• R I V A L S •
table of contents
summary:
It’s the MTV awards, and tonight is the first time you’ll perform your newest single, from your much anticipated 2nd studio album. You’re all set to give the performance of your life, except, some information arrives at the last minute, SECONDS before you’re about to go on stage.
Your long term rival, Michael Jackson, has been seated in the front row...
background/context: there is no official timeline for this story other than it's based in the early 90s. Michael's bad album has come out, and he's post tour / 29 years old. Other than that, there is no time-specific content. This is not a historically accurate fic, either. Most, if not all, things mentioned I have made up for the sake of entertainment. Please don’t take it too seriously.
🚨NOTE: DUE TO TUMBLR FLAGGING / REMOVING MOST OF THIS STORY, ALL CHAPTERS AND FUTURE CHAPTERS ARE POSTED HERE: -> link <-
content warnings: steam. cheating (fmc & Michael, on third party). Alcohol and drug use suggested. Manipulative/dominant MJ, if you’re sensitive to that, please don’t read.
"Tabi, ready to go in five."
I exhale, mid pre-performance ritual and vocal warm up, excitement and nerves coursing through my veins. I shake out my hands, mumbling the lyrics to my new song under my breath, eyes closed. After a few seconds, I open them and touch up my make up quickly, fluffing my big sixties style hair.
there's a knock on my dressing room door, and my gaze flicks to it as it opens. "Hey," one of my dancers and friends, Heidi, greets. My brows shoot up with confusion at her expression. "just heard, apparently they sat Michael front and centre."
"What?" My whole body tenses. From her grimace, I already know she's not lying. "They just love feeding this shit, don't they?" I hiss, face flushing as anger rises inside me. I inhale deeply, attempting to calm down.
"What do you need?" Heidi asks, gaze earnest. She's been my dancer for the last four years, a friend for just as long. "I can see if someone can get him to move, or something? Say otherwise you won't perform?"
"No, no," I mumble, as much as I would love to throw a diva tantrum, I can't. Not with only minutes to go until I'm meant to be out there.
"Two minutes!" someone calls from behind Heidi. I huff again and jump a little bit, shaking out the nerves.
"Let's just go," I mutter, glancing at myself one more time before I stride from my dressing room and out into the chaos of back stage at an awards show. I hear them announcing me, crowd already applauding, I'm walking fast, pulling off my robe, chucking it to a stage hand whose hands are already outstretched for it.
My music starts just as I near stage left. "I love to love you baby," I sing just before stepping out on stage, lights flaring as I pause in the centre, leg out, hand on hip, mic angled up in front of me; glittering tights with a matching mini dress glinting in the spotlight. I'm half turned towards the crowd, frozen in my signature pose. I hear them screaming for me as the music pauses. I hold the pose, basking in the applause.
Five seconds go by, and the lights flash again, sparks flying, and the song restarts. My dancers stride out from either stage. I strut down centre stage before my all female band, meeting my dancers as I sing; "I'm feelin' sexy... I wanna hear you say my name, boy..."
From the intensity of the spotlights, I can't see Michael. I thank my lucky stars, continuing to perform to the best of my ability, and beyond. "tonight I'll be your naughty girl, I'm calling all my girls--" Dancing whilst I sing, I keep up with my dancers easily, putting my all into this, like I was born to do.
The lights temporarily dim in time with a more sensual part of the song. I catch sight of him then, straight faced, shades on, frozen in his seat like a statue, right in front of me. I'm vocalising, rolling my hips to the sensual beat, feeling the music flow through me, except that rage hits me again, just as my band begins to seamlessly blend my newest song in with my most famous one, with the heavy fast drums and chants.
I hear the cheers from the audience increase, people getting to their feet, clapping along as I switch up my performance.
A quick flash of Michael's words flicker through my head, calling me vulgar, and full of myself, through a leaked phone call.
I shake my head out of it, switching from singing on autopilot and throw myself back into the driver's seat. I dance right in front of him, hitting every beat, every note. Heidi glances at me, bright grin on her face as she matches my increase in energy quickly, as do the other girls.
As the lights flash, almost everyone is out of their seat, clapping or singing along, but Michael. He sits there, and I know he's doing it on purpose. I force myself to ignore it, pushing myself back into my body, reminding myself I had my title as the queen of pop because of my own damn hard work.
I finish the song with a bang, lights blaring, sparks flying. I stand there, basking in the applause again, panting. I grin, taking a bow, hair flopping over me before I flick it back. I fight hard not to look at Michael again, but in my peripheral vision, I catch him still just sitting there. He claps a few times before stopping.
