No Comment — Chapter One
Michael Jackson x Black!Reader
Warnings: swearing, paparazzi harassment, age gap discourse, media pressure, chaotic behavior, protective reader, fluff/humor
Tags: michael jackson x reader, black reader, protective reader, chaotic reader, funny reader, media trained michael, public relationship, paparazzi, interview gone wrong, crack treated seriously, fluff, series potential, 90s michael jackson
Taglist: @simply-lovley44 @cocomilaa @blcknebula
inspired by this post @callmeoncette
The flashing cameras almost blinded you the second the two of you stepped out of the black SUV.
“Michael! Michael over here!”
“How long have you two been together?”
“Michael, is the relationship getting serious?”
“Y/N! Y/N!”
Michael’s hand tightened around yours immediately, thumb rubbing softly against your skin in that quiet way he always did whenever crowds got overwhelming.
“You okay?” he murmured softly.
You looked over at him in disbelief.
“Am I okay? Baby, are you okay? They yellin’ like zoo animals.”
Michael physically had to bite back a smile.
“Baby”
“No, because why are they barking at us?”
The interview host standing near the carpet entrance laughed awkwardly before quickly straightening up when Michael looked over.
Michael lowered his head slightly, curls falling near his face as he tried to compose himself.
“C’mon,” he whispered, gently guiding you forward.
The relationship had gone public barely three weeks ago, and the media had been losing their minds ever since.
Not because Michael Jackson had a girlfriend.
But because you were absolutely terrible at public relations.
You didn’t smile politely at rude questions.
You didn’t dodge disrespect.
And you definitely didn’t care about Hollywood etiquette.
Which explained why Michael’s publicist currently looked like she was five seconds away from cardiac arrest.
The interviewer smiled brightly as cameras zoomed in.
“It’s wonderful to have you both here tonight.”
“Thank you,” Michael answered sweetly.
You nodded. “Appreciate it.”
The interviewer turned toward Michael first.
“So Michael, your fans have been very curious about this relationship. It’s definitely surprised a lot of people.”
Michael smiled politely. Calm. Practiced.
“Well, I’m very happy,” he said gently. “She’s very special to me.”
Then the interviewer looked at you.
“And what’s it like dating the biggest star in the world?”
You shrugged.
“He steals my food.”
Michael looked scandalized.
“I do not steal your food.”
“Yes you do.”
“I ask for it.”
“You ask after it’s already halfway gone micheal.”
The interviewer laughed softly.
Michael covered part of his face, already embarrassed.
Then the interviewer made the mistake.
“So…” she started carefully, “there’s obviously been conversation online about your age and maturity level compared to Michael’s. Some people think you may not fully understand the pressure that comes with being with someone like him.”
Michael’s smile dropped instantly.
You felt his hand squeeze yours once.
Warning, begging even...
Please don’t.
“Uh,” Michael started softly, “I don’t really think...”
“And some critics,” the interviewer continued, “have questioned whether you’re prepared for this kind of public relationship.”
Michael inhaled slowly.
“Baby,” he whispered under his breath.
Too late.
You blinked at the woman.
“What kinda stupid-ass question is that?”
The entire audience and crew went silent.
Michael froze beside you.
The interviewer stared.
Cameras zoomed in on you so fast it was almost violent.
You frowned.
“No seriously. How are you qualified to have this job if that’s what you ask people?”
“baby” Michael whispered, horrified.
“I’m serious,” you continued. “Y’all get paid to be weird and disrespectful on television and then act shocked when somebody says something back.”
The interviewer looked absolutely stunned.
“Well, I...”
“And another thing,” you cut in. “Every interview this man does, somebody feels comfortable disrespecting him as long as they smile while doing it.”
Michael looked down at the floor, shoulders already shaking slightly.
“You ask rude questions, pry into his personal life, make slick comments, then try to hide behind professionalism when people call it out. It’s weird.”
The interviewer opened and closed her mouth for a second.
“And now suddenly I’m immature because I’m not sitting here pretending that question wasn’t rude?”
“Baby,” Michael mumbled weakly, “you can’t say that on television.”
“Yes I can.”
“No you can’t.”
“Yes I can and I will.”
“And honestly,” you continued, “half the interviews he does feel less like interviews and more like y’all trying to see how uncomfortable you can make him before he reacts.”
Michael physically turned away now, trying to hide the fact that he was laughing.
The interviewer awkwardly cleared her throat.
“S-So Michael… about the question I asked earlier...”
“What she said,” Michael answered immediately.
The interviewer stared at him in disbelief.
Michael finally looked back over at you with the brightest grin you’d seen all night.
--------
By the time the two of you finally made it inside the venue, the tension from the interview had completely shifted.
Mostly because Michael could not stop laughing.
“You embarrassed me,” he whispered as the two of you walked through the hallway toward the backstage area.
You looked at him incredulously.
“I embarrassed you?”
“Yes,” he said immediately, still smiling. “You attacked that poor woman.”
“She attacked you first.”
Michael shook his head, curls bouncing slightly.
“You called her stupid on live television.”
“I said the question was stupid.”
“That is not better.”
You crossed your arms dramatically.
“Well maybe she should stop asking dumb questions then.”
Michael tried to stay serious for about three seconds before another laugh escaped him.
“There you go again,” he mumbled.
“Oh, don’t do that,” you said, pointing at him. “Don’t act so pleased with me now after sitting there acting all shocked.”
“I was shocked!”
“You were laughing!”
“I was trying not to!”
You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously.
“You liked it.”
Michael immediately looked away.
Which told you everything.
Your mouth dropped open.
“Oh my God, you DID like it.”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Michael covered part of his face with one hand, already smiling again.
“You should’ve seen your publicist’s face,” you continued. “That lady looked like she was about to pass out.”
“She probably was.”
“Well maybe next time they’ll stop asking you weird questions.”
Michael slowed down slightly then.
The teasing expression on his face softened into something else, something softer.
Something genuine.
“You really don’t like when people disrespect me, huh?”
You looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious.
“No. I don’t.”
For a second, Michael just stared at you.
Then he smiled again.
this time
Smaller
“…I like that.”
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