Summary: Your Jackson-obsessed sister gets herself into trouble at Studio 54, forcing you to rescue her in the middle of the night. What starts off as a mission to clean up another of her messes takes a turn when you cross paths with Michael Jackson in a chaotic encounter.
Content: slow burn + little fluff, thrad era, no use of y/n
A/N: this is my first time writing fan fiction and posting it :) Inspired by the ICONIC Disney movie Starstruck! Going back to my roots and writing my own stories just so I can read it but sharing it instead lol (dividers by @pixopix and @strangergraphics)
Part 1 - “Prepare to get starstruck”
Brooklyn, New York. 1985.
Music filled the small apartment as your sister sang along to a Jackson 5 song at the top of her lungs. Outside, the wind howled as leaves swirled through the air. You sat in the small living room, snuggled beneath a blanket with a book in your hands. It was the perfect fall evening to stay in and read.
"Hey, what do you think of this dress?" Looking up from your book, you gave your sister a puzzled look. She walked into the living room, holding up a super mini black dress.
"Em, you do remember where we live, right? Plus, it's the middle of November,” you asked concerned. The wind would surely blow her back to Texas.
"Well, duh." She smiled. "Obviously, I'm bringing a jacket and wearing tights. I'm not an idiot." You love your sister; you do, but ever since moving to the city two years ago, she’s proven that it’s a possibility. The girl thought the subway was a myth to scare tourists. Bless her heart.
“When they see me in this dress, surely one of them is going to fall in love with me.” She holds it to her chest and shrieks. “Stay there, I’m gonna put it on!" She spins before skipping off to her room.
Emeline is the biggest Jackson - actually, Michael Jackson fan you know. Against your will, you've learned far more about him than you ever wanted to. The absurd animals he has for pets, what snacks he likes to eat and even his favourite movies. So, when she heard the rumour that they were in town for Diana Ross's birthday, she was extra determined to spend another weekend night at Studio 54. It seems like moving to New York with you has finally begun to pay off.
A few minutes later, she walked back into the living room. The dress was short, but at least she had tights on. Over it, however, she wore a denim jacket. A denim jacket?
"Em, please put on a real coat, or you're not going." She rolled her eyes but obliged.
"You are still my baby sister."
You sighed. "All right, all right. You know, I just want you to be okay. Don’t want you coming home sick or anything."
"I know, but I'll be fine.” She grabs her purse. “And I finally get to see my husband." She slipped on an actual coat. You scoffed and returned to the page in your book.
"Sure, whatever. Just don't do anything crazy tonight."
"Yeah, I don't know why I even said that." Honestly, it was a miracle she hadn't been banned yet.
"See you tonight!" She waves as she exits the apartment.
Manhattan, New York. 1985.
Studio 54 was more packed than ever tonight. With the news that Diana would be celebrating her birthday here, along with the Jacksons and a bunch of other celebrities in attendance, it came as no surprise. The air was warm inside, music blasted through the speakers, and bodies bounced off one another on the crowded dance floor. It was chaos.
Michael observed it all from the balcony above. A beautiful kind of chaos, he thought.
He felt Diana's presence before he heard her voice.
She looped her arm through his as they began descending the grand staircase. Heads turned instantly. A wave of cheers erupted from the crowd, cameras flashing as people gave them all their attention. It had been Diana's idea to make a grand entrance together, an homage, she'd called it, to the years they'd spent living in the city. She had insisted on walking in with him. Michael hadn't objected. After everything she'd done for him over the years, it was an easy request to say yes to.
Across the club, the rest of the Jackson brothers watched from their booth.
"It's a shame, really," Jermaine said, swirling the drink in his hand. The others looked at him.
"He looks like a lovesick puppy."
Tito nudged him with his elbow and shook his head.
Jermaine raised an eyebrow. "And how would you know?"
Tito nodded toward Michael as he laughed at something Diana had whispered.
"That look right there," he said. "That's not the look of someone in love."
"That's the look of someone who's accepted their feelings aren't going to be returned." For a brief moment, the booth fell silent. Then Jermaine burst out laughing.
"Whatever, Socrates." He pushed himself to his feet. "I'm getting a different drink. Who's coming?"
As the party wore on, Michael found himself wanting nothing more than to be back home with his animals. He enjoyed being around people for a while, but his social battery was running low.
He'd spent most of the evening sitting beside Diana in their booth. Every time a lady asked him to dance, she'd gently grab his arm and ask him to stay. Sit with me, she'd say. Since it was her birthday, he didn't mind. It was her night, after all. But the longer he stayed, the more aware he became of everything around him. The music now seemed impossibly loud. The smell of alcohol hung heavily in the air. The lights and camera flashes a bit too much. Even Diana's hand, that would rest on his arm, lingered a little too long for his comfort.
"I'm gonna step outside for a breather."
She immediately started to stand. "Oh, let me come with-"
"No." He offered a small smile. "Stay. Enjoy your party. I'll only be a minute."
She hesitated before nodding.
Michael slipped out of the booth and carefully maneuvered through the sea of people. He had no idea where his brothers had disappeared to, but he was certain they were having a much better time than he was. This was their kind of place.
