Pairing: Otw!Michael Jackson x girly, shy reader who doesn’t play
Synopsis: After a conversation with Michael, you just can’t pass up the chance to beat the shit out of Diana Ross.
Word count: 3.4k
Warnings: not proofread, D*ana and her criminal behavior,, mention of drugs, peer pressure (drinking), yk typical studio 54 shit, we’re all going to pretend there was a 2nd studio 54 in L.A. okay? Ok., reader lowkey wants to eat michael alive (i mean who doesn’t), reader refuses to drink…yeah I think that’s it the fights kind of short but like idk man leave me alone im tired
A/N: Technically a sequel to I Can’t Help It, but can be read as a stand alone. All you need to know is that the reader is La Toya’s friend who Michael got a crush on and now you’re dating. Loosely inspired by Doechii’s Tiny Desk performance of Bullfrog.
Ever since Michael and Q finished recording Off the Wall, life had been a complete whirlwind for you and Michael. You expected that because your relationship was still very fresh, Michael would consciously or subconsciously put you on the back burner while he dealt with everything. You had begun to spiral, already planning ahead to be disappointed with how little you were going to see him, imagining scenarios where he would bail on you with no notice or argue with you about his schedule, making you question if you were willing to sit to the side and wait for a man.
Luckily, none of those scenarios happened.
Michael invited you to every photoshoot, introducing you to everyone “in case you needed something”. He made sure you were comfortable in a chair where you could see everything with your favorite snack and drink, before allowing himself to focus on the shoot. After nearly a million photos with outfit changes, background swaps, the team huddled up together narrowing down their options. Several minutes later, Michael rushed over to you, “What do you think?” He held up two photos, one of him sitting on the ground with a purple satin shirt and pink background, the other him in a suit in front of a brick wall. You hummed carefully considering both. “This one, you seem more confident,” you pointed to the suit photo, watching as a big grin spread across Michael's face. “I thought the same.
You went to his music video shoots as well as his TV performances, and whenever you couldn’t make it, you’d watch the performance from your couch at home allowing yourself to let out giggles and roll around, completely obsessed with how fine your man looked in his element.
Despite Michael and your best efforts though you rarely had any time to go out. Michael’s new wave of stardom and your schedule made it impossible to meet up outside of “work”. So when Michael invited you over to his house, you didn’t hesitate to drive over. “Not that I’m unhappy that we're staying in tonight…but why are we staying in tonight?”
“I just want to spend the night with you,” he replied, handing you a bowl of ice cream without meeting your eyes.
“Oh, really?” You asked, not hiding the doubt in your voice or your face. Michael blinked his doe eyes at you innocently as you stared at him suspiciously.
It didn’t take long for him to crack, “Well…”
You rolled your eyes, taking a bite of your ice cream.
“Q’s knows the people who run Studio 54 and they agreed to play the album a lot and let us take priority with drinks and booths.” Michael’s eyes drifted away from yours, the eye contact becoming too much as he asked, “Do you want to come with me?”
You fought to keep your smile from growing too wide. You shouldn’t be so enamored with how shy he was, how careful and considerate he remained. You leaned back on the couch's armrest, body fully turned towards him, “Of course, Mikey. Who’s gonna be there?"
Michael went still as a statue at the question and you nearly groaned. It had only been a few weeks that y’all had been together, but this was one of the first behaviors of Michael’s you noticed: the freezing. Like a kid caught being bad, Michael would just tense up at any mention of him doing something that might piss someone off. “Who’s going to be there, Mike?” you asked firmly, trying to rack your brain with who would make you angry.
“Well, there’s Q…and Rod…Toya will be there,” his eyes scanned your face as if the mention of your best friend would distract you, seeing no change he continued, “Janet, Randy, Marlon, Carol, and a few celebrities. And, you know, just the regular people who go. It’s not like we're going to shut the place down just for us…”
You weren’t going for it, “Michael.”
At this point he had fully walked away, now on the other side of the room looking through his movie cassettes. “You know…Diana might be there,” he mumbled, not daring to look at you as he heard you bowl clink as you put it down.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
You and Michael had several long talks these past few weeks, ranging from gossip to childhood memories, wishes, dreams, and life in general. Frequently you two would end up discussing the harsher personal aspects of your lives, comforting each other and providing words of advice when the time was right. Diana had been brought up during those conversations numerous times and each time it solidified your burning hatred for her more and more. The first time he mentioned her you were asking him about the Wiz, you wanted to know how he met Quincy and how he ended up in the project. Michael told you all about Diana putting in a good word for him and the producers reaching out, swooping him up the moment he said yes. He told you how Diana had known him practically his entire life and how he even used to stay over at her house. You remembered your throat burning and your stomach growing nauseous when you thought back to interviews you had seen of the two of them, way before you had properly met upon his and La Toya’s return to Encino. Her rubbing up on his arms, blatantly flirting with him without a single care for the camera capturing every word she said.
At the time you tried to gently explain how you felt without explicitly telling that you thought Diana was an old bitch who shouldn’t flirt with eighteen year olds. However you were too gentle the first time, Michael brushing you off saying that sure he had a childhood crush but “it wasn’t like that.” Every time since you tried to get him to see how strange she was but, Michael wasn’t hearing any of it. It was the only real "argument" you two had, if you could even call it that. Michael realized immediately that any mention of Diana would frustrate you. While he thought you were adorable huffing and puffing at him, he wasn’t exactly interested in seeing you come face to face with the women you clearly despised.
“I didn’t invite her,” was all Michael could think to say. “Just the other night she called me, saying she heard that we’d all be at the club and was tired of waiting for her invitation. I didn’t know what to say, doll.”
