michael was definitely the kind of person who would just admire what you have down there he wouldn’t want you to do some fancy wax treatment or anything he would want you just for you. don’t even get me started on if you had a long day and he would want a taste and you were hesitant because you wanted to be fresh for him but he ever cared he just wanted you raw, bare and vulnerable. whenever he’d be between your legs he would kiss up your thighs and no matter what size they were he’d always give them a light squeeze and admire them. before he’d take your panties off he’d teasingly kiss and run his nose down your center making you squirm and ride the bump of his nose. he’ll take them off once you protest to stop teasing and once he sees your pretty flower just dripping all for him he’ll moan at the sight “so pretty and ripe” and he’ll use his thumb to run through your folds and clit and get to work leaving you a moaning mess as he eats you like a ripe papaya on a hot summer day. talking you through your orgasm, and once you let go for him he whispers a “thank you” and licks every inch left of your essence even if it got on the sheets he’s sucking it off as he just believes you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted he kissing up your body and eventually your lips and as you taste yourself on him and pulls away say “thanks for dinner baby i’m stuffed”.
— SUMMARY: After 6 months of being together, Michael decides that tonight’s the perfect time to ask for just one anniversary gift; he wants you to start controlling him in the bedroom.
— WARNINGS: sub!mike, needy!mike, lots of tension, body worship, size kink, angst (if you look through a microscope), dumbification (kinda…?), face sitting, oral (f receiving), handjob, unprotected p in v, nipple play, dacryphilia, soft!dom reader, mean!dom reader, use of mommy (kinda), use of ma’am, mike is kinda pussy drunk, timestamps are unimportant, kinda slow burn, gets kinda fluffy at the end, implied aftercare.
— WC: 5.1k (I got carried away…)
— A/N: The winner of this poll. I fs got carried away lmaooo. Like, comment, n reblog! And don’t be shy to flood my asks, i don’t bite..always.
It wasn’t even noticeable at first. Well, not really, until you connected every small instance like one huge puzzle. A particularly suggestive flutter of his eyelashes, a nearly crimson blush on his cheeks whenever you praised him for anything. Then, there was that one time when you called yourself ‘mommy’ as a joke.
You’d just arrived home from your 4-month anniversary dinner date. Your feet were aching; clad in a pair of deep red 8-inch pumps that Michael practically begged you to wear. “I think it’s sexy that you’re taller than me in those heels. Your legs look extra long and beautiful. Please m-, baby? Please, wear them.” That just about undid you.
You’d started regretting letting him sway you like that, though, because you swore that with every step, you could feel a new callous forming on your pinky toe.
“Come help mommy take these things off, baby.” It was said so casually, because it was. Yet, his reaction had you thinking you’d said something offensive. He’d just finished talking off his own loafers, one knee on the floor. He nearly toppled all the way over, and he looked up at you with this almost pained expression. You could’ve sworn you saw tears welling up in his eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so direct. It’s probably the wine…I’ll take them off mys–” He’d waved off your thought with his left hand, cleared his throat, and mumbled something along the lines of “…seriously driving me insane” under his breath, but it sounded lighthearted enough for you not to question him further. The two of you had your best sex yet that night.
Last week, though? It got to a point where Michael damn near made you lose your mind. You put on a pair of jeans that were slightly too long, and you didn’t have time to get them hemmed, so you asked your boyfriend to cuff the bottoms for you, playfully pretending to press your stiletto onto his chest while he knelt down.
“Yes ma’am,” he responded earnestly. He looked up at you while he said it, eyes glazed over with sparkles and something else you couldn’t quite place. There was a faint, crooked smile playing on his lips. One that read: I’m right where I want to be. He clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head like he was in the presence of royalty, then continued on with the task.
Really, it was a very quick exchange. Almost even casual; you just so happened to remember every aspect of it because it ruined you and your panties for the next two days.
That’s what’d been on your mind all afternoon. The two of you decided to spend your 6-month anniversary at a beachfront resort. Michael rented the whole thing out nearly two months in advance, your display of subtle dominance on your 4-month anniversary influencing the idea. He had a plan, and all he needed to do was gather up the confidence to act upon it.
You two took a series of photos on the digital camera he gifted you, involving various activities; a photo of you eating the breakfast he cooked the two of you in your suite’s kitchen, one of him almost missing his step on the jetski he was gonna race you on…One of you towering above him as he adjusted the delicate golden anklet he gave you the day prior, the cursive M glinting in the sunlight. He coughed hysterically to cover up the sound of its shudder, internally chastising himself for forgetting to turn off the sound in its settings.
When you two got home, he seemed overly eager about the evening, his attitude rubbing off on you. The both of you were a giggling mess, and you were completely sober. Just high off of the presence of the other.
The two of you had dinner reservations at 6:30pm, so you decided to shower together to ‘save water’ and time. Michael basically did the showering for the both of you though, making sure to do every step like you would. You’ve showered together enough for him to know your whole routine, and it made your heart swell with warmth, and your thighs unnoticeably squeeze together with want. He even rinsed and dried the both of you, making sure you didn’t lift your pretty fingers to do anything but grip onto his shoulders for balance.
It made you insatiable.
While you put on the finishing touches of your makeup, Michael approached you with a pleading look steeled onto his face.
“Does this shirt look weird untucked? Should I button it up some more?”
You turned around, your unset makeup almost plastering onto his black button up. He looked delicious. Your mouth actually got watery at the sight right in front of you. You gulped down your lust, and met his eyes.
“Michael, you look beautiful. Leave it untucked and unbuttoned just like that. Wow.”
He ducked his head slightly, a faint blush crawling up his neck, as he let out a nervous chuckle. For a man so gorgeous, you’d think he’d be used to compliments from his own girlfriend by now.
“Y-you sure? Tonight’s important. I wanna look like we belong together. Like I belong with you.”
It took everything in you not to ruin your dinner plans and prove it to him right there, your hands fighting the urge to push him onto the bed and show him just how pretty you thought he was.
You cleared your throat and answered with a joking, “Michael, I’d swear you have a praise kink or something, because there’s no way you don’t see just how tasty you look right now.”
You turned back to the mirror, powdering up your face and putting on the remainder of your lip combo.
You didn’t notice just how badly Michael was holding it together from that point forward.
The two of you played the rest of the night cool, though. Nothing out of the ordinary, save for Michael fighting off his neediness when you ordered for him because you noticed him get shy, and when you wiped enchilada sauce off of his face, calling him your ‘clumsy baby.’ Or, the instance where you almost dragged him to the bathroom when you asked if he wanted dessert, and looked at you all lovesick with a, “Yes, please.”
He aggressively adjusted his black jeans, not so subtly, after you told him to pick up the napkin he (purposely) dropped. He felt like he was drunk. His nerves and his body were on fire. He started to down the bottle of wine he purchased for the two of you, for liquid courage. You quickly followed suit. It did nothing to help either of your states.
On the walk back to your suite, Michael’s demeanor nearly killed your buzz. He looked terrified.
“Mikey, baby. What’s wrong?” you asked, stepping in front of him and tilting his head up by his chin so he’d look you in your eyes. The heels you wore had you standing taller than him, and, unbeknownst to you, that only made it worse.
“It’s nothin, baby.” he responded, but his voice wasn’t matching his actions.
“Michael, come on, it’s me. What’s going o-”
“I said it’s nothin’,” he cut you off sharply. His voice was loud- too loud- and he wouldn’t look you in the eyes. He grabbed ahold of the hand that you had underneath his chin, and rushed the two of you the rest of the way to the hotel.
You were furious. Concerned by his terror-stricken face, mostly. But, his sharpness with you stirred something inside that you thought you’d buried, only fueled by the ache in your feet from nearly running in stilettos.
As you made it to your room, you pushed past his usually taller frame, and sat down onto the nearest plush chair, bending over to undo the straps of your pumps. You heard the door close with a click and looked up to see Michael rushing his way towards you, trying to stop you from removing them yourself. The two of you had your hands tangled in a mess; his fingers trying to gently push your off, and yours almost aggressively shoving his.
“Enough, Michael.”
He gulped loudly, seeming almost embarrassed to look at you.
That was almost enough to ease the fire on your lips. Almost.
“Look at me while I’m speaking to you. What happened, and why are you acting so weird towards me?” Your voice quivered on the latter half of your question, insecurity starting to creep its way through your tone. Your cleared your throat and waited for him to speak.
He sighed visibly at the beginning of your monologue. The words affecting him in a way you couldn’t understand.
He continued removing your shoes as he answered, needing something to keep his eyes away from yours, due to the vulnerable truth behind his actions.
“I…” he cleared his throat. “I want you to control me.”
That was not what you were expecting. You waited, scared that you’d misinterpreted the intentions behind his words, hoping he’d expand on it further. By this point, both of your shoes were off, and he was still kneeling in front of your legs, both of his hands opting to massage on one of your aching feet. He still wasn’t looking at you.
“Mike…?” you asked. Your voice slightly deepened with a lust you were fighting so hard to control. You ran your fingers through his hair softly, eliciting a soft whine from his throat. You used the hand in his hair to gently guide his face up to yours. He obeyed your silent command as soon as you slightly tugged, actions already proving that he meant what you thought he did. Your stomach did a flip. The alcohol in your system was making you extremely sensitive to your emotions, everything heightened. Apparently, Michael was going through the same.
“I-I mean. Well look at you…Your legs are so long, ‘n you take care of me so good. You’re so good at telling people what to do and I always wish it was me on the other end of that. I- I think about you doing things to me. Things that I can’t control. I sometimes try ‘n push your buttons just so you can finally snap at me, but you’re so patient, even though your energy is kinda scary and that somehow drives me even crazier.” The alcohol had him saying quite literally every word that came into his brain. He’d managed to fully massage all the tension from your feet during the rambling. He gave them each a quick peck and set them down gently onto the plush carpet beneath you. Then he sat up on his knees, properly. Both of his hands were placed on his lap like he was preparing for prayer.
“Please, baby. I can’t take it anymore. I want you to use me and control me and take everything I have. I want you to be mean to me and I want you to punish me for being rude earlier. Put me in my place, please. Please, pleasepleaseplease. It’s embarrassing, but I really do want this.” He added the last part after he noticed you weren’t responding, embarrassment and alcohol settling into his bones. He started sniffling, his eyes rimming with tears.
You didn’t say a word. Silently, you stood up, gripping Michael by the collar, dragging his frame up with yours, and then crashed your lips into his. He whimpered loudly. The sound shred the last bit of sanity you had left. The two of you tumbled through the doors that led to your room, his socks being kicked off and your shawl strewn onto the floor on the way there.
You turned him around and shoved him onto the bed forcefully. Michael looked up at you like you held the universe up just for him. Your hands made their way to his shirt first. The opened buttons were driving you crazy all day. You started unbuttoning, but grew impatient, opting to just aggressively pull them apart instead, buttons popping off and flying onto the floor in the act.
Michael was a whimpering mess beneath you, and you hadn’t even touched him properly. His hands were at his sides and his body was rigid. He hadn’t even tried touching you.
“Mikey, baby. You know you can touch me, right?”
“I just wanted your permission first ma- ahem. Baby.”
“What was that?” you questioned, catching his slip-up.
“Nothin’,” Mike said, clearly embarrassed. He tried kissing you after to cover it up, but the alcohol in your system made you not care. You pushed his torso back down onto the bed.
“Don’t lie to me, Michael. I can stop all this right now,” you said sternly.
“I..Uhm. It’s just.. sometimes I kinda wanna call you..mommy…?” He phrased it like a question.
That’s how you ended up the position the two of you were in right now. Him with his head propped up on the spare pillows he requested earlier, and your body propped up on his face, straddling it. Michael was going dumb beneath you, fully letting your core and the alcohol in his veins consume him.
“Mmm, Mikey. I didn’t know you had this in you,” you say with surprise laced into your voice. And it’s true. The two of you had sex a few times, but he usually seemed okay with taking over for you. Only now did you realize that it was more of him servicing you than taking control.
“I’ve always had it in me, m- ah baby,” he says, slightly pushing his head further into the pillow so he can speak.
You grab one of his nipples and pinch it harshly.
“Did I say you could stop? Don’t think I forgot about your little attitude earlier.”
That only turns him on further though, his hips jutting into the air immediately at the rough contact.
“N-no. I’m sor- ah- sorry baby. You’re right. I’ve been s-so bad,” his voice melting into a needy whine on the last word.
“Yeah, so bad. I- mmm- s-should teach you a lesson, shouldn’t I?”
“P-please. Please do whatever you want to me. I’ll make it up to y…ou, mmm.”
In one swift movement, you climb off of his face, and settle your soaking core onto his bare chest. You take your right hand and place it into his neck with no pressure- yet.
“How sorry are you?” you question, his fucked out face only fueling your actions.
“Really sorry. Sorrier than I can even put into words,” he jumbled out. Not good enough. You give him a slight slap on the face, and then grip into his neck with more fervor. He moans like it’s his first time being touched sexually.
“That’s it? You’re sooo sorry you can’t even say it?” you scoff at him, playing up your anger just to see him fold beneath your grasp. You begin grinding down hard onto his chest, reveling in this.
“N-no! I mean, yes, b-but, fuck keep using me like that please. I just, I have to show you. Let me show you?” he says, still trying to work your pussy between each word.
“Hmm, go ahead then,” you respond almost immediately, intrigued by his request.
He tenderly grabs onto your thighs and lifts your body up off of his chest, and places you next to him, sliding from the bed in the same movement. Then, he eagerly walks to the foot of the bed and sinks onto his knees, beckoning you toward him with two of his fingers, his twinkling eyes never leaving yours.
“Join me, please?” he asks, voice laced with desire.
You seductively crawl toward him, his body looking meek in this position. You can feel your core drip more at the sight of him. He uncrosses your legs for you, making sure to do all of the work. He’s gonna prove to you just how sorry he is for not being a good boy.
He takes one of your legs and starts to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to every inch of it; from the tips of your toes, to the backs of your knees. His eyes never leave yours. He’s waiting for some sign of approval, a praise, anything that told him he was making up for it, but you sat there in shock, staring at the submissive man beneath you. You were almost too scared to move, afraid that any action or sound would break the spell.
Then he starts to speak. “You’re so beautiful. Your body’s like a painting that only Michelangelo himself could’ve imagined. How could I have been so stupid? You deserve everything. I’m gonna give you everything,” he says between kisses.
“This?” he says, kissing your inner thigh, “I don’t even deserve it. I’m lucky to be able to touch you like this. Lucky ta even see you like this.”
He grabs onto your hips, and looks up at you, pleading.
“M gonna make you feel so good. I promise.”
Michael kisses up the soft skin of your stomach, making sure to save what’s beneath it for last. Then, he makes it to your breasts, and drool dribbles out of his mouth as he speaks.
“I don’t even deserve these,” he says, almost to himself with a sigh. He peppers kisses to the undersides of them, teasing his way up to your erect nipples. Then, he takes one into his mouth, suckling like a man starved. You nearly scream from pleasure at the contact, causing Michael to look up with worry, only for him to see your blissed expression. He grabs your other nipple and rolls it between his fingers, still holding eye contact with you.
“F-fuck Michael, that’s it baby. Just like that.”
He switches his ministrations to your next nipple, replacing his mouth with his hand, and his hand with his mouth. He starts whimpering louder and louder with each gasp you take, your arousal fueling his tenfold. You feel high. You try clamping your legs together, but his lanky body is blocking you from doing so, eliciting a whine from your lips. He notices this. He notices everything. He removes the hand from your nipple and immediately starts rubbing languid, deep circles on it. You let out a loud moan straight from your diaphragm, internally thanking Michael for renting the whole resort out for the two of you.
Michael’s lips detach from your tit with a pop. “You like this?” he questions genuinely, wanting to be good for you.
“Mike- fuck- yes! L-love it! So good!” You can barely even think properly, your mind only focused on how his long fingers work your clit with ease.
“Mmm,” he responds, not fully satisfied with himself. He doesn’t want you to love it. He wants you to crave it.
He gets up and straddles your waist, fingers still slowly rubbing your clit, searching your neck for its sweet spot with his lips. When you buck your core into his hand at a particular area, he starts licking and biting on it inhaling the perfume on your neck in the process.
“You-ngh. You smell so sweet. Did you wear my favorite perfume for me?” he asks, a wave of gratitude crashing onto him.
“Y-yes mike. Come on- more. I need more. Give me more.” You’re desperate now. You have half a mind not to start fucking yourself on his fingers right there, but he’s one step ahead.
His fingers slide straight into your pussy, and your walls clenched around them immediately, not expecting the intrusion so suddenly. Your back arched up off the bed, lifting both of you in the process.
“M sorry. I’m gonna get you there baby. I promise.” Without another word, he carefully slides back down your frame, and starts suckling at your clit like he’s tasting ice cream for the first time ever, his fingers still curling and pumping in and out of you. Your eyes start to water.
“Ohhhh my- fuuuuuck. Mikeyyy, baby mmm. S-shit. I feel sososo good. So good. You’re so good to me baby. My perfect- ah. My perfect angel. S-so pretty on your knees for me.” You smile at him weakly and squeeze his head in between your thighs forcefully, grinding yourself into his mouth and nose. The dichotomy is giving him whiplash.
The praise that you give Michael is driving him halfway insane. He moans erotically into your squelching pussy, pumping his fingers into you faster and harsher, squeezing his thighs together for his own relief. The sight of you using him like this is making his brain go numb, the only thing on his mind is making up for his behavior earlier. Making sure you’re feeling good.
Your legs start to shake uncontrollably now, a telltale sign of your orgasm approaching.
This fuels Michael further.
“Please cum on my face. I wanna taste it, ma.”
You almost do it on the spot, but you have other plans. You lightly kick his face from between your legs and his mouth detaches from your pussy loudly. He looks at you confused, his face glistening with your arousal.
“I’m sorry. Did I do something wro-” You interrupt him by slamming your lips onto his, the force of it pushing his torso onto the floor. You moan at the taste of yourself on his mouth, your tongue searching for his in the process. You break the kiss and lean into his ear with a seductive whisper. “I want to fuck you, Michael.”
His entire body goes rigid and he gasps loudly. You palm him through his jeans, feeling his dick straining against the black fabric. He sucks in a sharp breath, wanting so desperately for more friction, while simultaneously wanting to show you he can be good.
“Ohhh, were you this hard all this time, baby?” you coo at him, loving how the condescending tone in your words feels.
“A-ah yes. I just wanted you to feel good,” he replies between choked breaths, seemingly trying not to pass out. He loves how dumb you’re making him feel.
“Aww my good boy, you did so well for me. I think it’s time for us to both feel good together, hmm?” you ask him, eager for his response. He looks so pretty like this, and his whimpers sound even prettier.
“O-only if that’s what you want. Ngh- everything’s your choice. Everything, everything,” he slurs out, already losing his grasp on reality due to the way you’re speaking to him and the way you rub hungrily against his clothed erection.
You unzip his jeans faster than he can even process and pulled them down off his legs along with his boxers, his leaking erection slapping against his abdomen harshly.
“Look at me,” you command him. He obeys without a second thought.
You take your pretty manicured hands and begin to jerk him off slowly, enjoying the way he tries not to grind up into your hands because he’s your good boy.