All he needed was a little fresh air. Just a few minutes of peace before heading back to the hotel. That plan was interrupted when someone slammed into him.
"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!"
The young woman did not even look back before taking off again.
Michael watched, confused, as she sprinted down a restricted hallway with a security guard close behind her.
"What in the world?" For a brief second, he considered following to see what all the commotion was about. Then he thought better of it.
Instead of continuing down that hallway, he formed a plan, he turned toward the staircase leading upstairs, hoping he'd find a quieter corner of the club while security dealt with whatever that was.
You were jolted awake by the loud ringing of the landline. Half asleep, you reached across the nightstand and fumbled for the receiver.
"It's me, Emeline. Can you please come get me?"
You shot upright, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "What? Where are you? What happened?"
"Can't talk now, but meet me at the 18th Precinct."
"The what?!" you shouted.
"It's not that far from home, I think? So please use the car. My feet hurt."
"You're in jail! In Manhattan!?" you yelled.
"Look, I have 5 seconds left on this call, hu-"
The line went dead. You stared at the phone in disbelief. What the hell had she done? Throwing off your blankets, you pulled on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants before glancing at the clock.
This was not how you imagined spending your Sunday morning. You grabbed the car keys, the ones for the car you and Emeline barely used but still had thanks to your parents, and hurried down the apartment stairs.
She'd better have one hell of an explanation.
The drive was short. The moment you stepped inside the precinct, however, you wanted to find your sister and smack the back of her head.
"Hi," you said, approaching the front desk. "I'm here to pick up an Emeline?"
The woman behind the desk looked up from her computer. Before she could answer, a police officer rounded the corner.
"Oh, thank God," he said with a hand on his chest. "Someone is here to get her. She hasn't stopped talking my ear off about some... Carmon, Marvin, I don’t know some guy."
Caught off guard by his sudden appearance, you blinked. "Where is she?"
"She's in a holding cell. She tried to get into a restricted area at Studio 54 to follow some star, then punched a security guard when he wouldn't let her through."
Your eyes widened. Oh no. "Is she being charged with anything?"
"No." The officer shook his head. "She's lucky. The guard decided not to press charges. Probably didn't want to admit he'd gotten punched by a young lady.” He giggles before getting serious, “But she might not be so lucky next time." He deadpanned.
You let out a long breath. This was exactly what you got for telling her not to do anything crazy.
"We just need a family member to sign her out. Do you have some ID?"
After the paperwork was finished, the officer unlocked the holding cell and released Emeline. The second she stepped out, you grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the exit.
"Ow! Ow! Owwie! I can explain!"
"But I swear I saw Marlon-"
"I said no." You repeat. "The cop already told me everything I need to know. You're lucky neither Studio 54 nor that guard decided to press charges."
She pouted but stayed quiet. For almost five whole seconds. As soon as the two of you climbed into the car, she spoke again.
"Do not get mad at me, but I left my purse at the club." She sheepishly smiles.
You froze with your hand on the ignition and turned your head slowly to face her. "What?"
"My employee badge is in there too. If I ask for another one, they're surely gonna fire me." Could this night get any worse? She gave you an apologetic smile.
"You owe me." Without another word, you started the car and pulled away from the precinct.
The car pulled up to one of the club's more discreet side entrances. The sky was pitch black with only a few street lights cutting through the darkness. The wind whipped through the empty alley, sending loose trash and leaves in the air. You parked and turned to Emeline.
"I have to walk down there? Why this entrance?" She avoided your eyes.
"Well, the front is packed…” A pause. “And I guess the cop didn't tell you everything." Another pause. "I got banned. Apparently, I am legally not allowed on the premises or something?" You stared at her. "On the bright side, I won't be bothering you with my clubbing stories anymore?" You continued staring. Face blank.
"Just tell me what to do," you said through gritted teeth. "Because if you keep talking, I swear to God I'm going to hit you."
"Okay, okay!" She held up her hands in surrender. "Just knock on the exit door. One of the employees should answer. Ask for Sarah. She probably knows where my purse is."
"And they won’t throw me out too?"
"Probably?" Emeline winced. Rolling your eyes, you climbed out of the driver's seat. This is the last time I'm fixing one of her messes, you thought. Deep down, though, you already knew that wasn't true.
The cold air hit you immediately. The wind tugged relentlessly at your hair as you made your way toward the metal door, keeping your head lowered so your hair wouldn't blow into your face.
You reached the door and lifted your hand to knock.
Before your knuckles made contact, the heavy metal door, with the help of the wind, flew open and slammed directly into your forehead.
The impact knocked you backward, and you landed hard on the pavement. You groaned. This night had to be some kind of nightmare.
A hooded figure immediately rushed out and knelt beside you.
"Oh my goodness! Are you okay?" A soft voice asked as a pair of hands gently steadied your shoulders. "Did I just hit you?" The panic in his voice sounded genuine, but you had reached your limit for the night.
“No, the door hit me by itself.” Shrugging off his hands, you stood up.
The world tilted violently, and you nearly collapsed again. Your vision blurred. You didn't care though. You just needed to get Emeline's purse so the two of you could finally go home.