“Say-” you cut yourself off, “nevermind.” You hated this tightrope act you had to walk when it came to her, any push too hard against their “relationship” Michael would pout, eyes sad. He was so close to seeing the issue and yet so far.
You didn’t look at Michael as he padded his way over to you, “It doesn’t matter.” He ignored the way you took a deep breath, ready to argue that it does in fact matter. “It doesn’t matter because I’m not worried about her, baby. I’m worried about you and us. I want to have a good night out with my girl, whoever happens to be there isn’t going to change that.”
The urge to rip out your hair was so incredibly strong, you clenched your fists nails digging into your palms. You wanted to explain that she’s not going to “happen” to be there. She’s going on purpose for the sole intention of seeing Michael. You wanted to tell him that you just might kill her if you see her. But as you looked up at him, his face was so earnest, so cautious, clearly not wanting to upset you, all you could say was, “Ok, Mike.”
----
You had arrived at Hayvenhurst an hour or so before you were supposed to be at the club. Michael’s eyes widened when he saw you slip through the door from where he was planted on the couch, “Hey, doll.”
You walked over giving him a kiss on the cheek, “Hi, Mikey,” but didn’t linger, rushing back over to the stairs ignoring Michael’s calls for you to come back as you walked straight to La Toya’s room.
“Look at you. Coming in and out of my house as if you live here.” Joseph continued on his walk past you, he never liked giving you too much of his time.
You didn’t like giving him your time either, “Look at you walking around the house as if your son’s work didn’t pay for it,” you rushed inside La Toya’s room not wanting to hear his response.
La Toya turned from her vanity to look at you, “Joseph?”
“Yeah,” you placed your bag on her bed and started digging around for your hair supplies.
She turned back around and continued applying her foundation, not bothering to ask about her father she completely moved on, “I would’ve tried hard to get Michael to leave you alone if I knew every time you’d come over he’d try to steal you away.”
Taking her lead in the conversation, you teased her back, “Don’t worry, you're still my favorite Jackson.”
The two of you got ready together, singing to Donna Summer and laughing your asses off when the boys tried to convince you to unlock the door so they could annoy you. Stumbling out of the room half high on La Toya’s hair spray, you held each other as you made your way down the staircase while also trying to stop laughing at Toya’s story.
“Ain’t nothing La Toya says is funny enough for y’all to be laughing like this,” Marlon said, completely unamused with how long they had been waiting for you.
Shoving Marlon out of his way, Michael went to you,“You look good mama,” he complimented you shyly, taking your hand into his, as he tried to keep his gaze from wandering.
The drive to the studio felt short with the boys playfully shoving each other in the limousine and teasing Michael’s grip he had on your hand. You laughed along with them, while subtly side-eyeing your boyfriend, usually he was too shy to hold hands in public, opting instead to hover in your general vicinity. “Are you okay?” you whispered.
Michael nodded silently, looking out at the crowd of paparazzi waiting outside the door as y’all finally arrived. “Let’s go. Don’t stop no matter what they say or do, okay?”
“Okay.” With your confirmation, the Jackson’s filed out of the car, Bill taking up the rear.
Michael wasted no time dragging you around the club, introducing you to any artists he knew you liked before forcing you on to the dancefloor with him. Hours passed in blurs of the most popular songs pumping so loud you felt the bass in your chest. You tried your very best to keep up with Michael but it was fucking impossible with the boots you had worn. “Okay, enough! I need to sit before I pass out!”, you yelled into Michael’s ear.
He led you over to one of the bars, waving down one of the bartenders.
“Water for me, please,” you huffed, hand against your chest as your adrenaline wore off and the pain in your feet took its place.
Looking around you saw people dancing with each other, doing lines and drinking themselves silly. You gulped down your water, taking a moment to admire the most interesting part of your environment, your boyfriend. Michael leaned up against the bar beside you, staring out to the dance floor with pure amusement in his eyes. You took in the way his curls were styled perfectly, and his clothes fit him just right.
He broke your concentration as he turned his head to you with a soft look, “I haven’t been out dancing in a long while, doll.”
Your heart stopped for a millisecond, “I’m glad you’re having fun.”
Michael opened his mouth to speak before his eyes focused on something behind you, his peaceful smile replaced with a look of terror, “Not now, gosh.”
“What?” you whipped your head around to see a small group coming towards the two of you. “Who-”
“Michael!”
“Oh hell nah.” You felt Michael’s hands wrap around your wrists as you tried to get out of your seat.
Diana Ross was strutted out from the center of the group, wrapping her long arms around Michael before either of you had the chance to think. “It’s been too long, Mikey.”
You wanted to throw up.
“Who’s this?” she asked as if she had just noticed you. You didn’t fail to notice the arm she kept around Michael’s shoulders as she sized you up.
Michael introduced you, “We’ve been dating for a bit now, Di.”
Di???
“Really?” Diana asked condescendingly, as if she could never imagine.
Michael gave you a pleading look, you bit your tongue so hard it bled.
“Well, it's nice to meet you.” Her voice was actively chipping away at the last of your patience, “Let me buy you a drink, on me. Any friend of Michael’s is a friend of mine.”
“Oh, no. I’m good, I don’t drink,” you excused through gritted teeth.
Diana looked you up and down, “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” your voice was flat.
One of Diana’s crew laughed in your face, “Girl nobody cares, have a drink.”
“No, I don’t drink, period,” you start to turn away from the rando, “the fuck…?”
Seeing the look on your face Michael stepped out of Diana’s reach, “You know, I think it’s about time we found the family.”