You speed up your actions faster, faster, faster, until you see Michael nearing his climax. He’s warning you over and over that he’s gonna cum, not wanting to before you do. Not after his behavior today. He didn’t deserve it, and you agree.
“Baby, pleeeeease, ‘m so close. Can’t do it. You have ta first. Iss too good ‘n i can’t hold it,” he whines, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. You kiss them away and go faster, ignoring his cries. The tears only turned you on further.
“F-FUCK! BABY I’M GONN-” You stop moving your hand entirely, and squeeze down on his dick hard.
“Wh-wha..” Michael trails off, not knowing how to speak anymore.
“Thank you,” he says, looking up at you with tear-filled eyes, chest heaving. He knew better than to complain- you touching him at all was enough.
You lean up to give him a quick kiss, before lining his dick up with your entrance and sinking down onto it. The stretch was enough to make your legs shake and almost make you fall over. You can’t take it all at once, opting to go slowly, grinding yourself against it in the meantime.
“Oh my GOD,” Michael cries out, propping himself up on his elbows so he can look at you. You look like an answered prayer.
“Mikey, you’re too big,” you whine out, drawling the last word out on purpose.
“I’m sor-ry,” he sincerely apologizes. It would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t so turned on by his facial expression. You sink the rest of the way down, to impatient to care about the burn. You grip onto his neck for support and start riding him slowly, your thighs burning with pain and pleasure. Michael moans at the feeling of your delicate fingers around his neck again and he loses his filter completely.
“Please choke me again. Hard. Control when I can breathe,” he begs you. You do just that and start bouncing against his length, the begging and whimpering from your boyfriend turning you on more than you’ve ever been.
His eyes start to roll back, and you loosen your grip so that he can gasp for air, his lungs hungrily swallowing the oxygen creeping in. He starts rolling his hips up into yours, knowing riding isn’t easy for women. Always the gentleman, even when you’re fucking his brains out. He looks into your eyes, grabs your free hand and starts sucking on your fingers, muffling his moans with them from embarrassment. You don’t know whether to be angry that he won’t let you hear them, or turned on from the sight, so you grind and choke him harder.
His eyes fog over and he drools onto his chest, arcing his back up to meet all of your grinds. You loosen your grip once again.
“Let me hear your pretty voice, baby,” you drawl at him, removing your fingers from his mouth and using them to playwith your nipple. That basically does it for him.
“Baaaaaaby. Oh my god I-I can’t even think. You’re s-so good to me and- YEAH keep touching yourself like that please. You’re so beauti-f-ful. I’m never letting you go. You’re t-too perfect iss driving me crazy. Plea-”you choke him again- “Mmmfuck. Please cum on me. Please use my body to cum.”
“Then fuck me like you want it, Mike,” you order, dragging your fingers down from his neck, using your nails to scratch all the way down to his chest.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He flips you over and pins you beneath him, and begins thrusting into you the exact way he knows you like it, totally focusing on your pleasure.
“I won’t, baby.” He presses a hand onto your stomach for comfort, but what he felt flipped a switch in him. He looked down and saw himself moving inside of your belly.
“Oh my god…” he gasped out, making you look at him with concern. “B-baby. I can see myself inside of you,” he says, genuinely surprised.
“It’s ‘cause you’re so big,” you say, pouting at him. “G-go ahead, baby. Fuck me until m’ cervix is shaped like your dick.” He groaned at the filth in your words, doing just as you said. His body began to shake with pleasure. He feels so good, too good. Like something only his imagination could come up with. He starts drooling again.
The sight above you is getting you so close to your release. You reach your hand down to your clit and started playing with it, making sure to tilt Michael’s face down to watch before you do so. You want to put on a show for him. It is your anniversary, after all.
“M gonna cum for you Mikey. ‘M gonna make a mess of that pretty dick of yours,” you say nastily. You can feel the knot in your stomach start to tighten more and more.
“Y-Yes! Please cum all over me. Please turn me into a mess,” he begs, and that did it. Your entire body locks up and your vision turns blurry.
“Michael FUCK!” you scream- genuinely scream- out in pleasure. You grip onto his shoulders with all the force you could muster, mumbling out praises of “You’re so pretty” and “Did so good” until your lips fall numb. He rides you through the whole thing, legs shaking and forehead dripping with sweat.
“C-can I please cum? It hurts…” You look at him with surprise, not realizing he was still going for you, and it almost does enough for you to want a round two.
“Oh, Michael. You’re so obedient. I didn’t realize you were still going, love. Cum inside me, baby. Fill me up.”
He whimpers and cums on command, his body stilling and his toes curling up in pleasure. His eyes roll so far back into his head that you can’t even see his irises anymore.
“Thank you, thank you, thank y- ahh, thank you. ‘M so so-ahhhgghh, so sorry. I’ll be good forever ‘m sorry my pretty girl.”
His sweaty body collapses onto yours, and you two lay there for a while, his dick still inside of you, fully softened up.
After at least ten minutes of this, Michael speaks.
“So…Can we do this again?” he asks hesitantly.
“Michael,” you start, “I don’t think I can ever go back. Do you know how sexy you are when you’re submissive?” Your thighs start to clench again at the thought of what you two got up to tonight.
“O-oh. Really? It wasn’t too much?” he asks shyly as he rolls off of your body.
“Really. You should’ve said something sooner, angel face. I prefer being dominant,” you reveal, although you’re sure it was obvious.
“I was just shy, is all. But you? I don’t think- no, I know I’ve never seen anything or anyone as sexy as you were tonight. I feel like I died from bliss and met God. Truly, you were heavenly. I didn’t want any of it to end.”
“It doesn’t have to…We still have a whole weekend to spend here,” you offer, wiggling your eyebrows playfully.
“I’m gonna go get our stuff ready for a bath,” you say. “Tidy up the room for when we’re back, yeah?”
“I’ll do anything for you,” Michael says, clearly still pussy drunk. He grabs your hand before you head to the bathroom.
“I love you. I’m not just saying that because of what we did tonight, you know that. But I love you. Thank you for being the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ll cherish you for all of my days, and even afterwards, if I can.“ He gives you a brief, yet passionate kiss on the lips. “I’ll be as quick as possible. Happy anniversary, pretty girl.”
“Happy anniversary, Michael,” you say, trying not to cry. You didn’t know how you’d gotten so lucky.
Author Notes: I want to say thank you again to those who have read to the end. This isn't the end, though, as I have more short story ideas cooking up for this fanfic!
The twins sat in silence as they finished the tapes. They turned to look at each other.
"Your ass was a problem child, as I will stick beside that," Cameron said to Marcus.
"What?" Marcus gave Cameron a dirty look before he rolled his eyes. "Please."
"Nah, you were testing Dad's patience."
"Hold on! I keep them young, and I will stand beside that."
"Sounds like someone who knew they gave their parents heart attacks."
"Like you were any better." Marcus rolled his eyes.
"What are y'all doing in here, ain't we supposed to be packing?"
Both twins turned to the new voice. It was their baby sister. They remember when their parents sat them down and told them that they were going to be big brothers. They were so confused as they looked at their mom's stomach for weeks before the talk.
"Jasmine, you're late." Cameron turned towards her.
"Well, smartass, I'm in college." She put her hands on her hips. "I drove like three hours."
"If you wanted me early, you should've picked me up!"
Both twins looked at each other, then at her. "Who is she talking to?" Cameron asked.
"Not me." Marcus butted in.
"I'm talking to both of you." Jasmine clasped her hands together. "Auntie Janet told me to come find you cause y'all disappeared."
"I come to find that you're watching nostalgia tapes."
"Yeah." Cameron tilted his head. "Want to watch?"
"As I would love to watch the videos of you shoving a camera in dad's face, annoying him." Jasmine shook her head. "I'm going to cry if I do."
Jasmine's words seemed to set off a trigger for both of them as reality sat in. Right, both of their parents are no longer here. When they should still be here, both of them were still young. Dad should've been here to send off Jasmine to college. He should've been here when Cameron recently graduated from law school. Milestones that he would've loved to see.
"Right, we should get back on track." Cameron stood up.
"Yeah," Marcus mumbled quietly.
September 23rd 2010
Cameron held onto Marcus and Jasmine's hands as he looked at his mom's casket below him on stage. He bent down slightly to the mic on the podium. "I just wanted to say that I know how much my parents were hated as they were loved."
"I know how much they meant for the world to those who loved them." Cameron gripped both his siblings' hands more tightly. "My mother died of a broken heart; she couldn't live without my dad."
"I saw it as she tried to process her grief. Being without someone that you've been with for so long is hard."
"They have been together since they were teenagers. My dad was 17 while my mom was 18 when they first met."
"She loved my dad with all her heart; nothing could change that for her."
"This is why we held her funeral on the day it would've been my parents' twenty-seventh wedding anniversary."
"It was always a special moment as my dad would say it was a day that he would remember. As he married the best woman around who loved him truly."
"My mother was an amazing woman, a great humanitarian alongside my father. She was an amazing lawyer who cared for everybody. She cared even more when she was appointed attorney general of California."
"She inspired my career to go into law." Cameron's body shook as he tried to hold onto tears. "I truly loved her kind heart."
"Both of my parents were young; they should still be here."
"But I'm grateful for the years that they were on this earth to help shape it." Cameron's shoulder shook as some tears fell. Multiple family members' hands rested on his shoulders to comfort him.
"No child." Cameron paused as his voice was watering. "Should lose not one but both parents this young."
"I want both of them to be here still. I want to crack jokes with my dad while annoying him at Neverland. I want to watch my mom tend to her garden."
"It's surreal not to have them here." Cameron stopped once again.
Marcus took over once she saw that his brother couldn't speak anymore. He shifted his body to the middle. "I want to say thank you to all the fans who have loved my parents." The audience grew louder with claps.
"I loved all the support that my siblings and I have gotten. My family has truly been our rock over this past year."
"No matter what, my parents' legacy will live on, and we will make sure that it lives."
Jasmine leaned over to the mic. "Thank you so much, everybody." Jasmine gave the audience a light kiss.
The audience clapped as the family guided the siblings back to their seats. They held each other's hands for the funeral as people gave speeches to honor their mother. The hard part was making the final viewing of her casket. All three siblings felt a sense of deju vu as they stood here a year ago for their father. At least their mother was there.
"Oh god," Jasmine said as she looked down at the casket. She covers her mouth as tears stream down her face.
Marcus wrapped one of his arms around her to bring her closer to him. Turning her face to be on his chest. Cameron rubbed a hand on Jasmine's shoulder.
The siblings walked behind as their mother's casket was carried down the aisle. Their aunties guided them til they were outside.
"I'm so proud of you three." Their Aunt Janet said. "It's a lot; I know it is." She gave them a small smile.
The three siblings stood hand in hand. Nodding their heads in appreciation when people gave their condolences in passing.
"I can't believe it." Jasmine sighed. "I know I keep saying it, but it just seems real."
"This whole year doesn't seem real," Cameron mentioned.
"Yeah, it doesn't," Marcus said. "They should be here."
Cameron looked out to see a large group of people around the gate. He also saw the media and paparazzi. They are seemingly yelling their names.
A frown appeared on his face. "Can't even grieve in peace while burying our mother."
"What a fucking shame." Jasmine shook her head.
Marcus made a scoffing sound. "These people are irritating me, like really irking me."
"Yeah, I remember you cussing them out," Jasmine recalled.
"Yeah, cause why you shoving a camera in my mom's face when her husband died, asking stupid ass questions."
"It was an absolute shit show, man; the invasiveness was all I could remember," Cameron said.
"Yeah, all they wanted to do was terrorize the black family that has been through public dragging for years." Marcus rolled his eyes.
"Yeah." Jasmine squeezed their hands. "Let's focus on what's really important, which is us."
"No one could've ruined that for us," Jamsine said. "No matter how hard they tried.
"Yes," Cameron said.
The three perked up when the family called their names; the family was about to leave for the burial site.
Author Notes: I decided to make this the last chapter cause baby, the writer's block was serious. It was so serious that I also wrote the epilogue. So, I will upload that too with this chapter. This came about because I have more short story ideas for this than for the longer chapters. So I made this chapter longer than usual to tie everything together. But it isn't the end of this story!
Please send so many requests, y'all! I don't have too many.
Not too many write for the dangerous era, Michael, so here it is!
You sat in the stands, surrounded by security. Cameron huddled with you as you watched Marcus run. As Marcus and Cameron have grown older, they have become more involved at school. Marcus seemed to enjoy running, while Cameron was more into swimming. Marcus enjoyed track; he was really excited about it. There was just lightness in his explanation of what he loved about running. After one practice, the coach pulled you aside to tell you how good he was.
"He has a bright future in track."
"Really?" You asked.
"It's a little too early to tell, but he has the potential, and I won't be surprised if I turn on the TV one day and he is in the Olympics."
"The Olympics?"
"Mrs. Jackson, your son is a great runner for how young he is."
Cameron was doing just as well in swimming. At the same time, you put him in a club a little later than Marcus. You've noticed that, from the vacations you have taken, he seems to enjoy water and being in it. You remember him watching the Summer Olympics one year ago; he was really interested in swimming.
"Cameron, you want to try that out?" You asked, looking at the TV screen.
Cameron turned his body towards you. "Yeah, I think I do."
Cameron just started his swim meets, and you enjoyed watching him make friends. You didn't enjoy washing his hair more often because of the chlorine. But you enjoyed being able to let your children enjoy sports like other children.
While it was hard for them at first. You didn't know what clubs to trust to put your twins into. The first track club you put Marcus in. He kept getting harassed by teammates and their eager parents for just a chance to interact. The twins are starting to sadly understand that their last name carries a lot of weight. Many people want to be close to them and interact with them.
You have to protect them from a lot cause one thing you hate is your children being hurt. They are kind as they give, but there are many evil people in the world. And to top it all off is their being black boys in a country that still doesn't understand blackness. You never want them to be belittled or pushed into a corner. You want your twins to grow into empathetic men who never dim their light for anyone. And that starts with you and Michael giving them affirmations and compliments every day.
You let them explore themselves by trying new things, and Michael never had any problems with the twins doing anything. But he was always a little wary; he saw himself in his children. He sees the bright light that they carry with them. They could brighten anyone's day if you talk to them enough. He doesn't want his children to be taken advantage of or to have that same light robbed from them. You two combined might be overprotective of your twins, but the way you have treated them can bring that caution. Your parental instincts never let anybody interact with your children.
Even as the public has seen more of them over the years. The first time Michael let the public see his children with his consent after 1987 was in the behind-the-scenes footage of the Black or White music video. And it wasn't that many glances people could get, as it mostly happened when Michael was in the dressing room with you and a small segment of him holding hands with the twins on set while talking.
Another time you could see the twins was when Michael was filming "Do You Remember the Time." It showed more of their personality as they ran around the set, driving their father up a wall. Michael had a perfectionist approach to his art; he wanted everything to be perfect. So with the twins running around and Marcus knocking over something expensive. Michael dropped his head with a sigh. He apologized to everyone, his face turning red with embarrassment. It was something many fans would come to enjoy for years, as those who loved and celebrated Michael loved the moments when he was a father to his children.
You loved those moments personally. You loved every moment you could get with your twins as they grew fast before your eyes. They're turning ten this year, which you can't believe. Michael has brought up the idea of having more kids. You don't know about the timing. But you did tell him that you wanted to give him more.
"Mommy, Marcus is up next." Cameron pointed down at the track.
You looked down as Marcus walked up the track. "Go, Marcus!" You stood up.
You made a slight face when people turned around to look at you. "People can't cheer for their children or what?" You mumbled as the security guards chuckled at you.
Marcus looked up when he heard your voice. He waved as you gave a wave back before giving a thumbs-up. One of the security guards put a hand over his earpiece.
"They wanted to relay the message that Michael would be here soon." The guard said to you.
You looked over. "I hope he doesn't have anything ridiculous on." You sighed, referring to his disguises.
"Who knows." The guard said back, laughing.
You turned your head back to the track as Marcus was going to do his first race of the day. You loved them even though they lasted all day. You cheered on as the runners made their poses before the whistle blew, and they began running. Marcus got into second place pretty quickly. You cheered him on as he maintained a steady pace.
Marcus eventually caught up to first place as he ran, further widening the gap between him and the other runners. Your excitement grew as Marcus completed the three laps in first place. You stood up from the stands as he came almost to the finish line. You cheered as he made it over.
"That's my baby!" You cheered.
"I hope I didn't miss too much."
You looked over to see Michael maneuvering through the flight of stands, flanked by additional security. You saw that he wasn't wearing a disguise. But he wore his usual hat and glasses that covered most of his face.
"No, it's only his first race of the day." You patted the space next to Cameron.
"Hi, Munchkin." Cameron smiled brightly as Michael greeted him.
"Hi, Daddy." Cameron wrapped his arm around Michael's, resting it there.
Marcus looked up in the stands as he saw people move out of the way, widening a gap between them for particular people. Marcus waved his hand high when he recognized the man sitting next to his mother and brother.
"Daddy!" Marcus waved his hand higher to get his father's attention.
Michael turned his head to the voice. Michael raised his hand high as he gave the greeting back to his son.
"What did you do today?" Michael turned his head back.
"Mommy took us to the library," Cameron told Michael.
"Really?" Michael raised his eyebrows. "What did you get?"
"I wanted to read James and the Giant Peach and Matilda."
"Those are good reads." Michael nodded his head.
"Yeah, I just told them to pick what they're interested in." You butted in.
"Want to read it later on together?" Michael questioned.
"Yeah." Cameron smiled.
You loved the little tradition Michael seemed to have built with the twins. It started with just getting them comfortable when they first adopted the twins. He read to them to comfort them. He was going to stop eventually. But they mentioned that they loved his voice and found it soothing. It has just developed to Michael reading to the twins every night since then. As they've gotten older, it's evolved into the twins sometimes reading to Michael. He did it to help them with their reading skills.
You found it quite adorable. You sometimes peeked into the room as Michael spoke, his voice animated as he read the lines to them. Other times, you find them all asleep on the ground, the twins all over Michael. You would tip into the room, move the twins slightly into a different position, before putting a blanket over the three.
You quickly snapped your head as the crowd murmured, as if something was wrong. You heard Michael stop his convo with Cameron as you squinted your eyes down at the track.
Your eyes widened as you saw Marcus standing so very still before he rocked his body in slight motion like he was dizzy. You and Michael stood up immediately when Marcus fell to the ground. His arms and legs jerked around as his body shook.
"Oh, my god." You yelled as you rushed down the stands. Michael was fast behind you, standing as he grabbed Cameron's hand.
You saw a small crowd form around him. His coach yelled to his assistant coach to call 911. The assistant rushed fast on the track to find a phone.
You looked down, almost paralyzed with fear, as you saw Marcus's body shake on the ground.
"Get him on his side; we have to place something under his head." His coach said before a teammate handed him a jacket.
You were still frozen, not even noticing Michael leave your side to help the coach. Cameron's hand is in yours as he looks at his brother in worry.
You didn't even have time to register that the ambulance was here. By the time they arrived, Marcus's seizure had stopped, but he was unconscious. They were loading Marcus in the back of the ambulance.
