summary: you are a new solo singer, and you’re performing at a theatre for the first time after several music clubs and bars. you share the dressing room with the jackson 5, who you have known as a band since you were 14-15 years old. from there, you become acquainted. all of, including jermaine.
warning/tags: joe jackson / fluff, brothers being brothers, jermaine shooting his shot at a hot chick (you), playful teasing, extremely long
a/n: while im working on the sugar daddy jackie fic, have this <3 the song the reader sings is “i just want to make love to you” originally sung by muddy waters, but the one im referring to is a cover by etta james. this fic is also inspired by @notorious-pyt ‘s child star fic, and i highly recommend u check them out! enjoy, my little martinis!
You paced around your room, scrambling for your music sheet that you lost in the mess you call your bedroom. The afternoon wind blew in your room, the sun hitting past your windows.
Your luggage, which had a flowery pattern casing, laid on your bed wide open. It contained your makeup bag, your water bottle, your own mic (just in case the theatre’s own sucked), a tiny jar of honey, the mic cable, and your costume.
There were other things stuffed inside, like a bunch of bobby pins, hairspray, lotion, your jewelry box, your perfume, and even a snack to eat after your performance.
A couple of weeks earlier, you had celebrated your 18th birthday. You received many gifts, some expensive, which was why you had the Avon Sweet Honesty, your favorite, trendy fragrance. Your luggage and your water bottle were one of the gifts you also got during your party.
The gift that you truly cherished the most, however, was your new costume for tonight’s show. A present from your grandparents on your mama’s side that you didn’t wear yet, not until now.
It was a patterned yellow halter top with matching yellow bell bottoms, paired with bright pink platform sandals. Your grandma also included a big belt to hang around your hips, highlighting your figure perfectly. Your grandpa had bought gold hoop earrings from Chanel to add on as well.
You absolutely loved the fit, and you made sure to keep it clean and unwrinkled for the occasion.
“(Name), are you almost ready!?” Your brother shouted from downstairs, who was climbing up the stairs with his loud steps.
“Just a minute!” You shout back, finally unveiling your music sheet from under your bed. You folded it neatly, and shoved it underneath your makeup bag.
“We gotta leave before four! It’s a quarter after three already!”
“I know!” You yell, huffing, and your eyebrows tight-knit to each other. You shut your luggage tightly, adjusting your casual clothes and making sure you didn’t leave anything, before you finally left your room.
You quickly rush down the stairs, luggage in hand. Your father and mother were by the door, waiting patiently.
“There’s my girl.” Your mother holds you in her arms, warm and affectionate, before letting you go, “You ready?” She asked.
You nod, smiling, “Yes, ma.” Then you turn to your father, who was smiling as well.
“Make sure you don’t forget your costume, you know how important that is to your grandma for you to wear.” He said.
”Of course, Dad.” You laugh, and he gives you a tight hug.
“ ‘Kay, let’s go.” Your father announced as soon as your brother, Frank, came down after you, his hands fiddling with the keys as he handed it to your father.
Once you all exited the house, your brother grabs your luggage. “I’ll put it in the trunk.” He said, prompting you to head into the backseat.
“Okay, Mr. Armstrong.” You snicker, causing him to roll his eyes. You smack him in the head, making him groan. He totally deserved it, and he was two years younger than you, so he was technically being disrespectful.
“Woah,” Frank muttered, looking up at the big, theatre sign. “This place is outta sight.”
“Right on.” Your father replied, locking the car doors with a click.
You look up as well, fidgeting with the handle of your luggage before your mother snaps you back into reality. You all walk to the entrance, where a black man in a crisp suit waited by with his eye on his watch.
“Marques! My man, my man.” Your father greeted loudly as the man looked up. He instantly grinned, offering a hug to your father and a kiss on the cheek to your mother. “Good to see you Leroy, Bernice,” Marques nods to both of your parents. “And of course, Frank and (Name).” He smiles at you and your brother.
“Nice to see you again, sir.” You greet as well, and Frank responds back with a polite comment of the man’s suit. Marques laughs, and then proceeds to take them into the theatre.
Marques was your manager, and a family friend, so he knew how extremely gifted and talented you were with your voice and production. He said the way she sang was strong, and the way she did it was interesting. He was the one that helped her with her first gig, and the one after that, and the one after the second gig, and so on.
As a singer, you often flicked your hands to help with the flow. You didn’t know where you got it, but it was proven extremely handy when it came to higher notes, or even longer ones.