He began to pull you away from the bar when Diana stepped right into your faces, “What’s the rush, we haven’t even talked.”
You put a hand up in the small space between y’all, “You can back up.”
Diana grabbed Michael’s arm, not sparing you a glance, “I haven’t even been able to properly congratulate you on the album, Mike.”
You pushed her arm off of Michael, “No, because why are you grabbing him up on him like that? Like you his girl or something, back up.”
“Let’s just go, doll,” Michael started to walk away and at first you followed him, though your eyes never left Diana’s.
You pushed past her, subconsciously mumbling to yourself, “Fucking, weird bitch.”
“Excuse me?” she asked, having the audacity to look at you as if you were in the wrong.
“Oh? Are you losing your hearing?” You turn around, clearing your throat aggressively, “You’re too fucking old to be acting like this towards him! You’re fucking weird!”
Diana turned up her nose at you, “You got some fucking nerve.”
“What are you gonna do about it? Feeling froggy, bitch?”
‘Do it, do it.’ you mentally begged as you watched her become completely outraged. You saw the hit coming a mile away and stood perfectly still as Diana’s hand came across your face hard.
You launched yourself at her, knocking her ass to the ground. Wasting no time you started slamming your fists into her face and chest as you straddled her waist. You were so fucking angry. How much has she gotten away with over the years? You were focused. Hit after hit after hit, you didn’t even register sounds of shock and horror coming from the crowd surrounding you both. You didn’t care. You didn’t care about Diana’s desperate attempts at hitting you back or her bony ass hands pulling at your hair and pushing at your chest to get you off of her. You just kept punching, taking a sick satisfaction at the feeling of hands hitting her. You felt hands pulling at you from all over trying to stop you, you pressed your thighs and knees into her sides to get a good grip on her and kept going, grabbing her shoulders and slamming her on to the ground.
“That’s enough!” A pair of strong arms grabbed you around the waist and tried to drag you away. Only when some people grabbed Diana's shoulders were they able to finally separate you two. They weren’t moving nearly fast enough though, you took advantage of the fact that you were standing above her to kick at her side with your heavy boots. Realizing what you were doing, the person behind you picked up the pace.
You kept trying to throw your body weight towards her, to break free from the grasp as you clawed at the person's arms and hands. “Nah, let me at her. Raggedy bitch, I’m sick of her ass. I’m tired of it.”
“It’s over, kid.” You knew that voice, you put your anger on pause to focus. You looked over your shoulder. Bill. Fucking Bill.
“You better let me go or I’m gonna hit you too, Bill. Don’t make me.” You liked Bill. But as far as you were concerned he could get it too, because why the fuck was he stopping you right now?
Bill didn’t look concerned, he just kept carrying you through the crowd. He didn’t let you go until you were on the other side of the club. The moment you were back on your feet you started hustling back towards the crowd, more than ready for part two now that you knew how easy it was to overpower her.
A firm grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks. “Let’s go home, doll.” Michael, precious Michael. He looked so sincere as he gently tugged at you. His eyes scanned over your face, “Did she hurt you?”
A harsh laugh escaped you, “What? You didn’t see what happened?” You know he did. And he knows you know.
“Come on, girl.” You let him pull you out of the club and into the backseat of his car. The ride was silent as Bill drove you both back to Havenyhurst. Michael held your hand the entire time, gently running his thumb across your knuckles as he watched you take deep breathes, fighting to let go of the last of your anger. Thanking Bill for the ride, you and Michael made your way up to his room as Bill set out back to Studio 54 to wait for the other Jacksons. You laid down on the carpet not ready to head over to Toya’s to get ready for bed.
Michael joined you on the floor, “I… I appreciate that you stood up to her,” a shy smile on his face before he got serious again, “But you really shouldn’t get into fights for me.”
“Calling it a fight is generous.” Michael gave you a look. “She started it,” you defended.
“You goaded her.”
“And?”
Michael sighed, wrapping you up in a hug, squeezing you tight. You breathed in his cologne, mumbling, “You're not mad at me, are you?” You knew you weren't wrong in anything you said or did, but Michael was so close with Diana you wouldn't have been surprised if he still just didn't get it.
Michael took his time finding his words, only making you more nervous. “I'm not mad. I know how protective you are of Toya, Janet …and now me. I saw it coming.” He pulled back to look at you, “I just don't want to see you get hurt, you're lucky her security wasn't there.”
You hummed into his neck before pulling back, taking his face into your hands. “I know you two have history, Michael, but look at me. She’s bad news, okay. I don’t trust her at all. I don’t like her at all. And I’m not comfortable with the way she acts towards you or the fact that you don’t know how to tell her no.”
Michael tilted his head as his eyes roamed your face looking for something. He must have found it because after a moment, he nodded, “I promise.” You sat like that for a while, your thumbs gently brushing against his cheeks, Michael long since closed his eyes basking in your presence as he tried to wrap his head around everything. “You know, Janet doesn’t like her either.”
“‘Cause she’s smart.”
Some more time passed, "You're crazy you know that?”
You squeezed his face gently, “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”
Michael giggled, bringing you even closer, “It was kind of cool though.”
“You think so?” you asked, a bit surprised.
He shrugged, “You fight better than Jermaine, I’ll tell you that much.”