You came back to life as Michael's hand touched your shoulder. "Baby, we have to go now." Michael slowly said to you.
Michael was worried because he kept glancing back and forth between you and Marcus. He saw that faraway look in your eyes, a form of escapism as your mind couldn't process what was happening.
"Okay." You quietly said.
Both of you looked down as you heard crying. It was Cameron, as he rubbed his eyes to try to stop the tears. "Is he going to be okay?"
You bend down to him to wipe his tears. You want to reassure him, but you have to be honest. "We don't know, pumpkin, but we have to support him now."
Michael bent down slightly as you dropped your hand to pick him up. "It's okay, Munchkin."
You three made your way to the back of the ambulance. You looked down at Marcus's unconscious body and felt a pang in your heart. You went to the hospital that was closest by. The whole thing was discreet as Michael didn't want the media showing up anytime soon. Marcus's room was tucked away in a private area with no prying eyes.
You sat in the private waiting area as the doctors instructed you to until you could go into his room. That was two hours ago. Your nerves were at an all-time high as you bounced your knees up and down. Michael was beside you, rubbing your knee. The other hand was rubbing the now sleeping Cameron's back as he sat in his lap.
"It's been a minute since I've been in a hospital," Michael said into the air.
"Yeah." You replied. "Me too."
The last time you were in the hospital was actually Michael's Pepsi incident. You remember that day clearly. Latoya ran up the stairs to you; she opened the door to you, lying in Michael's bed. She hurriedly said that Michael had had an accident. You and Michael have only been married for a couple of months. You also mark it as a day when Joseph saw you as a threat.
JANUARY 27th 1984
You just sat in the corner as Michael's family talked around. In a daze, you wondered about Michael's condition. You only perked up when the doctor came to state Michael's condition. At the same time, he was listing off what happened and how Michael is doing. Joseph only cared about money as he started talking about the Victory tour. You rolled your eyes at his words.
"Unbelievable." You scoffed under your breath.
"What did you say?"
You looked up as his family looked at you. Joseph's eyes were in a glare directed at you.
"It's just that talking about a tour when he clearly can't do it is unbelievable." You said.
"I put a lot of money into that tour."
"Michael needs time to heal; putting him on tour is not healthy."
"What do you know?"
You tilted your head. "What do I know?" You glared back at him. You had to close your mouth before you said something reckless to this man. But you decided to bite the bullet anyway.
"I have more influence than you think." You said as Joseph furrowed his eyebrows at you.
You turned towards the doctor. "Hi, I'm his wife. When can I see him?"
The doctor said he can take visitors now. You walked around and gently grabbed Katherine's hand. "Want to come with me?"
"Absolutely." Katherine stood up with you.
You walked into the room with Katherine. Michael smiled slightly at the two of you. You smiled back at him as you let go of Katerine's hand. You let the two of them have a moment together as you sat on the couch in the corner.
After a while, Katherine stood up. "I'm going to let you two newlyweds have a moment."
You looked as the door closed behind her, leaving you two in silence. "How do you feel?"
Michael sighed as he lay in bed. "I don't know what to feel at the moment."
You tilted your head at him. "I understand."
"Why are you over there?" Michael questioned. "I'm injured, not diseased."
You saw him stretch out his hand without the IV. You moved closer as you sat in the chair by the bed.
"Hi, pretty girl." Michael gave you a tired smile.
You leaned down to give him a light kiss. "Your lips are dry." You lightly laughed.
"Damn, girl, this is the first time you've seen me in hours, and that's what you say?"
"I'm sorry." You kissed his lips again.
And that's how you spend most of your days when you aren't in the office. You are at the hospital with Michael. You walked with him as he visited other burn victims in the unit. You smiled as he interacted with them.
Every time you visited him, more things appeared in his room, starting to reflect his own room that he had at Havyenhurst. You lay in the hospital bed with him one night. His hand is slowly rubbing your back.
"I hate the medication they give me," Michael said. "I don't like the way they make me feel."
"Only for a short time, Mike." You put your hand on his chest.
"I know." He sighed. "I hate this."
"I really hate all of this, this tour, everything." Michael looked down at you. "The only good thing that came out of this was marrying you."
You smiled. "Yeah?"
"Yes, baby." Michael put his hand under your chin to pull you to his lips for a kiss.
"You being here with me is enough." Michael pulled you in for another kiss.
"I got something for you." You said to him.
"Oh yeah?" Michael smiled. "What is it?"
"Does that door lock?" You pointed towards the door.
"Yeah?" Michael raised an eyebrow in question.
You got up and locked the door. You dug in your purse to get something before you got back into bed.
"It's not anything happening tonight." Michael pouted at your words.
You smirked at him. "You think I would get freaky in a hospital bed."
"I didn't know what to expect when you asked about the door."
"I just didn't want anybody to walk in while I was giving you these photos."
Michael looked down at the photos you gave him. "Wow, baby, you look sexy."
"These are boudoir wedding photos. I took them right before our wedding, but I just now got them." You smiled as he shuffled through the photos.
"I thought it was the perfect time to give them to you."
"It can be pretty lonely without me, I know."
"Cocky." Michael looked up at you.
You smiled down at him before kissing him. "You will get better." You gave a light kiss on his forehead that he leaned into.
MARCH 1992 6PM
You shifted back from the memory to reality when Michael grounded your knee. You looked up and saw the doctor walking in.
"Mr and Mrs. Jackson." The doctor greeted you before he sat down across from you. "I ordered some scans for your son, as you explained; he never had a seizure before."
"I don't want to alarm you, but he had two more while my nurse was in the room with him."
Michael made a small noise in his throat while your eyes widened.
"I want to see before I fully diagnose anything, but everything seems to point to epilepsy."
"Really?" You grabbed Michael's hand.
"Yes, but I want to make sure, so we are going to keep him over the next two days to see if anything else happens."
"Thank you so much." You told the doctor.
"You can see him now; we just administered some medicine." The doctor stood up.
Michael picked up Cameron, wrapping him around his waist. Michael put his other arm around you. You walked into the room, seeing Marcus in bed.
"Hi, lovebug." Marcus turned his head towards you.
"Mommy," Marcus said in a small voice.
Marcus turned his head to Michael in a greeting. "Daddy." He looked down at Cameron. "He can lie in here with me."
"Cameron?" Michael questioned as Marcus nodded. "Yeah."
Michael carefully placed Cameron in the bed. Marcus moved over a little bit to give more space.
You pulled up chairs to bed for you and Michael to sit down. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel weird." Marcus voiced.
"It's okay, munchkin, you remember what happened?" Michael tilted his head.
Marcus shook his head. "All I remember was standing and then here."
"It was scary."
You could cry at his admission; he sounded so unsure and small. You hate seeing your children in pain. So hurts even more when it's something that you can't fix.
"It's okay now because we got you here to the hospital; they're figuring out what happened." You told him.
"Will I be able to run still?" Marcus questioned.
You and Michael looked at each other. You don't know what the future will hold. If he has epilepsy, you don't know how to ensure his safety while running. Seeing that seizure struck you straight to the bone.
"I don't know, baby." You answered honestly.
Marcus looked between you and Michael before he turned his head to the window. You heard a small hiccup before you noticed Marcus's shoulders shaking lightly.
Michael got up and leaned over the bed. "What's wrong?"
"I don't like what's happening to me," Marcus stated before more tears fell. "I feel like there's something wrong with me."
Michael walked over to the other side of the bed, and you followed him. "There's nothing wrong with you." Michael crouched down by the bed.
"There is absolutely nothing wrong." You said as you placed your hand on Marcus's cheek. "It's something new that we go through together, okay?"
Marcus nodded his head as more tears fell. You cooed at him before you placed a soft kiss on his cheek.
"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Michael told him. He let you pull back before he placed a kiss on Marcus's forehead.
"Okay," Marcus said as Michael wiped away his tears. Marcus's eyes fluttered, opening and closing. "I feel tired."
"It might be the medicine finally kicking in." You hummed. "We'll be back tomorrow."
Marcus nodded his head once more. You stood up with Michael. You watched him as he picked up Cameron again. Cameron finally woke up, his eyes roaming around the room.
"You're finally with us, sleepyhead." You told Cameron.
You laughed lightly when he just buried his head in Michael's shoulder. You looked back at Marcus's figure before you closed the door behind you. You and Michael stood in the semi-empty hallway.
You leaned back against the door when you felt a wave of nausea hit you. You've been feeling like this for the past month. At first, you thought it was just you getting sick, but now it seems to point to something else. Something you might already know the answer to.
Michael looked at you as you leaned against the door. "Are you okay?"
"I think we might have to buy something."
You didn't want to, as there was already a lot going on. You were about to start campaigning for the 1995 attorney general selection. election. Sure, it's two years away, but you wanted to get an early start. Michael dropped his album and is gearing up for another tour. And now this emergency with Marcus. The timing is something.
"Yeah?"
"Yes." You nodded your head.
You sat down on the toilet in the bathroom. You looked down at the stick, which had two red lines. You peed twice to make sure it was right. You got up and washed your hands.
You opened the bathroom door. "Michael." You called out.
"Yes, baby." Michael put down the book he was reading in bed.
"I want to show you something."
Michael got out of bed and stepped towards the doorway where you stood. "Yeah?"
You handed him the pregnancy test you were holding. Michael looked down at the stick, then back at you. "Really?"
You nodded your head slowly. "The timing is crazy, though." You laughed.
"I'm so happy." Michael smiled brightly as he brought you into his arms. "We're having a baby."
"I'm nervous." You admitted. "First time pregnant."
"I'll be there along the way," Michael told you.
"Even on tour?" You questioned.
"I can rearrange some things."
"I can't ask that of you, baby." You shook your head.
"I can do what I want; my wife is pregnant."
"Thank you so much for this gift." Michael smiled at you before he kissed you.
MAY 1992
It's been almost two months since Marcus has been out of the hospital. The doctor told you to look after him if he showed any signs. You unfortunately had to decide to take him out of track for the time being. Marcus was mad at first, but eventually understood that it was for his health. It was just until you could fully understand how track could work with his epilepsy.
You and Michael have been paying more attention to Marcus. You can tell it slightly annoys him. It's even to the point that Cameron watches him now. But the twins have been paying attention to you too. Your bump is starting to show more in clothes. You and Michael have been waiting for the right time to have a conversation to tell them they're going to be older brothers, especially after a particular incident at the dinner table.
The four of you sat at the dinner table, eating in silence. That was until Cameron spoke up.
"Mommy, are you gaining weight?"
Your fork stopped against the plate. "Why, you ask, baby?"
"Your stomach is bigger," Cameron said.
"Yeah, you're fat," Marcus said in a blunt voice.
"Marcus!" Michael said sharply, giving him a look.
All you could do was laugh, because it was funny the way he said it. You looked at Michael as he met your gaze. You nodded your head to signal that you were about to tell them. You looked back at the twins.
"Your dad and I have something to tell you."
The twins perked up at your words. "You two are going to have a sibling."
"What?" Cameron tilted his head.
"You are going to be big brothers." Michael reiterated.
Marcus looked down at your stomach and made a sound with his mouth. "Makes sense."
"Big brothers." Cameron gave a smile. "I'm going to be a big brother."
"Yes, you are." You smiled back.
DECEMBER 15th 1992
"Are you sure you're okay, baby? Michael asked over the phone.
"Yes." You looked down at the twins sleeping on either side of you.
"I just want to make sure." Michael sighed over the phone. "I know Marcus's seizure scared you today, and you being so close to your due date is a lot."
"It was scary, but it's fine now." You put your hand on Marcus's back.
"I was about to call my assistant to book a flight back to California."
"It's fine, baby." You smiled lightly as Cameron shifted his body into your lap, his head brushing against your stomach.
"I booked a flight anyway."
"Michael."
"I pushed back some dates for my tour; your due date is like four days, baby."
"I can't miss the birth of my daughter," Michael told you. "I'll be there tomorrow night."
"Okay, I'll see you then."
"I'll see you, pretty girl."
You stood in the kitchen, cutting some vegetables. Cameron and Marcus sat on the counter as they watched you. The twins have been attached to your hip. It's like the closer your due date comes, the more they follow you like little ducks.
You've been feeling uncomfortable for most of the day. You tried to pass it off as you just feeling the months of being pregnant, but it has been more insistent. You put down the knife when you felt a dull pain.
"Mommy?" Cameron asked.
"Yeah?" You tried to keep your tone neutral.
"Are you okay?"
You were about to answer him when you clutched your stomach as you felt a sharp pain. This can not be happening right now, you cannot be going into labor. But the timing was perfect as Michael was getting back home around this time. The front door opened. Cameron got off the counter to run towards Michael.
"Something is happening with mommy."
Michael's tired eyes widened as he ran to the kitchen, following Cameron. He saw Marcus looking at you with worried eyes as you leaned your arms against the counter.
"Baby?" Michael landed a hand on your back.
"I think I'm having contractions." You spoke out in a breath.
"Okay." Michael quickly composed himself as he went to the living room to call the hospital's private line.
You two already picked the hospital and the labor and delivery staff in advance to make sure everything went smoothly. Michael just told the staff that it was time and that they would be there soon, then hung up.
He quickly went back to you. He looked at the twins. "I'm going to need you two to help me with packing some things."
Michael moved you carefully to the seating area. "I'm going to be back." Michael kissed your forehead as you nodded your head.
You leaned your head back against the couch as you leveled your breathing. Everything just felt like a blur as the pain got more intense. You don't even remember Michael moving you to the car or making it to the hospital.
You lay back in the bed as medical staff moved around you. "Fuck." You shut your eyes tight.
"Mrs. Jackson, you're only five centimeters out." The nurse told. "We have to get ten centimeters."
You nodded your head at the words. "Do you want the shot for numbing once we get to eight centimeters?"
"No, I don't want the shot."
The staff moved out for a moment. Your breathing leveled out as contractions ended. You looked over as Michael sat in the chair across from you.
"Where are the twins?" You asked.
"They're with Bill." Michael crossed his legs. "It would be a lot to have them in here."
You felt your contractions getting closer as the centimeters ticked by. Michael moved closer to you to comfort you. You clutched his hand hard after a painful one.
"Damn girl."
"I need that fucking shot!"
You felt relief when the nurses pulled you up into a sitting position to put the shot in your lower back. You lay back down as the doctor walked in.
"Mrs. Jackson, you're almost to ten centimeters; we're going to ask you to start pushing soon."
It was only thirty minutes later when the shit fully kicked in, and it was time for you to start pushing. You yelled out as the doctor encouraged you to keep going.
"You're doing so well, baby." Michael gripped your hand.
"Oh, my god." You pushed your head back against the pillow.
"I see the head." The doctor yelled out. "Mrs. Jackson, keep pushing; I see the shoulders."
Michael cooed at you to keep you calm. You looked up at him with tears. "I can't do it."
"You can; you are almost there." Michael brought your hand to his lips.
"This is the only child you're getting from me." You breathed out. "You're not getting me pregnant again."
Michael chuckled lightly. "That's fine."
"Now keep pushing, baby."
You continued pushing as the doctor guided you. You felt relief flood your body as you heard cries. You picked up your head to get a peek at your baby.
"She's so beautiful, baby," Michael said in awe.
You smiled at him as you leaned back against the pillow. You watched as the team of nurses cleaned your baby up. Checking her vitals and making sure everything was alright with her. They wrapped her up and gave comfort. One of the nurses carefully handed you the baby. You cooed at the baby in your arms. Michael leaned down to look at her.
"What should we name her?" Michael asked.
"I think I liked the name, Jasmine." You smiled as she made a small yawn.
"Jasmine." Michael smiled. "It's beautiful."
"My two pretty girls." Michael leaned down to kiss your forehead before rubbing a hand lightly on Jasmine's clothed head.
You grew tired as more time went on. You let Michael take Jasmine from your arms so you could sleep. You woke up hours later, and you fluttered your eyes open. You looked over at the scene of Michael holding Jasmine. The twins were around Michael as they looked at their baby sister.
"Her name is Jasmine," Michael whispered to them.
"Jasmine," Cameron said slowly.
"Hi, baby sister." Marcus smiled lightly.
"Yeah, isn't that amazing?" Michael looked at the twins as they nodded.
Michael looked over at you once he noticed that you were awake. He smiled at you as he carefully got up. He cradled Jamsine to his body. He leaned down as he gave you multiple kisses on the lips.
"Thank you for building this family with me," Michael said. "I love you so much."
Michael looked down at Jasmine and the twins, who were looking at their parents. "And my children, whom I love very much."
You laughed lightly as the twins made a chorus of 'I love you too, daddy.'
"I wouldn't want a family with anyone else." You smiled at him.
݁⊹ ( 18+, mdni ) mature!michael x younger gf!reader ❤︎︎
you and michael just got home from attending an event, and you decided to go braless, which michael was very much against.
he couldn’t fathom the thought of people seeing the nipples he so much loves to touch and suck on. the way they pierced through the dress you wore that night, he couldn’t help but try and cover you up any given moment, especially whenever the cameras flashed.
immediately, he lectured you.
“i thought i told you not to wear that.” he said as he kicked off his shoes.
you could help but snicker under your breath because no matter what michael said, you were still gonna do whatever you wanted.
“i know, baby, but the bra didn’t match.” you excused as you slipped off your uncomfortable heels.
“uht-uh.” he pointed at said heels, demanding them back on your feet. “and i don’t care. you think i want the whole world seeing what should be for my eyes only?” he argued.
“look.” you said under a playful laugh in which he turned in your direction before flashing him, your pierced nipples now a fragment of his memory.
he sighed and shook his head. “you’re such a tease..”
“i never said you couldn’t touch.” you smirked as he made his way toward you.
( a/n: ill continue this later on so stay tuned 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 )
⌖ summary. in which one thing leads to another in tje back of rue bennetts’ car.
⌖ warnings. fem! reader. dom! rue. readers first time being with a girl. use of strap-on. semi-public smut. mentioned of alcohol and drugs. y/n not used. not spell checked.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖
The breeze grazed your cheeks through the open window as Rue drove through the desert like area of California. The speed was high, though you wouldn't lecture her, the breeze cooking you down as it swiped past you.
Rue had come to visit you a few hours ago, and you took her down to the closet brunch place to discuss life since high school. In attempts to get out the shit show your friend group was, you distanced yourself completely and chose your own path. Staying in the city and committing to your own dream.
She had been vague on what exactly her own career path was, something about a strip club and looking after the girls — though her stutter was like when she was hiding something those few years ago.
You had only nodded your head along, before agreeing to come to her bosses party — on the condition she looks after you and drives you home at the end of the night.
"So, is he like a pimp?" You asked, pushing your hair back from where it had whipped into your face by the wind.
Rue coughed and choked on her own saliva momentarily, hitting her chest to return back to her feigned usual self. "Nah... nah... he just owns the club." she shrugged, glancing towards you before back to the road, though you didn't miss her flickering eyes.
You'd made the effort to get dolled up for the night, not having been to a party for years. Not finding the time nor social circle to provide you with one. Tiny leather shorts that skimmed the curve of your ass, a mesh white top that wasn't the most opaque material along with cute black heels. Smoky makeup that said more than enough to walk into a room with purpose.