You and your family were led into your dressing room, which was pretty spacious, fortunately. You were humming your vocal warmups as you settled your luggage in the left corner of the room, unlatching your case over your seat.
“Since you’re already here, good man George wants you to do a quick sound check cuz’ one of their mics been buggin’.” Marques explained to you, “If you don’t mind.”
You shook your head, “Not at all, sir.”
You make your way to the left wing, where people were chatting and working behind the curtains. You see your band already lounging around, so you greet them. “You guys nervous?” You asked with a smile. Your guitarist, Karen, snickers, “Everyone here is, babe. John’s already pissing himself!” The group laughed together as John, your drummer, denied the allegations with a wide grin.
While hanging around, you saw what you assumed were several other artists (judging by their looks and professionalism), and even one that you recognized as Cher. Though, it was only a brief glance, so you weren’t sure if it was truly the eccentric woman.
Suddenly, a man approached you.
“Are you (Name)?” He asked, and you nod politely. “I’m George, who’s going to help with your sound check. And- just making sure- your stage name is Soul?”
“Yes, sir.” You answered.
“Got it.” He says, writing it down on a clipboard, “Right this way, miss.”
He leads you to the open stage. People were cleaning the seats, and some were moping the floors. You saw how grand and large it was, which made you even more nervous. You didn’t show it.
The man hands you one of the mics, and calls out to one of the men in the right wing to turn on mic #3. The man gives a thumbs up.
You test it out, singing a lyric from one of the songs you weren’t even going to sing tonight. That was because you didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Unfortunately, the mic came out too filtered for you.
“Can I request for another mic? This one’s not that great, you catch my drift?” You asked, and the man humbly understood. He hands you another one, calling to turn on mic #2.
Again, you test it. You liked the result of it, so you nod. “This one’s perfect, thank you sir.”
After a couple more trials, you head back into your dressing room, where your mother was waiting. “Your father and brother are going to get themselves a snack to pass the time.” She said as you took out your costume.
“And you didn’t go with them?” You questioned.
“I figured I could help you with your hair,” She explained softly. “You said you wanted it in Afro puffs?” She asked, and you confirm. “I got the bobby pins here, ma, and the hairspray.” You said, putting the two items onto the counter.
Once you changed into your clothes, you admired how it looked on you. It suited you very nicely, and it brought out a more confident vibe that you sometimes lack. Even your Mom said you were glowing extraordinarily.
“There we go.” Your Mom hummed, putting the final touches to your hair.
You were working on your makeup the moment she had finished. The puff was sitting on your head comfortably, which revealed the gentle, yet sharp edges of your face.
“Thank you ma, this was exactly what I wanted.” You press a kiss onto your mother’s cheek.
Your mother then left the dressing room to go find your father and Frank, who were probably sitting down in the front row already, talking about whatever men talked about. You sat in quiet, working on your mascara carefully.
Just then, the door opened abruptly, followed by boisterous voices.
You snapped your wide eyes towards the entrance, your heart thumping.
Five boys came in, in order from the tallest to around your height, which was an average 5’3. You caught their faces in the mirror on your side, sensing a familiarity in all of them, even in the younger, teen boys. You couldn’t place your finger on where you had seen them from exactly, but you didn’t dwell into it that much. You were just startled that you were sharing the dressing room with guys.
They looked at you the moment they came in, and even in their faces showed great confusion. They got a little quieter after their entrance, but they still blabbered.
“Sweet, our own mirror.” One of the boys commented, hopping onto one of the chairs at the opposite side of your area. “ ‘Maine, check it out, a magazine!” The other one said loudly, picking up a mag with a woman on the cover. You tried your best not to seem like you were paying attention.
“Aye, quiet down, Marlon.” One of the boys, who had a more cherub face, spoke up.
They were all already dressed in orange-white, matching suits. They had the most perfect Afros you had ever seen. It honestly made you a little jealous.
“Man, one of those mics was trippin’, I almost bursted my eardrums.” The tallest boy said, setting his bass on the table. His voice was deep, yet gentle, and almost smooth and romantic-like. It had a slightly playful tone to it, which you liked.
You were applying your lip gloss onto your lips when Marques entered. He flashed a smile and a nod at the five boys, who turned around to look, and approached you with a piece of paper.
“You’ll be startin’ before nine, so just make sure you’re ready by half past eight o’ clock.” He said as you took the paper, reading it to yourself. You stared at the names of the lineup, and you saw Cher was, in fact, here, which confirmed your suspicion earlier.