That end line is based off an interview jackie and tito gave saying jermaine would start fights and run back home so tito could finish them- I didn’t know how to end this ngl can you tell be honest
bringing michael to the cookout (based on @prettyangeliczz’s post!)
the southern heat hit you the second you stepped off the plane, but it wasn't until you were pulling up the gravel driveway of your childhood home that your stomach really started to do flips. for the past two years, you’d been living a double life. in la, you were a corporate professional with a chic apartment and a solid routine. but you were also the girlfriend of the biggest star on the planet.
when you’d first told michael about your family’s annual juneteenth cookout, you hadn’t expected him to get so wide-eyed and excited. he’d never celebrated the holiday before, and the sheer genuine curiosity in his voice made it impossible not to invite him. but trying to warn your parents over the phone had been a disaster.
“girl, bring your lil boyfriend! nobody cares! you’re grown,” your mama had scoffed, completely brushing off your frantic hints. your daddy hadn't been any better, insisting that anyone was welcome at his table.
"i'm so sorry in advance," you murmured for the tenth time, turning in the passenger seat to look at michael. "my cousins have no boundaries, mikey. if uncle troy asks you for a loan, you tell him no."
michael just offered you that warm, soft smile, as he reached over to squeeze your hand. "it's okay, baby. i promise you i'll be fine."
taking a deep breath, you finally got out of the car. you led him through the front door, the screen door letting out that familiar creek. inside, the house smelled like vanilla and sweet tea. your grandma was parked in her usual spot in the living room, completely locked into her soap operas. she didn't even look up from the tv screen, just waved a hand vaguely in your direction saying her quick hi’s and hellos.
the real action was out back.
through the large windows, you could hear the muffled thumping of a bassline. your jaw nearly dropped when you realized the speakers were blasting "rock with you." out on the patio, your aunts and cousins were dancing, red solo cups in hand. michael’s eyes lit up, a soft chuckle vibrating in his chest at the sight.
bracing yourself, you pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the grass, still holding michael’s hand tightly.
"is that my baby?" your dad shouted over the music. he was standing by the massive black smoker grill, spatula in one hand, wearing a faded apron.
"hi daddy!" you called out, letting go of michael for just a second to wrap your arms around your dad's neck, breathing in the comforting scent of charcoal and hickory smoke.
as you pulled back, the rest of the family started wandering over, drinks in hand, ready to inspect the new boyfriend. "daddy, everyone... this is my boyfriend, michael," you said, stepping back to stand beside him.
"hi everybody, how's it going?" michael greeted, his voice soft and polite as he offered a gentle wave.
at first, the reaction was standard. your aunts swooped in for hugs, asking how the flight was, completely running on auto-pilot southern hospitality. aunt kaye didn't even look at his face, just patted his arm. "you look a little skinny, baby, make sure you get you something to eat before you leave here —"
she stopped. the gears started turning. the music seemed to fade into the background as silence dropped over the yard.
"wait!" your cousin marquise shouted, freezing mid-sip in his lawn chair by the edge of the pool. his eyes went completely wide, and he choked on his capri sun, coughing violently. "nigga is that michael jackson?" he said shaking your older brother awake.
every single head snapped back toward michael. a collective gasp echoed across the lawn. you let out an internal groan, burying your face slightly against michael's shoulder.
"no fuckin way," someone whispered.
"you're joking."
before anyone could even process it, your mama rushed past everyone, sprinting straight into the house. a minute later, she came flying back out the back door, clutching a vinyl copy of off the wall. she marched right up to michael, holding the album cover directly next to his actual face, her eyes wider than saucers.
she looked at the album. she looked at michael. she looked back at the album.
her mouth dropped completely open. she smacked a hand right onto your chest, glaring at you with pure shock. she shouted your full name, her voice booming over the yard. "and you didn't think to tell me?! i cleaned this house in a raggedy t-shirt and no wig, and you brought michael jackson into my house?!"
"i literally tried to!" you protested, throwing your hands up.
"you said he was in music! i thought you meant on the street or something!" she yelled, before immediately turning back to michael with a bright, overly sweet smile, completely changing her tone. "hello, michael, baby, welcome to our home."
michael couldn't contain his amusement. he threw his head back, laughing softly at the family dynamic, before naturally sliding his large hand around your waist, pulling you close to his side.
once the initial shock wore off, the southern hospitality kicked into overdrive. your mama completely took over, dragging michael toward the patio tables. she practically forced plate after plate onto him, insisting he try her homemade peach cobbler and the greens.
"now, michael, i know you're famous, but if you don't eat at least two plates, my feelings will be deeply hurt," she warned, loading up his plate with enough starch to feed a small village. michael, always polite, took small bites and practically melted, praising her cooking up to the heavens, which only made her beam with pride.
out on the grass, your little cousins—none of them more two apples tall—were practically vibrating with excitement. they kept tugging on michael’s shirt, begging him to show them how to moonwalk. despite his usual shyness, michael didn't mind one bit. he kicked off his loafers and spent a good half hour giggling, patiently breaking down the footsteps on the concrete patio while the kids stumbled around like newborn deer trying to copy him.
your dad eventually pulled michael over to the grill. while showing him the proper way to flip a slab of ribs, your dad launched into a massive, animated rant. "see, michael, the media won't tell you this, but the government puts chemicals in the tap water to keep us compliant. and don't get me started on the moon landing. you know about the industry, you see the truth."
michael just stood there holding a paper plate, nodding along with intense concentration, looking genuinely fascinated by your dad's wildest local conspiracy theories. you weren’t sure you’d ever seen michael eat a rib, like, ever…
across the yard, you were completely cornered. your aunts and younger cousins had bombarded you against the fence, whispering furiously.
"what is it like dating him?"
"how do you even handle that lifestyle?"