And Rue couldn't stop looking.
"So, uh... who have you been hanging around with since school?" she cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes to look anywhere but your face or tits.
You pursed your lips with a small shrug. "Not really anybody... I had a bit of a fling in college but he turned out to be a dick. I've just been keeping quiet... what about you?"
Rue could tell you about how Jules has a condo in her mind, or those few girls on her dealing trips for Laurie and Alamo. "Not really anyone... I mean I see all our friends but, not anything romantic." she laughed awkwardly, pulling a giggle out from your lips to.
Her car flung itself up the winded hill that cascaded to Alamos mansion, causing a dragged out sound of awe to leave you. It was truly a beautiful mansion, wooden and gold in all the rigjt places. Music boomed from inside, numerous cars parked in an unorderly manner out the front.
Rue joined the mess of a make shift car park, turning the engine off and letting out a small breath. "You ready?" she quirked a brow, watching as you nodded and stepped out the car.
She reached over to the glove box, taking out a blue fanny pack and sliding it around her waist as she stepped out the car. Rue sported her usual jorts, though had a clean black vest top tonight rather than a beat up flannel.
You linked your arms as she lead you inside, glancing at the full bag though not mentioning it. Rue walked inside with no hesitation, nodding at a tall, lanky man who displayed zero expression. You have him a smile, deeming he seemed sweet enough to accept it or at least to get on his good side.
"This is awesome. You must be making a bag working for him." you claimed, eyes roaming the art ridden walls and people who crowded the house.
People danced everywhere, moving through the house in conversation and a wave of a high. Smoke danced high in the air, creating a cloud around the high ceilings. "I mean, I guess?" she questioned herself, leading you deeper into the party. "I need to go see Alamo, but let me introduce you to the girls." she whispered in your ear, leaning down so you could hear her over the beat.
You shifted from linking arms to holding her hand as she lead you to the bar, a beautiful blonde girl dancing on top of it with a few other girls surrounding her with their phones out, laughing and cheering.
"Ay! Magick!" Rue yelled, tapping the girls shoulder. She spoke to 'Magick', nodding her head towards you where you suddenly felt out of place — your makeup only making a facade rather than giving you a personality.
"How you know Rue?" she asked you, a twang to her accent that you recognised before falling into a conversation with her. Her arms wrapped around your shoulder as she introduced you to the other girls who all seemed to work at the club.
The girls were all more than welcoming, helping you to a drink and a dance. And slowly, you seemed to loosen back into your high school self. Sipping the alcohol and embracing the burn it sent to your throat, swaying your hips to the beat and being spun around by 'Tish' — who had been dancing on the bar.
"No reason to be scared of Alamo, he doesn't make a mess if he has no reason to. Deja que su personalidad tome el control." Magick rolled her eyes, passing you the joint she had been smoking on as you asked her about Rues boss.
You happily accepted the weed, taking a deep inhale and smiling at the quality of it. "Yea, I suppose... well, he's not come up to me anyways." you shrug, exhaling the substance out the side of your smudged lips.
She snorted, quipping the roll up from your fingers. "He probably thinks you work for him, but he wont come near you if I'm here anyways. Él sabe que puedo ser violento." she giggled quietly to herself.
You returned the laugh, looking around the party as you settled into yourself. A high dancing around your mind and letting you melt into the atmosphere like you belonged here.
Rue moved through the crowd, exchanging pill for cash as she worked her way through. She wondered where you were, feeling guilty for leaving you with strangers all night but money calls — more so Alamos in control.
Though her eyes roamed and soon enough she spotted you. Leant against the wall sat next to Magick, eyes low and on her as she had stopped in the midst of the crowd. Smoke swirled around your figure like a taunting frame, eyes low in focus and the cool light shining from LED strips hitting you like there was something to prove.
You stood, excusing yourself from the smoke session and making your way closer to Rue with a flicker of change in mind about joe you saw your old friend.
Her hair was unruly from where she'd been tying it up and down throughout the night, her arms glistened with a slight sweat and her figure was highlighted in the tight vest top she wore.
"You okay?" she stuttered slightly, look at you as you approached and studying her figure, causing her to gulp.
You nodded slowly, eyes making their way higher before locking eyes with the mixed girl. "Can we go somewhere quiet? It's too loud in here." you asked, stepping forward as if to urge her to make the move, fluttering your lashes in a manner that left words unsaid.
Her mind racked ideas of places she could take you, ultimately falling on the idea of her car. She nodded in a way that appeared as though she was uncertain of herself, nodding forward to make the move.
You followed her, eyes on her shoulders as she walked, guiding you through to the front of the house once again and out to the bundle of cars thats metal reflected the moon.
The car was cool as you slid into the backseat, Rue following you on the opposing side and your doors clicking shut in unison. You leant back into the seat, closing your eyes and letting the air poke your body. A contrast from the hot feel of bodies clashing in a dance.
"You good?" Rue seemed to repeat her words, looking at you with parted lips.
You rolled your head, half your face resting against the plush of the chair as you stared her down. "Y'know... you're not good at hiding it." you murmur.
She swallowed, looking down at her hands as she picked at her nails. "What?" she laughed awkwardly, feigning ignorance.
"You don't feel any way towards me?" you whisper, placing a palm down on the seat as though to crawl closer. "You don't look at me and think other things?" you question, a facade of innocence playing at your brows pulled together.
Rue pressed her tongue to the front of her teeth, hesitant as she met your following gaze. "Have you ever even been with a girl?" she questioned, trying to laugh the matter off, telling yourself you were a shot too deep.
You shook your head softly, then faster, inching closer to her. "You can show me though? Take me through it?" as you talked, not thinking through anything apart from the mission of making Rue yours — or becoming Rues' for that matter — you seemed to recollect why you don't drink anymore.
Rue sucked a deep breath in as you crawled an inch closer, before diving into your lips in a messy format. Her hand grabbed your jaw, pulling you up to sit on your knees and gaining an equal height. It quickly got messy. Your lipstick smearing down to the side and noses crashing.
In all the years you'd pass Rue in the halls or see her out of her mind on opioids, you never thought you'd be inching close enough to almost be grinding on her knee.
She pushed her thumb into your jaw, causing your lips to part and her tongue having a gateway in. It was messy, a mix of saliva with some drooling out the dance. Rue leant closer, her free her gripping your hip like a lifeline.
Both your hands rest on the denim on her thighs, arching closer yourself. She pulled for air, teeth taking your lip in a pull as she moved back with a fast moving chest. A soft whine left you at the lack of her, and a fire ignited in her soul for the sound.
"You like that?" she asked in a pant, ducking to lick the side of your neck before pinching the flesh with her teeth. Another soft whine left you, your hands moving to grip her shoulders for a sense of reality. Rue laughed softly, finding a quirk about you.
In a swift movement, she held your ass and pulled you onto her lap, lips unmoving from your throat as she made love to the quickly bruising flesh. Your hands ran through her hair, nails pressing into her scalp.
Rues hands moved, pinching your hips, waist, and slowly finding your small laced bra. One of her hands kneaded into the flesh, massaging it which made your hips roll and a quiet groan to leave your lips.
"Shit." you exhaled, tilting your head up to provide more room for Rue to work as you looked at the moon through the roofs skylight window. Your hips lolled back and forth, grinding deep to push and encourage the girl you were sat on.
Her hand crept to your back, feeling the lining of your spine before unclasping your bra and letting your tits free from its tight hold. Though she was only quick to replace them, moving back from your neck and messily removing your top.
Her eyes flickered between your chest, her hands shakily coming to hold both like she was being blessed. Then she leant forward, soft kisses to your collar bone before she moved lower. It changed the pace of the prior dry hump, now slower and more appreciative.
In attempts to respect the atmosphere, your hips slowed, though you still chased a friction and your painting between leather weren't the best of help. "Rue, please." you whimpered, chest rising and falling as her lips caressed your breast.
She nodded in acknowledgment of your words, though didn't respond, her lips wrapping around your hard nipple as her hand pinched the other. The music from the house was still in range, filling the silence that otherwise wouldn've felt like torture with the way your stomach was twisted.
With her free hand, it caressed your side, moving down in a slow and gentle manner, reaching your hip and stroking against your waistband. With blind eyes she slipped the button of the shorts, sliding her hand inside which prompted yours fly to fall down like dominos.
Her hand was cold against your now exposed skin, your g-string not doing much hiding. Her eyes flickered open at the touch of lace, moving her lips to suck on your chest again. Though her fingers moved, pulling the lace out of its obstructive way and slipping a long finger inbetween your folds.
A loud gasp left your lips, the action to sudden. The feel of her cold, metal ring hitting the slick wetness that had built up in all the tension. "So wet from all this kissing, huh?" she slurred against your skin, her singular finger running up and down before she slipped another in, running a ring around your clit in a teasing manner.
You squirmed, arms flying up and holding the ceiling of the car in any attempts to ground yourself without holding her and disturbing the soft bites she was leaving on your boobs. Your hips moved without much thought, riding onto her fingers, her ring bumping your clit which received a drag of a moan out of you every-time.
Her fingers explored, easily sliding into your cunt due to the slick buildup. Rue let out her own chuckle, feeling the pure pulse and pushing her fingers in and out before retracing them as a whole, letting your panties move to an uncomfortable position and you lonely.
"No! No! Please don't stop." you sobbed, pushing your face in her neck as kissing her pulse as though to convince her to stay.
Rue chuckled, admiring her wet fingers under the moonlight before she pulled you back. She helped adjust you, moving you off her lap and back into the middle seat. Her thumb grazed your lips again, slowly pushing past before switching to her soaked fingers, pushing them hard on your tongue.
And of course you obeyed, sucking hard on her fingers as you looked deep into her eyes. "Turn around." she demanded, a shift to her tone as she retracted her fingers once more with a bit more effort this time — a pop leaving your lips.
With another pout and a whine of emptiness, you did as she said, because Rue was technically the pro at this. You'd been with guys before, but you didn't really know how any of this girl on girl stuff worked.
As you rested your forehead against the bottom of the window, your still clothes ass in the air, you heard a rustle and few curses from Rue. Though soon enough, her fingers hooked your leather shorts and pulled them down with such a force you knew she needed this just as much as you.
With the drivers window still slightly ajar, a soft breeze hit your exposed pussy which almost sent you crazy — along with Rue swiping another longer finger through your folds. "Fuck, you're so pretty. Y'know, I've always wondered about you. If you'd give a girl a chance, if you'd let me fuck you like this." she rambled to herself almost, adjusting her position behind you, and thats when you felt a thickness prod against your entrance.
You looked back past yourself, seeing Rue waist down naked herself with a strap on. It was an average size, nothing dramatic, thick enough you knew there'd be a few strokes of pain. Though the sight of it paired with Rue and the slight beads of sweat on her forehead was almost enough to send you pushing yourself back onto her.
"Please, you can fuck me, please." you nodded, returning back to looking down and preparing yourself. She grunted, and you felt the steap prod you some more before breaking the threshold.
You gasped as it entered, stretching you enough to send your eyed rolling back. Rue entered slow and gentle, eyes on the your to keep herself in reality. She left an inch or two spare, letting you take deep breathes. "You okay? This too much for you, baby?" she almost cooed, causing you to shake your head repeatedly, drawing a smirk from her.
"No... no! Feels so good... mm... feel full with you Rue." you moaned, slurring and struggling to keep yourself up right. She began to move, pulling out gently before moving back in, more than satisfied with the state she'd created.
Legs shaking and moan after moan creating a melody for her as she watched the silicone move in and out of you. How wet the plastic was and how your cunt would greedily take it back in. She started slow but slowly increased her pace, gripping your hips as she moved.
The car rocked as did your body, brows drawn together as your own pornographic moans left you dazed. Rues hands moved to your hips, helping you push yourself pack onto the strap and match her rough pace.
"Look at you taking it so well. You my lil slut now, huh?" Rue grinned, watching as your ass slapped against her stomach. "You deserve this shit, tell me this what you want."
You nodded to her words, driving closer to the edge and just how sexy the scene was. "I want you! Want you to fuck me so good!" you moaned loud, your body moving with hers in a dance of energy and lust.
"This what you wanted, to fuck a girl? Mm? This what you expected? You like pussy now?"
All you could do was nod, pure bliss taking over as she slammed into you, hitting your walls deep. Her thumb crept and began to circle your clit fast again, causing you to fall closer yo the edge.
"Ma! Imma cum! Just like that, please!" you slurred further, feeling the euphoria surge through you as you screamed in release, your juices leaking onto the strap as Rue stroked through you through it.
The both you panted as your movements came to a slow stop, your forehead resting against the cool, yet fogger up window and Rue slipped out of you and removed the strap from her person.
She reached into the trunk, finding a spare shirt to clean your pussy up with — because it's the thought that counts. The cotton shifted through your folds and down your thighs, swiping away and excess of your release.
"Mm... what about you?" you asked, shifting to sit down on the backseats as your body felt heavy and your legs were to shaky to stay on all fours.
Rue shook her head, brushing your hair from your glistening face. "Don't worry bout me... that was more than enough." she cooed, encouraging you to lay down on the seats and pulling her own shorts back over, shooting Alamo a text she wont be returning inside. "You want me to take you home?" she asked.
You blinked, eyes becoming slow as your adrenaline fell. "Can I come to yours? Probably closer..." you murmured, falling asleep swiftly as Rue climbed to the drivers seat and turned on the engine, looking back at your sleeping figure and smirking to herself after witnessing the hottest scene front row.
⌖ authors note. i apologise if this is wrong, im the biggest virigin to ever exist, all my knowledge comes from fanfiction i fear
Authors Note: this is based on an anonymous request. I hope you (whoever it was lmao) who requested, enjoy this!
Pairing: Michael Jackson x Fem!reader
Summary: you’re a roadie on the Triumph Tour with one of the biggest bands on the planet; you check in to a hotel for the evening as your buses don’t leave til morning. Somehow you find yourself locked in a stairwell with the most famous member of the band, Michael Jackson, in a heatwave… and a black out.
Word Count: 8201
Tags: porn w plot, triumph tour, off the wall era michael, tour, hotel sex, confessional, michael is more confident in the dark ;), like remember he had to tell lisa marie that he loved her in the dark??, god i need him,
18+ minors dnu!!!
The air conditioning died at twelve past two and took the lights with it.
You laid still for a moment in the sudden dark, waiting to see if it would come back. It did not come back. The room, which had been a manageable kind of hot with the unit running, began almost immediately to shift into something evil – the Georgia July pressing in through the walls and the windows and the blackout curtains like it had been waiting for exactly this opportunity, to smother you entirely.
Within ten minutes the sheet under you was warm. Within fifteen you had kicked it off entirely and were lying on top of the mattress in your shorts and your oldest t-shirt with the back of your neck against the pillow and the sweat already starting at your hairline.
You were not going to sleep anyway.
The rumination of your mistakes has begun as soon as you checked into the hotel the crew were crashing at for the night. Just re-running the show, the spots you missed, over and over. You were glad the talent – The Jackson brothers had not noticed anything different, but unfortunately, Greg, the Head of Sound and Lighting on tour did.
You had been running this desk for four months without incident and then tonight of all nights you had missed three cues that could have been catastrophic in nature – leaving an instrument without sound would have messed up the brothers' musical cues. Greg wasn’t even mad at you, it was just the disappointment after he had to click his fingers in your face and wave at you expectantly to get your attention. It felt ridiculous that he even had to, but your brain was just a million miles away, recently. Home sick.
Marlon, whom you’d grown really close to out of the talent you worked with had become really busy on this leg of the tour – constant interviews, TV specials and charity performances outwith the tour. It felt like these days you saw him at sound check and stage strike, to get the mics back and that was it. You missed drunk Rummy games at the back of their touring bus and being silly, playing pranks. Skating out in the truck parking lot with Randy was a nice memory; it just all seemed so far away.
It had finally started to feel like a job, and you hated that. You couldn’t have a normal life, not the type you wanted. A partner, a steady income, and a nice house. For now, you’d have to just suck it up and be happy you were seeing the country.
You sniggered at yourself – thinking about how hard the boys in the band had it. Especially Michael, his privacy was never his own. None of them had that luxury. They had real reason to complain, their lives would never be the same after this.
You finally decided to get up.
The ice bucket was on the bathroom shelf. You found it by feel, pulled your hoodie on out of habit and let yourself out into the hall.
The corridor was completely dark. The emergency strips above the doors were out, which meant either the backup had not kicked in or this hotel's idea of emergency lighting was the faint orange bleed of the Atlanta streetscape coming through the window at the far end of the hall.
You moved toward the ice machine with one hand on the wallpaper, which was slightly damp already from the humidity creeping into the building now that the climate control had gone.
The ice machine was off and the ice had already started to melt considerably. You stood there with your empty bucket contemplating your next move.
The exit sign at the far end of the corridor glowed red on its battery. You started walking toward it slowly, your bare feet making very little noise on the carpet. It was deathly quiet at this hour.
Below it, the stairwell door sat slightly ajar, and through the gap came the dry cool of a concrete space that the heat and sunlight had not reached yet, and you pushed through it without thinking too hard about whether it was a good idea. The door clearly was kept ajar for situations like these – you made sure to keep it like that so you could get back out to your room that you left open; totally unsure if the locking mechanism would work under the circumstances.
It was cooler by maybe five degrees. Enough for you to stop the rumination and the overreaction going on in your head.
The stairwell had one emergency light in a cage on the ceiling casting amber down the steps. You sat on the second last step from the bottom and pressed the back of your neck against the cinderblock wall and closed your eyes.
You heard the door above open, the sound echoing in the empty space you occupied.
Footsteps on the landing.
You opened your mouth and turned toward the door at the same second the draft from above caught it, and you watched it swing shut with the slow realisation that what was done, was already done and there would have been no way to reach the door in time from where you sat.
The latch clicked and the mechanism locked up.
The footsteps came around the turn of the stairs.
You looked up.
The figure had stopped on the second to last step.
The amber ceiling light fell across him — white t-shirt, dark sweatpants, curls loose at his collar, a small notebook in one hand. He was looking at you very curiously
"The door, it’s— ugh, it’s locked us in here" you said awkwardly, flailing your arms frustratedly.
"I heard it close. M’sorry."
You clambered to your feet and ran up the steps to meet him. You tried the handle. It gave nothing. You tried it again with your shoulder and it gave nothing; a heavy, impossible to open fire door. Great.
You let go of the handle and wiped the sweat forming on your forehead.
You turned around to face the culprit. Someone you rarely had the pleasure of interacting with.
He slumped down on the step and leaned his back against the wall. He carefully balanced his notebook on his knee and then suddenly he was looking at you with a slightly unreadable expression. Michael was the second youngest in the band you worked for; and the most mysterious. You had rarely crossed paths with him other than a quick hi on the bus playing card games, or helping the guys get their mics sorted at the start of the show.
He was mysterious to you just like he was to the rest of the world; but you had an inkling of what he was really like, a small insight. How kind he was to his brothers – what he looked like first thing in the morning when he was tired, the way his eyes would stare out at an empty stadium during soundcheck, still performing as if there were a hundred thousand fans sat in front of him.
