"Come on, just leave Whip here for a night. I'm her daddy." He flashed you a smile as you rolled your eyes for probably the hundredth time today at his stupid comments. "What am I not? You'd still be carrying about a stuffed bunny if it hadn't been for me."
"Oh so what I'm hearing is you don't actually care for Whip, you just saved her to prove something to me?" You mumbled, looking away as you hid your knowing smile. He immediately let go of your arm and scrambled to explain.
"Of course not, and don't mess with me like that. I love Whip as much as you do, therefore, she should stay with her father for the night."
"Well her mother hasn't had the chance to go home and feed her the treats she bought her this morning, because she's been stuck here all day." You crossed your arms as his tongue clicked, "you love it here."
"That I do."
"So? Stay." He flopped back onto the bed beside you, staring at you as he waited for you to change your mind and fall back beside him.
"I can't, Mikey. You've got a demo to record tomorrow, and I may have to go to school."
"But you hate school." He countered.
That, you did.
The night you stood in front of the door of the Jackson's home, was nearly the best night you'd ever had. It was the end of summer, and Katherine had arranged for the kids to have a day by the pool before everyone would have to get ready for the new act Joeseph had arranged for the boys down in the city.
There were fruit salads and some ice cream, popcorn and movies, it might've been the most fun they'd ever had. The most fun you'd ever had.
Maybe it was because it was nearly 100 degrees in Los Angeles.
Or maybe it was because it was the day your father had told you, you would have to start school.
You spent all day in the pool, running around and getting your hair braided by Latoya. You'd found and picked some flowers, and wished with Michael for no more records, no school, and days like these for years to come.
In the evening when Bill had informed Katherine, and she'd told the kids, Michael felt that it wasn't important. That maybe like the nights they'd stay up and read, he and you could beg your father, and he'd let you stay a while longer.
But by the end of the night, when he began to see Marlon and Jermaine hug you and say they'd miss you, he began to understand that this wasn't something as easy to get out of as a five minute home trip delay.
Once you dried off and ate with the rest of the children, you hair braided and clothes on, you hugged everyone goodbye, but Michael was nowhere in sight.
"He's probably too upset to come out," Tito muttered as Jackie nodded.
"Well then, you best be on your way." Katherine spoke, "We don't want to delay you, you've got school in the morning. You'll need all the rest you can get." She smiled, patting your shoulder.
But no matter how much they smiled and joked about how tired you'd be, you were always awake enough to see Michael.
"Where's Michael?" You asked Marlon, "You heard Tito, he's probably just upset."
"I just wanna see him before I go." You answered, holding onto your bag and Whip for dear life. You wished on every petal you forgot to throw in the fountain he'd come out before you could go.
When you heard the familiar footsteps race down the corridor, and heard, "Hold on!" You'd never felt more relieved.
"Here, take this." Michael smiled, holding out the Peter Pan storybook the two of you would read hundreds of times a day.
In shock you shook your head, "I can't Michael, it's yours."
"It's also yours." He shrugged, as you shook your head firmly. "Nuh-uh."
"Mhm, take it. When we're older, I'll write you letters that Bill can give you. I'll see you maybe when we get back from the shows."
"Please? You can read it when you feel lonely." He asked, as you sighed, "okay." You nodded, holding the book close to you.
Micheal then leaned forward and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, hugging you so tight that the book nearly crushed both of your ribs.
"Mike—Mikey!" You laughed, "it hurts!" You'd smile as he let go, "If it hurt you wouldn't be laughing, silly." He smiled poking your hand as you shook your head.
As you and Bill got in the car, you waved to the Jacksons harder than ever before, but your eyes stayed trained on Michaels face, and when you got far enough, just his puff of hair in the distance. You twisted and turned in your seat to see them until you couldn't anymore.
On your first day of school, it was something extraordinary. The building was humongous, unlike anything you'd ever seen before, with murals and colorful structures, balls and hoola-hoops, kids in colorful clothes. It looked like Candyland.
You were excited to go, but it wasn't Hayvenhurst. The kids weren't Michael, or Ben, or Marlon, or Latoya, or Jermaine, or Jackie. And the worst part? Whip couldn't be taken out during class time.
But Whip went with you everywhere. No Whip. No Michael. Could this day get any worse?
Well, it did. When you read the book Michael had given you during break time, the kids thought you were making it up that you'd been to the Jacksons, that it was Michael Jackson's book, and that you were best friends with him.
"It's true! My Daddy works there! Just yesterday was the best, we swam in the pool, and—"
"Yeah, yeah, big talk, new girl." One boy said, "I bet this is just her book and she just wants to seem cool." Another girl said.
"No, I'm telling the truth, the book is Michael's—"
"What's next, you sing with them?"
"Well, sometimes I hear them when I go with my Daddy to the recording sessions. I know what Jackie sounds like, and Tito, and Jermaine—"
"This is any old book, it's nothing special." Another child spoke, snatching the book from your arms as you held onto it with everything in your five-year old arms.
"Give it back!" You cried, "Please!"
But it was too late. The first page had torn. Peter pan was half way ripped down the middle.
The tears were streaming down your face before you'd even registered that the book had ripped, and the next thing you knew, you were pushing and shoving kids all around you.
This was your gift. From your best friend.
That first day was the worst day of your life.
Or at least that's what you tell yourself.
Eventually your father tried a different home school approach with a tutor he paid, but that didn't work, so he figured you could change schools and start over, which did work at first.
But when kids found out you knew the Jackson family, they slowly transitioned from making fun of you, to bombarding you with questions you didn't even know about.
As you grew up you learned to ignore and zone out, eventually reading and reading every book you could come across in Michael's room or the library and reading and reading until you forgot you were even surrounded by other kids.
You were now in 10th grade, and so was Michael, but he didn't have to go to school the way you did.
"Think about it! I can ask for a tutor especially for you, you and Bill could stay here everyday!" Michael explained as you packed your bag and pulled on your shoes.
"He's outside, Mike. I'm pretty sure he can hear you."
"Good, I'll have someone look into a tutor for you. Here, tomorrow."
"Not needed, Thank you." You smiled, patting his arm as you turned to the door, only for him to yank you back.
"You're gonna tear my limbs off one of these days." You winced as he rubbed your wrist where he pulled it, quickly resuming what he was saying, "Just give it some thought. I think you don't even need to go to school—"
"Well, I'm flattered but I'm not like you. I need the qualifications of my education, Michael. I only have two years left." You told him, dusting off your clothes and leaning in to hug him, "now kiss Louie goodnight for me, and give Janet the doll I brought earlier."
He hugged you back, patting your back as you pulled away, "What if I kiss you goodnight for Louie," he muttered under his breath as your hand pulled the doorknob again, "What?"
"Wha—nothing. Nothing, I didn't say anything." He shrugged, crossing his arms, which was a telltale sign that he was lying.
"You're a terrible liar, Mikey." You smiled, shaking your head as you pulled the door open.
"You don't make it any easier," he whispered as he watched you walk to the car, waving to you and Bill.