"is his hair soft? it looks soft."
you just looked across the yard, watching michael patiently listen to your dad while your little brother tried to high-five him. a soft, tender smile tugged at your lips. "when we're together, it's none of that flashy 'king of pop' mess," you told them softly. "he's just my michael."
by the time the sun went down, casting a deep orange and purple glow over the southern sky, it was time for michael to leave. you were staying for a few more days, but he had to get back to cali.
out by the driveway, the cicadas were buzzing loudly in the trees. bill was standing discreetly by the running car, waiting to take michael back to the airport. uncle troy was currently trying to pitch bill a pyramid scheme by the front fender.
"everyone loved you. thank you for coming, mikey," you said, wrapping your arms comfortably around his neck, looking up into his dark eyes.
"you don't have to thank me, baby. i had a wonderful time," he murmured, his hands finding your waist, drawing you into his space. a sweet smile broke across his face. "everyone's so funny."
"no, everyone's so embarrassing," you laughed, shaking your head.
"i love you, applehead. call me when you land," you whispered, leaning up on your tiptoes to press a warm kiss to his lips.
"bye, michael jackson!“ your little brother's voice suddenly shattered the quiet moment, echoing from the front window of the house. a split second later, you heard a muffled smack as your mama tapped the back of his head.
"boy, shut up!"
the two of you broke the kiss, turning your heads toward the house. sure enough, the entire family—including your grandma, who had finally abandoned her soaps—was bunched up against the living room window, their faces pressed so hard against the glass their noses were flattened, trying to spy on the goodbye.
the second they realized they'd been caught, there was a frantic scramble of shadows as they all tried to dive out of sight, someone knocking over a lamp in the process.
you couldn't help but giggle, hiding your face into michael's chest as his soft laughter rumbled against your cheek.
"give them my goodbyes, and thank your parents for me," michael murmured, leaning down to plant one last, lingering kiss on your lips before finally turning to get into the back of the car.
Pairing: Otw!Michael Jackson x girly, shy reader who doesn’t play
Synopsis: To Michael, you’re La Toya’s little friend until you step up to Joseph, then he sees you in a whole new light.
Word count: 1.2k
Warnings: not proofread
You moved to Encino when you were eight, and being one of the only black families within the neighborhood, your mothers were quick to link up, pushing you and La Toya together. You latched onto her as an older sister figure, and La Toya was more than happy to have a girl who was also very feminine in the house. So, you came to be a quiet addition to the Jackson household, La Toya’s little friend. Signs of your presence were everywhere: an extra sweater lying around and cute stationery littering the kitchen table. Constantly tailing her, never wanting to be left alone in the house. With the boys' busy schedules, they hardly ever saw you. When they did, you were just a blur of curls and soft skirts.
Eventually, when performances became more scheduled, they finally began to notice you: the muffled giggles coming from La Toya’s room at 2 a.m. and Katherine always making sure to set aside a plate before feeding everyone else. With slightly more time on their hands they began to complete their older brotherly duties of barging in on your hangouts, relishing in the way you’d hide your smile in the nearest pillow as La Toya launched anything within reach at their heads.
It didn’t take long for Michael to be curious about you, a girl his age, waltzing around the house and lounging by the pool with his sister. Never a curl out of place or bracelet missing. But more than your looks, it was your personality that intrigued him the most.
It was Sunday night, and in the Jackson household, that meant family dinner; unexcused absences were not permitted now that the show was done being filmed at night. Given that it would be the first time in a while that all the Jackson “children” would sit down together, you had politely told Katherine you’d be heading home, and yet, she insisted you attend. She should’ve known better.
“Now, why would you say something like that to your daughter?”
It had been less than twenty minutes into dinner and Joseph had already spat out four different insults about Janet’s dance sequences they had filmed that week. The table paused at your words, everyone sharing glances as they took in the glaring competition you and Joseph were locked into. You hated Joseph Jackson. You hated the way he bullied his children and wife, the way he was so incredibly ungrateful for all of his family's hard work, even the way he walked pissed you off. Why Katherine insisted you stay was beyond you, she knew good and well you weren’t going for it. Too many years had passed with you in the house. Joseph was beyond comfortable degrading his children in your presence, his “charming” persona he dawned for strangers long gone.
Joseph raised his eyebrows, “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Let me tell you something girl-”
“No let me tell you, she’s only fourteen-”
Katherine was quick to jump in, “Rebbie, how is Yashi it’s been a while since you brought her over?”
“She’s doing just fine mother, doctors say she’s in perfect health and…”
Despite the conversation shift and everyone clearly trying to ignore what had just happened, it took you and Joseph a long while to stop glaring at each other. Only when Janet gently kicked you under the table with a grateful look in her eyes did you pick up your fork again, putting on a smile for the girl. Michael loved that smile, so playful as if you hadn’t shaken up the entire family dynamic, even if just for a moment.
A whole new feeling of relaxation settled in now that Joseph and Katherine retired for the evening. The others broke out the ice cream from the freezer as you were collecting dishes for La Toya to wash. “Let me help you with that,” a soft voice came from your right, gently taking the stack of plates from you.
Your eyes followed Michael into the kitchen, “Oh, thanks.”
From there, Michael just kept appearing. You'd be baking in the kitchen with Janet, and Michael would stumble in, claiming he could smell the cookies in the oven (y'all hadn’t even finished the dough). Showing up at the perfect time to walk you back to your side of the neighborhood after your sleepover with Toya. Suddenly needing a break from dance practice, he sees you slip through the front door.
He was obsessed, and who could blame him? La Toya, that’s who.
“You need to leave her alone.” Michael nearly had a heart attack opening his bedroom door to see his sister sitting on his carpet with a stern look on her face. “I’m not joking Mikey. She’s my friend.”