I take another bow, thanking the crowd then quickly exit stage right. My team applauds me as I enter backstage, and I'm beaming, drinking it all in, thanking them. I feel it before they say it, this was the best performance of my career.
I do a quick interview before heading back to my dressing room, grinning from ear to ear. Inside, the little TV in the corner of the room is on. I watch the rest of the awards show as my stylist comes in to get me changed for the after party. I was the last performance, so there isn't much left. I'm having my make up redone to match my little red dress, when the TV switches from the awards show, to post show interviews. Most celebs are leaving now, heading to the after party or back home.
The moment he pops up on my screen, I'm rigid.
"Michael! Michael!" A photographer calls, the camera is in his face, and he's simply ignoring it, striding out of the venue into the night, shades still on, dressed all in black in that military style clothing. "Michael! what did you think of Tabi's performance?"
The paparazzi stoke the flames of this thing between us again and I stop breathing, staring at the little box TV with such intensity it might just drop off the wall.
Michael's walk slows slightly at the sound of my name. He glances to the camera guy, and leans close to his microphone, "I loved it, thank you," he says in this smooth low voice, smiling slightly before he keeps walking.
The photographers go crazy, lights flashing frantically, all clamouring to get more out of him, but he stays mute as his security guys push them all out the way and he climbs into a van and disappears from sight.
Even my make up artists has paused, brush hovering over my cheek. My whole dressing room is silent. My stylist is stunned. My manager's mouth has dropped open. Even my boyfriend is stuck staring at the TV, face frozen.
"What the fuck!" I shout, pointing at the TV, "No!"
"Damn it," My manager sighs, rubbing her forehead. She knows what Michael using this voice will do. Make the whole damn night about him, once again taking a swipe at me.
"Whose god damn voice was that? Who was that?" My boyfriend, Johnny, asks, pointing to the TV. He's also a popular singer, but for the rock genre, and stayed back stage as I did my thing to wait for me and support me.
I lean forward and drop my head in my hands, probably ruining my fresh make up.
"Okay, nobody say anything. Do not comment on anything Michael just said when we leave okay, keep the focus on Tabi's performance and new upcoming album. All smiles!" My manager instructs. "Johnny, I mean it, say nothing!"
When we're leaving, I'm so tense I'm squeezing Johnny's hand harder than I mean to, knuckles turning white. "Breathe, Tabi."
"I am," I mutter through gritted teeth. We're walking down a long hallway towards the exit. I can hear the paparazzi outside, anticipating me. I release Johnny's hand just as the doors open and step out, bright grin on my face as I wave at the flashing lights. Amongst the clamouring and shouts, I hear Michael's name a few times. I keep the smile on my face, answering what questions I can, then I tactfully move on to sign autographs for my fans waiting outside, ignoring the photographers all together.
Which is what I hope Johnny is doing too, until I hear him say: "Well, if he wasn't so much of a punk bitch, I might have some respect for the guy finally speaking the truth about my girl--"
I freeze, blood draining from my face, but then I remember that I'm mid-signature and return to smiling, thanking everyone for being here. I then, perhaps not so tactfully, speed walk down the carpet to where a big van is waiting to take us to the after party, which is being held in some glamorous mansion in the hills.
I'm cringing hard when Johnny finally climbs into the van, staring hard out the window even as he tries to take my hand. I snatch it back and away from him, so angry I could scream. I wait for the door to shut, for us to drive away a bit before I say something. "What the hell were you thinking?" I cry, whirling on him. "Why would you say that!"
"Say what?" he replies.
"Johnny!"
"I was defending you, the guy has been after you for a year and a half, am I just supposed to just sit here any take it?"
"It's not happening to you, is it?"
"Yes, it is. The moment you agreed to be my girl you became my responsibility," he mutters, "It's not just your reputation on the line, but mine too, and I won't let Michael damn Jackson make me like a fucking pussy." He smoothes his blond hair back despite it already frozen in a sweep with hairspray.
The van glides through LA, passing through traffic easily. The sounds of cars honking and a distant ambulance are muffled.
I stare at him, heart pounding. "You know I hate that phrase, Johnny."
"For God's sake, you know what I mean."
I lock down, turning away and stare out the window, refusing to answer him again when he probes me to open up and talk to him. “Fine, be like that,” he mutters, pissed off now, too. "You act like such a bitch sometimes, Tabi. I was just trying to help you."