He was delicate and soft spoken, and had a femininity that you had never quite seen in a man – certainly not his older brothers. They were boisterous and loud; making passes at you, and being inappropriate at times. You always played along as you seen yourself as one of the boys anyway, you enjoyed their company as there were never many women around to chat to.
You sat back down on your step.
You set the empty ice bucket beside you and put your head in your hands. It had gone from a bad situation to even worse – stuck in this stairwell with a man who rarely broke breath to you. You didn’t even think he liked you.
"I guess the ice machine is off," he said.
"I am aware of that, Mr Jackson."
A beat of silence.
Outside the concrete walls the city of Atlanta still carried on; trucks hurrying past on the highway, the occasional sound of a horn, and somewhere on property a generator had kicked in and was doing its best.
You pulled your knees up. The cinderblock wall was still cool through your t-shirt if you pressed back against it.
"Just Michael," he said. The same way he always said it when people did that — immediate, slightly tired of it — and then he caught himself and looked at you properly. "You don't have to make it formal."
"I know I don't have to." You hugged your knees closer to your chest and looked up through your eyelashes at him. "I just wasn't sure we were there yet."
He absorbed this without defending himself, which you had not expected.
"I suppose. I am sorry I have never really interacted with you," he said.
"Sorry?"
"You seem upset so I am merely apologising. I am just a bit … socially challenged at times. Especially when I am performing a lot. It takes a lot from me."
The corner of his mouth was quirking up ever so slightly; he genuinely was trying to be apologetic.
"Its fine," you said. "I get that."
The stairwell was quiet again. The heat was coming slowly up from the floors below and the five degree advantage of the landing was beginning to lose the argument with the Georgia July pressing in from everywhere else.
You nodded at the notebook on his knee.
"Are you up drawing or something?"
"Writing," he said. "Lyrics."
"For a song with your brothers?"
"For —" he paused. He looked a bit sullen in the dark. "No. Something else."
"Do you always carry it on you?"
"Everywhere." He turned it over in his hand to admire the hardback.
"I lose the thing if I don't write it down the second it comes. It doesn't come back the same way."
You understood that. You had lost enough things that way.
"Do you draw?" he asked. He said it like a natural follow-on, curious rather than pointed.
"Sometimes. When I can't sleep mostly. Whatever's around; call sheets, the back of a tech rider."
"What do you like to draw?"
"Depends. Whatever I'm looking at." You picked at the old label on the ice bucket to give your hands something to do. You were really nervous around him.
He had a really intense energy, one that meant when he was around you; his full attention was yours - totally undivided. Almost like you can’t escape it.
"I spend a lot of time at the back of venues staring at the rigging so it ends up being a lot of scenic outdoor subjects; horizons, sunsets or whatever. Sometimes you guys on the stage; watercolours and oils.. The crew. Whatever feels fun."
He was listening with that scarily undivided attention you had clocked a hundred times from the desk - you’d never been on the receiving end of it til now.
It really was a different thing, being on the receiving end of it. He never had the excuse of having to talk to you at work; if Michael had something specific he wanted done, he’d talk to Greg. And Michael always wanted something specific and usually difficult for us to pull off. He was a perfectionist that way.
"I did a big portrait of Marlon once," you offered to fill the silence again.
"Last winter. We had three days off in Memphis and I had nothing to do and he sat for me for about two hours working his way through an entire room service menu. It turned out well, I think. He got a little emotional when he saw it, which he will absolutely deny." You laughed.
You smiled inwardly at the memory. Marlon in a janky hotel chair with a club sandwich and his convincing argument that he was the most interesting subject you had ever drawn, talking the full two hours about his brothers, the first time he played a sold-out show, what it felt like to watch his little brother become the most famous person on earth.
Michael was looking at you intensely again.
"Are you and Marlon —" he stopped. He looked back at the notebook in his hands, losing his conviction. "Sorry. That's not —"
"No," you said.
He looked up.
"He's my friend," you said. "One of the best ones I've got on the road. But no, we aren’t together if that’s what you were wondering."
He nodded.
He looked back down at the notebook and turned it over once in his hand and did not say anything for a moment, and you watched the slight tension in his jaw release.
The silence that followed was a different one; he seemed like he was really deep in thought about something. So you let it be; there were likely not many times in his day that he could just sit without someone bothering him.
Something had certainly shifted atmosphere wise, it felt like maybe he was becoming more comfortable with conversing with you.
You were both sweating properly now. The cool of the landing had been entirely absorbed by the Georgia heat crawling up the stairs, and the back of your t-shirt was sticking to your spine and his white shirt was entirely see through; the amber emergency light was putting out its own small warmth from the cage on the ceiling and illuminating Michael in a really cinematic way.
You swallowed and tried to move your thoughts away from how nice his chest looked in the wet shirt.
"Tell me about the song," you said, quickly. Trying to distract yourself.
He looked up, surprised.
"You don't have to sing it or anything. Just — tell me what it's about?"
He considered this for a long second. You got the impression he was deciding not whether to tell you the real meaning behind it, or a media trained version of it.
"Wanting something you can't figure out how to have," he said eventually. "Not in a sad way. Just. The feeling of being right on the edge of something and not knowing how to step into it."
You looked at him.
He was looking at the notebook cover.
"That's an interesting take," you said.
"Yeah, it really boils down to me having feelings about certain people and not being able to help it. Loving so deeply, I mean."
"That's actually quite specific."
"It doesn't feel specific enough yet. That's the problem. It still sounds like it could mean anything." He opened the notebook, not offering it to you this time, just looking at the page himself. "I want it to sound like the feelings I am living through right now."
"Have you fallen in love with someone you can’t have, Michael?"
He closed the notebook.
He looked at you for a moment in the amber light, and the look was long enough and level enough that you felt the back of your neck go warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature.
"I'm still working out if it is something I can have," he said. “This business is tricky for loving relationships. I am sure you have seen the absolute zoo my brothers hoard around with them. Girls just chomping at the bit to be with them.”
You held his gaze for a second and then laughed softly; he was right. You’d never really seen Michael partake in the groupie scene.
You turned the empty ice bucket over in your hands, running your thumbs along the rim. The plastic was slightly tacky from the heat.
"How long have you been writing music," you asked. "Your own stuff. Not for the band."
"Since I was about fourteen." He leaned his head back against the wall. "I used to do it in the back of the bus on the way to shows. I had a little tape recorder. I'd hum into it and write the words down and then hide the tape in my suitcase lining so nobody found it."
"Why hide it?"
"Because it wasn't ready for people to listen to yet." He said it simply. "And because when you're one of 9, everything is everyone's. Your ideas, your time, your voice. The tapes were the only thing that were just mine."
You thought about that, not having privacy even at that age. Every moment of your life expertly controlled. You had a normal childhood; one where you could go to the park with your friends and play tag, and make up crazy make-believe stories.
"And now?"
"Now I have a room to myself and I still find I hide them - even from my brothers." He laughed quietly at himself. "Force of habit."
The generator sound from somewhere below had settled into a steadier rhythm, and through the concrete walls you thought you could hear the very distant sound of the hotel coming back to life — an elevator somewhere, a door, the muffled television voices of someone who had left their set on.
"What was it like," you said. "Starting out. Being a child doing it?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"I don't really remember not doing it," he said. "Which sounds like a good thing. I think most people would hear that and think — lucky. To have found the thing you want to do for the rest of your life that young." He was looking at you intently now as he spoke; he had really gained some confidence, and you wondered if it was because you were both plunged into almost darkness. That you weren’t making him feel vulnerable, or preyed upon.
"But you don't get to find it. It just is. You don't choose it, it doesn't feel like a gift, it's just the situation you find yourself in. And around it everything else is just happening to you after that; you can’t control it. The schedule and the shows and the travelling. You don't know another way of living so you don't miss it. You just sometimes wonder what it would be like had it not all happened so fast."
"To choose it? You mean?"
"To choose it, on my own. Yeah." He said, with a small smile on his face; glad that you understood his sentiment. “I would have made my way back to music somehow. Maybe a little later, and with a normal childhood under my belt”
You set the ice bucket down after that. It felt rude to fidget when he was bearing himself to you.
Outside the stairwell the hotel was definitely waking up — you could hear it more clearly now, the building reorganising itself back into function.
Your knee was touching his knee, where you both sat on the stairs.
You had not noticed that you had both become so close in the dim light. You did not move from where you sat; you just allowed the close proximity. Small butterflies fluttering in your stomach.
He was so real like this. When you lit him on the stage and heard him in the cans each night, he still felt like this out of your touch character. So talented that it might not even be grounded in reality.
"Can I ask you something?" you said, impatiently
"You've been asking me things for an hour" He sounded like he was smiling.
"A different kind of thing, I guess"
He looked at you.
"All the girls," you said. "Tonight on stage? Why do you let them almost maul you like that?."
He didn’t really respond, so you push again, trying to make a point
"Does it scare you? I mean – we are always on the edge of our seats wondering if they finally pulled you off the stage this time"
He considered the question without performing the consideration.
"No," he said, honestly. "That's probably the problem."
"Why doesn't it?"
He was quiet for a beat.
"Because when I'm out there nothing seems scary, or frightening to me,” you could just about make out his animated hand movements whilst he talked.
"The show is real. The people at the rail are very real to me. They are a indicator of how well I am performing. They keep me in line.” The amber light was catching the beads of sweat on his forehead, where some of his dark hair was sticking to his face.
“Everything behind me goes away. And the girls at the rail are reaching for an interaction, to check if it’s real life and that the energy I am giving them is real. It most certainly is. I can give that to them, the rush, the elation." He paused. "I know what it looks like from the outside, but I see what it does for the fans."
"It looks like you have a death wish, Michael"
"I don't have a death wish." He chuckled, breathily.
"I know you don't." You said it before you had actually decided to, leaving a bit of an awkward lul after it. It was as if he was computing the fact you weren’t arguing with him.
"I've watched you for 9 months now. You don't have a death wish. You have a — well, you can't bear for anyone to leave without getting what they came for." You smiled, not knowing if he could even really see it or you.
You continued your rambling;
“Which is a very beautiful thing that is also going to get you seriously hurt one day."
He did not say anything for a moment.
"That’s it, really. I want to give them everything; just like I do for my family, my work outside of performing, so why not them too in the moment?" he said quietly. "Usually everyone else doesn’t get it when its brought up; it's just stop doing it. You're being stupid. You're being selfish."
"It's not selfish. It's the opposite of selfish. That's what worries me about it."
He was looking at you with an open unguarded expression, that made him look a lot younger than his age. Doe eyes, almost like they were entranced by headlights.
"I've thought about leaving," he said, feeling more confident to share with you now.
"The band. Not in an angry way. Just." He looked up, at the ceiling.
"There's a version of this where I do the thing I actually want to do."
You did not say anything.
"Quincy has said things to me that I haven't told anyone. About what he thinks is possible. To achieve with my voice, and my vision." He looked at the wall, in a dazed way, recalling the moment.
"I think about it on the bus at night when everyone else is asleep. What it would sound like. What I'd do differently if I didn't have to run it past four other people first. Or my father."
"What would you do differently?"
He laughed softly and looked at you passionately.
"Everything," he said.
The word landed like a dead weight; you could now see why he was so dejected and reserved around the other boys. He was trying to push away and leave them, without hurting them or himself in the process.
You looked at him, thoughtfully. Your whole opinion of him had been rewired in this weird by chance moment
The air between you was warm and close and had been this way for a while now
"Why did you come out here? Its so late and I am imagining you have everything you could ever need in the room they put you in" you said.
"It was colder out here." He looked faintly wistful.
"It was the coolest place I could find… and well, it’s suffocating being in those rooms by yourself, your veins coursing with adrenaline. I come find spots where I can write and will maybe bump in to a stranger."
"A stranger? You mean to talk to?"
"Yes. I love hearing other perspectives of life, it is fascinating to me. It is quite lonely, this life."
"I would never have thought it like that. But i suppose you are right – I couldn’t sleep because i was homesick for something i dont have."
"We're having similar evenings then."
"It appears so."
You both laughed heartily, albeit a little awkward – the confessional nature of the conversation was making it so.
The laughter went up the stairs and disappeared, echoing, and when it was gone you were both slightly closer together than you had been and neither of you were doing anything about that.
All at once — the fluorescents blinking twice and holding, the amber emergency light clicking off, the whole stairwell suddenly ordinary and bright and concrete and completely visible.
You both blinked, adjusting to the assault on your eyes.
When you finally got a look at him, he had the kind of face that always seemed touched by softer light than everyone else's. Even sweaty and disheveled, barefoot just like you, he looked unfairly beautiful, his expression hazy and distant, as though he'd only just surfaced from a dream.
You could see the recognition in his dark eyes, as he looked you up and down, finally understanding more fully now, who he had been having this… deep conversation with. You couldn’t tell if he was feeling odd at the thought or completely delighted.
He stood up, abruptly and then reached down and offered you his hand. you took it and he pulled you to your feet and there was a beat where you were standing close together in the bright stairwell and neither of you stepped back.
He looked at you again, more than before, obviously noting how disheveled and tired you looked from the ordeal, but also a long day at work.
"The suite has a really good shower, with jets and all" he said. He said it nervously.
"If you wanted to cool down, you can use it. I can wait in the other room."
You looked at him incredulously, but at the secondary thought of a cold shower in a fancy bathroom, you could not pass it up.
His face was very still, but his eyes weren't. The offer was there, threaded through the silence, through the way he was looking at you. Neither of you said anything. The stairwell felt suddenly too small, the air too warm. Above you, the fluorescent light buzzed softly while the space between you seemed to shrink of its own accord.
"Okay," you said.
Something shifted in his expression. His gaze dropped to the step between you, as though he needed a second to collect himself. When he looked back up, the beginning of a real smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—small, private, and somehow worse than if he'd smiled outright.
He bent and picked up the empty ice bucket.
When he handed it to you, his fingers brushed yours for the briefest moment.
The feeling was electric.
–
The elevator was working, thankfully.
You rode it to the top floor in silence, the two of you standing side by side in the mirrored box with your empty ice bucket and his notebook and the faint hotel-elevator music hanging around you.
You could see both of you in the mirror opposite. You looked exactly like what you were — two people who had been sitting in a concrete stairwell in a Georgia heatwave for an hour. He had his hands in his pockets. He was looking at the floor numbers.
The doors opened.
The top floor corridor was wider than yours and the carpet was thicker. The wallpaper was a different quality, the kind that had texture to it, and the lights up here had come back on fully and were the warm gold of sconces rather than the flat fluorescent of the lower floors.
He stopped at the end of the corridor and slid his key into the door.
The suite opened up in front of you and you stood in the doorway for a moment because you could not help it.
It was enormous. Not enormous like the hotel rooms you had stayed in on this tour — the standard doubles with the single window and the unit on the wall and the carpet that had seen a lot of summers.
This was a different category of space entirely. A proper living room with sofas and a coffee table and a grand piano in the corner that somebody had presumably put there because he was who he was.
Floor to ceiling windows running the length of the far wall with the Atlanta skyline laid out beyond them, the city half-dark and half-lit in the aftermath of the power cut, the orange glow of the streetscape and the scattered squares of building light and above it all the flat black southern sky.
A dining table. A separate bedroom through an open door. Flowers on the sideboard, the kind that came with a suite, white and slightly formal and already wilting in the heat.
You stood in the doorway with your ice bucket, bare feet and an old overly washed Toto hoodie.
"Right," you said, sarcastically
He had gone slightly self-conscious. He was standing in the middle of the living room with his hands in his pockets clearly not knowing what to do; he seemed bashful that you were seeing this for what it was, clear unadulterated indulgence
"It's just a room," he said.
"Michael, there's a grand piano."
"I asked for that, I like to play to wind down at night"
"I have a bathroom the size of a cupboard and a AC unit that sounds like a dying animal and a view of the car park."
"Yeah..." He said it quietly. Not showing off. "I know it's a lot."
You walked further in.
The carpet under your bare feet was the kind of thick you only felt in places like this, the kind that gave slightly under your weight. The living room smelled of the flowers and the faint cool trace of the air conditioning that had just come back on and was beginning to move the warm air out of the room in slow, luxurious waves.
The air conditioning.
You stood under the nearest vent and tilted your head back and closed your eyes and felt the cool air move across your face and your damp hairline and the back of your neck.
"Oh," you said. "Oh that's good."
When you opened your eyes he was watching you from across the room with a nervous, toothy smile and his hands still in his pockets. He was enjoying this; you thought. Enjoying the fact that someone was here with him, to share the bizarreness.
You looked away first.
"Show me the shower," you said.
–
The bathroom was through the bedroom.
You noticed the bedroom briefly — king bed, turned down, the kind of white linen that looked like it had been ironed by a person rather than a machine, a stack of his things on the nightstand, the notebook's twin, a paperback with a cracked spine.
The bathroom was marble.
Floor to ceiling. Cool white marble with grey veining that caught the light from the vanity above the double sinks, and in the corner — the shower.
It was a steam shower, the kind you had only seen in magazines, with a wide rainfall head set into the ceiling and two body jets on the side wall and a bench along the back and a glass door that fogged from the outside in and a separate control panel beside the door like something from a spaceship.
You stared at it.
"The controls are —" he pointed at the panel. "You just — the top one is the temperature. The middle one is the steam. You don't have to use the steam."
"How do you use a shower with a control panel?"
"I'll show you." He stepped over to it, self-conscious now in a different way — a self-consciousness for having to explain something ordinary about his own extraordinary circumstances. He pointed at the top control. "Temperature here. This one turns the rainfall on. This one —"
"Michael."
"Yes."
"I can figure out a shower. It was most certainly a rhetorical question" you laughed
"Right." He stepped back. "Right. I'll be in the —" he gestured vaguely toward the living room. "Take your time."
He left. He pulled the bathroom door mostly closed behind him. You heard him cross the bedroom, heard the soft click of the bedroom door.
You stood in the marble bathroom and looked at the shower for a second.
You peeled your damp t-shirt over your head and dropped your shorts and your socks and you opened the glass door and stepped in and pressed the top control and the water came down from the ceiling like rain, cool first, then finding its temperature, and you stood under it with your hands at your sides and your eyes closed and let it run over your hair and down your face and the back of your neck and the length of your spine.
Cold.
Genuinely, properly cold after the hours of heat, cold enough that you made a small involuntary sound the first second it hit you and stood there breathing through it until your body adjusted and the cold became something else. Something necessary. The sweat and the heat and the concrete stairwell running off you in streams and spiralling down the marble drain.
You stood there for a long time.
You had not realised how much of the night was in your body until it started to leave.
Then – sudden darkness again.
Not gradually. All at once — the vanity above the sinks, the small recessed spots in the ceiling, the strip of light under the bathroom door from the bedroom beyond. Everything, including the panel on the shower, which went dark with a small electronic sound, and the water, which kept running for about four seconds on whatever pressure remained before it faltered and died.
You stood in the dark in the marble shower in the silence.
"Y/N."
His voice, through the door. Careful. Close.
"I'm fine," you shouted back.
"The power went out again."
"I noticed, Michael." you laughed again this time, at his matter of fact statements and his endearing awkwardness.
A pause.
"The floor is marble," he said. "It's slippery. I don't — I'm not trying to —" he stopped. Another pause. "I just don't want you to fall in there. I’ll come help."
