put that in your damn magazine.
bad m. jackson x reader. michael can't control how deceptive the press can mark people to be. you know better than to not believe these things, but you can't help but feel a little jealous.
reader realises how much the paparazzi sucks. just some drama, honestly.
i kinda went off topic with this, maybe the fluff part is in the next drabble. bahaha…established relationships, misunderstandings, catfighting, make-ups/understandings.
The emotions that ran through your mind had you second-guessing the whole time you and Michael were together. Dates, effortless moments of calm, long conversations, all of it.
None of it felt genuine in real time.
With wide eyes, your fingertips crinkled the magazine cover before tossing it down onto the bed. It didn’t look natural, none of it.
Wrapping your head around the sheer volume that Michael would be doing things with other girls.
Sleeping around, at that.
Yes, you knew that celebrities amassed a certain threshold of fame that would open up avenues of opportunity, but this? What a low blow.
“What the fuck is this?” Narrowing your eyes to Michael, you gestured at the papers. Michael’s eyes were wide, as if he were just as taken aback.
“What? I didn’t even see this,” he murmured, voice wavering with panic while he picked it up. Staring at the headlines, his gaze flicked up to yours, meeting your bitter face.
With a breath, he shook his head.
“It’s not what you think, baby.”
“How am I supposed to know what’s going on?”
Michael paused, staring at your tense expression. He didn’t prod, taking a breath. He wasn’t sleeping with anybody, obviously.
But this? The press really screwed him over with this one.
“Let me show you, please. Come with me, I swear! Y’know, it’s the goddamn tabloids. All they do is make things up, and,”
With a calm, grounding inhale, you brought your hands to your forehead and rubbed your temple. Michael had a point, he always made the point of how the press had their way with slipping lies between words on paper.
You couldn’t help but sneer at the girls in mind. Those same girls you hopefully swore weren’t sleeping with Michael. Jealousy fueled your anger, but you kept a steady gaze.
Besides, this could’ve given you an avenue to see those girls.
Michael didn’t hesitate to let you come with him. For all he cared, he wanted you by his side the entirety of the tour.
Due to scheduling, it was impossible, but a little gathering that night made things easier.
You were scrutinising each and every detail. It’s not that you didn’t trust Michael, now you were fuming with the fact others had the nerve to throw themselves onto him.
“You got nothing to be worried about, mama…I promise, s’just people.” Michael watched how you scanned the venue over and over, it made him feel terrible. You shook your head, crossing your arms.
“It’s not that, I just don’t like where they’re getting the idea from.”
Shrugging, you adjusted the strap to your dress, making sure you picked out the perfect outfit for this event. Soon enough you’d come face-to-face with those nasty tabloids.
Or girls, you thought to yourself.
Michael could sense your anger, it lingered off you despite how calm you seemed. He couldn’t help but rub a hand down your back, taking your hand. “They ask the stupidest things too, y’know? Anything to mess with you.”
“Doesn’t that ever get annoying?”
Michael bit back a grin, staring at your side profile with a telling expression. “I wanna knock ‘em in the nose all the time, that’s what.”
Giggling, you imagined that without any doubt in your mind. Michael always had a profound hatred for the press. Those papers, how they lied between the barricades of ink.
All of it a jumble of misconstrued falsehoods.
Not ones who were flinging themselves at him. The second you stepped alongside Michael to enter the front doors to the venue, you were met with bombarding flashes of light and sporadic calls from strangers.
Strangers with cameras, microphones, all of it. Strangers who felt like they had the right to ask questions so intimate they made your blood boil.
“Is that a new girl on your shoulder, Mister Jackson?”
“Mister Jackson, who are you with tonight?”
“Is there anything the press doesn’t know about that,”
Whipping your head to the side, you slammed your fist into a man’s shoulder, knocking him nearly off balance. You wouldn’t cause a scene, you’d simply shove and tell these people they meant shit.
Michael’s fingers interlocked around your hand, guiding you alongside him whole security tried to isolate a clear barrier between your parties.
The moment you both got to the doors, you turned your head to glare at a crowd you could barely make out. In that moment, you could finally see what bullshit Michael dealt with. How atrocious, really.
Scoffing, you chuckled to yourself and disappeared behind closed doors leaving questions unanswered.
The next day, you were sitting on the bed beside Michael. The two of you staring down at a magazine in your hands.
“King of Pop’s Side Hustle Gone Rogue?”
Groaning, you set the paper down face first in your lap. Michael pressed a reassuring kiss against the side of your cheek.
“At least y’see what we’re dealing with, yeah?”
Looking up, you turned to him before rolling your eyes.