We arrive to the after party tense and not talking to each other. I slip out, smile plastered on my face as the photographers snap pictures. I’m in a little strapless thing, deep red, and very short. My lip shade matches, as do my heels, and I’m stacked with gold jewellery around my neck and wrists.
I don’t stop to talk as I head inside the mansion, finally exhaling once I read the sign in the foyer that says 'no photography beyond this point'.
The sound of Mark Morrison's, Return of the Mack blasts out of the speakers as I find my way through the gatherings of celebrities and all their plus ones, or groupies. There are people all over this mansion, dancing or drinking, smoke curling around the lights. I end up by the bar, knowing my friends are here somewhere, but first I need several drinks to soothe my simmering temper.
I enjoy the music, bopping my head, and glance towards the DJ booth across the sea of glamorous bodies dancing in the living room area. That's when I see him.
He's stood next to the DJ, saying something into his ear, those stupid shades still on, drink in hand, big fuck off grin on his face.
What the fuck is he doing here? He never comes to these things!
The DJ laughs, clapping his hands with Michael's free hand, bringing him in for one of those half hugs before he steps away. Michael then disappears into the crowd just as my drinks are placed in front of me. I have two, a glass of champagne and a vodka shot. I throw the shot back, barely even cringing as it burns my throat, then sip my champagne, attempting to see where Michael went.
I'm fuming, egged on by Johnny's stupid comments and Michael stealing my spotlight from right under my feet. All the questions that had been shouted at me upon leaving the venue tonight had been about him, about what he'd said about me. He knew exactly what he was doing speaking with that new voice.
I slide through the crowd, thanking people as they stop to congratulate me on my performance and new song. I find Michael outside on the balcony overlooking the lower garden, stood amongst a group of his friends or whoever they are, a few of them smoking. I'm striding over before I can stop myself, red glittery platform heels clicking against the stone floor.
His friends glance at me before near, catching Michael's attention. He turns, facing me, small smile flattening. "What the fuck is your problem?" I snap at him.
"What?" he replies in a soft tone.
"Why would you do that?" I demand, even in my heels I'm looking up at him slightly, "You can't let me have just one fucking night? You weren't even performing!" I say loudly.
"What did I do?" a curl hanging over his brow twitches in the wind.
"I loved it," I mimic in that voice. He just looks down at me, expression giving nothing away. "You knew exactly what you were doing. Real dick move."
He huffs, flashing pretty white teeth as he gives me an unamused smile, "I gave you a compliment, I think what you mean to say is thank you."
The men around him chuckle softly, sipping their drinks, acting like they're not watching or paying attention.
My temper flares. But I'm aware that a few people around us are actually watching. "You're an arrogant, narcissistic asshole," I spit just loud enough for him to hear, poking him in the chest with each word, staring into his shades. "Thank you!" I then add in a high voice with a sneering smile. I flounce back into the house in search of someone I know who I can hang out with.
It had been a whole year and a bit since Michael and I had last spoken face to face. I'd just broken our streak of ignoring each other in public. I still remember our last interaction vividly.
He'd been just about to go on tour. I'd been single then, just turned twenty three, when I'd gotten a call from my manager that his had called her and asked if I'd be interested on going out with him. Of course I'd accepted. I'd been so excited. We met at the restaurant after dark, arriving separately. It had been a luxurious place you could only get into if you knew somebody or where somebody. We'd had a private booth, surrounded by big plants, totally hidden from the rest of the room.
I'd talked my mouth off. I was nervous, but excited too. It was flattering, being asked out on a date by a man like him. Except, I kept having to talk and fill the quiet, and he had barely said anything. Just sat there, shades on, listening or not listening, I wasn't sure. I tried to ask him questions, he'd just bluntly replied and then let us sit in silence.
I lasted forty minutes before I said I had to go. Our food hadn't even arrived. He'd been confused that I wanted to leave, frowning hard and sitting up like I'd cussed him out, when all I'd just said was: "Let's just pretend this never happened."
And we tried to.
Not even the press had known about it.
That is, until that phone call leaked and he was exposed, running his mouth about me. It was humiliating, and the media loved it. I'd been so pissed off the first opportunity I had to respond to it, I'd taken it, saying: "Why would I care what Michael Jackson thinks of me?"
Year and a half later, we just can't stop taking swipes at each other. And I'd just taken another at him, despite promising myself a few weeks ago I'd stop. The media were getting the wrong idea. They thought it was some kind of foreplay, when all I really wanted to do was ring his neck and beg him to let me have my damn moment.