Michael looked around lost. He didn’t want to admit it but she had a point. How many friends did she lose over the years because they were secretly groupies? Finally, found one and here Mike had to go chasing you around the house.
“Come on, Toya,” he mumbled, unable to meet her suspicious face.
La Toya gave him a long look, “If you get with her and it ends up not working out, we’re kicking you out the family and keeping her.”
“Fair enough.”
---
It took him a few months to get the courage to confess to you. The entire process was torturous, every time he thought he’d caught you by yourself one of his siblings would interrupt or he’d choke on his words, having to think of a quick way out of the conversation to save what little pride he had left.
Finally, he planned it out. He invited you over himself, something he had never done before. Without letting you step foot into the house he walked you straight over to his private recording studio. “You can just sit on the couch. I have something I want you to hear,” he dimmed the lights, so dark you could barely see at all. You heard the spinny chair move before a beautiful instrumental flooded the room. You both sat in silence letting the song speak for itself, you were glad that it was so dark you’d hate for Michael to see the way his beautiful vocals made you so flustered. As the minutes passed your heart beat viciously against your chest as your face got hot. You tried to will yourself to calm down, fiddling with the edge of your skirt, unwilling to get your hopes up until Michael confirmed them outright.
The song began to fade out and now in the dark silence, Michael spoke, “I wrote it for you. I’ve had feelings for you for a while now. I can’t stand the idea of you not knowing any longer.”
You didn’t speak initially, completely giddy at what you were fearing and needing to compose yourself. “I like you too.”
“Really?” You could hear the smile in his voice as his hands enveloped yours in your lap.
You stood up pulling him into a hug, one hand cupping his cheek you placed a kiss on the other before you could hesitate. Immediately addicted to the feeling, you pressed another and another onto his face. Michael giggled halfheartedly trying to duck away from your affection. “You messed up now, I ain’t going nowhere.”
Michael laughed, “Like I’d let you.”
A/N: Should I write a continuation where reader finds out about diana’s lore, gets introduced to her and beats the shit out of her? comment below (im gonna do it anyway damn near already written). Update here it is
I get so irritated when i see ppl on here and on tiktok (ESPECIALLY tiktok) complain about how writing fanfictions and smut abt celebs is disrespectful 😭😭😭😭 like have u ever been in a fandom before??? This typa stuff has been on here FOREVER like pls r u new to the internet
Real quick i just want to talk about how aggressively unfair it was for Michael to be criticized by not only his father but the public for having a big nose. Like, hello? What a eurocentric beauty standard to hold him to. He was never going to meet their idea of what he should look like no matter what he did and its just so fucking upsetting. “His nose is too big” idk if yall are aware of this so brace yourself, but michael jackson was a black man from the day he was born till the day he died and it really just showed how the public and even his fandom to this day forgets that.
Be real with me y'all should I label the goth reader fics "x oc" or "x reader" - I've read over these fics sm I can't tell if other people can see themselves within the stories and I don't wanna crowd up the x reader tag if the community doesn't think it fits- just lmk
I wish the Jackson siblings, in particular Jackie, wrote a book or something just talking about their lives as individuals you know and their perspective.
I don't know if maybe they think people wouldn't care and that's why they haven't or if it's out of a desire for privacy but I just feel like we don't put enough respect towards their perspectives. I know Latoya has a book but I would love to hear what the others have to say.
Idk somebody needs to let them know if they want to share at the very least they'll have me sat.
Stop associating us Michael fans with these weird 'bae nation' gc jaafar and jermajesty obsessed 15 year olds pls. That shit has nothing to do with me I'm not part of it
Pairing: The Jacksons/Pre-otw! Michael Jackson x goth singer! Reader
Synopsis: You and Michael haven’t had time to see each other since you first met but the AMA’s give y’all just enough time to scratch that itch.
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: not proofread, reader makes a small comment that implies that she's black, don’t like it, bounce.
A/N: Okay, I named the readers' band Bats and the Banshees, obviously named after Siouxsie and the Banshees. Siouxsie is not a face claim or even an inspiration for reader’s depiction I just think the band name is fitting idk it speaks to me. also, any tips y’all got on formatting on phone or computer lmk.
1976
With your album release and his variety show there had been no time to see Michael in person. So, in the meantime Michael kept your phone hot, consistently calling you in the middle of the night because that was the only time his father left him alone. You spent hours upon hours on the phone until either one of you fell asleep out of exhaustion from your busy schedules; something his siblings were quick to pick up on.
“Relax, Mikey. No point in stressing when you already know your girl gonna be there,” Jackie said, already tired of Michael’s leg bouncing next to him, all the brothers crammed into the back of their limousine on their way to the AMA’s.
Michael hadn’t stopped jittering since you offhandedly mentioned you and your band would be attending, “Yeah, we got nominated for Favorite Pop, Rock Band, Group, whatever the hell it’s called.” A yawn pushed through your last words, Michael could hear you settling into your sheets, “I doubt we’ll win, you know. We’re so…much. We don’t even really fit into any of those genres, but,” you huffed, “it’ll be nice to just go and see the performances. Never been to an award show before.”
That had probably been the only time Michael was glad you weren’t there in person to see the ridiculous grin on his face, “My brothers and I will be there too. They want us to sing.”
You hummed, half-asleep but trying your best to listen, “That’s good. I’ll make sure to cheer y'all on real loud. Might even find you in the crowd.”
The idea of seeing you had rooted itself deeply into his mind the moment he walked out of the lounge all those months ago with your number scrawled onto his hand. Since then you had unknowingly become Michael’s favorite part of the day, the only person his age who actually took the time to listen to what he had to say.