But so were the Jackson 5, who was performing after you.
Your jaw dropped for a moment, then you pulled it back up before anyone noticed. You liked their music, and sure, while you didn’t really think of them too much, the idea of being in the same building as them made you tense. They were all natural talent, and you definitely couldn’t top them, even if you tried.
You hand back the list. “Thank you, Marques.” You said, grabbing your honey jar. You took two spoonful sips.
“Anytime, (Name).” He says, turning to the five boys. “This here is the Jackson 5, correct?”
“Yes, sir.” They all answer.
And with that, you nearly choke on your third sip of honey. You coughed tremendously to the point Marques turned his head to ask if you were okay. You give him a thumbs up, clearing your throat. You look up at the mirror and see all of the boys staring.
You look down, embarrassed, face hot, while trying not to laugh at your unfortunate timing of attention. You set the honey aside, contemplating on whether to leave the room to die, or dig your own grave on the chair you were sat on.
Instead, you chose to say in silence while Marques talked to the five. You decided to just start putting on your jewelry before things went downhill due to your clumsiness.
“… And you will perform after this young woman right here sings,” Marques beckons to you, who looked up in confusion. “Y’all catch my drift?”
“Alright, square biz.” Marques turned to you, “This is (Name), who you’ll be sharing a room with for the next few hours— a couple if the show goes quick.” They chuckle.
“And (Name), this is the Jackson 5. I’m sure you know them, correct?”
You had just clasped the second hoop onto your ear when Marques spoke to you. You shift your chair to face them. “Everyone does, Marques.” You claimed, though you weren’t exactly ‘everyone,’ you just happened to know them because of the radio and their television debut.
“That’s right.” Marques laughed, “I’ll leave y’all to hang ‘till showtime.”
The moment he exited the room, you shifted your chair back to facing the mirror, looking down on your music sheet. You mutter the lyrics, tapping your foot to the rhythm of it.
Meanwhile, the five boys— now revealed to be Jackie, Tito, Jermaine, Marlon, and Michael— were busy doing their own thing. Michael was still reading the magazine, Marlon was sat beside Michael, also reading the magazine. Jackie and Tito were talking quietly about the space of the stage.
But Jermaine was staring at you.
Not because he thought you were weird or anything, or that it was odd there was a girl in the dressing room. None of that. He just thought you were very attractive, which wasn’t new because that was how boys were like, but there was something about you that caught his attention. Which was why he was drawn to you the moment he entered the room.
He turned to Tito and Jackie, grinning, “That chick’s one stone fox.” He whispered to them, treading carefully to not let her hear.
Tito looked at him, then at you, while Jackie grinned. “Go talk to her then, man.” The oldest said, his voice soft, “Ain’t hard for you, you’re a natural Casanova.”
Jermaine rolled his eyes hard at the comment, “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Hey, sunshine.” Tito called out, making Jermaine stumble on his feet. You turn your head, your eyebrow raised. You lower your music sheet, sitting up straight. Your eyes flicker from Jackie, Tito, then Jermaine, who was looking at the floor.
“You’re (Name), right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Where you from, (Name)?” Jackie queried, staring into your eyes. “LA, California.” You answered, fingers trembling. Compared to the other brothers, Jackie was the one you found attractive. Him and Jermaine. Tito reminded you of your late, older brother, Darius, and the two young boys were like your little cousins.
“I heard you singing, and I wanna just say, you have a great voice.” Jackie grinned at you, “How’d you get into the music industry?”
You blushed, smiling shyly, “My grandmama sometimes forced me to sing during family parties, and my current manager, Marques, the one you were talking to earlier, was a family friend, and had heard me. From there, he got me into MCA, and I’ve been singing since I was 16.”
Michael and Marlon looked up, looking at their older brothers talking to the girl.
“You know, that kinda sounds like how Michael became one of our vocalists.” Tito commented.
“Nothing, keep your voice down, Michael.” Jermaine interjected, shooting Michael an annoyed frown. Michael mocked Jermaine, making Marlon laugh.
“How old are you now?” Jermaine spoke up, daring to look at her in the eye. You shift your focus to the boy, who instantly fumbled under your gaze. “I just turned 18 a couple of weeks ago.” You replied.
“Ah,” Jackie started. “So you’re around Jermaine’s age.”
All the brothers except Jermaine hummed.
“Stellar.” Tito said, glancing at Jermaine.