When I actually find some of my friends, I tell them what happened. "Tabi, you gotta stop letting him get to you," Heidi says, lighting a cigarette. We're all gathered by the pool, sitting on lounge chairs. "he obviously gets a kick out of it."
"He just wants your attention,” another one of my friends says.
"It's not that," I mutter, "he's just pissed off someone keeps stepping into his spotlight. In his eyes, he's the only one allowed to have some sort of royal title when it comes to music."
"Such a man. They really hate sharing, don't they?"
I hum, fighting off a half hearted smirk as the other girls roll their eyes, sipping their drinks before they giggle. I want to brush this off, but it has affected me more than I want to tell the others. I put my all into that performance tonight, and now it's just been overshadowed by Michael and his sexy low voice.
I enjoy the party as much as I can, drinking, getting up to dance at one point. The music’s good, and at one point they even play my stuff. By the late evening I’m drunk, head spinning. I break away from my friends and weave through people to try and find a bathroom.
I have no idea if my boyfriend is still here or not, and he’s irritated me so bad that I’m wondering if I actually care. I head upstairs, clinging to the banisters. I pass by a bunch of famous faces, saying hello, hugging people. I’m chatting away, all thoughts of using the bathroom gone when I feel a hand on my shoulder.
It’s Johnny.
“Oh, there you are,” I say lightly as he pulls me away from who I’m taking to.
“Where have you been all night?” He wonders, voice tense. It breaks through my drunken haze. I blink up at him.
“Dancing. With my friends.”
He pulls me with him all the way down a long hallway lined with people, some just talking, whilst others furiously make out. “You know that he’s here?”
“What?”
“Michael Jackson. Did you know he’s here?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m gonna say something,” Johnny tells me, amped up. I stare at him properly, noticing how wide his pupils are, how energetic he seems.
“Johnny, are you on something?” I ask.
“Whys that matter?” He hisses at me, then suddenly turns away. It takes me a second to realise he’s not in front of me anymore, and is heading back downstairs. Heading to find Michael. My heart lurches, Johnny is that kind of reckless idiot to try to start something where so many eyes can see him, high off drugs that impair his ability to think clearly.
I chase after him, still wearing my heels, pushing through the tightly knit groups of people. He moves quickly, and I get stuck behind some people as Johnny heads outside.
Luckily, he can’t find Michael, and there’s a part of me that hopes he’s left. It’s not that I think they’d fight, but just the sheer embarrassment is enough to knock me stone cold sober. “Johnny! Stop it!” I gasp, hating the dramatics of this all as he pushes people around, searching through the patio. He leans over the balcony, staring out at the groups of people. “Johnny!”
I grab him, pulling him back from the balcony’s ledge, talking him down. I’m being pushed further and further into this place in my head where I’m so done with this behaviour and it’s just making me angry. This was meant to be one of the best nights of my career, my life, and it’s being dominated by egotistical men.
I’m pulling Johnny back through the house to find a bathroom, hoping I can either sober him up or wait this out, when we find Michael.
The hallway is small, there’s a few people around, but it’s at a far side of this mansion, where the party thins out. I’m pushing Johnny through the sparse group of people talking, catching up or networking, and I feel him tense up.
Then I hear his voice.
He’s speaking lightly, greeting someone as he passes with that group again, leaning in for a cheek kiss the moment they go for one. I can’t quite tell if the guys around him are friends or if they’re his body guards, but the moment one of them notices Johnny and me, the energy changes.
One guy grasps Michael’s shoulder, and he half turns, listening to him murmur something into his ear. He still has those shades on, blocking his eyes, but I feel it the moment he looks at me. At us.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath, grabbing Johnny’s arm in an attempt to pull him the opposite way, but then Michael’s moving towards us, expression blank. I think he’s about to say something, but he goes to simply move by.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Johnny jeers loudly, just as he passes us. People turn to look, and my face flames as I press myself into the wall, hands snapping up to clasp my cheeks. “Yeah, you move along, coward. Not so tough now that you have to confront a man, huh?”
Michael pauses. His guys stop behind him, then each are looking at me, then at Johnny.
“What was that?” Michael asks, expression relaxed as he faces our way. But there’s tension in that half grin as he looks straight at Johnny, even with his shades on. The air in the hallway thins. “What did you say?”
"I said you're a coward." Johnny spits loudly. Michael's freezes, that half grin fading, but then one of his guys steps in his eye line.