No wonder he was bouncing out of his seat the whole ride to the auditorium. Just because it made sense didn’t stop Tito and Marlon from grabbing him by the arms and shaking him around. “You heard Jackie, relax Mike!” Marlon laughed, “We all excited to see her, lord knows she's gonna have a lot to say about who wins and who doesn’t. We're gonna laugh and laugh tonight, man.”
That was another issue. You’d left almost too good of an impression on his brothers in just that one night. While you weren’t optimistic about winning, Michael had a good feeling about it, and he wanted to congratulate you personally without his brothers hovering around. “Whatever, Marlon.”
---
“So, what do you prefer? Your name or it seems like everyone has taken to calling you…Bats, is it?” The red carpet had been horrible, lights flashing far too brightly in your band's face that they all semiabandoned you on the carpet to rush ahead into the building to find your seats. You all had agreed when you signed the contract with Epic that you would be the face of the band and that the rest would be, well, just the band, but a little support would’ve been helpful.
“Yeah, that’s what my bandmates have been calling me for years and I think it’s just caught on. Really only my parents call me by my name anymore,” you explained with a soft smile on your face.
The interviewer had a hungry look in her eyes as she stared at you and so did every other interviewer waiting not so patiently to the side for you to come by, “You’re up against some big names for your category, how are you feeling?”
You nodded to yourself as you thought your words through carefully, “I’m happy to have been nominated, I know we’ve got a very different sound so it’s a bit unexpected for everyone, especially us. I’m a huge fan of Earth, Wind and Fire, so to even be considered against them, it’s amazing,” you finished with a shrug.
The interviewer's eyes grew just a bit wider, “What about the other artists in the category, what do you think of them?”
You blinked, “I don’t think of them,” and with that you whisked away your bell bottom jumpsuit flaring at your legs as you took quick strides past all the reporters and cameras calling for your attention.
Your manager caught up to you quickly, “That wasn’t the right response.”
“It’s an honest one, I’m not into their music,” you stated plainly. You had been growing more and more frustrated during your time at the carpet where it seemed all anyone wanted to do was overwhelm you with cameras and questions. That woman was pushing for an answer, no doubt ready to write up another headline proclaiming you hated those other artists. “Not my problem.”
“You’re right, it’s mine,” your manager sighed, “when I vouched for you and your controversial style I didn’t think it would extend to offending other artists.”
“It could be worse, I could’ve said they sucked.”
A few nominations in and the part you were quietly most interested in finally came. “The Jacksons, performing Enjoy Yourself,” the presenter called before the lights cut on to the stage a row ahead of you revealing the five boys. Dressed in all white with silver accents the boys performed and you couldn’t help but sit-up a bit straighter in your seat as Michael stepped to the front singing his heart out. The both of you making eye contact as he sang and danced, unwilling to be caught on camera like smiling like a fool you forced yourself to cover your face with your hand careful to not ruin your elaborate makeup. To be safe from starting any rumors, you made sure to smile and make eye contact with the rest of the boys who had no issue nodding a smiling back. Once they finished you cheered and clapped for them as they took their bows.
When you finally tore your eyes away and looked back at your band you were met with their shit eating grins, “I thought you said you just had a few conversations.”
“Shut up.”
The night dragged on, you had already seen all you cared about. Awards were presented and glances with your bandmates were shared whenever some mediocre talent won an award.You barely even noticed when George Burns and Brenda Vaccaro took stage to announce the nominees for your category. You focused up when a cameraman rushed up into your face, you gave them a smile and closed hand wave before turning your attention to the podium, ready to cheer on Earth, Wind and Fire.
“Bats and the Banshees,” the auditorium went dead silent for a moment before clapping and cheering erupted from the fans in the balcony, and the artist you had grown close to over the past few months, you had been attending events.
Your band tried to push you towards the podium alone but you grabbed tightly on to their arms dragging them up with you. You looked out to the crowd noticing people you had met at different parties and tv shows smiling up at you. “Wow, this is really unexpecting,” you admitted into the microphone as you adjusted your grip on the trophy. You gave the normal thank you’s to the label and your family, “I’d also like to thank my band for really taking this leap of faith with me and supporting me. I’d like to thank my manager for putting up with all the stress I put him through,” you laughed. “And I’d like to thank all the black artists who came before us and paved the way. Shoutout to Earth, Wind and Fire specifically I love y’alls music. Last, but not least I want to say thank you to our fans and the punk and gothic community for always supporting us and having our back as we bring this culture to the mainstream. We love you.”
---
Michael and his brothers were the loudest ones in their section. Quick to jump to their feet and cheer you on, laughing as the cameras caught the shocked expression on your face as you processed your name being called. Michael’s heart was beating so fast as he watched you climb the stairs with your band, you would have thought he had won with how proud he looked. You had spent nearly an hour alone rambling every single night about the process behind getting your first official album finished. Photoshoots, interviews, media training, recording, had all exhausted you so badly by the time you finally got the chance to speak with Michael you would complain and complain. It took him so long to convince you that it didn’t bother him, that he enjoyed being the person you were truly honest to about how tired you were.
He knew it would all pay off, even when you had doubts.
The boys eventually sat down and listened closely as you spoke into the mic, Michael didn’t stop cheesing the whole time. Your style, the way you carried yourself, he was just so fascinated with you. Especially now that he knew the version of you that only creeped out in the dead of night, full of thoughtful opinions and delicate prodding questions into his wellbeing. So caring, yet sharp; the only reason he kept up with tabloids nowadays was to see you tear into the journalists and artists who thought they could step to you.