"Move," you muttered, as you wobbled past the hooded man. "I just need to get something inside." You took one unsteady step before your knees buckled. Before you could hit the ground a second time, an arm wrapped carefully around your waist, keeping you upright.
"Easy." The stranger adjusted his grip, making sure not to hurt you. "Please, don’t move. Let me help you." He pleaded softly. He guided you toward the wall so you could lean against it.
Your hand instinctively went to your forehead. You winced. A bruise was definitely beginning to form. "Ouch."
You finally looked at the hooded figure in front of you. Large brown eyes stared back. Gentle and concerned. He looked oddly familiar. You frowned.
Have I seen him before? You thought. Then it clicked.
“Are you M-” His hand quickly covered your mouth before you could finish. He glanced around, checking the empty alley.
“I will give you front row tickets to my show if you don’t scream my name.” He was paranoid that a journalist would be hiding somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time. Ripping his hand from your mouth, you stared at him.
“I do not want to see your concert, nor do I care. I need to get something inside.” Michael blinked, clearly caught off guard.
“Okay…” he said slowly. “I really need to get you to a doctor.”
He reached for the door handle and gave it a firm tug. Nothing. He frowned and tried again, putting more weight behind it. The door didn't move. It was locked.
"Shoot." He let out a quiet sigh before looking back at you. "Forget it. Do you have a car?"
Without another word, he stepped closer.
"Sorry." Before you could ask what he meant, he gently lifted your arm over his shoulder. One arm stayed securely around your waist, steadying you as he slowly guided you toward the opening of the alley.
The two of you walked in silence. His grip was firm but careful, making sure you didn't lose your balance again. Every now and then he'd glance over, checking to see if you were still conscious.
"I…yeah." An awkward silence settled between you.
"Mike?" A voice echoed from behind you. "I figured you'd be out here." The voice grew closer before adding with a laugh, "Didn't think I'd find you with a date, though."
"A what?" Your head slowly turned toward the hooded man beside you.
Michael's eyes went wide. You could feel his body stiffen.
"No. No, no, no." Even in the dim light of the alley, you could see the colour rise in his cheeks.
The approaching footsteps came to a stop a few feet away.
"We're... kind of in a pickle here, Marlon."
Marlon stepped into the faint glow spilling from the club's back entrance. His amused grin faded the second he noticed the bump on your forehead.
"Mike." He looked from you to his younger brother. "What happened?"
"The door," Michael answered immediately. "The wind caught it."
"You hit her with a door?"
"Can we just go to my car?" You interrupted, your voice louder than you intended. "It's freezing, and it's right there." You pointed weakly toward the dark sedan parked at the end of the alley.
"The keys are already inside and so is my sister." Your stomach dropped. "Oh my gosh"
The weight of the night hit you all at once. The phone call. The police station. The drive. The door. The pounding in your head. Everything crashed together. Your vision blurred.
"Oh, boy." Both brothers turned toward you. Michael's arm tightened around your waist.
"I think I'm gonna-" The word never came out. Your body went limp.
"Oh, shit," Marlon muttered.
Before you could hit the ground, Michael caught you. Without thinking, he slipped one arm beneath your knees and another behind your back, lifting you into his arms with ease.
The two brothers hurried toward the car. Michael knocked urgently on the passenger-side window. Inside, Emeline looked up. Her eyes widened. Her jaw practically on the floor. For a moment, she simply stared. Then she blinked.
Michael knocked again. "Please, open the door."
Still stunned, Emeline fumbled for the lock.
Michael carefully slid into the back seat, cradling you against his chest before easing you onto the seat beside him. You didn't move.
Your head fell on his shoulder.
Marlon climbed into the driver's seat before extending a hand toward the speechless woman beside him.
Emeline looked at his hand. Then at his face. Then back at his hand.
"Your sister fainted," Marlon said as he started the engine. "Mike accidentally hit her with a door. We're taking her to the hospital." She stared in shock.
In the back seat, Michael gently adjusted your position so your head rested comfortably against his shoulder.
"Come on," he whispered. "Wake up." His fingers lightly brushed your cheek.
Emeline twisted around in her seat, panic finally replacing the starstruck expression she'd been wearing. "She's going to kill me."
"This wouldn't have happened if I hadn't chased after you." She pointed accusingly at Marlon. "So technically, this is your fault."
"My fault?" Marlon repeated, eyes fixed on the road.
"Yes! I was trying to run after you, but security kept stopping me!"
Michael drowned out the noise from the argument unfolding in the front seat. His attention never left you.
The streetlights flashed through the windows, briefly illuminating your face before disappearing into darkness again. He studied your features. The way your hair framed your face. Your long lashes. The faint bruise beginning to bloom on your forehead. He gently brushed his thumb across your cheek. Just trying to wake her up, he told himself.
Your eyelashes fluttered. Michael's breath caught.
Realizing how close the two of you were, he quickly pulled his hand away. His heart pounded against his ribs.
You blinked several times, trying to make sense of your surroundings.
The moving car. The shoulder beneath your head. The warm arm supporting you. Confused, you slowly looked up, straight into a pair of worried brown eyes.
What has this night become?