“Let’s just keep movin’ man,” he murmurs, putting his hands on his shoulders and nudging him forward, turning him around, diffusing the situation. The hallway has gone quiet, everyone watching.
Michael mutters something under his breath, and that smile returns. As if this didn't affect him at all. His group move away, chuckling at what he said. Which only pours a fresh amount of gasoline on my boyfriend's temper.
Johnny lurches after him, but someone else, a bystander, grabs him and holds him back, telling him to calm down. Michael is already walking off, laughing under his breath, heading back towards the main area of the after party.
I’m still pressed into the wall, breathing shallow and fast, humiliated. Completely, and utterly humiliated.
I’m striding away from Johnny as that stranger tries to calm him down. I can’t do this anymore tonight. Michael and I may have a rivalry or whatever the media wants to call it, but it is mine to have, and not Johnny’s. Ever since we started dating I can’t help but feel like he’s taken this thing between us as a personal dig towards him.
I’m heading out of the party set on leaving when I hear my name. I pause, and I see them all there, waiting for a car to be brought around. Michael’s looking at me, whilst his buddies turn around and distract themselves.
I hesitate. Anymore drama and I’ll explode. But as I stand here on the steps leading down to the road, where, photographers gather, eager to get pictures of whoever they can leaving the party drunk or high, Michael takes the opportunity to break away from his group and approach me.
“Leaving?” He asks.
I nod. “Yeah, I’m done for the night.” I say, tense. I glance towards the paparazzi outside, but from our angle, none of them can see us. There’s a wall and a hedge in the way.
“What was that?” Michael then asks. “With your guy.”
“Oh,” I hum. I can’t even look at him. “Just Johnny being stupid.” I could apologise, but I won’t. Both men ruined my night, neither of them deserve acknowledgement from me.
“Leaving without him, then.”
I don’t respond. Instead I shift on my heels, toss my hair back from my face and just look at him.
What’s his point?
Michael nods slowly. “Step over here for a minute,” he murmurs, tipping his head back to where the mansion’s gardens curve towards the back. There’s a path, but it disappears slightly into the shadows and landscaped shrubs.
He moves away from me, steps that way, then pauses. “I just wanna talk to you, ma. That’s all.” He speaks softly, giving me that half grin before he takes a step down the path. “Come on,” He coaxes.
The air hums, and my skin prickles.
Sober me wouldn’t have followed him. Wouldn't have even considered it. My man is back inside, and sober me would've been in there dragging him out by his ear to go home so we could have it out in private like we usually do.
Except, he humiliated me tonight. And this was a big night for me.
And Michael... fucking Michael. Stood there waiting for me to follow him, like he knows I will. I can't even lie and say I'm not attracted to him, because I am. I always have been. It's why I agreed to go on that date in the first place. It's why all this pisses me off so damn much.
I take a step towards him.
I’m more drunk than tipsy, irritated that this night hasn't even been a teensy bit about me. I feel out of myself. Confused, angry, and embarrassed.
"I'm not gonna bite you," he chuckles softly. I take more steps. "That's it," he chuckles and I start frowning, yet my feet don't stop until he's a few steps ahead of me, and I'm following him down the path. I stop when we've gone far enough. It feels like we've moved into a pocket, music and talk and laughter all muffling where we are in the shadow of this mansion, away from most of the light.
"You wanted to talk, so talk," I say bluntly, folding my arms. My vision is a little hazy, but I sound sober enough. Michael takes off his shades, finally revealing his eyes. I swallow.
"I wanted to apologise to you, actually," he begins, he glances over his shoulder as two people run into the gardens behind us, laughing wildly before they disappear into the bushes. "I meant what I said as a compliment, not to take the light off you."
"And yet," I mutter, "that's exactly what it did."
"If I'd ignored the question, it would've had the same reaction. The media love to feed off this thing between us."
"This is all your fault," I snap quietly, aware that even though I feel like we're in this little bubble, if I start shouting, it will burst. "I did nothing to you."
He inhales deeply, ducks his head, nodding slowly. "I know that."
I almost don't notice the half step he takes towards me, holding his shades with both hands, gently turning them.
I almost start rambling, word vomit so close to tumbling out of my lips, confessing everything I'd wanted to say when I'd heard that leaked phone call. Instead, I shut my mouth.
"Your performance was great, I did love it," he nears me again, softening and lowering his voice even more so he's almost whispering. It all clicks into place in one sudden sweep. The back and forth. The comments. My anger, my irritation, the way Johnny reacts whenever Michael is brought up. It all makes sense, and it's always made sense to me in the back of my head. Why I can't let this thing go, and just ignore him.