Suddenly, your mom opened the door, peeking in. “(Name), sweetheart, you’re about to go on.” She said, making you stand up quickly. “Oh shit—“ You mutter, sitting back down after realizing you forgot to put on your platform sandals.
“I’ll be there ma, love you.” You said as you frantically shove your feet into the shoes. Once they were on and tight, you took a sip of water before walking to the door.
“Break a leg!” Marlon called. You smiled at the little boy as you closed the door.
After the door closed shut, Marlon looked at Jermaine smugly. He caught the gesture and furrowed his brows. “What?” He challenged, grabbing his bass.
“Nothin’, let’s go wait in the wings!” Marlon said, hopping off the chair.
“And then watch Jermaine’s future girlfriend sing!” Michael added, throwing the magazine away and running out of the room with Marlon. Jermaine yelled at them while Jackie and Tito stood up, sighing.
You watched as Cher finished her performance, earning a grand cheer from the crowd. You were going to be up in a few seconds, and you weren’t sure which was worse: a bigger crowd watching and listening to your performance, or the fact that you were on the stage singing. You mumbled positive things under your breath, because you know you performed a lot in the past four years— this honestly was nothing compared to the ones she thought she sucked at.
You just hoped your voice was clear and loud, and that your new song was going to be a crowd-favorite.
“Ladies and gentlemen, up next we have a young woman who is starting off fresh, marking this her official debut as a singer. She will be singing a song from her first single. Give it up, for Soul!”
You exhaled sharply, shaking your hands before you took a step onto the stage.
The crowd became wild, absolutely loving her well-put appearance. Some even whistled, to which you couldn’t help but snicker at.
You took your place at the center as the announcer exited, adjusting the mic to where your mouth was. She looked back, giving her band a thumbs up, then looked down.
The music came in very jazzy, giving you 16 seconds to prepare while you swayed. You decided to remove the mic from its stand instead.
“I don’t want you, to be no slave.”
Your right, free hand flicked around. Your voice, a rich contralto mixed with almost a velvety tone, took most by surprise.
“I don’t want you, to work all day.”
“But I want you, to be true,”
You pointed your index finger at the audience above.
“And I just want to make, love to you.”
You repeat the last three words, which was your chorus. While you were waiting for the next verse, you did a couple of heel kicks to the left, shuffling. You noticed the people in the front were nodding along to your words, all including your parents. Your brother was making a face at the last lyric, earning a slight eye roll from you.
“All I want to do is, wash your clothes.”
“I don’t want to keep, you indoors.”
“There is nothing more, you to do,”
You look at the audience, flicking your left, free hand.
“But keep me making, love to you.”
You repeat the process again, this time allowing yourself to flow on the stage, making your confidence blast through the roof. You continue the rest of the song, gaining a cheer from the crowd during one of the jazzy pauses.
Your voice started growing into one of your signature growls, before switching back into a smooth, gentle note.
“Just to make sure, you’re well fed!”
“I don’t want you, sad and blue, but I—”
You switch again from the growl into the milky tone,
“—just wanna make, love to you.”
As the music dimmed, you repeated the chorus, following the fading music as you reached the end of your performance.
The crowd finally stood up, cheering as loud as they did after Cher’s. You breathe a sigh of relief, grinning shyly at the loud multitude. You bowed, earning another round of applause.
After you exited the stage, you were handed your water bottle by Marques, who was nodding and looking extremely proud. “That was truly amazing, (Name)! Job well done.”
“Ha, thank you so much, sir.” You smiled, “I didn’t think they’d cheer that loud as they did with the earlier performances.”
“That’s how you know you’ve got an audience hooked.” Marques laughed.
You turned around, now realizing the Jackson 5 was nearby. Your heart started beating fast as they approached you.
“That was super good. I liked the jazzy feel to it.” Jackie reached out, squeezing your shoulder warmly.
“Your growl was so off the hook!” Marlon said, nodding. “Where’d you learn that from, girl? Now we gotta make Michael do that!” At this, Michael shook his head vigorously, laughing.
While the others were talking and getting ready, Jermaine stayed with you. He grinned, his eyes full of genuine admiration. “It was amazing.” He commented, his voice a lot more dreamier than you realized it was, “I didn’t expect so much vocal control, but you did it.”
You giggled at him, smiling. “Thank you, though your voice is just as nifty.”
Jermaine chuckled, his smile widening, “If you say so, beautiful.” Your face turned slightly red at the nickname, though you stayed calm.