You stood there in the dark with the last of the water dripping from the rainfall head onto your shoulders.
"Okay," you said.
The door opened.
The bedroom beyond was dark too — no light from the windows because the Atlanta skyline had gone dark again. The only light in the bathroom was the very faint ambient glow of the city finding its way through the bedroom windows and through the open door, a grey-blue suggestion of light that was barely enough to see shapes and nothing more.
He was in the doorway.
You could see the shape of him; the white t-shirt, the curls, the way he was holding himself at the threshold with one hand on the doorframe; clearly nervous about the deliberateness he had before. You were beginning to notice Michael’s boldness in the darkness.
You reached for the glass door and pushed it open and stepped out onto the marble floor.
You had a towel from the rack by your elbow — you had clocked it before the lights went out, the thick white hotel towel on the heated rail, and you pulled it around yourself now, wrapping it across your chest, the fabric warm and soft in a way that felt, after the wet cold of the shower and the hours of Georgia heat, almost obscene.
He had not moved from the doorway.
His eyes had adjusted to the dark, there was enough ambient light to work with, and you were aware, that he could see you — the shape of you in the plush towel, your wet hair down around your shoulders, the bare feet on the cool marble floor.
He was very still.
"I'm not going to fall," you said.
"I know."
His voice was lower than it had been in the stairwell.
"I just—"
The words trailed off.
He was looking at you the way he had looked at you downstairs, open, unguarded, but something had changed.
In the amber light of the stairwell it had felt careful, held in check by distance and circumstance.
Here, in the dark marble bathroom, with the city washed grey-blue beyond the small window and your damp hair clinging to your shoulders, there was less distance for it to hide behind.
His gaze dropped briefly to the towel gathered at your chest before returning to your face.
Whatever had been keeping the look careful was gone.
What remained was startling in its simplicity.
Desire, certain and true and a bit reckless.
He stopped in front of you, close enough that you could smell the clean scent of hotel soap on his skin and the warmer, familiar smell of a sultry, musky cologne.
For a second neither of you moved. There were sounds of heavy breathing and the morning coming alive outside the window.
Then his hand lifted.
His fingers brushed the side of your face as he tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ear. The touch was almost impossibly gentle, but it still sent a pulse of awareness through you. As though he was discovering, too late, how difficult it was to touch you and remain unchanged by it.
His eyes moved over your face in the near dark.
"I'm glad," he said quietly, "that Marlon hasn't gotten to you."
You looked at him, nervously.
"It means I can do this," he said, "without feeling guilty."
He leaned in and kissed you.
The kiss was a spark in the dark, and then the whole suite went up in flame.
His mouth was warm and insistent, a little clumsy at first, like he was relearning the shape of a kiss in the absence of light.
Your hands came up to his chest, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, feeling the solid, frantic beat of his heart through the fabric.
He made a low, desperate sound against your lips, his own hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him.
The towel, your only shield, became a nuisance. He tugged at it, his movements suddenly purposeful, his earlier nervousness incinerated by the sheer, driving need in the dark. He leaned in and kissed you more.
His fingers found the edge of the towel and then he hesitated, pulling back slightly.
"Can I —"
"Yes."
It fell.
The air on your bare skin was a shock, a second, smaller climax to the feeling of your first kiss.
His forehead dropped to yours, both of you breathing hard. “The bedroom,” he murmured, his voice thick. “Now.”
It was a fumbling, beautiful mess. The suite, so vast and clear in the light, was now a labyrinth of shadows and unfamiliar shapes. You stumbled over the threshold into the living room, his hand a firm, guiding anchor on your lower back. The coffee table was a phantom obstacle; you both gasped as your shin connected with its edge.
He swore softly, a creative, muttered curse, and swept you up into his arms instead, bridal style, his strength surprising you.
You laughed, a breathless, giddy sound, your arms wrapping around his neck, your breasts pressing against his chest.
He carried you through the cavernous space, his steps sure despite the dark, as if the layout of his own kingdom was etched into his bones.
The bedroom was a void of softer darkness, the city’s grey-blue light barely touching the edges.
He lowered you onto the turned-down duvet, the crisp linen cool against your overheated skin.
You were reaching for him when his hands were already on your thighs, spreading you open.
His mouth found your hip, your stomach, a trail of searing kisses downward. You threaded your fingers into his curls, a soft tug of encouragement.
And then his tongue was on you, a slow, deliberate flat stroke of your clit. You cried out, your back arching off the bed, involuntarily.
It wasn’t the practiced rhythm of someone who’d done this a hundred times; it was exploratory, reverent, each flick and swirl a question he was answering with his whole body.
He was learning your map by taste and sound, his groans vibrating against your most sensitive flesh, his hands holding your thighs wide, keeping you utterly at his mercy.
You were already teetering on the edge, the tension from the stairwell, the shower, the sheer surreal intimacy of this blackout pulling tight in your gut and heart.
“Michael—ah—wait, I’m going to— if you keep doing it like that”
He didn’t wait. He sucked you deep, his tongue working in a relentless, perfect rhythm, and you shattered, a silent, shuddering wave crashing over you, your cries muffled in the pillow. You were still pulsing when he lifted his head, his face glistening in the faint light. He looked wrecked, his own need a visible thing in the set of his jaw.
“My turn,” you whispered, your voice hoarse.
You pushed him gently to lie back. He went willingly, a long, grateful exhale as he sank into the pillows.
You fumbled down the bed to settle in between his long legs and then took him into your mouth slowly, giving him time to feel every ridge of the roof of your mouth and the soft inside of your cheeks.
Your hand cupped his balls gently, your thumb stroking soft circles.
He was big, honestly bigger than you expected, and you worked him with a tender, worshipful pace, your tongue swirling around the tip before taking him deeper.
His hands found your hair, his fingers trembling against your scalp. His breathing was ragged, uneven staccato punctuated by soft, broken dirty words and your name, a prayer and a curse. You could feel the nervousness radiate off of him.
You felt him swell, his thrusts into your mouth becoming shorter, sharper. “I’m—I’m gonna—” he gasped, his hips lifting off the bed. You pulled back immediately, and with the minimal light in the room you could make out his face, contorted with the pain of being edged, but also pleasure.
He reached out for your hand, like a small plea; you obliged.
You looked down at your joined hands, then at his face, at the quiet desperation there. The power was still out. The suite could have been a ship adrift in a sea of black.
And for the first time all night, you didn’t feel lost at all.
There was now a primal need in you, the electricity he’d sparked with his mouth and his confession, wasn’t sated.
You lifted your head, your fingers tracing a path through sweat glistening on his skin, down the taut line of his abdomen.
“Michael,” you said, your voice a low hum against the quiet. “I’m not finished.”
You felt him go still beneath you, then a slow, deep inhale.
In the dim light, you saw his eyes, wide and dark, fixed on you. The shyness was there, but beneath it, something else had taken root—a determination, a focus that the anonymity of the dark seemed to magnify.
“Neither am I,” he breathed.
His hands came to your hips, his grip firm, turning you. Before you could process it, he had you on your back, his body settling over yours, his weight a delicious, anchoring pressure. He kissed you again, but it was different now. No tentative exploration. His tongue delved into your mouth, hot and searching, and you met him with equal fervor, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer until you could feel the hard, insistent length of him, still throbbing and firm, wanting from being brought to the edge before. He was pressing against your slick heat, but was certainly holding back.
He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gusts against your neck. “I need—I need to be inside you. Please.” The ‘please’ was a ragged thing, torn from him.
“Yes,” was all you could manage.
He fumbled for a moment, his hand between you, and you heard the rustle of foil—he must have grabbed it from the nightstand in that first, purposeful trip to the bedroom. His movements in the dark were sure, economical. He sheathed himself, his eyes never leaving your face, and then he was there, at your entrance, the head of him nudging against you.
He pushed in slowly, a groan tearing from his throat, a sound of pure, unraveling relief. You cried out, arching to take him deeper. He was big, stretching you exquisitely, filling you in a way that went beyond the physical. He stilled once he was fully seated, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to yours, both of you trembling.
“Oh, god,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “You feel… it’s like you were made for this. For me. Worth the weight.”
He began to move. His rhythm was not the polished, practiced cadence of experience you’d had before. It was earnest, deeply felt, each thrust a question and an answer. He was learning you, listening to your gasps, the way your body clenched around him, and adjusting, his hips finding an angle that made you see stars.
His confidence in the dark was palpable; he was wholly present, every ounce of his focus on the connection, on the feel of you wrapped around him.
“Look at me,” he murmured, his voice a rough scrape in the dark. You forced your eyes open.
His face was a study of intense concentration, his lips parted, his gaze locked on yours as he moved. “I want to see you. Even in the dark, I want to see your pleasure. I want to hear you moan for me.”
He drove into you, deeper, and you moaned, your nails digging into the muscles of his back.
He kissed you then, a messy, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of salt and shared breath. His hands slid under you, gripping your shoulders, holding you impossibly close as he pistoned his hips, the pace quickening, becoming more urgent.
“Turn over,” he gasped against your mouth.
You didn’t hesitate. You rolled onto your stomach, presenting yourself to him, and he was on you in an instant, his body covering yours, his chest hot against your back. He entered you from behind, one arm banded around your waist, holding you to him. This angle was deeper, more primal.
He hooked his chin over your shoulder, his breath hot in your ear.
“Is this okay?” he panted, even as he thrust hard, making the headboard knock softly against the wall.
“Yes,” you choked out. “God, yes, Michael.”
He moaned, a long, low sound of pure satisfaction. His free hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your clit with an unerring accuracy that stole the air from your lungs. He rubbed tight, perfect circles there, in time with his deep, driving thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—the fullness of him inside you, the clever friction on your most sensitive nerve.
You were babbling, a stream of half-formed words and pleas, pushing back against him, meeting every stroke.
“I can feel you,” he groaned into your ear, his voice thick with awe. “I can feel you getting tighter.
Come for me. Let me feel you come.”
It was the command in his gentle voice that did it. The coil snapped. Your orgasm ripped through you, a silent, seismic wave that clenched around him so tightly you saw white behind your eyelids. You cried out, a raw, broken sound muffled by the pillow as you shook apart in his arms.
Feeling you climax seemed to shatter the last of his control. His rhythm faltered, became frantic, his thrusts turning shallow and hard. “Fuck, I’m—I can’t—ah, god!”
With a final, deep drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came with a guttural shout, his whole body seizing, his release pulsing hot inside the condom. He collapsed over you, his weight a welcome heaviness, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breaths coming in great, shuddering gulps.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of your slowing heartbeats and the distant, returning buzz of Atlanta. He softened inside you but made no move to pull away. Instead, his arm tightened around your waist, holding you locked together.
He finally shifted, rolling to the side and carefully removing the now used condom; you could sense the slight bit of nervousness and uncertainness come back to him.
Once he discarded the used condom he clambered back onto the bed where you lay regaining your composure and your elevated heart rate. You had not even thought of the implications this had on your job before you allowed him to ravish you.
You felt like you couldn’t even be bothered to care.
He shifted closer to you and nuzzled your hair, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice drowsy and sated. “I… that was fast. At the end.”
“Don’t be sorry. It felt… really good. It’s been a while for me too” You said, voice soft. Your eyes still had not fully adjusted to how dark it was in the room.
“You shouldn’t leave, if that is what you are thinking. What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you roam around the dark hotel all by yourself?”
You laughed heartily, understanding that he just wanted an excuse to hold you close for the night, now that he had you like this. You were wholeheartedly enjoying it though - totally unexpectedly.
“You’re more unhinged in the dark, Michael” You finally said, humour in your tone.
“That's because you can't see me getting embarrassed.”
“You? Embarrassed?”
“All the time.”
The confession came so easily that it almost startled you.
“In the dark, I can pretend I'm braver than I am.”
synopsis 𝜗𝜚 you were eternally beholden to have jermajesty by your side during a house party.
warnings 𝜗𝜚 influencer!reader but it’s not mentioned frl, reader party like a mf !
authors note 𝜗𝜚 jermajesty so fine 😫 he need more fics ! i can’t stop writing house party fics srry
word count 𝜗𝜚 1.4k
“𝔀e gon’ be late if you don’t hurry up.”
you stood in front of your boyfriend's full-length mirror, examining your outfit to see if it was fit to go out in. jermajesty sat on his bed next to you, watching you sift through different outfits.
the two of you were going to a party that a mutual friend was hosting. it was a saturday night and neither of you had anything better to do than bump ‘n grind, get drunk, and catch up with people you probably wouldn’t see for another few months.
“bae, don’t rush me. there’s no such thing as being late to a party ‘n we’ll get there when we get there,” you asserted.
“if it started an hour ago and you still ain’t finished getting ready, so there’s definitely such a thing as being late. and you look good so i don’t know why you goin’ through so many damn outfits,” he replies.
“thank you, bae. i gotta make sure i’m lookin’ extra good, though, y’know?”
“who you tryna look good for?”
“every nigga in sight,” he makes a sound of disapproval. “nobody but you, obviously.”
after checking out your outfit for the third time, you decide it’s cute enough to wear for tonight. you make sure you have all of your essentials before leaving—your purse, phone, and j initial necklace.
“okay, i’m ready.”
“finally,” jermajesty mutters.
you decide to chose peace tonight, and you don’t comment on his response. any other night, you’ve smacked him upside his head or chewed him out, but being a loving partner was always an option too.
the drive party isn’t long, only being fifteen minutes. and being with jermajesty makes it feel like time is going by quicker than it actually is. you’re in front of your friend's house before you could have your pre-party debrief about who’d be there, drama between everyone, and whatever else you talked about before arriving at a function.
“‘n don’t be disappearing every five minutes,” jermajesty states as he opens the car door for you.
“i don’t even be goin’ nowhere.”
“mhm. ‘cause last time we went out, you disappeared and i found you dancing on top of the bar with your lil’ friend,” he articulated.
“that was a one-time occurrence,” you argued, pushing the front door open.
you’re instantly greeted by the noise of bass- boosted music playing from an unreliable speaker and a lot more people than you expected to be there. you want for jermajesty to be by your side before taking hold of his hand. there was absolutely no way you’d be navigating this house without him by your side.
people are crowding the kitchen, living room, and are spilling out into the backyard, not to mention the people you saw in the front yard when you were walking in. “this is a lot,” you complain. you’re not even if jermajesty could hear you over the resounding music.
“i got you though, baby.”
you walk through the house until you settle somewhere in the kitchen. you wanted to start this night off with a shot, just to be an ounce of liquor in your system.
“‘n don’t be drinking too much either,” your boyfriend comments from next to you.
you down your shot of tequila, ignoring him despite the fact that he was right. you tended to drink beyond your limits whenever you went out and it always led to unbelievable story times from your friends and a severe hangover in the morning.
“okay, let’s go,” you take his hand once again.
you walk deeper into the house until you finally spot one of your friends. you drag jermajesty until the two of you are in front of her.
“oh my gosh, hi!” she greets you, pulling you into her warm embrace.
“hey, boo! how have you been?”
“i’m living. guess who got broken up with on her birthday?”
you gasp, slapping her shoulder in reply to her words. “i know you’re lying. tell me everything.”
you and your friend quickly get lost in conversation, leaving jermajesty to either stand awkwardly behind you or find something to do. he opts to find something else to do, quick og telling you that he’s leaving you alone before he departs.
you don’t pay much attention to his whereabouts because you’re so immersed in the deliberation you’re having with your friend. she tells you about her ex-boyfriend and the job she just started. you tell her about jermajesty and how your career as an influencer had taken off.
you and she talk for so long that you almost forget you’re at a party. you had shots to take and a boyfriend to dance with, so you bid your friend farewell.
“imma see you later. text me so we can plan something!” your tell her.
“i will. i love you!”
“i love you too!”
no that you’re no longer engrossed in the conversation that you were having with your friend, you have to find jermajesty. you didn’t even know where to start because the house was so spacious and there were so many people occupying it, but he couldn’t have gone too far. he was the same one who told you not to disappear every five minutes, so you’d be damned if he just disappeared on you.
you push through the scorching crowd of bodies in search of your boyfriend. amidst your search, you hear him laugh aloud only confirming that you were heading in the right direction.
“shit. my bad,” you apologize as you collide into someone’s body.
it’s a man you’ve never seen before. he towers over, looking to be around five feet something, undeniably under jermajesty’s height. the most noticeable thing about him is his expression: he looks aggravated.
“get the fuck out of the way,” he sneers.
“i just said my bad, bro. it was an accident,” you snarl back.
now, the man was doing too much. he’s crowding you and disturbing your personal space. they weren’t many places you could flee to given the compact nature of the house you were in.
“don’t let that shit happen again.”
you were beginning to get overwrought. you never acted quickly enough or made sensible decisions in situations like this. you were very non-confrontational, especially when the person confronting you was twice your size.
“you good?”
hearing jermajesty’s voice from behind the man was adjacent to seeing the pearly white gates of heaven open in front of you. you’d never been more grateful to hear him speak than you were at the moment.
“yeah, i’m chillin’. she was jus’ in my fucking way,” the man scowls.
“nigga, i wasn’t talking to you. you good, baby?” jermajesty looks directly past the man and to you.
you nod in response, not completely trusting your voice to sound anything but distraught. the entire encounter had you perturbed and you weren’t exactly sure how to navigate the aftermath of a situation like this. the vibrant party resumes around you and it’s like not a single person noticed the quarrel you just had.
the man scoffs. he has the nerve to scoff as if jermajesty had said something distasteful. like he wasn’t the one who was about ready to hassle you because you accidentally bumped into him in a sea of bodies.
“that shit is weak,” the man mutters before he starts to walk away from both of you.
“bro, don’t let me hear you say shit else about my girl,” jermajesty avers.
the man says something under his breath, presumably something slick. but, he doesn’t say anything to you nor jermajesty so you don’t worry about it too much.
“you good?” he turns his full attention onto you.
“yeah, that jus’ caught me off guard,” you admit.
“mhm,” he hums, being the one to take hold of your hand this time, “you tryna leave?”
“no,” you say hastily, “we jus’ got here. i’m not tryna leave early.”
he chortles at your words. “aight, baby. i won’t argue with you tonight, but ian lettin’ you go nowhere,” he assures.
“my man is so protectiveee,” you gush, leaning into his side, “you really just told a nigga for me.”
jermajesty rolls his eyes, yet his unearthing smile betrays his authentic feelings. having him step in for you because he could sense your discomfort, and he handled the situation in a way that the man would definitely not be coming back.
“let’s go somewhere else, baby. ion want you out of my sight.”
“but you’re the one who left me,” you remark.
“‘cause you and your friend were taking forever. i won’t do that shit no more.”
you take his hand without further discussion, leading him deeper into the house while actively avoiding the man from earlier. jermajesty stays by your side the entire night—which he would’ve done anyway, but especially after the incident earlier in the night.
he definitely wouldn’t be letting you outside his side at parties any time soon.