"Stop it," I mumble. Michael stops moving, tilts his head, looks down at me.
"Let me apologise, Tabi."
"I should go," I murmur, glancing away from him. My body is burning, like a match was just struck up my spine and my skin has caught on fire. I flick a look at Michael and he's watching me closely, eyelids a touch heavy.
Perhaps the media was right.
Maybe this has all been one prolonged game of foreplay.
I exhale shakily. I should walk my ass back to the house, find my boyfriend and leave. Yet I stay.
"I shouldn't have made all those comments, said all those things," Michael murmurs, "I was being mean to you, I'm sorry," he nears me, just inching closer like some kind of predator. I'm barely breathing, staring up at him. That curl hanging across his brow shifts in the breeze. "You just make me crazy," he whispers.
I stop breathing. I'm damn near pressed up against the wall, and as I lean back as Michael gets closer, the coolness of the stone makes me jump. I jolt, then swallow heavily, unable to look away from his eyes. He glances me over.
I feel his finger brush the hem of my red mini dress. I don't stop him, not even as he pulls on it, tugging my lower half away from the wall, towards him. He does it slowly, giving me time to break away or something, I don't know, but when I don't, he smiles and presses in close, leans down to my throat.
His cologne blooms inside my nose and my eyes nearly roll back as I breathe him in.
"What are you doing?" I ask breathlessly. What am I doing?
"Apologising," he murmurs against my skin, sliding his palms across my hips, pulling me flush against his body. I blink rapidly as he kisses my neck softly, slowly.
"My boyfriend is... is inside," I say, but my eyes are closing. My chin tilts up as I gasp. He's found a spot just under my jaw that sends tingles right down to my core. He sucks on it gently, humming in response. He doesn't care, I can already tell that much.
A soft moan escapes me. Michael pulls back, breathes me in. Then his lips find mine. I kiss him back, arms snaking around his neck as our mouths move together. I caught up in it way too fast, body hot under his touch as he caresses his palms over my waist then down to my ass, giving the flesh a firm squeeze. His kiss is minty with a touch of alcohol, and he tastes so good that I'm finding it harder and harder to listen to that little voice in the back of my mind telling me to stop. To think of Johnny.
Another breathy moan leaves me as we kiss, pressed together as he presses me into the wall.
He kisses me harder, groaning quietly, and sheer need slams into me so hard, oddly, it snaps me out of it.
Oh my god, I want to fuck him.
I push him back, and our lips separate with a wet smack. I stare up at him, panting slightly, torn between begging him not to tell anyone, and begging him to keep going.
What the fuck am I doing?!
A slow grin takes over his mouth. "I knew it," he mutters in that low voice, "I knew you wanted me."
My expression flattens. I push him away harder. He half stumbles back as the urge to scream almost floors me. I storm away from him as he chuckles quietly, unable to even speak with how rampant my emotions are now inside me. I can almost feel his grin following me, infuriating me so much I'm close to tears by the time I make it to the foyer.
I'd just cheated on my man with the guy I'm supposed to hate, and I can't figure out if I regret it or not.
end notes:
What did we think?!
so the song that was the inspo for Tabi's performance medley was Naughty Girl and Get me bodied by Beyonce. Just a quick character overview: I’m leaving her descriptions somewhat vague, so please imagine Tabi (pronounced tabby) however you want! The only thing I will say is she's short, because I love a size difference and I don't enjoy making Michael taller than he is, feels low key disrespectful. anyway, I like to envision Tabi's back story as similar to Beyoncé’s. Started off in a group, eventually went solo. Very talented. Great dancer & vocalist. We’re going full throttle because she’s meant to “compete” with Michael talent wise. Except they aren’t really competing, the media just makes it feel like they are.
anyway, before I overthink this, I hope you enjoyed it!! ALSO this story will be smutty, I just didn’t want to put it in the first chapter because they have beef rn😭
if you'd like a part 2 please let me know before I lock in lmfaooo. (Here’s part two!)
DUE TO TUMBLR FLAGGING AND REMOVING MOST OF THIS STORY, IT WILL BE POSTED ON A03: here is the link -> link <- if you can see the rest of the chapters that's great, but if not, they're on there too.
tag list: @j3nnyluvscupc4k3s @tojiswifeforlife @ilovolivegarden @styleslover-1994 @unknwnbrii - If you'd like to be tagged, please let me know!