Both of your heads snapped towards the source of the voice, which belonged to the group’s father, Joe Jackson. “You’re getting on in a second! Come on!”
Jermaine, sighing and cursing slightly under his breath, adjusted the bass around his shoulders as he started walking towards his brothers. “Peace out, sugar.” He said to you, going back to his smiling self. “Break a leg, all of you.” You replied back, unable to fight back the smile aimed at him.
“What’re the chances that actually happens?” Jermaine laughed before stepping into the stage.
You stayed in the wing, watching the group perform with bright smiles and coordination. They were insanely in sync the entire time. You caught yourself jamming to one of their energetic songs before you looked around and saw Joseph standing behind you, just a few feet away. He eyed you.
“You’re the Soul girl, right?” Joe queried, his arms crossed as he took you in in high regard. You swallowed quietly, your jaw tense. There was something about the man that just screamed bad vibes. “Yes sir, but you can call me (Name).” You said, albeit kindly.
Joe nodded, flickering his attention back to his boys, who were finishing up their last song.
You were one of the loudest clappers in the backstage as they bowed, thanking their audience for coming to the show to listen. They left the stage with a crowd still clapping, full of smiles and laughter.
While their father was speaking to them, you slipped away and headed back to the dressing room to pack up. You collapsed into your chair, tired, and sat there in silence before grabbing your hairspray and shoving it back into the luggage.
When your luggage was halfway full, you took out the bobby pins in your hair, which helped keep your hair in place. You removed the hair tie, setting your Afro free. You messed around with it a little bit, adding your own personal touches to it. It was a little crunchy from all the hairspray, but you made it work.
The door opened, and in came the Jackson 5, all sweating in their suits. “The light was glaring at me the entire fucking performance, man.” Jermaine rubbed his eyes.
“Me too! I barely saw the audience.” Marlon spoke up, “I felt like I was dancing to nobody!”
“Aye, we did good, is what matters the most.” Tito called, wiping the sweat off with a small rag he brought with him. “Ain’t that right, (Name)?” They turn to peer at you, who was still struggling to find that one bobby pin that got lost in your Afro.
“Huh?” You looked up, “Uhm, right on.”
After you and the brothers finished packing up, they vacated the dressing room, hearing the other performers receive tons of cheers as well on the way to the exit of the theatre. You followed closely behind, with Jermaine right behind you. You took a slow sip of your water bottle, which you held in your right hand.
The evening breeze kissed the moment you stepped out. You looked around, trying to spot your family when you felt someone behind you. You turned around and jumped, only to realize it was just Jermaine.
“Sorry.” He said, his voice low, giggling, “You got something in your hair.” At this, his fingers reached out, fiddling into your hair near your neck, causing your face to warm at the slight touch. He pulled out the bobby pin you lost earlier while letting your hair free.
”Thanks, Jermaine.” You said as he handed it to you.
“Man, just call me ‘Maine, way easier.” He joked, making you snicker. “I like your name though.” You insisted, flashing a grin up at him, “It’s very unique, very.. ‘you’, you know?”
Jermaine’s grin turned shy, and he laughed a little bit while staring at the floor. “I suppose you right, sugar.” From there, he mustered up the courage to give you a kiss on the cheek.
Jermaine felt you tense up, making him nervous, “I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?” He asked softly, gripping the handle of his guitar tightly. From your and Jermaine’s left, you could hear Marlon snickering, Michael whispering, and even the slight chuckles between Jackie and Tito.
“No, not at all!” You stammer after a moment, staring at his lips, cutting back to his eyes. “You just did it so randomly.”
Jermaine relaxed, exhaling sharply, “You’re right, my bad.”
After a couple of seconds, you hear: “(Name)!” By your brother, Frank. You didn’t budge yet, keeping close to Jermaine’s proximity. It was until Jackie called to Jermaine that you broke the spell by speaking again.
“It was really nice meeting you, Jermaine.” You professed, setting your luggage down to shake his hand. What he does instead was to kiss your knuckles tenderly, smiling upon your flushed face. “You too, (Name).” He hummed, finally taking a step back.
Before you two were out of earshot, Jermaine yelled, “I’ll write to you!” Which made his brothers laugh out loud. Your Dad and Frank eyed you with suspicion.
“What?” You asked, biting back a silly smile, “We’re friends.”
“It’s either that, or you’re stupid.”
I almost considered censoring J*e’s name but eh.