You finished your speech with a pretty smile that took his breath away, he had to speak to you. Thankfully the evening wrapped up quickly, he laughed as the camera panned to the crowd for John Denver’s win over Elton John and you could be seen rolling your eyes. Closing remarks were given and everything immediately became a frenzy as it was announced the filming was officially over. Artists bumping into one another as they rushed to congratulate each other. Michael stood up with his mission in mind.
“Michael.” Joseph was right next to him as if he could read his mind, “Let’s go.”
Before Michael could even think a heavy hand was on his shoulder, “Come on, Mike. You can call her later,” Jackie advised quietly in Michael’s ear, already steering him towards where Joseph already started off to.
Sorry looks were across all the brothers faces as Michael deflated right before their eyes, dragging his feet, and glancing around as if you’d magically appear.
---
Getting out of the auditorium was infinitely worse than getting in was. Now instead of the weird newcomer people could poke and prod with questions, you were an AMA winner to harass with congratulations.
“You have to take at least a few questions. Just try to sound grateful and, for my health, avoid talking about any of the losers, please,” your manager pleaded before shoving you at a reporter.
“First off, congratulations. How do you feel coming off the big win?”
You pushed a curl out of your face as the heat of the lights started to get to you, “Very grateful, you know. If you would have told me three years ago this is where we would’ve ended up I wouldn’t have believed you. I don’t think anyone would have, with how political and transparent our music is it’s really great to be recogni-”
You were cut off by a gentle hand wrapping around your elbow. Ready to curse out whoever was touching you, you swing around only to be met with the big pretty brown eyes you hadn’t been able to get out of your head for months. You wrapped Michael up in a tight hug, nearly dropping your award, “Your performance was great.”
“Your speech was better. Congratulations, Bats,” he mumbled into your hair. He pulled back a bit and took a good look at you, fully absorbing the way your jewelry made you glow and how perfectly tailored your outfit was to your curves. He dipped down his head with a flustered smile, “you look beautiful.”
“So do you.”
A polite but insistent cough interrupted your little moment, the both of y'all turning back to the reporter who looked thrilled. “You two know each other?”
You both shared a look. “Yeah, we met at an event that Epic held awhile back,” you said casually, shifting so that you could keep an arm wrapped around Michael’s waist, his arm very settled on your shoulder.
Cameras around you both seemed to pick up speed at the sight of two of the most talked about young artists apparently being friends. “What do you think of her music, Michael? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of you speaking about listening to rock or punk or anything like that.”
You turned your head towards Michael at the question, peering up at him through your lashes, nearly giving him a heart attack. He took a deep breath, “I like a lot of different genres. Bats' album is amazing. She's worked so hard, this win is very well earned.”
“And with that, I think we’re done for tonight,” you said decidedly. Grabbing Michaels hand and slowly walking away, “You have a good night,” you called back. In a split second decision you pull Michael back towards the building pushing through the crowds that were still trying to get out. No clue as to where you were going, you walked down a hallway to your right and pulled open the first door you see which opened up to a rehearsal room. You pulled Michael in and wrapped him up in another hug, burying your nose in his neck and blissfully taking in his cologne.
You hadn’t permitted yourself to think too much about Michael with how busy your schedule was. You had resisted the urge to daydream, telling yourself you would see him eventually and that it would be much better than anything you could think up. Which was true. Holding him here was significantly more enjoyable than ideas that would go away, popped by the reality of life pushing you along.
“Missed you,” was all you could say, shocking yourself with how true it was.
“I missed you too,” he sagged against you as if he had been waiting for those exact words.
After much too long of a moment of just standing around hugging, you pulled back slowly. “Sorry about dragging you away. I’m sure Joseph is looking for you.”
Michael rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure Bill’s waiting outside that door right now.” He took your hands in his, his voice shy, “I’m not thinking about Joseph right now. I’m thinking about how crazy all my sisters and Mother are going to be about you when you meet them. Maybe…next Saturday?”
A few weeks ago, in the midst of your complaining you told Michael how after a huge argument with the band, the managers and the label, the only thing that could console you and make you reconsider quitting right there and then was the promise that after this award show you’d get a two month break before the label wanted to see you working again.
The second you told him that the offer to visit his house was on the tip of his tongue, he was more than ready to clear his whole calendar for you, but insecurity blocked the words from escaping him. That was the funny thing about phone calls: they permitted Michael to speak as freely as he wanted but, everyone once in a while that shyness that lingered at the core of his character reminded him that words were only so much, who knew if you’d be there for him once you saw him in person again.
“Next Saturday sounds perfect.” You said it as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“Really?”
“Of course. You gotta introduce me to all your dogs and show me your collections. I can’t guarantee you your sisters are gonna like me as much as you think but, I’ll do my best to seem cool.” He could see all the wheels turning in your mind, imagining how the day would play out.
A knock sounded through the room, “Joker, we gotta go.”
You pulled him in for one last brief hug, “You gotta keep calling me though. Set plans don't change that.” All he could do was humming thoughtfully, enjoying the last moments of you close to him before you moved away, opening the door back to the real world. “Bye, Mike.”
“Bye.” He watched as you waltzed away, accepting congratulations gracefully without slowing down your hunt for your car.
A small chuckle from Bill broke his attention, “You are in serious trouble, son.”
What do we think, y'all? The outfit you're supposed to be wearing is like what Megan thee stallion wore at the J.Hudson show, but like black and with hella accessories.
annaxmalina
2087
stormborns
tangentwithtanner
discoholicmusic