“baby i don’t think we s-should ugh fuck” your protest tapers off into a moan as janet’s lips wrap around your clit and suck, her tongue swirling around the tip of your clit. you’re teetering on the edge of the producers table as your thighs quake around her head. “i need inspiration baby, just lemme taste” she mumbles against your wetness, her lips soft against you.
the moans flowing from your mouth are music to her ears and the way your needy hole clenches around nothing makes her tongue even more eager. lost in pleasure, you don’t notice janet’s hand sliding up beside you to press a red button. the ‘recording in progress’ sign flickers to life just as your orgasm builds in your tummy, your moans and whines getting louder as it approaches.
she needs some pretty background vocals for her new song and you give her so much material.
omgg I literally love ur blog and your fics, especially the mature michael ones. how about readers reaction to him eating it from the back? ovulation is eating me alivee so if this is too freaky my apologies
literally love u bby, never be sorry or shy w me bc yes.
the air that filled your bedroom walls felt so, incredibly heavy. you laid ontop of your silk comforter, small hands and knees sinking down into the bed. the tips of your french manicure gripped onto the sheets gently as you twisted your neck to look over your shoulder.
"you really like 'em?"
you kept your tone a little cocky, biting onto your glossed bottom lip as michael's huge palm rubbed circles on your ass cheek.
you had bought yourself new panties earlier. the tiny, barely-there kind that you loved.
michael's palm worked its way up to your lowerback, massaging at your tailbone as he stared right at the wet spot forming at the center of your plump pussy. he couldn't help but let out a small groan from the back of his throat, a hungry smile growing on his pretty face.
"of course," he nodded, a little bit distracted. you pouted of course, furrowing your perfectly shaped brows at him as you let out a tiny huff.
michael's gaze managed to meet yours, a small giggle slipping from his lips as he took his thumb to push away at your bottom lip. "stop that," he laughed quietly, letting his palm make its way back to your back. he pushed down on you gently, making you collapse down on your forearms.
pretty face down, perky ass up.
"mm," you whined, cheek all smushed into your mattress, still pouty. "don't seem like you like 'em."
you could feel michael's slender middle finger push onto the damp material of your panties, your hips stuttering the tiniest bit.
"baby, shut up," michael teased you. he pushed your underwear to the side, letting his finger graze your core before pressing the tip of it inside, relishing in the little noise you made muffling into the bed.
"not niceee," you whined again, an obscene little gasp leaving your lips as you felt michael drag the tip of his tongue from the bottom of your clit, back down to your tight little hole.
michael couldn't let his princess keep on waiting. he always wanted to take care of you, and the way you pulsed around nothing, just waiting to finally feel him, made his heart melt.
he gave your pussy an open mouthed kiss, closing his mouth to suck on you lightly as he mumbled into you, "'m sorry, mama."
your back arched prettily, bending further. so desperate to press yourself back into michael's mouth as you moaned out his name with your eyes squeezed shut.
Description - Requested by Anon. A new girl in class flirts with you and Nancy gets jealous. She doesn’t tell you how she feels, instead she shows you.
Warnings - smut, 18+, kissing, nancy with a strapppp, riding, praise kink, mommy kink, pet names, sweetheart, baby, angel, lmk if i missed anything
A/N - i miss my pretty wife nancyyy.
‧₊ ⋆ . ⋆ ‧₊ ⋆ . ⋆
Your bag drops on the floor as you enter Nancy’s house. She’d drove you both back home after classes ended and you couldn’t help but notice something was off.
The drive home was quiet. Nancy was unusually silent, not that she didn’t listen when you spoke, she always did. But when it was her turn to speak it was radio silence.
She just sat there, hands pressed into the wheel so hard her knuckles had turned white.
You’d asked if she was okay but every time she’d respond bluntly, telling you she was fine, or that she was just tired. You could tell she was deep in thought but you figured it’d be best if you didn’t pry. You always knew she’d tell you on her own time when she’d thought things through.
Truthfully, Nancy couldn’t get over what had happened in class today. Some new transfer had showed up, shiny crimson hair and green eyes. Mr clarke had assigned her to sit right next to you. Of course. And nancy couldn’t think of anything worse.
The girl had been flashing her teeth at you the whole time you sat together. She’d purposefully not written in her notes so she could borrow yours, her hands brushing over yours, careful and calculated as she asked for your notebook.
And all Nancy could do was watch from a mile away, heart racing in her chest as she watched someone flirt with her girlfriend, unbeknownst to you.
She knew you were too nice to be aware that it was something other than the opportunity to make a new friend. She knew Hawkins was full of the same small minded people, and any chance you got at potentially meeting someone from another city you jumped at. Even to the point you might get too friendly and have it come off as something more.
It wasn’t your fault. Nancy knew it. You’re so sweet and kind, and the last thing she’d do is blame you, but she wanted to remind you that no one else could have you, or even want you as much as she did.
“Come on,” Nancy says, one hand on the railing, the other in yours, guiding you up the steps to her bedroom. Her house is quiet, all family members unaccounted for, not that she cares right now.
You follow her upstairs and close the door behind you. The curtains are closed and the light almost blinds you when she draws them open.
You sigh, plopping down on the bed as your eyes adjust to the light. You think about how much you’ve been missing being here, about how you can’t wait to get comfy and change into one of Nancy’s shirts.
Nancy just watches you, her gaze intense and unblinking, and you pause, suddenly aware of the weight behind her silence.
Nancy steps closer, the wooden floor creaking underneath her feet.
“Sit up for me, baby,” she says, lips pressing together.
You cautiously lift your body off of the bed, watching her step closer, a thick lump forming in your throat.
“You okay Nance?”
“Come here,” she says firmly, stopping just a few feet from the bed. You can’t tell what emotion she’s feeling right now, whether it’s good or bad, but you’re curious to find out. And you indulge, dragging yourself off of her bed and stepping in front of her.
Her fingers hook gently under your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes meet hers. Your cheeks flush instantly under her. You giggle nervously, trying to mask the flutter in your chest. “Nance? What’s this about?”
Her finger smooths over your flushed skin, slow and gentle. “Be a good girl for me, sweetheart,”
You pause, breath catching in your throat.
“You can do that…can’t you?”
You bite down a whimper as her hands clutch at your waistband, pulling you closer till you can feel the heat radiating from her.
“Cmon,” She teases, satisfied at the way your brain has already turned to mush. “You my good girl?”
You nod, a stupefied expression sliding seamlessly onto your face.
Her lips curve, and it’s like she can’t even remember what she was worried about, distracted by the way you get all puppy eyed and shrunken from a few words.
She pulls you close against her and her lips part against yours with a wet, urgent press. Her hands roam around your waist, pulling you closer like you might disappear, fingers digging in just enough to ground you as her mouth claims yours relentlessly. You respond with equal desperation, your tongue tracing hers as you make tiny muffled sounds against her lips.
“Nance,” you whimper, already feeling a tight pinch in your lower stomach, one that makes your legs weaken as you try to stand still for her.
“Shhhh, baby—let mommy have you,” she whispers into your mouth, cupping one of your ass cheeks in her palm. “Mommy’s pretty girl.” An indulgent smile forms on her lips.
Her hands trail upwards, fingers slipping beneath your shirt to cup and squeeze at your sensitive hardened nipples, eliciting a soft whine from you that makes her kiss deepen. She pulls back just enough to murmur, “Mine,” before crashing her lips back onto yours.
“Mmm,” you break the kiss, collecting yourself for just a moment, your hips jittering, begging for what you can’t take as she pinches at your tender skin.
She grins, taking her hand in yours and leading you back on to the bed to get you comfy. She lays your head back against the pillows, kissing your face all over, making your cheeks warm. “There you go, baby.”
You smile timidly, bashful under her gaze, and she loves watching you fall apart for her.
She rests her knee in between your legs as her lips move lower, down to your neck, leaving little marks that make you squirm.
She then moves her knee forward a little, pushing it against your jeans, right against your clothed pussy and you moan, lips parting around her curls as she keeps her head nested in the crook of your neck. “Fuck—Nance,” you murmur, the friction delicious.
“Yeah, you like that?” She soothes your reddened skin with a gentle lick before pushing her knee further against your core, making your hips buck up against her desperately.
“Uh huh,” you whimper. “Want more, mommy—,” you hum, hands already reaching down to try and flimsily unbutton your jeans.
She steadies your hand, pulling it away and watching as your body writhes against her. “Say please,” she coos, pressing your finger against her lips.
You suddenly forget how to think when she parts her lips and slips it into her mouth, letting her tongue swirl delicately around your flesh “Mm,” she hums, sliding it in and out of her mouth slowly. “Say it for me, sweetheart.”
“Please, mommy,” you whine, trying to press your hips down back against her knee, but she pulls away, grinning playfully.
“Good girl,” she praises, pulling your finger out of her mouth and pressing it against your lips. “Keep it wet for mommy.”
You comply, sucking lazily on your finger as you watch her unbutton your jeans, pulling the zipper down with a stupendous amount of patience.
You lift your hips, letting her undress you. Your bare pussy glistens under the light of her room.
“So pretty,” she coos. “All mine, isn’t that right?”
“Mhm—yes mommy. All yours,” you reply, your finger coated in saliva. She takes that finger and presses it right against your pulsing clit, and your whole body tenses as she rubs it firmly against you.
“Fuckkk,” you moan, head tipping back against the pillows, your back arching slightly, cells needing more.
“There you go,” she says, using your finger, rubbing in slow circles just enough to make your brain all dizzy. Her other hand hooks around your neck, holding your head up so you can see how pretty your pussy looks when you touch yourself.
She presses a little harder, kissing your temple when your legs squirm at the increase in intensity. “Mm that’s it, feel good for me, baby.”
She gets you into a good rhythm, letting you rub yourself long enough that you don’t need her to guide you anymore, but you still whine when she takes her hand off of yours.
“Shhh, baby…keep rubbing for me,” she murmurs, kissing along your jaw. “Need to go get something.”
She kisses you one last time before standing up and padding over to her closet. Your hand continues on your clit, and you let out little cries of pleasure as you come closer to the edge.
Nancy undresses, slipping off her pants and shirt, and you rub your clit faster, getting off on her naked body so far away.
She smirks as she catches on and pulls out what she intended going to the closet for. It’s long and thick, a harness attached to it, and she slips it on without hesitation, the straps wrapping around her legs swiftly.
Your cheek falls against the pillow as you rub your clit, knowing there’s no option to stop, but seeing Nancy all strapped up has you so close your head starts spinning.
She walks back to the bed, sitting down next to you as the cock between her legs stares at you. “You’re doing so good, baby,” she says, running a finger along your shaky thigh.
“Why don’t you come sit that pretty pussy on this cock, hm?”
Your hands rub faster at that, her tone and the way her fingers rub steadily against the pink plastic leaving your body begging for a release. “Yes, mommy.”
“Cmon, angel,” she murmurs, removing the hand from your clit and patting her lap.
You sit up, trying to regain composure before you actually lose it.
You hover above her and she holds your hand as you steady yourself, pushing the tip of her cock against your entrance. “Thats it, take your time, baby,” she soothes, stroking her length, holding it in place for you.
You ease yourself down onto her, sinking slowly as each vein disappears into your slick pussy, coating it with your juices.
“Mommy—” You gasp as the tip hits your cervix, squeezing Nancy’s hand as you get use to the fullness.
“Good girl…there you go, sweetheart.” She hold your waist, rocking you back and forth gently on her oversized cock. “Taking it so well…so good,” she breathes, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.
You continue rocking back and forth, rolling your hips incessantly, finding the right spot that makes your toes curl.
After a little while of getting use to, you finally decide to lift your hips, slamming back down against her cock with ease with a sharp push.
“Fuckkk,” Nancy groans, her head falling back against the bed frame as your pussy falls back against her cock again and again.
You let out a needy moan, your breath catching every time you fuck back into her cock, walls clenching around her. Your tits bounce up and down as you ride her, and she squeezes each one possessively.
She leans forward and kisses your mouth, wet and sloppy without any rhythm as you pound into her. “So fucking hot,” she sighs in disbelief.
You whimper, filthy and desperate as your hips bounce up and down, and sweat dampens your forehead. “Mm so close, mommy,” you whimper, your hands pressed on her stomach as you fuck yourself on her cock, movements slowing as your pussy clenches.
“Yeah?” She whispers, her own breathing faulty, seeing how completely destroyed you look making her so incredibly wet.
“Lift up for me, pretty girl,” she says, lifting her hips, steadying herself with the headboard behind her as you become weightless on top of her.
She presses her hands on the mattress and begins fucking into you, cock thrusting in and out of your tired pussy.
You exhale sharply, lunging forward when your senses overpower with pleasure. “F-fuck,” you stammer, her hips moving with an electric amount of force.
“You like that?” Nancy breathes, pounding harder into your pussy as she watches your legs shake, knowing you’re so close.
“Uh huh,” is all you can manage, a cock drunk, disheveled mess.
She continues pressing her hips up against you, making you cry out into her ear, your body convulsing.
“Tell mommy how good she’s making you feel, baby—please,” she moans inaudibly, plastering kisses all over you wherever she can.
“Feels so good, mommy—g-gonna come,” you whine, eyebrows contorted and all you can let out are silent little screams, the pressure against your cervix drawing you closer to your release.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” she coaxes, hips thrusting in that same rhythm that brought you to this point.
And you have no other choice. Your legs squeeze together and shake violently as your pussy contracts around her cock, and you reach your peak, a wave of pleasure washing over you.
Your hands clutch at her abdomen, signalling for her to hold you closer as you ride out the last few waves. She wraps her hand around your waist and pulls you closer, sucking gently on your tits as you come down. “Such a good girl,” she whispers around your nipple, your hips rolling gently against her.
You wince as she pulls her cock out of you, and she leaves open mouthed kisses along your jaw, stroking your hair gently. “Easy, angel.”
When you’re left feeling empty she replaces that feeling, laying you down against her chest and serenading you.
“Such a sweet girl. Aren’t you, honey?” she purrs, peppering your face with tiny pecks.
You blush, hiding your face in her chest, but she just lifts it up, finger hooked under your chin. “All for me,” she whispers, kissing your temple. “All mine.”
－ㅤ ✉️ㅤ ex.ㅤ𝒐𝒕𝒘! 𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 , female reader , unplanned pregnancy, toxic lovers , angst exes who can't be exes at all. 🧺 this is just something short. 𝒑.𝒔 don't sleep with ur ex. ─── wc . . 329. i might make this a small diary series?? who knows..
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝒅𝒊𝒅. for a second, you didn't know where you were.. the room was very dark and quiet.
then another cramp rolled through your stomach. you sucked in a breath. "Ow."
Beside you, Michael shifted. Not fully awake yet. Just reacting.You pressed a hand against your stomach and tried to wait for it to pass.
It didn't...
"M-Michael." a sleepy sound came from somewhere beneath the blankets. you nudged his shoulder. "Michael." this time his eyes opened immediately.
The second he heard your voice.
"What's wrong?" You curled slightly. "It hurts.." that woke him up fast. He pushed himself upright, hair a mess, sleep still all over his face. "Where?"
"My stomach." the concern appeared instantly.
"Baby... please be more clear?" Another cramp. You squeezed your eyes shut.
Michael was already reaching for the bedside lamp. a soft yellow glow filled the room.
"Hey." His hand found yours. "Look at me." You shook your head. "I-It hurts."
"I know.. tell me again baby? what do you feel." His voice stayed calm. Always calm.
The more upset you got, the calmer he became. It drove you crazy, but also comforted you at the same time. "C'mere."
a few minutes later both of you were sitting against the headboard, blankets tangled around your legs. Michael's arm draped behind you. Ready to catch you if you folded in on yourself again. "You think it's your period?"
You genuinely stopped your heart.The question should've been simple, Normal?? right? Instead it made something cold settle in your chest.
His brows furrowed. "What?" You stared at the blankets. Suddenly unable to answer.
Because the truth arrived all at once. Like a bucket of ice water.
Your period.
You hadn't gotten it. not last month. not this month either.
You sat up straighter.
"Oh." Michael immediately looked concerned. "What..?" Your breathing picked up. "Oh my-"
"Mama, please breath. what's goin' on."
"Oh my Goodness." Michael's hand found your shoulder. "Hey." you shook your head.
And suddenly you couldn't breathe properly. "M-Michael.." His expression changed immediately.
"Ma, look at me." You couldn't. Also, the nickname that he always called you didn't help.. Your eyes were already filling. "What if—"
"Hey." His hands gently cupped your face. not forcing, just grounding. "Look at me." eventually you did. His eyes were steady and Focused. Completely on you. "Breathe wit' me okay." You shook your head. "What if—"
"Breathe first."
"Michael—"
"Mama." His voice softened.The nickname nearly broke you. "Mama, breathe." You tried. Failed.. Tried again. Michael stayed right there.Thumb brushing against your cheek.
"It's okay."
"No, it's not."
"We don't know anythin' yet." His voice never rose, never rushed, he was always very patient with you. like he was trying to hold both of your panic at once.You stared at him.
Terrified... "What if I'm pregnant?" The words finally escaped. You didn't hate that.. it was just the timing and everything all at once. And once they did, the room felt impossibly quiet. Michael froze.
only for a second, a very small second. but you saw it. saw the realization hit him too.
saw him doing the same math you'd been doing. the same memories, the same dates, then he inhaled slowly.
His jaw tightened briefly before relaxing again. And when he spoke, his voice remained gentle. "Then we'll figure it out." You immediately started crying. because somehow that answer hurt more than panic would've. Michael pulled you toward him immediately, One arm around your shoulders.
The other hand rubbing slowly up and down your back. "Hey." You buried your face against his shirt. "I can't.. i'll ruin your career- and w-what will joe-"
"Yeah y'can." He stops you from Overthinking."I can't."
"Baby." His cheek rested lightly against your hair."We don't even know yet." Your hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt.
University.
Your future.
His career.
Him being famous.
The secret 'relationship.'
You guys being 'exes'
Joe.
everything you'd spent months trying to untangle. All of it suddenly felt like it was crashing toward you at once. Michael held you tighter. enough to keep you from falling apart completely. "Mama." His voice was quiet above you. "So we're not gonna panic before we know somethin', alright?"
You laughed through tears. a miserable sound. "I'm already panicking michael." That earned the tiniest smile from him. You felt it against your hair. "Yeah." His hand moved slowly over your back. "I can see that." a nother shaky breath escaped you. Michael stayed exactly where he was.
Keeping the room and his precious pearl steady.
even though you could feel his heart beating just as fast as yours.
boyfriend!michael who’s mind you’re living in rent free, not being able to go a day without seeing something that reminds him of his beautiful girl. He sees your favorite flowers? He’ll always put them in the cart even if that wasn’t on his grocery list to begin with. You lost count on how many he’s given you with the dopest smile he’s ever worn.
He sees a necklace in your favorite color? It’s without a doubt getting gifted to you.
“Michael, it’s lovely, but I really don’t need any more..” you lightly try to tell him, although admiring the shine it holds as you move the pendant side to side in the light.
“It’s in your favorite color though, right?”
“Yes, but—“
“Well, there you go.” And that’s how it always ended, because you knew there will never be a day where you manage to successfully convince your boyfriend to stop showering you with gifts that has meaning behind them.
boyfriend!michael who his favorite music to hear isn’t a band he’s fond of, isn’t his own music, but your laughter.
It’s like he makes it his personal mission every single day to hear you laughing at least once, even if it’s just a giggle. During his day he’ll hear a joke he knows for a fact that you’ll find funny, so when he sees you that same night he tells it to you like he completely made it up himself. No credit to the original, because he needs to be the only man in your life that makes you laugh and find hilarious.
boyfriend!michael who never, ever, shuts the hell up about you. Everyone that’s in his life knows so much about you, some people that you haven’t even met, but it’s because Michael takes any chance he sees to bring up your name in conversation.
“My girl absolutely loves those chocolates you’re having.”
“Hey, that’s her favorite song!”
“Do you know how amazing my angel is at this game? She’d kick your ass.”
Nobody dares to tell him to stop gushing over you, because receiving glaring daggers from Michael Jackson isn’t a very pretty sight to see.
boyfriend!michael who, no matter how hard (not) he tries, can’t keep his hands off of you. He ALWAYS has to touch you, whether that’s none other than a gentle hand on your lap with his thumb rubbing lazy circles into your skin, or him snaking his arms around your torso from behind, needing to be as close as possible to watch whatever task you’re doing.
A hand tight on your waist whenever you two are maneuvering in a frenzied crowd, making sure you never leave his side for a mere second.
Him swaying your tangled hands together high enough for his crazed fans to see, to get the silent message across that he’s utterly devoted to you.
How he sometimes smacks your ass as quiet as he could have it be in public, too amused with the way you try to hold back a squeak and attempt to glare up at him with your cute little flustered face.
How it’s a battle every morning to escape his iron grasp, groaning groggily into your neck to stay an extra five minutes in bed.
You never said no each time.
boyfriend!michael who you rarely argue with, but when you guys do, it completely shifts his entire world.
No work gets done for him when the two of you are in the middle of an argument, because that’s all that is flooding his mind. Pacing back and forth, pulling hair to find ways to make it up to you.
boyfriend!michael who found it best to apologize with his mouth.
It’s slow at first, the way he drags his tongue through your soaked cunt, savoring the taste you offer him. You’re sat on the edge of the bed, legs fighting to stay open, yet he’s more than happy to help you with that as his grip is firm, having you take every sorry his tongue silently tells through every dizzying flick and lap.
Your head tips back, mouth agape to let all breathless moans be set free, hips twitching for more. And more he gives you, hooking one leg over his shoulder to have you further open, slipping his tongue inside of you.
“Oh, fuck, Michael…!” You cry, another curse leaving your mouth as you feel the vibration of his groan against your cunt. His eyes flutter open, watching every scrunch of your face, every gorgeous noise you make that goes straight to his hardening cock in his confined jeans. Although it’s not about him right now, it’s about your forgiveness he’s desperately chasing after for.
“I’m so sorry baby, I’m so sorry…” You hear him mumble between your legs, between each circle and suck he gives to your clit. The way he works your clit in rapid, hungry circles, determined to taste every bit of your pleasure, you start to forget what you were even mad at him for earlier today. Almost like that was his plan all along.
“It’s o-okay, Michael, it’s—“ You lose yourself to another moan, the way he presses his mouth harder to you, drugged in the way you can’t think straight.
His tongue moving up and down over your clit with relentless purpose is what finally had you fall apart, the rhythm of your climax fluttering through him, drinking in the way your whole body is shaking under his hands.
He drags it out, licking all the way into the aftershocks, until you place a hand in his hair to get him off once you feel fully wrung out. You feel his lips press kisses to the inside of your thighs, painting his reverence onto your body. You manage to look down after a couple of more ragged gasps, seeing him rest his cheek against the softness of your thigh.
manager!michael when you go to an after party and purposely try to make him jealous??
"if you wanted my attention, you should've just talked to me." that's the first thing your manager says after the party, during the tense drive home. your outfit was an elegant, teasing little number, something you knew michael would enjoy, and yet, you'd avoided him the whole night. every dance you took was with another man, younger, a member of some boy group. you even made a point of staying sober, purposefully glancing across the room at michael as your head rested against your new friend's shoulder. now, both of you sit together on plush leather seats in the back of some fancy, black SUV. neither of you look at each other: you, out of immaturity, and him, out of frustration.
crossing your arms, you turn your head to look out of the tinted windows. everything passes by in a rapid blur that almost strains your eyes. still, it's easier than looking at michael right now. "i don't know what you're talking about."
"you don't even like that guy," he accuses. he turns to look at you, his lips pursing when he realizes you're not looking back. how mature. "you barely know him."
you scoff, feeling his eyes on you. "he's funny."
michael chuckles sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "oh, so that's it?"
"funny can get you far."
"maybe with others. not with you," he points out, carefully running his hand against his hair. "i know you. you did that on purpose. you wanted to make me jealous. it's childish."
immediately, your head jerks to face him. "me, childish?" your body follows suit, knees jostling against his as you turn towards him.
"yes, you, childish!" he repeats, "you don't just do that to a man, you can't just toy with me like that!"
"you're the one with a wedding ring still on," you snap, pointing an accusatory finger towards his chest. "i think that's childish—"
his eyes close in agitation as his voice lowers, "don't start—"
thump-thunk!
before the argument could worsen, one of the front wheels hits a small pothole in the road, causing the entire car to bounce. like toys in a box, you and michael are tossed around, unintentionally bumping and grazing each other for a few moments until the car rolls onto even pavement again. your cheek meets his shoulder, his left foot meeting your right; it's a mess of your body against his. when it's finally over, both of you glance at your laps, adjusting hair and clothing in order to try and regain some dignity. in the silence, the argument lingers, although it seems so silly now.
you fidget with a small part of your outfit for what feels like too long before you finally open your mouth to speak again. "i'm sorry," you mumble. after pausing, you add, "i like the ring, actually..."
"i'm sorry, too," he says quickly, pushing his glasses further up his nose. "i spoke from a place of anger... i'm sorry. i'll take the ring off, i promise."
"you can keep it, michael, really," you start, but he just shakes his head no.
down in his lap, he twists and turns the ring along his fourth finger. then he decides: "i want to take it off." he slides it up, easing it past his first knuckle, then off of his hand entirely. streetlights from outside the car just barely manage to shine against the ring as it sits in his palm. then he tucks it into his pocket. "i don't want you thinking there's a chance of me and her getting back together," he explains, "i'm really only focused on one woman right now. even when she drives me crazy, even when she makes me jealous to get my attention. especially when she wants my attention, honestly..."
"i was being bratty," you admit quietly, biting your lip. "really, i don't even know what i was thinking. i wasn't thinking, i was... i just wanted to make you look at me."
"all you have to do is talk to me next time," he murmurs, "just talk to me, okay?"
you nod. "okay."
all the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you and michael (and the driver up front, who is by no means a stranger to you and michael's unique dynamic) behind. his knee gently nudges yours, a silent bid for attention.
"hm?"
he smiles a little. "i just wanted to see your happy face again." for a brief second, he hesitates. then, michael reaches for your hand, his fingers finding shelter in the valleys between your own, squeezing lightly. wordlessly, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a few kisses along your knuckles and afterwards letting your hand rest along his thigh. for the rest of the ride, your hand stays there and the ring stays in his pocket; for the rest of your lives, he'll stay yours and you'll stay his.
honestly... just wanted to write a little spat! NOT sorry. i like tension. i gave it a happy ending though ^_^ hope u enjoyed!!
warning(s): use of the “n” word, suggestiveness, fluff, not proofread
note: part 1
1:
songs from the album “diary of a mad band” by jodeci poured from the speaker balanced on the sink, loud enough to drown out your thoughts and echo through every tile in the bathroom.
you jermajesty was in the tub, bubbles resting over your bodies as both of you relaxed. you were laying on your side of the tub, letting jermajesty rub your feet.
the video started to record himself in the tub, soapy suds covering his chiseled chest and his curly hair, damp from steam.
the mirror behind the tube caught you in the video, eyes closed and resting. jermajesty double tapped the screen, putting the focus of the video on you, catching the relaxation on your face. you had your boho knotless braids in bun, making sure they wasn’t going to get wet. he could see a slight hint of your nipples under the water but the soap covered most of it.
jermajesty continued to rub your feet with his free hand, balancing the phone with the other.
“so beautiful.” he mumbled, then ending the video.
2:
the video starts with jermajesty, jaafar, you, and maddie. “heartless” rolls through the speakers, kanye’s voice filling the car , bass buzzing the car.
jermajesty in the driver’s seat, fully locked in, before glancing at the camera. one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on your thigh like it belongs there. he’s lip syncing the song word for word.
you angle the camera toward him.
he catches it instantly, doesn’t even look away from the road. just smirks like he knew you were gonna do that the whole time.
backseat energy shifts next.
jaafar is leaned back like he’s been up since 5am and still showed up for the group activity. maddie is out cold on his shoulder, soft and completely unbothered.
you zoom in a little on her face, then zoomed out.
“she’s asleep,” you say, voice low but amused.
jaafar tilts his head down to check, careful like he’s inspecting fragile artwork. one second of silence. then he looks back up with a quiet laugh and a nod, like: yeah, she’s knocked out.
you snort, the sound barely contained, and the camera shakes just a little as the car keeps moving forward, the song still humming like it’s the soundtrack to a moment nobody will be able to recreate on purpose.
you then end the video, saving to memories.
3:
the snapchat goes mid-motion, like jermajesty is already walking while recording.
jermajesty’s voice comes through, focusing the the camera on you.
“baby, look”
you turned around and instantly smiled when met with the camera. you had on a elegant black dress that matched your boyfriend’s matte black suit. your smile was beaming with excitement, partly from waiting to watch the movie and partly from taking more pictures.
behind you the crowd shifts.
jermajesty’s expressions changes instantly, brows pinched in amusement.
you notice immediately.
your eyes narrowed, turning around slowly.
and there he is.
the infamous fabio jackson.
just standing there like a jump scare in designer lighting.
the air around you shifts.
your face tightens into the most unfiltered “what is happening” expression imaginable.
you don’t even think.
“who’s that, nigga?”
it was little above a whisper but only jermajesty heard you.
jermajesty snorts, full break in composure. the camera shakes violently as he loses it, laughing so hard he can barely hold it steady.
fabio is still there in the background, completely unaware or fully committed to the bit, depending on how generous you feel.
jermajesty wipes his face with his free hand, still laughing.
then he ends the video.
“come on,” he says, grabbing your hand immediately, still chuckling under his breath. “before he starts walking over here.”
you’re still looking back like you’re trying to process what you just witnessed. “why is he—”
“don’t,” jermajesty interrupts quickly, already guiding you away through the crowd, to where bigi and paris is. “don’t even give it energy.”
behind you, the red carpet keeps rolling like nothing happened.
4:
the bahamas sun was ruthless against your skin, not unbearable yet sweltering. you were thankful for the sunscreen jermajesty reminded you to bring. you had on a cute bikini with your fulani braids you got specifically for the trip. you were currently stretched out on a beach towel after running into the ocean a bunch of times with genevieve.
jermajesty was recording you, sitting a few inches away, pointing his phone at you. you knew he was recording, lowering your sunglasses slightly, spotting jermajesty.
the second your eyes met the lens, a shy smile tugged at your lips.
“there she go,” he muttered.
you shook your head and dropped your sunglasses back into place before settling against the towel again.
“you always recording something”
“you always give me something to record”
heat rushed to your cheeks despite the ocean breeze. instead of answering, you buried your face into your arm to hide your smile.
behind the camera, jermajesty grinned.
jermajesty then doubled tapped the screen, turning the camera on him so he can get a selfie view. he raised the phone to show himself, with you beside him. in the background was jaafar and marlon collecting seashells, geneveive on her phone.
“say what’s up, y’all,” jermajesty called.
neither of them looked up. except geneveive, who smiled and waved.
“fuck yall too.” jermajesty mumbled.
you laughed.
still recording, he turns the camera over to you. by then you had shuffled on the towel, now on your stomach. you were in a state of relaxation, letting your eyes drift closed.
then something came crashing on your ass.
you winced. “ow!”
your head shot up.
jermajesty was holding the phone in one hand and smirking behind it.
“jermajesty.”
“what?”
“turn the video off. now.”
the smirk vanished.
the recording ended immediately.
5:
jermajesty was driving you home from girl’s night. in the video you could hear mumbling and giggles from your lips.
jermajesty raised the phone a little bit before the turning it to show your slumped figure in the passenger seat. your hair was a mess and mini dress was raised a little to high.
jermajesty raises his hand to your thigh and you flinched at the feeling. jermajesty laughs, zooming in on your face.
“baby, why did you flinch?”
“because if you touch me I’m gonna assume you wanna...” you winked.
jermajesty laugh grows. “we can’t, mama.”
“why?”
“you’re drunk.”
“so?”
jermajesty, pinched his brows. “yeah nah.” he says before ending the video.
-
instagram live :
the room in costa rica is half-lit and lazy, like time decided to take a vacation too.
TV glow flickers across the walls, teenage mutant ninja turtles blasting while jaafar and marlon jr argue like they’ve got no brains.
“leonardo literally does the most,” jaafar insists, pointing at the screen.
marlon jr scoffs. “no he don’t. he’s the least interesting one.”
that alone is enough to spark a full-blown debate about fictional turtles and perceived leadership roles.
you’re perched on the bed, phone already up, grin forming before you even hit live.
jermajesty is behind you, stretched out like he’s been personally defeated by gravity. one arm draped, head tilted, watching you instead of the TV like that’s the real entertainment.
you tap “go live.”
comments start to flood in like they’ve been waiting outside the door:
“WHO’S IN THE BACK??”
“WAIT IS THAT JERMAJESTY??”
“HELLO??”
you glance back, trying not to laugh. “jaafar and marlon are arguing about little human-sized turtles.”
jaafar doesn’t even flinch. “you don’t get it-”
“nigga, he doesn’t even do nothing for the team,” marlon interrupts, dead serious.
“WHAT?!” jaafar snaps, fully invested now.
jermajesty pinches his brows, waking up just enough to be annoyed at the noise. “mama, who you talking to?”
the comments explode.
“OMG THAT WAS HIM”
“HE SAID MAMA 😭”
“IS THAT JERMAJESTY JACKSON??”
you snort. “I’m on live, bae.”
Jermajesty starts to answer but interrupted himself but the sound of something jaafar had said.
“I’m about to beat the shit out of you.”
you burst out laughing.
jaafar squinted. “why?”
“because there’s no way you think Leonardo carries the team.”
the chat is in flames.
“😂😂😂😂”
“HE’S INVESTED IN TURTLE LORE”
“THIS IS SO REAL”
you shake your head, still giggling. “ya’ll kill me.”
behind you, jaafar and marlon jr. don’t even acknowledge the world anymore. they’re locked back into the TV.
then Jermajesty starts shifting.
slowly sitting up behind you, hair all over the place, white tank, grey sweats, looking like he just walked out of a late-night dream he forgot to finish.
the chat immediately loses all structure.
“🥰🥰🥰”
“YES MA’AM”
“OUUU SHI—”
you laugh harder, covering your face for a second. “y’all not too much.”
jermajesty sits beside you now, leaning in like he belongs in the frame more than anyone else. “what are they saying?”
you glance at the screen, smiling. “they in love with you.”
he raises a brow, reading a comment, “where y’all at?”
you answer at the same time he does.
“don’t answer that.”
you snort. “it be like that? damn.”
he shrugs, a little grin breaking through. “gotta be sure.”
that makes the comments spiral even more.
“HE SMART 😭”
“PROTECTIVE KING ENERGY”
“HE KNOWS WHAT HE DOING”
the vibe is perfect chaos, laughing, arguing, cartoon turtles saving the world in the background like none of this is happening.
then you lean back slightly, sighing like the live has officially drained your social battery.
“alright… I’m finna get off.”
instant protest.
“NOOOO”
“DON’T LEAVE”
“WE JUST GOT HERE 😞”
you pout at the screen. “awe you guys—“
click.
the live ends abruptly.
you blink.
jermajesty is already holding your phone, expression calm like he just performed a public service.
michael had been a fan of yours long before he ever met you.
it started with one movie while he was stuck in a hotel room somewhere in europe. then another. then another. before he knew it, he was asking people if they had seen your latest film and getting weirdly excited whenever your interviews came on television. michael liked that you never seemed prepared for them.
while everyone else in hollywood answered questions like they had practiced in front of a mirror before, you always looked like you just wandered into the conversation by accident. half the time you were laughing at something you had said yourself, so when he spotted you across the ballroom at a charity gala in 1997, he knew exactly who you were.
what surprised him was how normal you looked. you weren’t working the room or posing for photographs. you were sitting with a group of older women from the organizing committee, listening so intently to one of their stories that you didn’t even notice half the celebrities walking past your table. he couldn’t stop glancing over, so later while trying to grab a bottle of water, he nearly walked straight into you.
“oh! i’m so sorry.”
you looked up then immediately giggled.
“michael jackson apologizing to me is crazy.”
his face turned pink so fast it was impressive.
after that, talking to you was easy, easier than it should’ve been. he kept waiting for that awkward moment where the conversation stalled out and one of you had to pretend to be interested in the decorations or something, but it never happened. one topic just kept leading to another.
michael’s secretary came over and reminded him that he was supposed to be speaking with one of the donors, and michael nodded, said he’d be there in five minutes, and twenty minutes later he was still standing exactly where she’d left him.
by the time the night started ending, most of the guests had already gone home. staff members were stacking chairs near the back of the room and collecting abandoned programs from empty tables, and somehow the two of you were still talking. when you finally hugged him goodbye, michael sat in the back of the car afterwards staring out the window like an idiot.
this was an idea that came to me last night and i wrote it so fast, so apologies if there is any mistakes ^-^
ꫂ᭪݁⋮ ┆ he can't resist watching you get ready. whether it be you getting ready for him, getting ready to go out, preparing yourself before bed so you wake up all pretty. it doesn't matter. michael finds time to watch you at your vanity. he's infatuated.
he'd watch with his mouth parted a little with his head tilted to the side, or with the laziest, prettiest, boyish smile resting on his lips. he'd make sure to remind you how beautiful he thinks you are, or ask you which lipstick you were planning on wearing, or let you know which perfume of yours was his favorite, despite you not asking.
ꫂ᭪݁⋮ ┆ he thinks your little habits are adorable. he begins to pick up on them as well.
you're always fixing your jewelry so the clasps aren't showing. soon enough, michael is twisting your necklaces around for you, putting on your bracelets for you tight enough so that they don't turn, buying you thin little thongs because he knows you hate panty lines.
he wipes the gloss from that little dip underneath your plump bottom lip after you eat, knowing that you were gonna do so as soon as you checked out your reflection in that pocket mirror you carry everywhere. he knows you too well and your little habits become some of his favorite things.
ꫂ᭪݁⋮ ┆ your femininity drives him crazy. the way you have no shame in fluttering your dark lashes up at him when you ask him something or when you smile at him. the tight nightgowns you wear to bed that stop right at the middle of the swell of your ass. your feet are always pedicured and you always make sure to have earrings on.
you never leave without spraying the column of your neck, collarbones, and that spot in between your breasts with perfume. every spot you'd want him to kiss.
angel face needs a pretty girl at his side to love and adore.
jaafar jackson’s muse @cinnamoncunt - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
